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babybells123 · 4 months

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Regarding the original outline + some thoughts on Jon & Sansa…

This is a long one. Buckle up.

If there is one thing I have picked up on in the ASOIAF fandom, it’s the knee-jerk negative reaction towards any theory/parallel/connection between Jon and Sansa. This was exacerbated by the show, of course but even now - five years later, there is an insane amount of vitriol that my brain is unable to comprehend. And here’s the rub; the infamous 1993 outline is the irony of it all.

In a fandom that is a-okay with *certain* incest ships (r.e D@enerys x Jon, D@emon x Rh@enyra, Jon x Aria), as well as blatantly pedophilic ships (Sansa x S@ndor, Sansa x Littlefinger, Sansa x Tyrio*), how is Jon x Sansa the worst of them all? I’m going to pin it down to audience engagement with the show, particularly around the later seasons when Jon + Sansa reunite and people began to ‘ship’ them. So many believe that is how the ship took off, and thus it is mere crack - but there are posts tracking back to 2012/2013 theorising the possibility of Jon x Sansa. Was it spurred by the show? Certainly! But it does not take away from the fact that people were making valid arguments and essays before the general fandom was even comprehending a Jon and Sansa reunion on screen. And people were open to discussing/debating it with general civility (a far cry from today).

I’m 90% certain people weren’t criticising those who began to believe in Jon x Aria when the outline was leaked…(though there were most definitely shippers before). But we never see the same level of vitriol towards Jon x Aria shippers, which is strange.

In any case, let’s talk about said outline, some of the key points - and how I believe GRRM made the switch from Jon x Aria to Jon x Sansa. I’ll be drawing from GRRM’s past works, interviews, art, and his personal life - as well as other potential literary influences. I'll be linking metas along the way, but without further ado - let's go.

In October 1993, GRRM wrote a pitch outline for a publishing company. It was three pages long and conveyed alongside the first thirteen chapters of AGOT (170 pages). The three paged letter was leaked on twitter in February 2014, though there were multiple aspects parts blacked out. Keep in mind though, this may not be the *only* outline that exists. There are multiple outlines that have never been publicly released (and will likely remain that way).

But let’s just focus on the 1993 outline, since we’re privy to the details. The thirteen chapters attached to the outline did *not* yet have a Sansa POV, and that’s because in this outline, she wasn’t listed as a key character.

The key characters were; Bran, Jon, Tyrion, D@enerys, and Aria.

The first thirteen chapters were; Prologue; Bran I, Catelyn I, D@enerys I, Eddard I, Jon I, Catelyn II, Aria I, Bran II, Tyrion I, Jon II, D@enerys II, Eddard II, Tyrion II.

I’ve seen people claim that Sansa isn’t an important character since she wasn’t listed as a key character, but they conveniently leave out the fact that a) her chapters were not yet written, b)she was given an entirely different more passive storyline in this outline, c) she dies, d) this was far far before GRRM fleshed out his characters entirely - Sansa took on a life of her own and she became her own solid complex character with an arc in 4 out of 5 of the books; 25 chapters.

In fact, since the books have been published GRRM has regarded Sansa and the Starks as a main character as well;

Collider: In creating this world, did you start out with one family and then branch off into the rest of the world?

GRRM: Well, the Starks are certainly the centre of the story, when it begins. It all begins at Winterfell, with occasional cuts to Daenerys across the ocean, because there was no way I could get her into Winterfell. But, we bring all the characters together at Winterfell, and they’re all there for a while before they start to go their separate ways ... .But, the Starks are the centre of the book and, to a lesser extent, the Lannisters. They are still the major players.

Collider: When you went into this, did you intentionally take the children, put them in an adult setting and force them to be in very adult and complex situations?

GRRM: Yeah, the children were always at the heart of this. The Stark children, in particular, were always very central. Bran is the first viewpoint character that we meet, and then we meet Jon and Sansa and Arya and the rest of them. It was always my intention to do that.”

Collider report.

May 2016 - Balticon.

(…) George said he was “pissed” that the outline was posted in the office building and that someone took photos and shared them. He said it was a letter for him and the publisher only. He was very firm when telling this and it showed on his face.

He then said that he is not good with writing outlines, making book deadlines, and that often in outlines he was “making shit up”, and “characters changed along the way”.

He went straight from talking about the references in the actual books, to the “differences” in the outline from then to now. He did say that he still knows who sits the iron throne and the end game of the main 5, but also included Sansa, but did not give any details (for obvious reasons).

[question if he is still going with the 1991 ending]

“Yes, I mean, I did partly joke when I said I don’t know where I was going. I know the broad strokes, and I’ve known the broad strokes since 1991. I know who’s going to be on the Iron Throne. I know who’s gonna win some of the battles, I know the major characters, who’s gonna die and how they’re gonna die, and who’s gonna get married and all that. The major characters.

….

“So a lot of the minor characters I’m still discovering along the way. But the mains-”

[question if he knows Arya’s and Jon’s fates]

“Tyrion, Arya, Jon, Sansa, you know, all of the Stark kids, and the major Lannisters, yeah.”

Balticon report:

“Ah, how innocent I was… little did that guy in the picture imagine that he would be spending most of the next two decades in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros with Tyrion, Daenerys, Arya, Sansa, Jon Snow, Bran, and all the rest.”

GRRM's live journal:

So Sansa has clearly developed into an important character from GRRM’s words, and the key-characters argument can cease, because It’s very tiring to dispel that when the characters and story took on a life of its own. (I mean, Jaime was meant to remain a villain, but he was clearly given somewhat of a redemption arc in the main series).

I paraphrased what was written here for this whole section, so go check out the longer post!

The Aria in the original outline:

*NOTE: I am blacking out her actual names in case the wrong people find this post. None of this anti her, please keep that in mind.*

Five central characters will make it through all three volumes, [...] The five key players are Tyrion Lannister, D@enerys Targaryen, and three of the children of Winterfell, Aria, Bran, and the bastard Jon Snow.

Joffrey will not be sympathetic and Ned [what appears to say] will be accused of treason, but before he is taken he will help his wife and his daughter Aria escape back to Winterfell.

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

When Winterfell burns, Catelyn Stark will be forced to flee north with her son Bran and her daughter Aria. Wounded by Lannister riders, they will seek refuge at the Wall, but the men of the Night's Watch give up their families when they take the black, and Jon and Benjen will not be able to help, to Jon's anguish. It will lead to a bitter estrangement between Jon and Bran.

Aria will be more forgiving ... until she realises, with terror, that she has fallen in love with Jon, who is not only her half-brother but a man of the Night's Watch, sworn to celibacy. Their passion will continue to torment Jon and Aria throughout the trilogy, until the secret of Jon's true parentage is finally revealed in the last book.

Abandoned by the Night's Watch, Catelyn and her children will find their only hope of safety lies even further north, beyond the Wall, where they fall into the hands of Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall, and get a dreadful glimpse of the inhuman others as they attack the wilding encampment. Bran's magic, Aria's sword Needle, and the savagery of their direwolves will help them survive, but their mother Catelyn will die at the hands of the others.

Exiled, Tyrion will change sides, making common cause with the surviving Starks to bring his brother down, and falling helplessly in love with Aria Stark while he's at it. His passion is, alas, unreciprocated, but no less intense for that, and it will lead to a deadly rivalry between Tyrion and Jon Snow

Observations:

Exactly how old is Aria? Is she a warrior princess who cries at songs like her aunt? Does she enjoy/yearn for romance? Is she a stunningly beautiful maiden rivalling that of Cersei? How close were she and Jon? Did they have a good sibling relationship? Or were they distant? Does she look physically different to Jon? Does she have red hair?

The Sansa of the Original Outline:

‘Each of the contending families will learn it has a member of dubious loyalty in its midst. Sansa Stark, wed to Joffrey Baratheon, will bear him a son, the heir to the throne, and when the crunch comes she will choose her husband and child over her parents and siblings, a choice she will later bitterly rue.’

Tyrion Lannister, meanwhile, will befriend both Sansa and her sister Aria, while growing more and more disenchanted with his own family.

Jaime Lannister will follow Joffrey on the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, by the simple expedient of killing everyone ahead of him in the line of succession and blaming his brother Tyrion for the murders.

More observations:

How old is Sansa? Is she 16? 17? She’s conveyed as a less important character in this outline - why? Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? She dies? Jaime kills her? What is her relationship with Aria like? Are/were they close? Or was Sansa initially meant to be a two-tone villain who betrayed her family? Is she overwhelmingly beautiful? Or is she the plainer sister?

It’s quite clear that both ASOIAF Aria and ASOIAF Sansa are entirely different characters to their outlined counterparts.

In the outline, Tyrion sacks and burns Winterfell. In ASOIAF, It’s Theon and later Ramsay who does this. In the outline, it’s Bran, Aria, and Catelyn who go beyond the Wall. In ASOIAF, it’s Bran, Meera, and Jojen (and Hodor). There are a couple of other changes made here, but there seems a pattern where certain acts *still* occur in the main series, they’re just given to different characters (which makes sense, as GRRM grows organically with his characters.)

So, when we take into account the fact of ASOIAF Sansa being considered a main/key character, her marriage to Tyrion, and the possibility of her being the first to reunite with Jon - perhaps GRRM did keep a Stark x Snow romance - but gave it to a different sister.

In the 2016 Balticon report, GRRM stated he wished that ‘some past things didn’t have such strong foreshadowing and that newer things had stronger foreshadowing.’ You can make a case for J0nrya foreshadowing in the first book, but I’d argue that ACOK/ASOS is where the Jon/Sansa clues and foreshadowing is rife. (and there are certainly Jon/Sansa clues in the first book as well.)

Now to circle back. The Aria of this outline doesn’t have a personality - none of the characters do, really. We don’t know how old she is. Is she a teenager? Is she close in age to Jon? We know she has her needle, so can infer she is a fighter and spirited, but is there a soft romantic side to her? Does she cry at songs like her aunt Lyanna? Does she yearn for love? Is she immensely beautiful? For a narrative like this? It'd be likely if Jon and Tyrion are fighting to the death over her, sort of like gallant knights fighting each other to win the heart of a fair maiden (very romantic and idealistic, mirroring the songs and the stories).

(This is how I am certainly inferring such a scene would have gone).

The ASOIAF Aria we know and love took on a life of her own. She’s described as plain looking (some envision her to be more beautiful than characters like D@ny, Cersei, and Sansa though). - But just quickly on that matter, Aria is indeed compared to Lyanna in looks and spirit, though Lyanna’s beauty was described as wild and implied as non-conventional; different perspectives have different opinions on her. For example, Cersei, Jaime, Devan, the Maester who wrote the WOIAF don’t consider her anything special. Whereas Ned, Robert, and Rhaegar do. So it’s one of those instances where you aren’t exactly sure. In any case, Aria's looks aren't a driving factor in her arc, and I don’t see ASOIAF Tyrion (as creepy as he is) suddenly falling in love with her due to mere attraction because presently, Aria is all knobbly knees and elbows, stick thin, a child, not a maiden, who will still be a pre-teen at the end of the series, if there is no massive time jump.

SHE'S JUST A BABY.

But then, Tyrion did lust after Sansa, so there’s that… however ….

Sansa’s beauty is a driving force in her narrative arc. She is objectified for her beauty. Preyed upon because of her beauty; in many ways it causes her to suffer. It’s largely why LF is grossly infatuated with her - she’s beautiful like Catelyn. Tyrion is attracted to Sansa and wishes to bed her, the H0und intends to rape her during the Blackwater battle, he also comments on her breasts growing, Joffrey sexually humiliates her in court, Ser Dontos has a pervy infatuation with her, Cersei despises Sansa because she is younger, more beautiful etc which she views as a threat.

So, beauty is pertinent to Sansa’s narrative, and it isn’t vain or shallow to say so because it’s a large part as to why she suffers. And her physical beauty is meant to compliment her indulgence in romantic idealism; knights, chivalry, courtly love, beautiful appearances thus equating to good people. It also contributes to perceptions of Sansa; nothing more than a pretty, stupid girl with naive dreams.

So back to ASOIAF Aria: Her arc largely surrounds nature & nature, mercy, war trauma and survival, friendship, belonging, and family. For the majority of the story, she is a traumatised 10 year old travelling through a war torn country, witness to awful horrors, forced to assume multiple identities, until she goes to Braavos and begins her faceless man arc. But this is obviously not her endgame - she is going to go home eventually, that is quite clear.

You can argue she had a little crush on Gendry (as a 10 year old would) (and perhaps something may happen with him when she is older, I think GRRM has played with it.) But other than that, romance is not a central part of Aria's arc insofar. For outline Aria it was, but current ASOIAF Aria is on a completely different tangent all together.

(and that poor poor child is suffering immensely while this is all occurring). Currently, she has no time for/interest in it. She hasn’t been involved in betrothals/marriages, or had men lusting after her (save ‘Mercy’ and people men making brutalising sexual comments towards her). She disguises herself as a boy for a good chunk of the story as it is safer to travel.

No, I’m not trying to reduce any sexual trauma/objectification she suffers, she’s a little girl for heaven’s sake - I’m merely stating that what she is going through is in some ways similar and different to what Sansa is going through. (Who currently is in a in a very Lolita type situation with LF and men sexually intimidating/abusing her has been a key part of her arc - as I said, she suffers significantly due to her beauty. She is something to possess, she isn't real or tangible, she is a beautiful maid with a vast claim to the North.)

Anyway, ASOIAF Aria finds songs and romance ‘stupid.’

“Sansa would have shed a tear for true love, but Arya just thought it was stupid.” (Arya VIII ASOS)

(but that doesn’t mean she won’t encounter it later in life, it just means that at this point of the story, she isn’t interested/likely won't encounter some epic grand romance that outline Aria was likely destined for. (And she’s 11 for god’s sake!).

‘But Sansa was dreaming of love at that age!’

Sansa has been a romantic idealistic dreamer since she was a little girl. She adored those stories and is the literal embodiment of the mediaeval pre-raphaelite maiden depicted in art. It’s central to her story arc, to her qualities, and how she functions/copes with things around her. “Life is not a song.” Is so fundamental to that.

So to reiterate ASOIAF Aria is a completely different character to outline Aria- for all we know OG Aria was 15 years old, very beautiful to the point of men duelling over her, (just as depicted in art above) likely a romantic heroine, had consistent memory lapses that would cause her to “realise in terror, she had fallen for Jon,” and based off of GRRM’s past works - was probably a redhead.

“But OG Aria has a sword named needle!”

Indeed, but as I stated, we don’t know anything else about her beyond that. Many have theorised that D@ny and Jon are the epic romance of the series, but it’s clear from this particular outline that GRRM intended for it to be Aria and Jon as the epic major romance of the series. That would mean Aria would have to be a somewhat romantically-inclined character, for this development to appear natural and not forced. Based on her current ASOIAF arc, it doesn’t track for her character to make a sudden 180. Her softness and vulnerable moments come from thinking of her family and home. Insofar, this isn’t equated to yearning for love, romance, children, as Sansa has done from the beginning of the series.

Now, we know GRRM is a self-proclaimed romantic, and ASOIAF Sansa exists very much as a deconstruction of romanticism.

“He said he is a romantic, in the classical sense. He said the trouble with being a romantic is that from a very early age you keep having your face smashed into the harshness of reality. That things aren’t always fair, bad things happen to good people, etc. he said it’s a realistic world, so romantics are burned quite often. This theme of romantic idealism conflicting with harsh reality is something he finds very dramatic and compelling, and he weaves it into his work.” (2005 interview).

Sansa is arguably, the embodiment of this dismantling. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that love isn’t real, or that it doesn’t deserve to exist in a gritty world such as Westeros. There were many couples who had good, happy marriages, even after war and loss and trauma. For example, apart from the Jon Snow situation, Ned and Catelyn had a remarkably healthy relationship. So it is possible - the takeaway from the series is not that hoping is meaningless, dreams are meaningless, love is meaningless. More so that it is complicated, and it must coexist alongside all the chaos in order to achieve a sort of

equilibrium. A literal ‘Dream of Spring’ a hope for happiness, rather than happiness itself. It tracks with the bittersweet conclusion to the series ; it is a grimdark story, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be a grimdark ending where everyone good and noble dies and wishes/dreams/innate desires remain unfulfilled.

In fact, I argue that a lot of them will come true - but at what cost? It’ll be at the cost of loss and grief, of suffering upon suffering, but what’s inherently more powerful, what’s more subversive is having those characters persist and rebuild, regenerate, create a new world where love and chaos undoubtedly exist alongside each other, but just because there is chaos, that does not mean the love is miniscule or cancels out entirely.

Because if all these characters have the most unsatisfying, awful conclusions known to man, well - what was the point of everything? What was the point of their journeys? This isn’t a nihilistic story, and it won’t have a nihilistic ending like everyone assumes. It’s far more difficult for an author to craft such an ending, balancing things out whilst acknowledging all the loss and still holding out hope for a better future to come. That brighter days will arrive. That winter will end, and spring will be on the horizon.

“We may lose our heads, it’s true. But what if we prevail?” (Davos I ADWD).

And that right there, sums it up perfectly.

So you need characters like Sansa, characters like Brienne, D@ny, (you know what let’s just add all the Stark children of the series to the list, because every single character arc is about remaining resilient and prevailing in some way or another).

But it’s Sansa who exists as the meta character that embodies/indulges in all those romantic ideals that GRRM is intent on exploring - it thus makes perfect sense for it to be her that experiences the romance arc. Many people think she’ll end up with the H0und, or Harry the douchebag, because it’s a part of her growing up, maturing, learning from her negative biases etc etc but she shouldn’t have to be with abusive or douchy men to learn that. She’s already learned and suffered enough.

“It is my claim they want. No one will ever marry me for love.”

And how utterly heartbreaking that she has resigned to think this, with her arc only mid-way. But importantly, just a few chapters later she enters the garden of undisputed beauty and equates the snow landing on her face with romantic kisses, she dreams of innocence and winterfell, despite lamenting how she doesn’t belong in such a pure world, she steps out into it all the same. And she builds her home in the snow, content and for once - she’s the child she is, the child she is yearning to be.

So Sansa falling in love with Jon makes sense on a characteristic level. It’s something she never would have considered as a sheltered child, not just because he’s her bastard half brother but because he just didn’t exist in her idea of how the world works. He didn’t fit in with her idea of knights, and courtly love and chivalry. He wasn’t a gallant golden prince, he was dark, sulky and brooding. He existed on the parameters of her life, and she was comfortable with that distant association - but she still loved him, and he her.

Falling in love with Jon would equate to a dismantling of these previous prejudices she held; he’s utterly unconventional, the opposite of what she has shown attraction to (despite her first ‘love’ being Waymar Royce, who resembles Jon strikingly). The man she never really considered beyond courtesy and some scarce, fond memories - to be the one who restores her faith in men, in love, in dreams.

“Realising with terror that she has fallen in love with Jon… their passion will continue to torment them.”

tracks with Sansa’s characterisation particularly, her memory lapses, her clouded judgement, and inability to interpret things correctly (and something as confusing as this would certainly cause her to have some cognitive dissonance going on).

Not to mention caution around well… men. Because who would ever marry her for love? Who would ever take her for true? Love her without expectations and judgement? It’s Jon. Who has been there since the very beginning, who has been a silent unconscious hero, the answer to her prayers, who embodies all those romantic and knightly ideals she has so desperately wanted - despite her being unaware. Who has advocated for her claim - above everyone else.

“No one will ever marry me for love.” And that infamous Jon chapter follows. Jon who is never quite far from Sansa’s suitors. Jon, who has a similar dream of rebuilding Winterfell, of having children named after lost siblings, who wants to woo a girl by giving her a rose and loving beneath the heart tree - the heart of Winterfell. Who would undeniably want to have that beautiful soul-nourishing love he never received as a child, that he believes is perpetually unavailable to him.

Above all, they just fit together. It fits with GRRM’s William Faulkner-esque “the human heart in conflict with itself".” And this is a perfectly subversive way of encapsulating that Jon confusing brotherly love and affection with romance, struggling with the shame of it all - especially post-resurrection, the religious disillusionment that would occur, the notion of Jon being loved by the kind of girl he believed he never had the right to, who his deeply romantic heart is yearned for. (There is a reason GRRM let us know how badly Jon yearns for domesticity, Winterfell love, children, and a wife. He associates his love for Ygritte with her singing, her hair, her smile. He dreams of her tending to him with gentle hands) The simple yet meaningful things that have been denied to him because of his bastardry. And god, what better way to torment these two than by having them fall for each other - realising they fit each other so perfectly, yet tormented by their familial relation. Until, as the outline puts, the parentage is revealed.

Do I believe they will act on their feelings pre-parentage reveal? No. It’ll likely exist in the subtext, in private thoughts and actions. Angst, guilt. Again, the stuff that GRRM loves - the human heart is in conflict with itself.

Much like Lord Byron’s ‘The Bride of Abydos.” Where half-siblings fall in love with each other until they realise they are actually cousins. Lord Byron, who was famously in love with his half sister Augusta, who was a stranger to him for a good portion of his life until they properly got to know each other and fell in love. (Who does that sound like?’)

And if you’re wondering how Jon and Sansa could possibly connect to Lord Byron, well there is a ‘Byron the Beautiful’ in Alayne II AFFC, and Alayne I TWOW. GRRM has further instilled characters by the name of “Manfred” which is in reference to Lord Byron’s infamous work of the same name. (I urge you to check out all of Cappy's Byron metas, they are fantastic.

And, Jon has been called a “Brooding, Byronic, romantic heroine whom all the girls love.” GRRM knows what Byronic is inferring - he isn’t daft, he’s a writer - he reads other works and takes influence and sprinkles in so many things.

A Byronic character involves:

. . romantic melancholy, guilt for secret sin, pride, defiance, restlessness, alienation, revenge, remorse, moodiness, and such noble virtues as honor, altruism, courage, and pure love for a gentle woman. (Poetry Foundation, Lord Byron)

“GRRM: I was always intensely Romantic, even when I was too young to understand what that meant. But Romanticism has its dark side, as any Romantic soon discovers… which is where the melancholy comes in, I suppose. I don’t know if this is a matter of artistic influences so much as it is of temperament. But there’s always been something in the twilight that moves me, and a sunset speaks to me in a way that no sunrise ever has.”

Infinity plus:

And isn’t that exactly what he would be exploring with Jon and Sansa? It isn’t a conventional romance by any means. It could never exist normally until Jon’s parentage is revealed. And that is the tormented nature of it, that is the “bittersweetness” of it - it is rooted in realism, yes - and that to me, is Sansa receiving her true love, countering that no one would ever marry her for love. The gods will grant it to her, - but it’s wrapped up in this darker, morally ambiguous thing that is confusing for her, even though Jon would be her dream come true - he isn’t this neat little courtly golden package, but he embodies all those ideals more than any man she’s actually met.

It’s subversive to what both the characters and the readers expect, and it’s just a brilliant plot twist that screams unpredictability whilst fitting together like a perfect puzzle. It creates internal conflict and evokes those themes that GRRM loves to explore. By giving the ‘heroes’ of the series a motif such as incest is extremely bold; because it challenges the reader greatly. Some people don’t want Jon to end up with Sansa because it contradicts the image that they have of him in his head - the heroic male who will save the world with his heroic counterpart and together they shall rule the seven kingdoms. To embrace his father’s family, claim a dragon, fulfil the prophecy, be the third head of the dragon, reject his stark-ness. Very predictable. Done to death a thousand times over, and yet - it is what the general audience wants/expects. It’s what the dudebros who call him the ‘GOAT’ want, it’s what the Targ stans want, it’s what the show watchers wanted - but what does Jon want?

“Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved.” (Jon II ASOS).

“I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

"He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.” (Jon XII ASOS).

“Red eyes, Jon realised, but not like Melisandre's. He had a weirwood's eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.”

He had his answer then." (Jon XII ASOS)

“He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered.” (Jon VI ASOS)

“Ygritte answered for him. "His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark's blood, of Winterfell." (Jon VIII ACOK)

"Then you must do what needs be done," Qhorin Halfhand said. "You are the blood of Winterfell and a man of the Night's Watch." (Jon VI ASOS).

“You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born, he heard Robb say again. And the stone kings were growling at him with granite tongues. You do not belong here. This is not your place. When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said . . . but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman's hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.” (Jon XII ASOS)

“He sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands. Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father's heir.” (Jon XII ASOS).

“If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.” (Jon V ASOS).

“If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.” (Jon IX AGOT).

Look, at the end of the day - we don't know how the story will go, but based off of Jon’s character arc? His thoughts? His actions? His relationships with his siblings? The fact that he has warged into a magical beast directly associated with Starks? The North? The Old Gods? The weir wood trees? I think that instead of GRRM having Jon go down the conventional disadvantaged male hero finding out he is a secret prince and thus becoming King and a proper Targ, GRRM will subvert expectations (much to audience displeasure) and do the opposite.

Learning of his true identity will just cause more angst and a major identity crisis. The one thing Jon finds real and solid, that no one can take from him - is that he is Ned Stark’s son. He raised him. Perhaps they don’t share a direct blood link. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that he was raised by him, loved by him. So instead of choosing his father’s family; embracing the secret prince persona and fighting for the throne - he’ll choose his mother’s family. And I think that is beautifully conclusive.

But back to Jon and Sansa. GRRM is given the opportunity to explore the sort of impact this incest motif has on fundamentally good people. And I think this is what he originally intended to do with Jon and Aria.

Yes, we have Jaime and Cersei, but this is real sibling incest and rife with toxic narcissism, possession etc. We have the T@rgaryens, which are messy beyond belief and practice it due to blood purity.

But Jon and Sansa clearly differ from the rest, and that is because they exist partly as foils as to what we previously have seen. Similar to Jonnel x Sansa. By intentionally refraining from the development of a properly-close sibling relationship, making Jon and Sansa fundamental opposites visually, and associating them with entirely different cultures (yet writing their core personas as the same, their dreams compatible, their thought process and idealism similar).

GRRM manages to pave the way into such a romance that comes as a shock to the characters, the narrative, and readers themselves. Because no one, absolutely no one would see it coming, and the people who have been privy to the theory - immediately dismiss it - and become quite angry when it is brought up. Like I said earlier, a knee-jerk reaction.

To quote this brilliant meta right here:

‘Whether Jon and Sansa fall in love is up to the author and his intended exploration of literary/mythic themes that his predecessors have deployed. He is not writing from (or for) the moral values of show watchers and book readers, or their anecdotal hopes for how things “should be.” He’s writing a narrative that breaks away from conventional storytelling and what we expect from such characters.’

…

‘ I don’t believe the author is giving up completely on the romantic dream. He has made Sansa more cautious, converted her dreams into mere prayers, and has forced her to examine her assumptions, but he’s not turning her into the H0und, who is too pessimistic and fatalistic as a suitor. Sandor’s assertion that all knights are killers makes fantasy so small, it’s eliminated. I think he is setting Sansa on a path where her dreams do die, and her life becomes about as romantic as that smokestack in Cleveland - until they start to come alive again when she travels North to the Wall.’

'That cold, hard reality is still present in the fact that they are brother and sister, but once Jon’s parentage is revealed, this will change. Like an inverted Cinderella (clock striking 12), the reality will become fantasy again. But it’s still inladen with this bitter reality of their relations. So taking this into account, I believe Jon and Sansa could happen because there is no other couple in the series with which GRRM can explore his fascination with fantasy becoming “smaller,” but not completely shrinking altogether. There are no two better characters who represent these ideas, who have the same quietly domestic desires - who do not (at the moment) actively lust for power and cause it to blind them.'

So in essence, Jon and Sansa exist as the subversion of romance. In a twisted, loving sort of way that is morally conflicting to the characters and audiences (for a time). That has existed between the lines, subtly and implicitly. That the audience gives absolutely no thought, because why would they? And if they do, they are abhorred by it - but I’d argue this is the entire point. But not for the reasons you think, not because of the incest - or J0nerys would disgust them.

From the moment he started the series, GRRM has employed incest as a major motif that impacts both the narrative and the characters - the causes the war, that contributes to T@rgaryen values, legacy etc, that propels aspects of narcissism and vitriol for characters like Cersei. It’s really really interesting stuff, as uncomfortable as it is - there are no other works that explore it so messily and beautifully with such nuance.

I believe people seriously underestimate GRRM’s use of omission and subtext. Seriously, just because something is not explicitly stated, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Unfortunately fans have such a surface level reading of the text, that they are unable to peel back the layers and get to its core. They don’t consider literary influences, or art, or the Romantic movement or anything. They claim they want a complex story that is subversive, yet they cheer for the three-headed dragon theory and all the most predictable plot points that have been absolutely done to death. But then they turn up their noses at anything that goes against the grain, or insinuates otherwise.

R + L = J is a great example of existence within the subtext, yet nobody denies that it is there. No one is called crazy or delusional for it. Ned never thinks of Jon’s true parentage despite harbouring that secret for years, because it is buried deep in his subconscious.

And much to the audience’s surprise (and dismay I'm sure) that is how Jon and Sansa will manifest. This is the human heart in conflict with Jon and Sansa, but not just them - the readers as well. It’s pointing to us, asking us how we’ll possibly handle it. We’re meant to feel this conflict of emotions - anguish and torment and yet hope for something ineffable - just like the characters.

To be able to evoke that as a writer is one of the most impressive feats I can think of - and for the majority of it to exist at this point, in a subconscious limbo? How utterly complex and painful and raw and intelligent but oh so very brilliant. Perhaps one of the most compelling things to come out of this entire series, if only the general audience was open to such discussions. But alas, we must contend with the community we have, and hope for a dream of spring to come upon us.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #meta #anti asoiaf fandom #jonsa meta #long post #lord byron #incest motif #original outline #literary subversion #sansa stark #jon snow

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jedi-hawkins · 1 month

Text

Shockpack

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: This is an edit/repost of the original I made a while back.

Warnings: WHUMP, Cardiac arrest, CPR, AED usage, broken ribs, medical terminology, Crosshair is a bit of a bitch

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Disclaimer: Though this is fairly accurate to the correct process of CPR, please do not use this as educational material or attempt to perform CPR if you have not been trained how to do it. In an emergency always call 911 (US) or the appropriate number for your country/region.

While on standby for their next mission, some drastic measures may start leading to a new connection.

"Hunter, that needs to be more to the left."

Hunter brings his head back out of the engineering bay he and Tech are working on. Both brothers have removed their upper armor to make it easier to reach into the tight spots. "Tech, why did you ask for my help if you're just going to correct everything I do?"

"Because, I need an extra set of hands, Hunter. The General is busy working and you sent Crosshair and Wrecker out for supplies."

Bryn chuckles at the two arguing brothers before turning back to the holomap in front of her.

"Well if you keep telling me what to do, then you'll have to grow the extra set of hands yourself." Hunter snaps back.

Tech sighs. "I'm just saying, if that component is not at the optimal angle, then it may not remain stable-"

"It's attached to the ship, Tech. What's next?"

Footsteps signal the return of Crosshair and Wrecker, the latter sets down two large crates as his brother hefts two packs from his shoulders.

"The med supplies are in here, General." Wrecker says, pointing to one of the large crates.

Bryn smiles, "Thanks, Wrecker. You guys get everything else?"

"Apparently ration packs for this sector are in short supply, so bars will have to do." Crosshair says. "Much to Wrecker's disappointment."

His brother grumbles in response as a few metal clanks and choice curses from Hunter float over from the side of the Marauder.

"That sounds fun." Crosshair says, placing a toothpick in his mouth.

Bryn rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I think Hunter is getting close to strangling Tech with one of the exhaust hoses."

Wrecker chuckles. "Heh, there's the quick way and the Tech way."

"What's the word?" Crosshair asks.

Bryn shrugs, "Command sent high praises for our work in our first month on active duty, but nothing on a new assignment. They'll let us know where they want us soon."

Wrecker looks over Bryn's shoulder. "Whatcha working on?"

"Well I'm supposed to be finishing the mission report for our work on Lutrilla, but instead I'm working on this for Obi-wan." Bryn replies.

"General Kenobi?" Crosshair's interest is piqued and he moves to stand on Bryn's other side.

"Yeah, long time friend of mine." Bryn mumbles. "He's currently stationed on Ques and the terrain is giving them some trouble in clearing out the Separatists. I'm trying to see if I can come up with something to help."

The sniper's lip curls, "Do that a lot? Help Kenobi?"

Bryn hums, turning the map. "We help each other. We came up together in the Order, he's a good man, and a better leader."

"High praises coming from you, I'm sure." Crosshair says, though not without a hint of sarcasm.

"What's their issue with the terrain?" Wrecker says, standing on the other side of the table.

Bryn points to a section on the map. "The Seppies have taken this canyon as their central point of operation. Their base is halfway between the north and south entrances and they have battalions on the high ground posted along both the east and west rims. It's basically impossible to get down to their base. What do you two think?"

Wrecker brings his hand to his chin in thought. "Ques you said? That system has a network of catacombs going through its ridges. They were drainage and aqueducts for some ancient civilization there, pretty much abandoned now. It'd be a risk, but if they could find a way to get into the tunnels outside of the Seppie's sights, a few carefully placed detonations, and they should be able to blow straight through the canyon wall right outside the main base."

"That could work." Crosshair agrees. "If they make enough noise when they storm the base, they could draw the forces off the rims and into the canyon, making way for a second wave of Republic air support to claim the high ground."

Bryn smiles at her teammates, "That sounds perfect. Obi-wan has the special forces that could handle the catacombs and the numbers to take the ridges. Where did you hear about those tunnels, Wrecker?"

He just shrugs. "I was reading up on the history of some antique weapon classes and came across some records about them."

Before anyone can say anything else, a large bang comes from the Marauder. Bryn, Wrecker and Crosshair run over to see Hunter is lying on his back, eyes closed, and Tech is shaking his brother's arm.

"Tech what happened!?" Bryn shouts, sliding to a stop on her knees at Hunter's shoulder.

"I-I don't know General. I told him that component could become unstable at the wrong angle."

Her gaze follows Tech's finger that's pointing to a small metal part lying a few feet away from Hunter.

Bryn's eyes widen and she elbows Tech out of the way, nearly causing him to fall over. "Move." She leans her cheek close to Hunter's face and places two fingers on his neck.

"It happened so quickly, but I think it hit him. At first he seemed okay, but then he just collapsed." Tech stammers out.

Wrecker's brow furrows as he watches the Jedi move to her hands and knees, locking her fingers together and positioning the heel of her hand over Hunter's sternum. "What are you-"

"Hunter's heart isn't beating. Shockpack in the med bay. Bright orange. Go." Bryn says.

Wrecker disappears as Bryn starts leaning all her weight onto her Sergeant's chest in rhythm. Crosshair can hear her muttering under her breath.

"fifteen... sixteen... seventeen..."

Wrecker returns with the case and sets it down at Hunter's side opposite Bryn. "Now what?" he asks.

Bryn stops pressing on Hunter's chest and pulls a vibroblade from its sheath on her thigh, sliding it through the front of the Sergeant's upper blacks. She immediately goes back to thrusting her hands into Hunter's chest. "Open the case. Put the pads on his chest like the picture and turn it on. Work around me." She says, her breath starting to become labored.

All the brothers freeze when Bryn suddenly leans down and presses her lips to Hunter's. The General is kissing their ori’vod.

After a couple seconds Bryn straightens back up and goes back to pushing into Hunter's chest. When she notices the squad frozen around her she barks at them, "I gave you an order!"

Her voice shakes Crosshair and Wrecker form their daze and they quickly work together to follow her instructions. They peel the backing off the sticky shock pads and press them to Hunter's chest. Wrecker presses the green 'on' button and a smooth voice comes from the shock pack.

'Device on. Pads attached. Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient.'

Bryn stops her movements and holds her arms out to keep the brothers back.

'Shock advised.'

'Do not touch the patient. Deliver shock.'

Bryn reaches across Hunter and presses a big flashing button on the shockpack and Hunter's body jolts with electricity.

'Continue Compressions.'

Bryn immediately jumps back to Hunter's chest, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. "Come on, Hunter. Come on." She mutters under her breath.

A few sickening cracks come from the Sergeant's chest and Tech adjusts his goggles. "It appears you have broken his ribs."

Crosshair balls up his fists. "She just broke his what?"

Tech peers over her shoulder. "Are you sure-"

"Of course. I'm sure." Bryn snaps as she continues pressing on Hunter's chest.

Crosshair reaches out and wraps his hand around one of her wrists, trying to stop her motions. "Do you really think I'm going to let you keep doing that?"

"Crosshair, please." She huffs, continuing against his tightening grip.

"How do we know you actually know what the hell you're doing-"

"How dare you. I'm trying to save him. You have to trust me." Her eyes flash with fire, making him release her.

She leans down and presses her lips to Hunter's again. The brothers look on helplessly as their General returns to compressing Hunter's chest.

After a mother minute, the eerily calm voice speaks from the shockpack again.

‘Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient.’

Bryn holds her arms out over Hunter, waiting for the device.

'Shock advised.'

'Do not touch the patient. Deliver shock.'

This time, Tech reaches down and presses the flashing button on the orange device and Hunter's body jolts once more.

'Continue Compressions.'

Strands of hair fall into her face as Bryn braces against Hunter again. After she presses her lips to his once more she starts muttering under her breath.

"Come on Hunter. Breathe. Come back." Bryn feels a pull in the Force and she reaches out for it, pushing it through her palms into her Sergeant.

A tear falls from her face and hits Hunter's cheek. Suddenly, he takes a gasping breath, his eyes flying open. His brothers immediately lurch forward to be closer as Bryn takes her hands off him and leans back on her heels.

Hunter's eyes move frantically around him to get oriented. "Wh-what?"

He tries to sit up but Bryn presses a gentle hand to his shoulder to keep him laying flat. She shushes him gently, "It's okay, you're okay. Just lay still for a second."

Hunter blinks. "What happened?"

Bryn gives him a weak smile. "Your heart stopped."

"That component that you fitted blew off the ship and struck you." Tech remarks. "What I don't understand is how it caused this."

Bryn strokes a few strands of Hunter's hair. She responds without moving her eyes from him. "Commotio cordis. When an object hits someone in the chest in just the right spot at just the right time in their heartbeat, it causes the heart to stop."

Wrecker's eyes widen. "That can happen?"

"It's rare, but yes." Bryn nods as she peels the shock pack pads off of Hunter.

"Oh so that’s what our chest plates are for." He says sarcastically.

A laugh escapes Bryn as she shakes her head. Hunter tries to sit up again but groans in pain and lays back down.

"I get my heart stopped, but it's working now. Does someone want to tell me why my chest hurts so bad?" He moans.

"The General broke your ribs." Tech says simply.

Hunter looks back at Bryn who gives him an apologetic face. "Broken ribs or death. Those were your options." She simply replies. "Bacta patches should be on the ship. Do you think you can get up or do you want us to bring one to you?"

Hunter shakes his head. "No, I'm good. I can get up."

Bryn offers Hunter her hand and supports his back with the other as he gingerly sits up. Another groan passes his lips as he stands with additional help from Tech. The perma-bunk in the Marauder's med bay creaks slightly as Bryn and Tech sit him down on it, leaning him back on pillows.

"I'll leave you to it, General." Tech says.

As the door slides closed behind him, Bryn moves over to the med cabinet and pulls out the bin of bacta patches. After fishing out the correct size, she turns around to Hunter who's watching her intently.

The bunk creaks again as Bryn sits down on its edge. She peels the backing off the patch and gently presses it over the center of Hunter's chest where she felt his ribs break. Hunter hisses at the pressure.

"I know, I'm sorry." Bryn says, tossing the patch wrapper in the trash bin.

Hunter shakes his head. "Don't apologize. You saved my life."

Bryn gives him a smile as she reaches over to grab some trauma scissors off the counter. "These blacks are spent, I'm assuming you don't want them?" She says, gesturing to his cut upper blacks, revealing the continuation of his skull tattoo.

He laughs, "I don't know. This could be my new look."

Bryn rolls her eyes again as she cuts up each sleeve, allowing the fabric to fall from Hunter's figure. He leans forward with a grimace to allow Bryn to pull the shirt out from behind him.

"You're going to need to rest for a bit before you're back on your feet. With the bacta, a couple hours should be enough." Bryn says, standing up from the bunk. "Here, I can take your armor off to make you more comfortable."

Hunter nods his consent and Bryn gently slides his feet out of his boots and undoes the fastenings on his lower armor pieces, shifting him gently to remove them. In just his lower blacks, he settles into the medbunk, looking much more content. Bryn turns to leave the med bay, but Hunter grasps her wrist.

"Stay?" He asks, pleading with wide eyes.

His demeanor shocks Bryn for a moment, but the look on Hunter's face draws her back to the medbunk. Slowly, she sits back down on the bunk and scoots in next to Hunter. He turns his body to curl into her and rests his head on her chest, breathing in her sweet woody scent.

Bryn can feel his energy swirling, it's tense, jittery. "It's okay." She mutters.

"I've never heard of anything like that happening before."

Although Hunter put up a front of strength for his brothers, it is quickly slipping in Bryn's calming presence. She bites her lip as the miniscule tremble in Hunter's voice reminds her how little of the galaxy the clones have seen.

Bryn's arm wraps around his back. "I know that was scary."

It's barely noticeable when Hunter nods his head. "Different from battle. If you hadn't..."

She gently shushes him. "I've got you, just rest."

Hunter's breathing slows into little puffs of air as Bryn absentmindedly plays with his soft curls. He stirs for a second and mumbles something she can't quite hear.

"What was that?" She asks.

Hunter lets out a little huff of air. "Tech is never going to let this go."

Bryn laughs lightly, and rests her chin on the top of his head. "Next time, I'll work on the ship with Tech."

The door to the medbay whooshes closed behind Bryn as she steps into the Marauder's hallway and straight into an armored figure.

"Wha- Crosshair." She says.

The sniper's lip curls at her. "Break anything else?"

Bryn shakes her head. "He just got to sleep, can we at least do this outside?"

Crosshair looks her up and down and turns to leave the Marauder without another word. Sighing, Bryn follows after.

Their boots crunch in the dirt as Crosshair stomps down a trail towards the nearby river. When he reaches the banks, he turns around to face the Jedi behind him. Bryn stands with her arms crossed. "Well, go ahead."

"Go ahead with what?" Crosshair sneers.

Bryn drops her arms, resting a hand on her belt. "You obviously have some choice words you want to say to me. I thought we were past this, Crosshair."

His temple twitches as he clenches his jaw. "We're taught to keep our opinions about superiors to ourselves." he spits out as if the words are poison.

Bryn's eyebrow twitches in amusement. "Well then, if that's how you want to do it." She shakes her head and straightens her posture to full attention. "I, Jedi Master Bryn-ayla del Caro, member of the Jedi High Council and General of the Galactic Army of the Republic, permit you, Clone Commando CT-9904, designation Crosshair, to speak freely without risk of penalty or court martial for misconduct or insubordination." She finishes in a mocking tone.

This just makes Crosshair roll his eyes as he starts stomping back and forth along the river bank. "Do you have to make a joke or positive spin out of everything?"

Bryn smirks. "Like you don't always have a remark? You're throwing stones from a glass house."

"Aurgh!" He growls out. "You're infuriating. Look at you, high and mighty Jedi Master, nothing can touch you, the galaxy is at your feet. And my brothers! My brothers falling in love with you instantly, I'm not so easily turned..."

Bryn takes a breath. "Crosshair... I've really been trying with you. I'm not forcing myself into your space, I'm giving you time to get used to me, letting you process. You're like a karking tooka, one day I think you're warming up to me, the next you can't stand the sight of me. What, do I need to leave out a saucer of blue milk for you?"

The sniper's eyes are nearly glowing. "I am not some mindless animal for you to wrangle-"

"Of course not." Bryn cuts him off. "You're human, with thoughts and emotions all your own. It's not my job to wrangle you. My job is to protect you. You think I'm untouchable? I envy you, Crosshair. Your brothers are still alive, you got to grow up with them, know them for who they are. The closest thing I've had to a family is the Order and even then, they're not the most understanding bunch. The four brothers I had were taken before I got a chance to see who they had become. But I see you, Crosshair."

His feet come to a stop under her gaze and he gets that feeling again, that she's looking through him.

"You are so full of emotion, though you try to hide it." Bryn says, her voice calm. "The love you have for your brothers, the anger at the other clones for shunning you. Your worry that you won't be able to protect them. I haven't delved into your mind out of respect for your privacy, but I do get waves of what's overflowing from you. Your frustration with me. You've been treating me like I'm going to treat you as the rest of the galaxy has, but you're realizing that I'm different. That scares you, and you're resisting. You're resisting your desire to drop the act and accept me."

Crosshair's shoulders drop as he finally lets some tension go. Bryn can see the words turning over in his head. What she said was true, they both know it. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Bryn is knocked over by an unseen force.

Blinking from the impact with the ground, she sees Crosshair, draped in a heavy net, same as what hit her. He stops struggling against the net as his eyes set on something behind her.

"Well, well. What do we have here?” A voice sneers, dirt crunching under boots. “A trooper, and a Jedi. That should get us a nice score."

Another voice snickers. "Hondo will be pleased."

Bryn starts to retort, but the nets pinning her and Crosshair to the ground light with electricity, searing through their bodies before their vision goes black.

A/N: As I was doing the final formatting to post this chapter I was thinking. Why wouldn't the Batch know how to do CPR since they are trained in basic field medicine? I mean you could say the Kaminoans didn't think it was necessary training for them since they're not GAR Medics, or that the Clones are engineered to not have heart defects and their armor protects them, or their chest plates have AEDs inside them to detect a cardiac arrest and shock them automatically (because CPR doesn't really revive someone in cardiac arrest, an AED does. CPR just keeps the blood/oxygen circulating through their body long enough for the shock to work). But the longer I thought about it... It likely just wasn't taught because there were so many clones in the GAR, if one dropped from Cardiac Arrest, they'd just call it a KIA fatality or a 'defective' and move on, which then gave me the sads (wow what a surprise, an author giving themselves the sads with something they are wholly responsible for writing). The clones deserved so much better.

Taglist:

@callsign-denmark @arctrooper69 @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @photogirl894

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair #the clone wars #tbb hunter #bad batch #jedi oc #my oc #bryn-ayla del caro #star wars ocs #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #sw tcw #sw tcw fanfic #tcw #sw clone wars

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perpetualexistence · 8 months

Text

Sea Monster AU: Chrefxposition

So, on the one hand, this part is a few days later than originally promised. On the other hand, it's twice as long. I could have arguably made this into two parts, but I've got no energy left to figure out where exactly it should be split. Turns out decent exposition can take a while!

In the eventual fanfic proper I'll be sure to spread/foreshadow some of this exposition earlier. With me writing as I'm going it with only an outline for certain events, the foreshadowing is going to be a bit splotchy, but I'll try my best.

Without further ado, time to watch Noah go darker yet darker still!

Content warnings: Mentions of eating people, death, blood, Alejandro being a manipulative bastard

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For the rest of spring break, Alejandro insists on hunting more than usual to build up an underwater cache for later. Noah has to work on overdrive to find enough ships to keep Alejandro happy. He goes to different parts of the lake in order to spread out the location of where the disappearances are happening. Also to keep them as far away from his hometown as possible. He knows this many disappearances so close to one another are going to draw attention from other humans. He doesn't comment on it for two reasons. One, because he'd rather not test Alejandro again even if the concern is practical and legitimate. And two, he wants the disappearances to get attention. He's got to figure out who's smart enough to notice, and vocal enough to try to do something about it.

Noah starts intentionally hanging out by the docks more. He knows it's safe because Alejandro never dares to get that close to civilization. Sailors will sometimes have odd jobs when they need an extra hand on deck or someone to help with loading/unloading. Since everyone knows everyone to some extent in his town, the Mudaliars have a reputation for picking up odd jobs in order to help pay off their debts. Noah's never done it before since he's had his poetry to provide income. But at the very least, it means he can have an excuse for why he's there. It also gives him an excuse for talking with sailors to see what their thoughts are on sea monsters. He doesn't bring up the disappearances himself, because that's inviting trouble. Instead, he lets sailors do what they like to do best: talk.

That's how he finds Chef, a loud ex-marine who found himself kicked from the marines and now works as a sailor taking odd jobs transporting things across the lake. Chef shares that the real reason he got booted out is because he started noticing a bunch of disappearances with other marines. He started hearing tales of beasts and went to go investigate it himself. Sure enough, it was a giant monster making easy pickings of his brothers in arms. His husband knew more about taking those slimy bastards down, so he went to him for help. Eventually they did win, but he lost men doing it, and the beast sunk to the bottom of the ocean, getting rid of their proof. He was tossed out for 'recklessly endangering lives'. (He sacrificed far more men than he truly needed to as a distraction, and didn't even let them know that was going to happen.)Now he's seeing all these disappearances happening and his gut is telling him this is happening again. He doesn't have the same firepower as before, but he and his husband are still preparing.

Noah's now very curious about this husband of his if he's the one who knew more about sea monsters. Chef immediately gets suspicious and wants to know why he cares so much about this. Noah hates having to give up information, but he knows if he's to get anywhere, he's going to have to. He says that he knows for a fact he saw something like a sea monster in the distance. He's just been keeping quiet because he doesn't know who would believe him. Which isn't technically a lie. It just doesn't reveal how much else he knows. It also won't really give Chef any new information since by the sound of it he was already going to prepare regardless of if he got any confirmation from someone else. It's enough to get Chef decide to take him in on his and Chris' monster hunting crusade.

Chris's family are among the humans that believe/know sea beasts exist and make it their job to hunt them, his most notable one being his cousin Jerd.

Chris though? Nah, he doesn't give a shit about hunting. He just cares about fame and fortune. He stole a random ass book that was supposed to have rituals to give him just that and booked it. The pouch around his neck is a result of that in that it's supposed to give him good luck. Someone else in the family made it for him as a rite of passage in being ready to join the family business.

He's pretty shitty at magic because he doesn't want to put in the time and effort to learn, he just wants the results. And this is why he'll forever be shitty at magic. Magic is about intertwining sentience with nature. For that, you need two things: Desire and Effort. The desire has to be focused, and it has to be what a person actually desires. If a person thinks they want one thing, but deep down they really want something else? The magic's either going to act based on the true desire or be fucked up as a result. That's the sentience part.

The nature part is effort. You can't get something for nothing. If you try, someone or something still ends up suffering along the line. There's balance in the ecosystem of the sea, even for those who are at the top of the food chain. It might not be fair to those on the bottom, but it is what it is. Whether you take time and effort in learning runes, or gathering ingredients, the point is that it's your work in a way that you truly know is giving it your all.

Chris has definitely got the desire, and it's why he was able to become famous thanks to his magic pouch. However, he wasn't willing to put any work into actually maintaining the pouch's components so his luck ran out. He keeps it mostly for sentimental reasons at this point. He can't really go back to his family because he stole the book, aka a family heirloom that he knows damn well is dangerous when it's in the wrong hands. (Little does he know his family would have been okay with him leaving the family business. Their problem was with how he did it, which is no one's fault but his own.) He doesn't even know how to read the damn thing because he never paid too much attention to his parents trying to teach him how. All he does know is that it's very powerful, has a mind of its own, and hates Chris because it loves to try to snap closed on him.

So now he's a washed up TV host stuck in this dingy little town. The only person who's still standing beside him is Chef. He runs a stupid little pawn shop in this tourist trap of a town to try to sell fake crap, plus some of his tv host memorabilia. He's trying to find a way out of this mess until what does he see? Evidence that there's a sea monster lurking about.

Chris realizes he could just expose sea monsters to get fame that way. Completely ignoring everything that his parents ever told him that it'd be a terrible idea. Sea monsters would have no reason to hide if they were public knowledge, so their fatality rate would grow exponentially. Still, that's not his problem, and his good luck will ensure that he and his husband will turn out alright.

Chris doesn't quite care for including this walking twig into this situation at first when Chef introduces the two. As far as he's concerned, Noah provides nothing and is a walking liability. Up until Noah reveals that he's able to hack.

His family has a whole library worth of information about sea monsters. In order to try to expand their reach in where they can defend against sea monsters, they've taken to digitizing the library. Thanks to Chris's less than stellar exit, he's been locked out of that information. But he knows how to find it, and Noah seems like he'll be perfect for actually getting in. And hey, the kid's volunteering to do all the boring research? All the better! Chris will focus on strategizing and seeing what this dumb book will do for him. Not that he tells or shows Noah the book. He's lazy, but he's not that dumb to let someone else touch that thing.

This is how Noah starts learning things about merfolk. Turns out they've been around for quite a long time. It turns out merfolk aren't naturally as big as Alejandro. They use magic to make themselves that big. Due to the amount of effort and food to maintain their size, they can't use any other kind of magic when large. Thanks to generations of not using any other kind of magic, they lost the ability to use magic to do anything except change their size over time. That's how they gained their own separate classification as sea monsters. The only exception to size magic they have is using lake/ocean currents to travel. It takes a lot of magic depending on the distance traveled.

Their first meeting is making a lot more sense to Noah.

It also presents an interesting idea. Maybe he doesn't have to kill Alejandro. Maybe he could just stop him from ever growing again.

He knows he should kill Alejandro. He'd never settle for being kept vulnerable for the rest of his life. Noah would have to become his keeper. He'd never get rid of him. And yet. Despite all the murder he's witnessed, helped with, and at least slightly enjoyed, he still hasn't taken a life himself. He really wants to believe he has standards. Killing Alejandro would cross one of those.

It doesn't help that despite how dangerous Alejandro is, and how clearly he's pushing the limits of their deal, Alejandro actually does listen to Noah. He hasn't knowingly gone after innocents. He hasn't physically hurt Noah.

If anything, Alejandro has been gentle. He'll snatch him up when faking his death for a crowd, but he never squeezed and always checked to make sure he was okay afterwards, even when he was trying not to make it too obvious. Alejandro had a horrible habit of messing with his hair yet despite his claws Noah never had a scratch on him. He'd put Noah on his shoulder to go for a swim without getting him wet.

To let him look down at the destruction he helped caused against people who spit and cursed at Noah. To help him feel above others and his actions. To somehow spoil him rotten with attention to practically beg for a reaction. Noah's dark humor as he watched bastards die was to cope, the smirk that grew on his face a coincidence. He felt nothing to hear Alejandro laugh as if they were just sharing a regular meal.

Alejandro had also caressed his throat with a claw the first chance he had power. He had felt a vice like grip when he dared to argue back. So long as Alejandro is huge, Noah is going to be relying on Alejandro's mercy. As recent events have shown, that can be a finite resource.

He'll just do more research to see if his idea is even a workable one. He'll figure what to do next after that.

Researching more about magic led to him learning about a new faction: sea witches. They were merfolk who were able to use magic for means aside from simply changing sizes. They made potions, used rituals, spoke chants. Their powers came primarily from the deals they made with others. There were rumors that deals like these could make magic accessible even to humans. Other rumors said that humans could learn to use magic independently.

Sea witches and sea monsters are naturally at odds with one another. One needs people to make deals, the other needs people to eat. Or at least, to stay as big as they do for as long as they do. Turns out sea monsters can in fact survive without eating humans. It's just that humans keep them bigger for longer. Figures that Alejandro would lie about having to eat people out of necessity.

As a result, sea witches did create defenses against sea monsters. Including spells that would strip them of their magic and force them into their smallest form. Bingo.

Unfortunately, while there are mentions of magic in the database, there don't seem to be any actual spells/rituals there. Something about sea magic not mixing well with technology. He's going to have to ask Chris directly to see if he'll be interested in shrinking Alejandro rather than killing him.

Chris is alright with this because hey, a small merfolk you can put in a tank sounds perfect for exposing and becoming famous! (Not that Noah will actually let Chris take Alejandro away, but he doesn't need to know that.) He'll just have to lie a little to his husband about plans to kill Alejandro, no big deal. And...ugh. He's going to have to actually try to read that magic book to find something about shrinking things. Noah's immediately interested in seeing that book for himself, but Chris shuts him down immediately. Chris will look at the magic shit, Noah will just be the one getting them whatever they need. A coffee would be a great start.

So Noah ends up becoming more like Chris's assistant. He gets used to getting Chris coffee or do the more boring research a lot. Chris uses Chef to get the more out there ingredients for this new ritual he's managed to find. And he starts sending Noah to carve out runes around town. Something about 'using the town's natural magic to siphon that of the sea beast'. Noah would prefer to know exactly what he's doing, but Chris keeps being cagey about Noah having to know things.

During all of this, Noah still has to meet with Alejandro to keep him happy. Thanks to overindulging during spring break, Alejandro's in a much better mood. However, he's being rather clingy with Noah. If Noah didn't know any better, he'd think Alejandro was trying to keep him from being able to have time for anyone else. It makes finding time to work with Chris and Chef a lot more difficult. He can't juggle stroking Alejandro's ego, Chris's ego, and going to classes all at the same time. So he decides to sacrifice going to classes. He'll help Chris and Chef during that time and Alejandro won't question him being away since he knows Noah needs to 'keep up appearances'.

It sucks because after the spring break party, he had actually been considering trying to know some of the others more. If only to take a break from Alejandro. There is one person who won't leave him alone though: Owen. Owen finds out through the grapevine about Noah not showing up to classes and immediately gets to texting to check on him. Noah makes up a lie about not feeling too well/needing to step back, and Owen buys it. Still, now that Noah's responded to one text, Owen takes to texting him throughout the day. Because he was pretty serious about trying to get to know Noah. And Noah would never admit it, but it's nice that someone else cares to check up on him. Plus, Owen is terrible with secrets, so he ends up blurting so much gossip about the others. Noah gets to make sarcastic remarks about them, and Owen just rolls with it. It's nice.

Eventually, Noah's suspicions about Chris outweigh his need to be cautious. So much so that he decides it would be better to try to break in to Chris's and Chef's place to see what exactly this spell book is saying to do rather than just take Chris's word for it.

It's written in a language he doesn't understand. He doesn't have the time to decipher it since he doesn't want Chris or Chef to know that he's in their house looking at it. He does manage to find the pages that Chris has been frequently using, though. They're the only ones that seem to be in English. He's not surprised to learn that Chris has been lying to him about the spell. He's horrified to discover to what extent.

Chris gives absolutely zero shits about this town. He wanted something that would help him take care of this sea monster problem, and he didn't really care how it was done. He practically had to fight the book to show him anything that wasn't in nonsense gibberish. But then, for once in his life, the decided to be book is on the same page as him. It showed him a ritual for mind controlling a sea monster that involves a rather brutal sacrifice of a whole town's worth of people. That sounds like a WAY better deal than regular fame and fortune!

Noah was already not happy when he found out about the mind control. As much as he's worried about his Alejandro, he doesn't know if Alejandro deserves that. Knowing him, he'd probably prefer death rather than being forced to obey someone else. Then Noah reads to the end and discovers the whole 'sacrifice a town' thing. That's what the runes around towns were for.

He'd been putting so much focus into trying to take down the literal monster, he'd forgotten all about how humans could be metaphorical monsters.

Noah knows how to take care of that. It's what he always does when he finds people that deserve to die.

He tells Alejandro about them.

He doesn't reveal the whole plot against Alejandro, of course. He just reveals that some sailors had been getting suspicious with the whole spring break binge eating. He infiltrated them to learn what they knew, and now they're getting too close. He's not sure how much of that Alejandro truly believes, but he does agree that if humans want to hunt him down, then they need to go first.

Noah first makes sure to screw up the ritual by fucking up his own carvings and scratching them out with the knife Chris let him use to do this in the first place. At this point he'd been using it so much it just became a force of habit to keep having it.

Then he goes on a ship with Chris and Chef who thinks that everything is going according to plan. Well, Chris's plan of mind controlling a sea monster, Chef's plan of killing one. What Noah had never told them was that Alejandro was an electric eel. He made sure to encourage Chef to use as much technology as he saw fit in order to leave them completely vulnerable.

Things would have been easier of course if Alejandro didn't decide to gloat about Noah being his loyal little pet when he shows up. Which bothers him both because it ruins the surprise and because it's condescending. This doesn't help things as Chris and Chef are quick to try to spring into action. Chef is trying to solo Alejandro, and Chris is coming at Noah pretty pissed because he's also just now realized that the ritual that should have automatically started taking action hasn't done that at all. Alejandro's occupied because Chef did still come with firepower, and Noah can recognize murder in Chris's eyes.

He's standing over Chris's body now. He knows it's a body because of the blood and the stab wounds. He knows he did it because he's gripping a knife in his hand he doesn't remember pulling out. Chef must be in Alejandro's stomach by now or else Noah would be dead. He can piece together what's happened, but he honestly can't remember the act itself. He knows he had to do it because Chris would have come to kill him first. He hadn't planned on crossing this line but seems like he did anyways.

He loves hates the pride in Alejandro's eyes. The promise that the first can be the hardest. But he's very grateful that Noah had chosen to live.

This isn't living. Rather than process, Noah points out that he's got to go back to Chris and Chef's house to get rid of any evidence that he knew them. After Alejandro takes care of Chris's body, he lets Noah go back to shore.

Noah dashes for the house, goes for the book, and hugs it like his new lifeline. Chris's book is now in Noah's possession. The book is rather content with its new owner. Because it felt Noah's desire to defend himself and his town, and willingness to put effort into doing it. It translated that ritual for Chris specifically to have something like this happen. It won't translate itself again, but if Noah's truly like the book thinks he is, that shouldn't be a problem.

Noah now has an unfiltered shot at evening the playing field with the book of a sea witch. Time to fight fire with fire.

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worstqueerbaittournament · 1 year

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Submission messagefor Merlin and Arthur: merthur (merlin and Arthur from the BBC show merlin

Submission message for Steve and Bucky: Does Stucky count? Steve and Bucky from Captain America

Additional propaganda: I refuse to shut up about this. Merlin is not queerbait!! At no point during the show is there a genuine possibility of Arthur and Merlin to be in a romantic relationship. They are queer coded but they do not create a false impression of their relationship. See Sherlock for good example: they constantly bring it up in the show itself and dangle it in front of the viewers, only to not follow through. The show Merlin does not set them up. There are no offhanded remarks, comments, or jokes that they’re more than friends. There is simply no chance in the show that they will get together. They are queer coded, which is not the same. Coding says: this character displays some traits and characteristics that ___ people may relate to. Baiting says: oh you want these two together? hmm, you wanna see that? wouldn’t that be nifty? what if they talk about it and act like it? aren’t you gonna keep watching to find out if they really do? Then follows up with: SIKE! Wow we got you, of course they’re not together! All of that was meaningless! Let’s please stop confusing these two entirely separate concepts!

Merthur is just gay I don’t have to explain merthur on the merthur site. They’re talking to each other at night and giving each other flowers and shit— things Arthur NEVER does with his canon romantic love interest and if I’m not mistaken I think Arthur like goes to sleep for a hundred years and Merlin is like. Still waiting for him? Let them kiss, damn!

Stucky: "Of course, this is still a rollicking adventure tale and no adventure is complete without a love story.....the longest, most tortured one in Marvel history" - Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely (writers of Captain America movies + Avengers Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame)

"from the meet cute to the tragic separation, their bond has all the elements of a classic romance." - Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely

"Just as Jeph and Tim’’s earlier Daredevil: Yellow, Spider-Man: Blue, and Hulk: Gray all dealt with the major love interests in, the heroes’ lives, so too does Captain America: White. Steve and Bucky are each other’s soulmate." - Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely

“So you have a character in Captain America who is searching for the only thing that he has left from his past that has any meaning to him, and that’s Bucky; and people have interpreted that relationship all kinds of ways and it’s great...we will never define it, as filmmakers, explicitly." - The Russos (Captain America: Civil War press)

"You mean, aside from Cap and Bucky?" - Anthony Russo (co-director of Cap 2 and 3 and Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame) when asked about romance in Captain Amierca: Civil War

"Moderator: But you already had a romantic B story with Cap and Bucky, right?

Anthony: We sure do

Joe: We still do

Moderator: Did you ever had to dial down the sexual tension on set?

Joe: Why would we?" - Anthony and Joe Russo (directors of Cap 2 and 3 and Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame) at a screening of Captain America: Civil War

Just a few examples directly from Marvel and the writers and directors.

merthur totally should win for so many reasons but mostly. most because the show writer, when advertising the last episode, said it was “a love story between two men” and then arthur just died in merlin’s arms for 42 minutes. on the day before christmas.

I put the first episode of Merlin, because I heard it was such a great show. I knew nothing about the ship at that point. I only put it on because i love shows like that. Before the first episode was over I was like OMG those two are gayer than later seasons Destiel. There is no way it was not intentional. NONE. Big time homoerotic vibes. It was great

I get the coding critique, but I think I disagree with the person who said they never teased a relationship with Merthur. If we’re talking “offhanded jokes that they’re more than friends” (or that other characters thought they were together a la Sherlock), I think the poetry and pants scenes fit that.

#merthur #merlin x arthur #merlin bbc #merlin #stucky #steve x bucky #captain america #tournament

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bakawitch · 5 months

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Okay, heartshippers, please don't hate me after this post- I love the ship, but for this au it's just gonna be a plot device that drives Ryou into madness XD

Tw: unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour, violence, implied death (please let me know if there is something else I should have put a warning for)

So! With all that out of the way, another darkish au as promised! Post-canon, once all the characters have settled down into their routine adult lives, Yugi and Ryou are dating. At first, it was only supposed to be a drunk one-night stand to get their minds off things, but somehow, it ended up being a gateway to a relationship. Initially, Ryou did not want to date Yugi, but after he explained his feelings to Ryou and that he hasn't been truly happy except when they were together for a really long time, Ryou agreed to date him despite his feelings not running that deep towards Yugi.

The relationship is fine, Yugi is very sweet and kind, their bedroom life is okay, and despite not really talking about their problems and issues, Ryou just decides to go with the flow for the time being. However, eventually, he starts noticing things. Subtle things and patterns, not something he could have noticed without observing Yugi's behaviour. Whenever Yugi brings something up or asks something of him, he always seems... overly expectant. Yet whenever Ryou gives a response, he always seems disappointed. Like he was looking for Ryou to say or do something else.

Ryou eventually realises that Yugi is using him as a substitute for someone else. He realises that Yugi is looking for Atem in him, which naturally makes Ryou feel very conflicted and angry. In the past, Malik tried to replace Bakura with him, and now Yugi is essentially doing the same thing. Just to make sure that he's not just being paranoid, he decides to conduct a few tests, which could all prove his suspicions wrong. Yugi fails every single one of them.

From that point on, what positive feelings he had towards Yugi turn sour, and a resentment starts developing towards him. He tries talking to Yugi at first to resolve the issue of their relationship in a civil manner, but Yugi keeps dodging him, pretending that everything is okay and shutting down Ryou whenever he tries to initiate a serious conversation, terrified of losing someone precious to him like Atem again. Meanwhile, Ryou is being pushed closer and closer towards his breaking point during all this.

During an especially bad day, Yugi implies that Ryou is no better than his darker half in a heated moment, and despite immediately taking it back, the damage is done. Ryou leaves their shared flat furious and goes on a night walk to cool off.

He eventually makes it to a rundown cemetery and shrine inside a wooded area and stays there for a while. Seeing all the tombstones, he's suddenly reminded of his old habit of writing letters to his dead sister, so he starts writing on a loose crumbled piece of paper. At first, he addresses the letter to Amane, but after some thought, he crosses the name out. Even if she's dead, Ryou doesn't want Amane to have to deal with his issues. On a whim, he decides to address it to the spirit of the ring instead. He ends up falling asleep in the shrine.

After that, Ryou develops a weird little obsession with his letters to Bakura, and he starts writing daily to him, which somehow becomes even more frequent whenever he needs to vent his frustrations about Yugi. He eventually starts probably imagining the spirit's voice in his head, and instead of being freaked out by it, he's relieved to have some sort of direction in his life after all this time. The voice sort of guides him through his days, and Ryou eventually starts 'seeing' Yami Bakura.

Eventually, Yugi and Ryou end up in a serious fight that ends with Ryou slashing Yugi with a knife while he sees Bakura's hands guide his own. After this, Yugi just doesn't come back to their apartment, and their relationship is officially over. Jonouchi and Honda end up getting Yugi's stuff and share their opinions on what Ryou did. After they leave, Ryou begins isolating himself inside with the image of Bakura, rarely ever going out. Ryou becomes completely reliant on the voice and just does whatever it suggests.

As Ryou deteriorates, Bakura offers to help Ryou move on to his next stage of life, which entails a shadow game. Ryou agrees because he wants to prove to Bakura that he has the resolve and that he's capable of doing it. The game probably involves dice, and some very invasive questions get asked from Ryou between rounds, and before the match point is decided, Bakura asks if Ryou will be able to accept the outcome no matter what it is. Ryou says yes, and they both smile when it's revealed that Ryou has lost the game. Ryou accepts his fate and happily leaves for the shadow realm with Bakura, hand in hand.

A few months later, Yugi decides to visit Ryou and to try and talk to him, but he's told by the receptionist that Ryou disappeared or died under mysterious circumstances a long time ago.

#the dark side of heartshipping #tendershipping #is implied #this got dark and depressing quick #longer than i expected too XD #i will burn for this #yugioh #yugioh dm #ygo dm #yugioh au #bakura #ryou bakura #yami bakura #yugi muto #baka stuff #tw: violence #tw: unhealthy relationships #tw: obsessive behavior #tw: implied death

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auntie-venom · 2 years

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Will of Fate

Chapter Three

Fandom: Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Story Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Characters: Din Djarin x Original Female Character

Summary: There hasn’t been an unidentified spacecraft in the stratosphere of Arkadia in over two decades, let alone three in one day. Those skilled or mad enough to venture into the Chaos unguided were few and far between. That means no one has ever made it to Arkadia who wasn’t intending to be here.

Until today.

Din Djarin finds an unmapped planet filled with beings who have the same powers as the Child, but know nothing of the force or the Jedi.

Chapter Summary: Eziriel now has a concussed Mandalorian she has to get to safety and find out why he was even near enough to her planet to get here.

Word Count - 4,623

Chapter Warnings: Language

Will of Fate Masterlist

Read on Ao3

A/N: Sorry for the week-long delay, had a friend visiting and we went on adventures. I am considering posting a copy of this as a second POV reader fic for those who prefer it. Would that be wise?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Feedback and critique is welcome, I am trying to get better. Reminder this is unbetaed. :)

Chapter three

The Mandalorian did end up sending the winch back down to Eziriel which eased her suspicions minutely and loosened the anxiety in her chest tremendously. She needs to know if he could be trusted and this was a minor assessment she put forth. She didn’t know if he threw the cable back down without a second thought or if he had noticed that the key to the speeder wasn’t in the ignition—it was definitely in her pocket—but she was thankful either way. She imagines he could have easily hot wired the speeder.

Her brief Infiltrator training had kicked in the moment she made contact with the unknown man. The responsibility to discover a person’s truest intentions in order to protect Arkadia was drilled into her head hard enough that she immediately casted her Will out. She is not nearly as skilled as others when it comes to using her Will to penetrate the mind, but she is able to glean emotions from others when she focuses. The problem was that his head injury is causing his emotions to jump in a disorientating way and her read on him is somewhat jumbled. He mostly cycled through panic, worry, and pain through the conversation she held with him on his ship, but he did have spikes in irritation from her verbal provocations which was a good sign.

Irritating a person of interest was her preferred tactic to elicit a truthful emotional response. It says a lot about a person when they don’t outwardly show their agitation or confront Eziriel’s vexing nature and it usually means they are presenting a facade to masquerade in some way. The Mandalorian not only physically reacted to her verbal jabs but he didn’t seem to hide his unease with her. She didn’t know if his authenticity could be truly trusted because it might be due to his injured state, but he did hold out an arm to ease her final ascent over the cliff’s edge which put a point in favor of trustworthy.

The man, like most adults, towers over her. He has a broad frame that displays his armor in a striking image. Each move he makes is self assured with no sign of second guessing. He keeps one hand resting on his belt while the silver armor gleams under the rain that pelts them both. The overall visage would be quite intimidating if she couldn’t feel the pain radiating off him.

After watching him scope his surroundings she activates her HolOmni to bring up a map of the local area. While showing him the projection she gives him a brief explanation that they were hundreds of miles away from civilization. She watches as his shoulders tightened and a resigned sigh left his vocoder at this information.

“I was staying there for the night and planned to head back to the capitol in the morning,” she says, pointing at the beaming light at the top of the beacon station that she previously exited in a rush. “You are welcome to join me.”

The T shaped visor of the helmet locks on her for a moment before dipping his head in agreement. He’s not much of a talker, it seems. It must be a Mandalorian thing because Rezzik also uses a silent demeanor when interacting with new people. She remembers when she was a child she asked him about why he was so quiet in public when he was a great storyteller at home; “People reveal who they are in silence,” he had said. She didn’t understand and hated the answer at the time, but that insight helped her misdirect authority figures who used that same silent tactic when she grew into mischievous adolescence. Knowing how the mind game worked before being forced to play it gave her an advantage that others did not.

The wind picks up and the storm rages a little stronger by the time she loaded him and tied his metal pod onto the back of the speeder. She feels the exhaustion of the being inside the pod and concludes they must be unconscious from how deep in sleep the mind is. There isn’t even the little spill of emotions from dreams most beings have when they sleep. Poor creature must have unwillingly gone under.

Glancing up at the Mandalorian she notices him holding himself very stiffly and he keeps correcting his head from swaying. She clocks this behavior and pulls up her visor so she could keep track of his vital signs while she drives. With a quick weighing of the pros and cons she sent a command into her HolOmni to have CHI sync her comm to the one in his helmet just in case they need to communicate on the ride. She didn’t want the man to fall off the speeder and injure himself further. Amarian would never let her live that down.

She kicks the speeder to life and makes sure to start off slowly so he can get used to the speed and balance. He grips the side handles tightly so she tries not to take turns too quickly. His head injury must be messing with him worse than she imagined and she makes a mental note to get the medkit to him immediately. About halfway there she notices his blood pressure dropping suddenly again and so she used the tactic that worked to stabilize him last time: annoyance.

“So my lovely Lori, you crash onto planets often or are we just lucky enough to get your handsome self?” She feels his larger frame jolt back into a firm stance and she watches as his blood pressure rises then stabilizes once again. She’d bet he had a hand on his blaster again, but didn’t look to verify her theory.

“How the hell are you in my helmet comms?” His unmodulated voice is a pleasantly low timbre. Through her earpiece she can hear the irritation in his voice and she feels his emotions match it. Still being authentic.

Good.

“Clever, remember?” She gives him a quick smirk over her shoulder and feels his irritation spike.

“Intrusive is more like it,” he grumbles back and she chuckles at him.

“Sorry Silver, I am bound to your safety,” she shrugs her shoulders, “and according to your vital signs it seemed like you were on the verge of going unconscious again. I had to keep you awake somehow.”

“And slicing into my helmet’s comms was your only way?” His voice seemed a little less slurred.

“It was the more fun option.” She smiles at the annoyance bleeding deeper into his emotions, “I mean, it also wasn’t exactly the most safeguarded.”

She hears a scoff that probably would go unnoticed if she weren’t directly in his comms. “What does that mean?” There is an air of offense in his reply.

“It means that anyone with a processor could get through that firewall if they had half a brain and an understanding of syntax patterns,” she verbally baits, and takes a turn a little harder than necessary hoping to keep him engaged and on his toes.

“I’ve never had a problem with my frequencies being hijacked before,” he states.

“Are you saying I am special?” She gives him a dramatized gasp, “You flatterer.” She smiles to herself at his heavy sigh as they pull up to the beacon station.

The door was still ajar and foliage and rain had made it into the entrance. She kicks as much of the mess back outside before dimming the interior lights in hopes to not make his concussive state more painful. She turns to invite the Mandalorian in and finds him right behind her and his helmet locked on her and the pod hovering next to him. She steps aside and gives a dramatic presentational bow to invite him in.

The ground floor of Ga’ladora Beacon Station is a cozy space. The main room has a small sofa that sits opposite of a round table. Along the back wall houses a small kitchenette and the storage cabinets of tools, emergency supplies, and the rations that were kept in all the stations. On one side of the room lay doors to a refresher and a small room with bunks while the other side is a staircase that ran along the wall that spiraled up to the top of the tower. Under the curved wall of the staircase lies the open utility door and the tangled mess of cables she left behind in a rush. She lets out a curse and rushes to deactivate the soldering iron that blackened the stone floor.

Glancing back she notices the Mandalorian standing just inside the entrance with the door still open. She reaches a hand in that direction and Wills the door closed, causing his shoulders to stiffen at the noise. She disregards him and peels off her drenched cloak, laying it on the back of a chair, and makes her way to the supply cache. Pulling out a medkit she gently sends it to the table with her Will before turning back to dig through the supplies for the kettle.

“I’m going to make some tea to go with these tasteless rations.” She pulls out the found kettle and turns to smile at him, “The fresher is through the door on the right if you want to use the medkit for your wounds. There should be some bacta injections for the head injury, and I can do some basic first aid if you need.”

He makes no movement from the entrance and she tilts her head at him curiously at the feeling of surprise coming from him. Her look seems to shake him out of his stupor and he grabs the medkit before disappearing to the refresher with that metal pod tailing him. She makes a face to herself at his behavior before setting up the kettle and pulling out rations.

While the kettle is brewing Eziriel takes a moment to fully go through what has happened this evening. The Cloak of Arkadia went down enough to allow undesignated ships into the planet’s airspace. She would guess that error had something to do with the odd signals she was receiving back in Helix from the south eastern beacon stations. It had been a three week journey to check all the stations in the quadrant and this was the last beacon station on her list. Every unit so far was fully functional upon her inspection and she was hoping to discover the source of the mystery readings here. Now that she was behind schedule she hoped she would get her answer tonight without losing too much sleep.

This malfunction was worrying enough as it is, but adding the possibility that the TIE fighter that got away could very well bring back more was disastrous.

“CHI-CHI, have Amarian send a drop team to the area the TIE fighter went down in. We don’t want any activated tracers bringing the Empire our way.” She gives a sigh at the thought before continuing, “We also need to make sure there aren’t any kriffing Imps on our planet from the wreck. It went down hard, but you never know.”

“Quite right,” CHI responds back from her HolOmni.

The kettle beeps and she goes to get mugs and tea bags while she tries to think about what to do about her new companion. She pulled a Mandalorian out of the wreckage of his own ship, bound herself to a man she doesn’t even know in order to gain his trust, and now she has to navigate the bureaucratic minefield of getting an unsanctioned person planetside when the person is already here. She’d rather spend three more weeks doing manual diagnostics scans on the beacon stations than have to play politics.

“King Amarian wants to know if he needs to send a real Infiltrator to interrogate the Mandalorian,” CHI’s bored voice fills the quiet space once more. She doubts that Amarian worded the offer quite like that.

“I’ll vet him, no worries.” She says with a shrug no one sees as she pours the boiling water into the mugs.

“Ahh, yes. The stamp of approval of a failed Infiltrator will pass screenings, surely,” they snark back, causing Ezirial to roll her eyes.

“Kindly, go suck some malware CHI,” she says as she drops a tea bag in each cup and turns around with both mugs in her hands to see the Mandalorian standing by the table. “Damn Silver, you are silent for a giant man of metal.”

“You were preoccupied.” He is giving her the opportunity to be honest about discussing him and she appreciates it over flinging accusations.

“Had to get a team to check out the TIE fighter wreckage. We don’t want any Imperial rubbish on this planet if we can help it.” She walks over and sets down the mugs and ration packs before sitting. “We have a very tight passage control on this planet. The fact that you are even here uninvited is a first, to my knowledge.”

She gestures to the food as an open invitation to sit and eat and he doesn’t move. She looks up at him in mild confusion at him just staring at her without doing anything. She reaches out and finds his emotions are less erratic, meaning his head is clearer and that bacta shot must have helped. He is giving off a solid stream of suspicion and curiosity.

“Uhhh, are you going to eat? Or–OH!” She interrupts herself with a memory of Rezzik explaining to her about Mandalorian how armor etiquette varied among the houses and clans. He grew up in House Jexum of Clan Borean that only wore helmets as a signal to inform others that they were in the presence of warriors, usually at training, war, or among enemies. Eziriel jokingly calls it “warrior mode” when she sees Rezzik with his helmet on which usually earns her a playful flick to the ear.

She gestures at the sleeping quarters and Wills the door to open with a groan.

“If you’d like, you can have your meal in there if you are from one of the clans who are persnickety about helmet removal.” She wiggles her fingers toward the door. “We can still talk if you want to keep the door open a smidge. You can even place this chair behind the door and sit on it to make sure I won’t barge in,” she says with a gentle smile.

He takes a moment to weigh his options before just sitting down at the table across from her and ignoring his meal. So that is a different level of trust that we are not at, got it, she thinks.

“So I need to be interrogated to be allowed to be on this planet?” he asks outright. She hums in affirmation into her mug.

“Typically.” She gives him a tired look before continuing, “Usually newcomers, like yourself, are sponsored by someone trusted and then we send agents to meet the newcomers offworld to do a few screenings. If they pass that then they are allowed to come here, but will have to tolerate drop-in screenings to make sure they can truly be trusted.”

“This planet wasn’t on any star charts I’ve seen, why all the secrecy? Where am I?” He props an arm on the table and leans his giant frame in almost like he is trying to intimidate her.

“Arkadia, ‘The Soul of the Galaxy’!” She spreads her hands in the air and wiggles her fingers in sarcastic exuberance and gives him a bright smile at the planetary slogan. After not getting a reaction from him she picks up her ration and continues, “This planet is deep in wild space and has been hidden to anyone who isn't our ally for thousands of years.”

“Why?” He asks.

Eziriel looks at him and casts her Will out once again to get a feel on him. There is a small hum of desire and confusion that usually correlates with curiosity. With no signs of maliciousness, she decides to be honest. She tells him a quick version of the planet’s history of being very rich with very rare elements of all types and how Arkadia was once a target of exploitation nearly a thousand years ago but was lucky enough to be able to hold off attacks and set up defenses which rulers used to lock the planet down for centuries after the attacks. She explains that after years of isolation, elected rulers of Arkadia opened the passage more with each generation until the fall of the Republic where they once again locked down; and how only recently with the destruction of the Empire were there talks about opening passage more once again.

She is finished with her rations and his tea is cold and over-steeped by the time she is done, but she keeps her focus on his emotions the entire time. Overloading information on a person is another one of her favorite tactics in getting an honest read. It’s harder to mask if you spike with emotion on a specific statement when someone is repeatedly hitting you with more and more information. His emotions stayed within the curious spectrum with nothing ever setting him off into another direction.

“Our secret keeps Arkadia alive. That’s why we are hidden.” She finishes before standing up to discard her rubbish.

“I understand,” he finally says almost gently through the vocabulator.

“Can I ask you some questions now?” She watches his shoulders tighten before nodding at her. “What’s a space like you doing in the wilds of man like this?” She asks with a smile hoping to break some of the serious tension. She can’t tell if the huff he makes is a sigh or chuckle but his shoulders loosen a little. She is enjoying the reactions from him, he seems a little wound up.

“Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?” His voice is deep and raspy, less stilted than earlier.

“My brother would say ‘there is no coincidence, only Fate’s Will’, but I find that mindset a little binary.” She moves over to the mass of cables she made a mess of, pulls out the glowrod to help her work in the dimly lit room and plugs her HolOmni’s scomp link in to restart her manual diagnostic scan.

“I was tagged by a TIE patrol squadron and I didn’t want to chance an uncalculated jump across unknown space so I cut through an asteroid field—”

“Wait,” she interrupts with wide eyes. “You flew through The Kusheri Asteroid Belt? Maker’s tits!” She whistles out an impressed tone before continuing, “It has odd gravity pockets caused by certain asteroids' electromagnetic fields. Our pilots usually wait until it passes before flying out and an offworlder just flew in on a whim.”

“Less of a whim, more a tactical desperation,” he says with the lightest tone she has heard from him so far as he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. She unexpectedly falls into a full laugh at his witty explanation.

“Impressive, nonetheless,” she says to him as she digs out the datapad from the mess she left behind. She starts organizing the mess into piles of importance as her datapad gathers the readings from her HolOmni. He silently watches her as she murmurs to herself the list of things to check before starting her work. “So does the Empire have a bone to pick with Mandalorians or are you just special?”

There is a moment where the tension snaps back into the air. He lets the silence hang while she pretends a cable is more important to her than it actually is. She feels the rumble of anxiety in his emotions. He is special, but whether he is going to be truthful with her remains to be seen.

He remains silent.

“Right.” She nods at him. He is choosing to not lie to her but he also doesn’t want to give her the full truth. “Well, as long as The Cloak or Arkadia functions like it’s supposed to then you are safe here.” She turns back to get back to work before adding softly, “As far as I’m concerned, any enemy of the Empire is a friend to me.”

She asks a few more mundane questions that he answers honestly after she clarified that she has to ask these questions in order to clear him: Where did he grow up? Concordia. Makes sense after the purge, she thinks. Are you a part of a family, house, or clan? Clan Mudhorn. I’ll ask Rezzik if he knows them, she makes a note to herself. Any affiliations with other planetary system’s government? No. She smirks at his tone of disgust.

After pushing through some of the boring questions she lets the sounds of the storm fill the room once again as they both digest the information they’ve given each other. He watches her as she physically examines each cable, capacitor, fuse, and any other sort of connection before placing it back into the wall in a neat and orderly arrangement. She is over halfway through the mess when her datapad alerts her to the completed scan. She picks it up and she feels her stomach tighten as she reads.

That can’t be right.

“Everything alright?” His modulated voice breaks the silence.

“Someone hijacked my system,” she replies in an astonished voice before digging into the section of the hardware where the datapad claimed the problem was.

“Not a great feeling, huh?” There is a level of smugness in the gruff voice that would normally amuse her in any other situation, but her panic dulls the enjoyment.

“I think compromising a planet-wide defense system is a little more detrimental than me kriffing with your comms.”

She runs her hands along the supposed problematic snake of cables until she finds the anomaly that she can’t place. Under the casing of a batch of cables where wires input into a relay is an oblong device the size of her palm. There are no switches on the device, only two inputs and some lights along the side of the device that remain off due to her shifting The Cloak to emergency power.

She sees the wires that were input into the device had been stripped and spliced to fit into it. She carefully disconnects the wires and pulls the device free. She pops the casing at the seams to get a look into it. It’s well built with the circuit board having rudimentary soldering but organized overall and under one side of the shell is a manufacturing stamp.

Eziriel’s manufacturing stamp.

“What the bantha shit?” her voice cries out louder and higher than she expected.

This came from her lab. The lab that she was head of. The lab that only put out specific productions that she approved of. The thought of This is impossible is stuck in a loop in her head as her brain tries to catch up with this new information.

She breathes through the panic at seeing her designated stamp as she puts the device in her front overall’s pocket as she goes to repair the wiring to get the beacon back up on primary power. She did not approve of whatever this thing is and if it was the origin of the malfunction of The Cloak then this will be traced back to her. This is a problem.

The Mandalorian remains silent as she does the repairs, finishes her inspection, and checks her datapad’s scans all the while Eziriel mumbles to herself. By the time she gets all the tech back into the panel and has CHI switch back to primary power it’s well past midnight.

She turns around to see the figure still sitting in the chair and his helmet locked on her. He tilts his head in what she recognizes from Rezzik as a silent, but prodding, question. She walks over to the table setting the device down before dropping herself in the opposite seat and meets the black void of his visor.

“This device was trying to lower the planetary shields, which is how you got in.” She rubs her face in exasperation before continuing, “It has my seal of approval.”

“Which you didn’t give,” he surmises.

“Which I didn’t give,” she confirms and he bobs his head in acknowledgment.

She can’t do any digital forensics here, she doesn’t have the correct adapter for her HolOmni’s scomp link to have CHI read the circuit board and she tells the man as much.

Silence falls over them as she feels the wave of panic start to rise for her throat. She feels the spiraling thoughts begin to run amuck in her head. This is bad. This is treason. No one will believe it wasn’t you. You are going to be—

“C’mon Eziriel, get your shit together,” she interrupts her thoughts with a mumble to herself. She quickly catches the panicked sob that was making its way to her throat. She rubs at her wet eyes and breathes through the anxiety, before addressing the Mandalorian across from her. “Okay, I am going to focus on getting you safely to Helix and settled at home while I get your passage approval underway. You’re gonna be fine.” She says in a forced chipper tone and a strained smile not knowing if she was reassuring herself or the Mandalorian. Focus on what you can control.

“Is that your name?” He asks before clarifying, “Eziriel?”

“Wha—Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m Eziriel Kaita, an honor to save you from the wreckage of your ship,” she says with a dry smile and forced cheek before holding her hand out for a handshake. His helmet moves in a way that almost resembles an eye roll but he takes her hand in a firm shake.

“I allowed you to assist me in an evacuation,” he says as his leather covered hand retreats from hers and rests on the table.

“Of course,” she says with a tired chuckle. She waits a beat before asking, “And your name is?”

There is a stretch of silence that Eziriel is becoming familiar with. She waits patiently before he finally answers her.

“People call me Mando.” He crosses his arms and leans back in the chair.

“Mando as in short for Mandalorian?” She gives him a pinched look.

“Yes.”

“Is that your name though?”

“It’s what I’m known by,” he says with an exhausted tone and a shrug.

“Well that’s just lazy.” He gives her a questioning helmet tilt and she continues, “That people call you by what you are. Beings are more than their designation.”

“You’ve called me ‘Lori’ multiple times.”

“Yeah, but that was just to get a reaction from you.” She pouts a little when she realizes he isn’t going to give her his name. “Well, I’ll let you have the bunk room so you can feel comfortable and lock the door. Let me just grab a blanket and a pillow.”

She goes to get what she needs to sleep on the common space sofa while he stands up and gathers the rations she had given him earlier in the evening. He directs the floating pod into the room once she exits and gives her a nod at her melodic wish for sweet dreams.

Eziriel easily fits on the small sofa and turns the lights off once she hears the bunk room lock engage. In the darkness with the storm finally dying out she tries to think about finally coming home to Helix or the Mandalorian with the nice voice but the stomach dropping thought of The Cloak’s sabotage keeps sleep out of her reach.

<< Chapter Two

Chapter Four >>

#star wars fanfiction #star wars #star wars au #Mandalorian #the mandolarian #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x Original Female Character #din djarin x original character #din djarin fic #slow burn #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #eventual smut #third person pov #third person perspective

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annisthree · 1 year

Text

Chapter VIII: Ghosts of Geonosis

previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter

Pairing: Cassian Andor x Original Female Character

Word Count: ~6k

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit language, canon typical violence

Chapter summary: Marla, Cassian and K2 are following the clues discovered by Melshi. It brings them to Geonosis.

A/N: Why yes, I did steal the title of this chapter from Rebels.

Cross-posted on AO3 (same username).

('Friends of yours?'

'I don't know anybody here. I'm a tourist.'

'Tourists don't run.'

'I'm just going to the store, it's right there--'

'You need to calm down, sir. Droid assistance, please.')

Over the past couple of years, Cassian tried his hardest to hide certain memories in those parts of his brain he never visited. To compartmentalise, to accept and move on.

But, much like an overzealous shore trooper on the Niamos beach, the memories would always catch up. And though the chances of him being captured and arrested were significantly lower this time (he'd gotten much better at this in the past few years), he still couldn't escape that weird feeling that had his stomach in knots, just like that time when he was waiting for his turn in the Imperial court.

('Charges?'

'Civil disruption, anti-Imperial speech, fleeing scene of anti-Imperial activity, attempted damage--'

'I'm sorry, there's something wrong...'

'I wouldn't. You've got enough trouble without a "resisting judgement'" charge.'

'I'm just a tourist--'

'Oh, apologies all around then. This used to be a six-month sentence... Six years.')

He was grateful to have been reunited with Melshi. Surprised, but grateful. But seeing him opened some doors he'd much rather keep locked, and had his brain flood him with memories of Narkina V. And there he was again, trying to stay afloat, desperately trying to force his body to push forward, to swim, even though he sometimes wanted to give in and let the cruel element claim what's left of his life.

('Don't ever look at the number. Double, triple, it doesn't matter. You're in till they don't want you. Understand? Getting out now is just a dream. Those days are over.')

Thanks to Melshi, they had the coordinates where - supposedly - the Empire was shipping parts from Narkina, the same ones that scarred his hands and his mind irreparably. Cross-checking the coordinates with their databases revealed it was an Imperial construction module somewhere over Geonosis. Their records also showed that one of their squads had already attempted to get some intel there - only to be ambushed before they could gather anything of value.

The command was a bit sceptical about sending in another team after all that time. It was assumed the location was just an excuse for the Imperial forces to set up a trap and that, in reality, it was just an abandoned pile of junk.

It took some convincing and additional input from Agent Kallus, who suggested that there might, indeed, be something left to salvage - if not intel, then at least some technology. Supposedly, the Empire fled in a rush (though Kallus wasn't able to tell them why), leaving a certain chance of them leaving behind something useful (thirty-eight per cent, as K-2SO eagerly informed them).

And that's how Cassian ended up on a painfully long trip all the way across the Galaxy, chasing something he'd spent years trying to escape.

('They're afraid. Right now, they're afraid.'

'Afraid? Afraid of what?'

'They just killed a hundred men to keep them quiet. What would you call that?'

'I'd call that power.'

'Power? Power doesn't panic. Five thousand men are about to find out they're never leaving here alive. Don't you think that worries them upstairs...? Whatever we're making here, it's clearly something they need. They can't afford to be surprised again. There'll never be less guards than tomorrow. You know that. And I'd rather die trying to take them down than die giving them what they want.')

But he wouldn't let that affect the mission. He would once again bury everything deep - although not deep enough for Marla, who, bless her heart, was bending over backwards to subtly cheer him up. She had a general idea of what had happened on Narkina V - he'd never gone into too much detail, but he had told her the story once during a very long flight that had them stuck on the Blackbird with too little to do and too much Corelian whisky they were smuggling back to the base. And, as much as Cassian hated to admit it, she knew him too well to miss the signs of his uneasiness.

Which is most likely why the floors in the common room were... well, maybe not squeaky clean, but not sticky (to the point where Cassian briefly wondered if the gravitational systems on the ship needed recalibrating, because it had never been this easy to lift his feet from the floor).

Or why she fixed the altitude sensors, even though he'd been asking for this for months.

Or why he opened the door to his cabin one day to find Kay with a tray of actual food - which Cassian maybe would have believed was the droid trying to be helpful, was it not for the fact that the meal was criminally undercooked and otherwise inedible. No droid could be so bad at cooking. Even if their programming had been tampered with.

It was all so... nice. But there was also that voice at the back of his head that reminded him that, unlike the altitude sensors, he couldn't be that easily fixed. And Cassian wasn't sure if he could bear disappointing Marla like this, when it inevitably turned out that despite her best efforts, he was still broken and hollow.

So he politely commented on the floor, thanked for the fixed sensors, and pretended he didn't know the food was sent by Marla.

Yes, she'd seen parts of his mind no one else ever did before - but there were still those dark, cold alleys he wanted to protect her from.

'Preparing to jump out of hyperspace. Disengaging in three...'

Part of him wanted to stay in the co-pilot seat, maybe come up with some bullshit excuse, something along the lines of I'll keep the engines running in case things end up the way they usually do. Hell, maybe it would have worked, and he could sink deeper into his seat and stare into nothingness until it was time to leave.

'... two...'

But he also needed to know. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to, but he knew he had no choice. He had to at least try and figure it out. If this was it, if this was really where they had been shipping the parts from Narkina, then he had to know.

'... one.'

Even if he was being selfish, volunteering to do a mission that could have been done literally by anyone else. Even if he would learn that all that work didn't mean shit, that it was just a way to keep them busy and break them.

Even if it did mean something, which was probably the worst of all scenarios.

Still, he had to know.

'Jump complete.'

('Whatever happens now, we made it.')

'All of them?'

'Well, almost all. General Syndulla mentioned they'd met two of them hiding underground, but the scans indicated these were the only two remaining specimens. Which is what our sensors are saying, too.'

'Fuck,' Marla took a deep breath, staring intensely at the screen that was showing the results of the planetary activity scan as if expecting the results to change if she looked long enough. 'Never met a Geonosian, and from what I've heard, they weren't the most pleasant bunch, but... to wipe out the entire race? Just like that? Even for the Empire, that's... that's really fucking grim.'

Cassian shrugged, flipping some switches on the dashboard in front of him. 'Wouldn't be the first time. Probably not the last time, either.'

'Unless we blow the Empire to pieces.'

'Unless we blow the Empire to pieces,' he repeated, his lips forming a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes.

They had just come out of hyperspace, and the massive golden planet loomed in the distance, surrounded by some space debris. It wouldn't have been anything special - just another desert planet - if they didn't know what happened down there.

What they didn't know was why. Geonosis had never had any considerable importance (apart from two battles that happened during the Clone Wars, and that could have just as well happened anywhere else). They didn't have any significant natural resources, and the primary export was droids and other technology - which, again, could always be moved virtually anywhere else. Other than that, it was just deserts, rocks, and bugs. Bugs that had been deeply loyal to the Empire, until the Empire decided to wipe them out.

You couldn't really see it from space - it's not like the planet was bombarded; their intel said it was some sort of toxic gas - but just knowing that the planet below them was one giant graveyard sent a chill running down Marla's spine.

Luckily, they weren't going to be visiting Geonosis. Melshi's intel mentioned specifically a construction module that was supposed to be orbiting the planet - and, indeed, they quickly found a large, spherical station within a cloud of space rubbish hovering in the distance.

'Kay-too, are we expecting any company?'

'There is no indication of any life forms on the station. We might, however, encounter some droids.'

'Oh, I'm not afraid of droids,' Marla mumbled, toggling a series of instruments in preparation for the landing procedure.

'That is not a very wise approach,' she heard a monotone mechanical voice behind them. 'Unsurprising, but unwise.'

'Cassian, is he threatening me? I feel threatened. Can we deactivate him now?'

'We're in position. Activating vertical thrusters.'

'Sure, ignore me. I'll try that next time you wanna have-- a sparring session. See how that works out.'

'I am certain there is plenty of people on the base who would be willing to train with Cassian,' K2 asserted quietly, and Marla almost choked, trying to stifle laughter.

'You know what? You're probably right. I'm sure he has sparred with many people on the base. Maybe even most of them. Kay, do you think you can start keeping statistics--'

'Oh, kriffing hell. Are we gonna land, or do you want us to keep hovering over this stupid station until we run out of fuel?'

'Why so grumpy all of a sudden? Sounds like you could use some--'

'I am begging you to shut up. Both of you. Marla, it stopped being funny somewhere around the Mytaranor sector. Kay, start scanning the landing platform. '

'I don't know, Cassian, it sounded pretty damn funny to me. I'm sure even the tin can would be laughing if he had a sense of humour. But fine, have it your way. Stabilising...' she paused for a moment, adjusting some instruments. The ship began lightly trembling as she engaged the thrusters, positioning them on the landing pad - a large, bright space that looked... well, exactly the same way all the other Imperial docking bays did. Clean. Impersonal. Obsessively white.

Although there was something different about this one, something that Marla couldn't quite place looking out the ship's viewport.

Maybe it was the fact that no one was shooting at them for a change? Because, well, there was no one there at all. Not a single living soul.

'And... done. Landing procedure complete.' Marla did a quick scan of the instruments to ensure everything was in order - as well as to delay looking to her right, towards the co-pilot seat.

Cassian had been uneasy the entire flight. He was trying hard to hide it; she could see it - but she could also see his nervous twitching, the tightly squeezed jaw (even more so than normally), and the thousand-mile stare when he thought she wasn't looking.

But Marla was looking. And she was worried.

She had been from the very beginning, from the moment she'd learnt about the mission. She suspected Cassian never quite processed that part of his life, if only based on how little he wanted to talk about it. Even Melshi was a bit more open, even though - from what she'd gathered so far - he wasn't much of a talker either, and they only knew each other for a week or so.

'It wasn't exactly a leisurely walk through the gardens of Alderaan,' Melshi had spit out between two punches, circling Marla on the training mat back on the base on the day of their departure. 'It really got to ya. Some more than others. If you're asking about our mutual friend, I'd say he was probably in that first category.'

And she wasn't surprised; as much as Cassian perfected the art of looking like he didn't give a shit, Marla had seen beneath that cover many times now. He did give a shit, and not only about the Rebellion - although she had no doubt the Rebellion was at the very top of the list.

(She tried not thinking about where she was on that list. How far behind the cause - or maybe behind some other things, too. She was in no position to expect him to care - not more than he cared about the rest of the crew. And that was probably for the best.)

(She also tried not thinking about where Cassian was on her own priority list. Apart maybe from when she was lying in bed late at night, sleepless and haunted by an unidentified fear. Or when she was spending yet another evening in the Drunken Bantha, completely accidentally ordering that same whisky Cassian got her when they were on Coruscant.

But she never liked the results of that thinking. And not even the cruellest interrogation droid could force her to verbalise her conclusions.)

K2's metal feet clanked heavily against the metallic floor as he, Cassian, and Marla stepped out of the Blackbird and onto the abandoned orbital construction module. At first, it didn't look very different from any other Imperial landing pad - vast, practical, and painfully bright. But closer inspection revealed abnormalities uncharacteristic for an Imperial facility.

It looked like it was abandoned in a hurry; there was some rubble lying about, the platform ladders were still on the landing pad where they had last been used, and Marla could spot several broken or nearly-broken droids, one of them stuck in a loop of repeatedly bumping into a wall with a loud, pathetic thump.

There was something eerie hanging in the air, almost as if the station were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Marla shuddered. 'What is this place, exactly?'

Cassian stepped forward, still carefully scanning the area, one hand on his blaster. 'Good question. Kay? Can you see if you can connect to the network?'

'Certainly.'

'The surrounding moons are rich in mineral deposits,' Cassian said to no one in particular, with that perfectly schooled neutral tone Marla knew him to use whenever he was trying to cover up tension. 'Maybe this was a mining operation.'

'Maybe,' Marla replied, carefully watching for even the slightest reaction. 'But why be so secretive about it?'

'The network has been wiped clean,' K2 interrupted them, his long arm still connected to the access port in the nearby wall. 'Likely right before the station was decommissioned. As expected. I might, however, be able to retrieve some information, but that would require me to connect to the mainframe in the station's engineering room. Alternatively, we could also try to search the command centre.'

'We could split up,' Marla offered, trying hard not to sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect of escaping the droid's company for a while.

'Yes, I suppose that would increase our chances of success. In this case, I suggest the two of you start with the control centre.'

'Wonderful. Any ideas where that is?'

'It appears that this is a standard ICM-092792 construction module. Assuming the station preserved its original layout, the control centre and the engineering room should both be located on the main deck.'

'Good. Let's get to it,' Cassian said flatly, fingers still fidgeting around his holster.

'Certainly. Follow me.'

'I stand corrected,' Marla whispered as they started making their way out of the docking bay, following the droid's tall figure. 'Maybe he's not that useless after all.'

She was hoping to force some sort of a reaction out of Cassian- if not a smile, then perhaps a tiny upward twitch of his lips or an amused huff. But it seemed his mind was already somewhere else; somewhere cold and distant, both in terms of space and time. Somewhere she couldn't follow him.

With K2 as a guide, they made their way out of the docking bay and down a long corridor, passing empty storage rooms and abandoned maintenance bays. Marla didn't know if it was the sombre atmosphere of the place or Cassian's hardened expression, but not a single word was said. The silence was heavy, broken only by the occasional creaking of metal or the distant hum of a ventilation shaft, the gentle whirring of the fans almost hypnotic in the stillness.

'The control centre is at the end of the corridor,' K2 informed them after a while of meandering around the station. 'Let me know if you require my assistance. And please refrain from doing anything... reckless.' Certain that the last part was addressed directly at her, Marla threw her hands up in a gesture of innocence while giving the droid the most mischievous grin she had in her repertoire.

'Come on,' was Cassian's only reply, and Marla's heart immediately sank back to where it was before.

She followed him down the corridor silently. Her body was screaming at her to touch him, provide some warmth, absorb some of his pain through physical contact: a brush of her hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze of his hand. But she knew she would be doing it mostly for herself, to calm her own worries; Cassian's reaction would most likely be to retreat even further.

And so she pushed her hands into her pockets, focused her eyes on counting the light panels on their way to the control centre, and tried very hard to not wonder if this was how it felt to begin losing someone.

The main control centre was enormous. Marla had been on her fair share of ships and stations, and yet she felt almost dizzy, both fascinated and humbled by the vastness of the room.

The bridge itself was a long, raised platform, running the length of the space, with rows of consoles on either side of the walkway, sunk slightly lower than the rest of the room. At the far end of the bridge was a raised platform, dominated by an enormous viewport that looked out onto the starry expanse of space, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. The viewport was flanked by a large control panel speckled with a dizzying array of buttons, dials and switches.

Unsurprisingly, the silence was even heavier here. The only thing Marla's ears could pick up was the faintest hum of the ventilation system and the sound of their own footsteps echoing throughout the bridge.

'I'll check the main console.' Cassian's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. Right. The intel. 'See if you can find anything else here.'

'Sure. Do your thing. Let me know if you need me to shoot at something.'

Somehow, she doubted she would be of much use. She didn't even know where to start - all the surfaces were empty, the holodisplays black, the workstations clean and identical. But Cassian was already tapping something on the main console, so she decided to do a quick scan of the place. Perhaps somewhere amidst the sterile equipment, she would find a datapad labelled 'important intel, keep away from the Rebellion'.

There was a certain scent to this place, she noted while crossing the room - a scent that was barely noticeable and that Marla couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the dust or the fried circuits; or maybe her mind was beginning to play tricks on her, desperately trying to deliver sensory stimuli in the otherwise bleak and empty void.

On the other side of the room, the tapping stopped abruptly, followed by a loud thump of a fist hitting a metal console. No luck, then. Marla threw a quick glance in that direction, only to see Cassian hunched over the screen, motionless save the rising and falling of his shoulders as he breathed heavily.

It felt almost physically painful to see him like that. And she knew, she knew that she should probably not interfere, that she had no right to interfere, but she wanted him to know she was there if he needed anything. Even if that meant just standing next to him and looking out at the starry sky in silence.

The distance between her and the main console was taking forever, and somehow the quiet vastness felt only more intimidating with each step she took along the walkway. And there were a lot of steps, as she suddenly realised, slowly watching her feet moving one in front of the other.

It seemed almost as if the air was weighing down on her, slowing her down and intensifying that dizziness. Suddenly, it felt like she was learning to walk, carefully placing each step, one foot in front of the other - only now she realised she wasn't sure whose feet they were, because they sure as hell didn't feel like they were attached to her body.

'Something is wrong.' Cassian's voice was suddenly close, closer than she expected, before she lifted her gaze from the floor and focused her eyes ahead. Or tried to focus, because somehow the world became less defined, as if spilling from its original containers, defying shapes and measurements.

But it didn't feel odd or scary. In fact, Marla felt more at ease than she could ever remember being. And it felt so good, so right; she wanted to sit down on the floor, close her eyes, and bathe in the starlight while listening to the quiet song of the Galaxy.

'Come on, we have to get out of here. Something is wrong. Kay, can you hear me?'

'Yes. I'm afraid I have so far been unsuccessful--'

'Nevermind that. Something is wrong. We need--'

'Something is wrong,' Marla repeated slowly, carefully enunciating each word, mildly amused at the sound of her voice which suddenly felt completely foreign.

'Hey. No, no, get up. We have to go.'

It took her a moment to understand what Cassian meant. But when she looked down, she realised the floor was oddly close. And that her legs were now pulled tight to her chest, arm propped on one knee. And that there was a hand gripping her shoulder, trying to hoist her up to her feet.

Only that she didn't want to stand up. The floor was surprisingly comfortable. And it offered a nice view of the stars outside the massive viewport in front of her.

'It seems you have activated some sort of safety protocol, Cassian. The door controls are unresponsive.' A wave of metallic thumping echoed off the walls. 'I will attempt to override them, but I must first connect to the security systems. I should also inform you my sensors are picking up traces of unidentified gas coming from the control room. I advise you to remain calm so as to avoid increased inhalation.'

Oh, so that was that smell. It made sense now. But it sounded strangely unimportant compared to the infinite expanse of space in front of her: the deep blues, the vibrant greens, and the brilliant oranges swirling together in a cosmic dance and--

'Hey. Marla, get up. We have to-- have to get out of here.'

There was a hand on her shoulder, and soon enough, she felt a sharp tug upwards. But there was something hesitant, something clumsy about the way Cassian was holding her, and before she could think it through, Marla grabbed his arm and focused all her weight on pulling downwards.

The next thing she registered was a loud thump and a quietly mumbled curse.

'You okay?' she giggled, watching Cassian fumble on all fours before giving up and sitting on the floor beside her. Marla noticed his movements were uncharacteristically awkward and unsure, as if he forgot what he was doing mid-motion.

'Yeah. I've-- I've fallen from bigger heights, you know. But we need to get up.'

'And go where? You heard the big guy. Door's locked.' Cassian frowned and looked like he was about to say something, but gave up. 'Besides. If I'm about to die, I wanna die looking at the stars.'

'You're not gonna die. Kay is gonna let us out any minute.'

'Shh. You're killing the mood.'

He raised an eyebrow at her and huffed quietly. But there was still that shadow hiding in his eyes, that coldness he always resorted to when the things he'd buried caught up to him. It broke her heart whenever she looked at him.

'I'm sorry we didn't find anything,' she said quietly.

There was a long pause, long enough for her to start silently scolding herself for saying what she did.

'I just... I really wanted to find something, you know? Something that would make this make sense.'

He sounded tired and broken. But tired and broken was still a step forward from apathetic. At least he was slowly letting her back in.

'Maybe we still will. Don't lose hope.' He let out a quick, bitter exhale and turned away to look out the viewport. 'I'm serious. We'd beaten worse odds. Remember Koboh? Or Nar Shaddaa?'

'You mean, when you blew our cover within the first ten minutes of the mission?'

'I didn't blow anything up. It blew itself up.' Marla shrugged innocently, giving Cassian a small grin. 'And yet, we made it.'

Cassian let out another huff of half-laugh, one that, somewhere along the way, transformed into a quiet sigh.

His expression was still solemn, but there was now a flicker in his eye, and though tiny, it felt more powerful to Marla than the light of a thousand suns. It felt like sitting by the warm fire after hours of travelling through the cold and the dark. Or finding something long lost that you'd already given up hope on.

She didn't understand it, but as she continued staring into his eyes, she could see the darkness slowly subsiding - and with it, dropped the burden of helplessness that had weighed upon her since the moment she first noticed that shadow lurking in his gaze.

'How are you feeling?' he asked after a while, and she realised her breathing had become heavier and more laboured. Whatever was in the air that had hazed her brain was starting to affect her body, too.

'Great,' she lied, giving him a smile that even she knew wasn't very convincing.

It was more and more difficult to keep her eyes open. Yet, she realised she wanted nothing more than to look, take in all the details of the room, the universe outside the viewport, and the stars reflected in those dark eyes, infinitely fascinating and yet familiar, overwhelming and yet comforting, and so precious, dear, disarming...

'I guess--' Cassian started after a while, eyes focused on the stars outside the viewport. 'I guess this wouldn't be the worst way to go.'

'You mean, high?' she chuckled.

His lips twitched slightly upward, and Marla felt warmth flood her entire body. 'No,' he finally said, and there was something in his tone that was equally comforting and intimidating in its softness. 'That's not what I mean.'

It took her a moment to understand. But Cassian kept looking at her, and there were no more shadows in his gaze; there was only the reflection of starlight and that deep longing, and it was the same longing that flared in her own chest.

Cassian must have understood it, too, because soon, his hand slowly moved to cover hers. And it felt right, as if his hand had been the missing piece in some cosmic riddle. It felt like his hand was made to fit hers, with all its angles and curves, and even the scar that ran between his thumb and index finger seemed to fit the cuts and burns on her own hand, matching into some sort of abstract pattern that somehow just made sense when put together.

And yes, it would not have been the worst way to go. Far from it.

But for now, her heart was still beating, frantically and loudly, so loudly that it was now all she could hear. Or maybe it was not her heart that was hammering in her ears like a battle drum; perhaps it was Cassian's, the sound conducted through whatever little air was left between them and amplified by her increasingly drugged brain.

Or maybe it wasn't a heart at all. Maybe it was the thumping of a seven-foot security droid who had managed to unlock the door and cross the length of the room before Marla even registered his presence.

'Oh, hi there-- What the hell, Kay? What are you doing?' Her initial enthusiasm was quickly replaced by surprise when she felt a strong metal hand clasping her shoulder and yanking her upward.

'My current objective is to extract you from this facility,' he replied, and Marla realised she was being dragged towards the exit. A quick look to her right revealed Cassian was in the same position. 'Please comply with my instructions.'

'Well, you're not exactly leaving us any choice...'

'It is imperative that you leave this room immediately, Lieutenant.' The droid continued dragging them both towards the exit like two ragdolls. 'It appears you both were exposed to an aerosolised chemical agent dispersed within the room's atmosphere. Based on my preliminary analysis, this particular substance was designed to impair cognitive function and inhibit motor skills, and prolonged exposure could potentially result in a state of unconsciousness similar to a medically induced coma. Which is why I am extracting you from the premises.'

'So you're saving our lives?'

'Yes, Lieutenant Reid. This is an accurate summary.'

'You know what?' she slurred, finding it increasingly difficult to pronounce words. 'You're okay.'

There was a long pause, and Marla imagined the poor droid's programming trying to process her sudden outburst of unexpected affection. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. I must, however, note that the chemical agent appears to have impaired--'

'You can call me Marla.'

'Excuse me?'

'You can call me Marla,' she repeated, letting out another small chuckle.

Another long pause. 'Noted.'

Marla was sure she wanted to say something else. Was it to K2, or was it to Cassian... Yes, she definitely wanted to tell him something, but what was it...? Hoping it would inspire her memory, she tried saying his name - but the word came out as a hoarse whisper that was quickly drowned out by her laboured breathing and the loud footsteps echoing through the empty hallways.

The lights overhead flickered and dimmed, casting eerie shadows across the walls and floor. Everything was dancing, swirling before her eyes - the lights, the outline of the door at the end of the corridor, Cassian's eyes when she looked over to her right to check on him. Wait, his eyes. That had something to do with what she wanted to tell him, but what was that...?

She looked over to her right again, but this time, there was only darkness. In fact, there was nothing but darkness all around.

And then she passed out.

'Good morning,' she heard a quiet, hoarse voice next to her ear. 'Well, not sure what time measurements they used on this station... How are you feeling?' How was she feeling? And why was Cassian's voice so close? And where the kriff was she? 'We both passed out on the way; Kay carried us here. I just woke up, too.'

Slowly, her senses started picking up different stimuli. There was the coldness of metal behind her back and on the ground, but her right shoulder was glued to something warmer and softer. Something that smelled like that other room they were just in, a bit like droid oil, and definitely a lot like Cassian.

I took her a couple of more seconds to register the rest. They were sitting on the floor of their ship's cockpit. Judging by the dull pain in her neck, she had spent the last maker-knows-how-long with her head propped on Cassian's shoulder - a fact that would make her embarrassed, had it not been for the haziness and overall confusion that lingered in her mind. But overall, she felt... better. Definitely more present, if a bit sore in places she couldn't quite justify.

'Why are we sitting on the floor?' she asked, her voice coming out raspier and quieter than she expected.

'Well, the two of you didn't seem to mind sitting on the floor back in the control room. I apologise if I made the wrong assumption about your seating preferences.'

K2's voice sounded somehow louder than usual. Definitely more painful.

'Where were you, Kay?' Cassian asked as he slowly began the transition to the upward position. A very awkward, very clumsy transition.

'Gathering intel.'

'Wait, so you did find something? I thought--'

'Not initially, no. But as I was escorting the two of you back to the ship, I spotted a malfunctioning astromech. It had been badly damaged and incapable of articulating anything coherent, but I managed to connect to its memory cores.'

'You... did?

'Yes, Cassian. It appears that particular unit was in charge of cross-checking the arrivals at the cargo bay with the ships' manifestos. I only managed to decrypt some routes, but it appears that before the station was abandoned, a vast majority of shipments came from - or through - Corulag.'

'Corulag? That's... next to Coruscant, isn't it? Did you find any mentions of Narkina V?'

'As I've said, I only managed to decrypt part of the data. It is possible that Corulag was just a stop on the way from somewhere else. Or that there were different kinds of shipments.'

'I see,' Cassian regained his guarded tone of voice, focusing his eyes on the ship's control panel.

'Well, it's something, right?' Marla let out a hopeful mumble, trying to hoist herself up to her feet and into the pilot chair. 'So, what. Corulag? It's on our way back anyway...'

Cassian was silent for a moment, to the point where Marla started wondering if he'd heard her. But he did.

'I'll have to report back to the command,' he said flatly, and Marla's heart once again sank at the sound of that cold tone. 'But, yes, you can start calculating the hyperspace route to Corulag. Let's hope we have more luck there.'

#cassian andor #cassian andor x original female character #andor #andor fanfiction #rogue one fanfiction #star wars #andor series #fanfic #rogue one

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dujour13 · 2 years

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1, 18, and 19 for Siavash!

After the game story, did your OC stay on in Drezen? In what capacity? Did they ascend? Given Iomedae’s ultimatum right after finding out just how badly he’d been let down by Galfrey and the Hand of the Inheritor, there was no way Siavash was going to be Iomedae’s obedient little lapdog, nor Nocticula’s for that matter, so he chose to keep his Azata powers. When it became obvious that he was going to have to sacrifice himself to close the Worldwound, and seeing Woljif’s reaction to that news, he promised he would do everything in his power not to die, which ultimately meant ascension. The other reason for it was that there was one thing he agreed with Areelu on: he developed a profound rage against the “machinery of the millennia” that holds mortals in thrall to decay, death, and separation. In the end he worked together with her to thwart it. (That is actually the ending in my fic. I had little choice after seeing the Woljif Romance Mod ending slide for Woljif if Siavash died—I swear it almost killed me.)

18. Your OC’s low point? Siavash hit rock bottom in the Abyss for several reasons: Aivu’s kidnapping, Woljif’s brush with his shadow, and then the info dump at the House of Silken Shadows about the true nature of his powers. He spiraled into a real depression for a while, looking back at his life through a dark lens as if everything he’d ever done had been tainted by the Abyss, when really it was just his chaotic side. Woljif was a little impatient with the drama. Even Aivu couldn’t cheer him up. It was a talk with Ember on the sky ship that helped bring him around.

19. Your OC’s reaction to receiving mythic powers? Extreme surprise, because he was really an average sort of person before all this happened, according to an old friend “the least ambitious person I know.” He’s a fair bard, but he dropped out of conservatory because he just couldn’t sit still for it, and he’s a mid-level civil servant for the Andoren Diplomatic Corps. The metaphor for what follows is that he feels like the Worldwound exerts a sort of gravity on him, and he’s falling in, accelerating as he goes. He only fully begins to flex his mythic muscles without an incredulous sense of impostor syndrome when he razes the Fleshmarket.

#thanks for the ask!#can't wait to see more of these #undyingembers #commander siavash

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titleleaf · 2 years

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ooh tell me some things about process for "jacob's dream" the jophickey noncon one... characterization thoughts would be especially interesting but really anything

First of all THANK, second of all, here is so many words that are probably totally incoherent, I really appreciated getting to revisit this fic!

Fic is here @ AO3 -- Jopson->Hickey noncon for AMC's The Terror s01e08. CW: discussion of #sexual violence and general violence behind the cut

This fic felt so mean to write -- I love writing about dark!versions of characters and it never comes from a position of disliking or hating that particular character, it's more about turning them inside out and figuring out a different aspect of them. Jopson has a steely streak in him and his capacity for patience and care doesn't negate that -- I can't imagine him ever getting to such a point of extremity (even his enthusiasm for knocking Hickey around at gunpoint in this fic, let alone the noncon part) without serious external pressures but the combination of (correctly) perceiving the captain to be under threat and reaching the absolute end of his emotional resources, feeling like they're on the very fringe of "civilized" behavior already, has him doing something he would never have done aboard ship or before they departed. It's a really weird desperate campaign to shore up the captain's authority (and through him by extension the whole vertical structure of English society as he knows it -- the captain, the admiralty, the queen, God) that brings Jopson himself to a worse place than he was before. It's fun showing the harder, tougher, steelier side of Jopson but it's in the context of something fundamentally fucked and morally degrading. I had the idea of "hey what if Terror Camp Clear-era noncon" first -- the way Hickey acts so fake-casual just sparked something, idk -- but I ended up digging in trying to figure out how to get these characters there.

I'd forgotten until rereading this how blatantly I have Hickey just say "Jopson is mad because he's sold his soul to an uncaring power structure", lol -- that's a jaundiced take given Hickey POV and Cornelius being like, one bear attack away from screaming about Queen Victoria, but Jopson is a lawful kind of guy, a caretaker, and he's highly attuned to any threat of instability. Hickey acting against their captain poses a catastrophic threat to the whole system of hierarchy that Jopson puts stock in and Hickey does not, and the extremity of Jopson's response is as much due to that as it is due to a personal dislike of Hickey and his goading. I really wanted this to come across as very physical and ungainly, very much like a beating where the sexual contact is Jopson using his dick the same way he's using his gun or his fists. He's just trying to degrade Hickey in a way he associates with Hickey already, not just sex but brutality and dirtiness -- I hadn't thought of this, but Jopson as a steward must have some thoughts and feelings about whatever he may suspect about Hickey's relationship with Gibson -- and hoping it'll break him down to size. On the flipside, Hickey's twisting his position around to be an empowering one, where he's in control by forcing Jopson to sink to his level and compromise his own moral convictions. Lots of stuff in the show between the two of them as characters about dirtiness and cleanliness, slovenliness and tidiness, laziness and diligence, and it makes them great foils.

There's a weird push and pull here where Hickey absolutely sees rape (specifically being raped) as on a continuity with all his other experiences of sex -- in a calmer moment Jopson would find what he's doing in this fic abhorrent, and he really does try to hide it, but Hickey doesn't view it as qualitatively different than being beaten and he's got a ton of rationalizations in play to keep him from ever having to sit with his emotional responses to sexual exploitation. Unlike his nasty gnome book counterpart, or even a character like Henry Drax who's indifferent to consent as long as he gets off, I think Hickey has a preference for and enjoyment of consensual, pleasurable gay sex that is at odds with his weird conviction that he can scheme and fuck his way to the top. (god, do you think I write too many fucked-up characters... having to say "strangely, Hickey enjoys consensual sex more than nonconsensual sex"...) He always sees the power play in any sexual encounter and the ways even mutually pleasurable sex can be fraught, and while most of the time I think he's projecting sexuality on cross-rank interactions where it's not necessarily there (or willing it into being, like a self-fulfilling prophecy -- Crozier's drink, news of the Marines) I think he's pretty right here that Jopson is doing what he's doing to reassert the power structure that places him over Hickey and Crozier over both of them. (Which is why he goes right to "btw I fucked the captain, did you know that, I fucked the captain and got his uniform dirty too" -- he construes Jopson's attachment to the hierarchy aboard ship as sexual both because he's a gadfly and a shit-stirrer who wants to sully Crozier and demean Jopson, but also because he sees sex and power as inherently intertwined. And if you loooove the captain so much, why don't you marry him?)

Even though the context is really bleak, I loved writing attack dog Jopson -- he sees himself here as doing for Crozier what Crozier can't do for himself, invoking how Hickey's transgressed against The Rules(tm) to justify what he's doing to him. Jopson🤝 Crozier

It's also just fun to write about the rough, dirty, whiskery, seamy side of Jopson, someone who's got a face like a haunted doll despite his incredible beard-growing abilities and is easy to paint as kind of wispy due to his clear trauma and his moments of great gentleness. (Neither of which Hickey can understand.) Jopson's a mess by the end of the season, and his misapprehension that Crozier has abandoned him perversely fulfills Hickey's nasty little dig about how Jopson's sacrificed so much for the hierarchical order and it's not giving him anything in return. (The flipside, maybe, of none ever wanted nothing from me. Hickey has to give Jopson's position the sour-grapes treatment to preserve his own self-image, because Jopson very much is a wanted and valued crew member.)

Also wow, a lot of scurvy stuff in this, I think I tried to make it tangibly nasty given how Jopson's physical deterioration is so agonizing in those last episodes but even Hickey is feeling the malnutrition woes. I do *not* know how Hickey thinks a person would lose their testicles (or a testicle, singular) due to scurvy. Maybe he thinks they drop off.

#ska writes a thing

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rosymiz · 7 years

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I wonder about something. Dont get me wrong pls but how can you ship sona x jhin. I mean she is a person who he wants to kill.At least we can say it in his trailer.

Okay, okay, okay, I’m so super happy I get to talk about why I love this ship, I’m so excited! But before I get to it, I would like to make a note/disclaimer about canon Jhin as of now.

Khada Jhin, as he is now in the League of Legends lore/world, would want to kill any and every champion–Sona included, obviously. As long as that mask stays on his face, a romantic/sexual relationship is impossible.He is much too interested in the “artistry” of killing people and evoking fear and terror through it, to be interested in starting a relationship of any sort with anyone. Unless it’s a client paying money. To kill people.

Now that that’s out of the way. Let me tell you why I love JhinSona under the read more! (EDIT: It got really long, I’m so sorry. There’s so much I have to explain first ;; v ;;)

First of all, I think, of all champions remotely related to Jhin, Sona could be the key to what he also desires in the back of his mind. According to these quotes: “This art is a compulsion. I cannot resist it.” and “There is nothing for me but this.”

Of course, many of his quotes are up to everyone’s interpretation. But I interpreted this as that, he is driven by a compulsion to kill and to see the beauty in death, not completely willing to do so. He can’t resist it, as in, he doesn’t have the ability to stop himself. And I think Sona can help him cure that.

Sona’s music has the power to heal, so why wouldn’t she be able to heal hearts too? To offer them comfort and to soothe. Since she performs in many places, I would think she has a gentle and assertive heart–being the elegant Maven of the Strings she is and all. She would have to stop Jhin before she can get to helping him. And that can still be done with her music.

Before romance can bloom, they’re going to have a doctor-patient relationship because Sona is trying to help him. There’s the possibility of a Nightingale effect from either party, but if I had to shove that out of the way (because it’s not a good trope to base romance on and forces you to be creative), it brings me to this.

“There is nothing for me but this.” Killing is all Jhin has. He probably doesn’t work as a stagehand anymore, and if he loses the one thing he felt alive in, there’s nothing for him. Or so he thinks. That’s when I see their doctor-patient relationship going beyond that level, where they work with each other to get Jhin back on his feet without the gun. I believe that’s when romance can truly bloom: when he’s really interacting with other people without the compulsion to kill hindering him.

Much of my JhinSona works are based on that post-cure time period. Because if he found beauty in death and killing, why can’t he do the same in life and living as well, later on?

I love thinking about their dynamic. They really complement each other well, in my opinion. An eloquent actor and a silent songstress. Whenever I think about them dancing together or just doing a performance (no killing >:U) together… or even the slightest loving touch, I just fall in love with them all over again

For me, it’s about the overall arc of their encounter and Jhin’s personal journey to find himself again through Sona’s help. But the main act is that post-journey when they can finally settle down and explore their relationship beyond what they used to have before.

So yes, this got incredibly long. I am so sorry to my mobile users who will have to read/scroll through this ;; v ;; But I really, truly do love JhinSona for, hah, everything it’s given me. It has a special place in my heart for personal reasons only a few know.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, I’ll see you next week–

#... this got really long #I'm... not even sure if you'll bother reading it #but fuck it I poured my heart into this #so I'm keeping it here <3 #also I am totally down for having a conversation about this if you want #but let's keep it civil without bringing down ships for it #I'm certain it wasn't your intention #I got super happy that I can have the chance to tell you why I love JhinSona anyways <33333 #anonnyyy #rosyanswers #jhinsona #jhin x sona

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smp-live · 3 years

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The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #Fic #enderspeak #sbi rust #crimeboys #Love how we all saw that stream and went #''Yes. Those are the Rust boys.''#Also I can't write anymore apparently. Pain

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ventisehe · 3 years

Text

crying on their wedding day / genshin impact / part one

this was a request from my old account and i am only transferring it here. there is a part two to this but i got busy with school and organizing my new account, as well as thinking over deleting my old account.

since bennett is fifteen or sixteen, his part will be a little different from the others. with aether, he is hundred years old so his part if just like the rest. this is unedited and i wrote it at night when i was supposed to be farming so please bear with me hehe.

requested by: @bakuhoe-is-my-bakubro

includes: diluc, zhongli, childe/tartaglia, aether, bennett

warning: unedited, not proofread

part two

THOSE WHO WOULD SHED A SINGLE TEAR

DILUC

After losing his father and his horrible fall out with Kaeya, Diluc has become a firm believer that a man can truly live as an island, to some extent. As much as possible, he kept to himself and worked alone. Having people share his burdens with him did not appeal to him. In fact, it miffed him, as it made him feel indebted to them.

He limited his interaction with everyone, especially those who are part of the Knights of Favonius, favoring solitude above else. But of course, this did not entail bad social ethics to others.

He treated his maids and employees with civility and respect, the same can be said with his patrons whenever he worked behind the counter (it would certainly be bad for his business if he behaved aloof to them) and those he was once close friends with. He always behaved appropriately to them, although he must admit he can be quite insulting to the Knight, he always stood behind an invisible barrier, careful not to cross it and grow attached to anyone.

He has long given up with amorous relationships. After all, what good would he be as a lover if he could not provide his woman the love and care she deserved? Surely, he cannot let a maiden suffer with his inadequacy as a potential husband. He is aware of how hectic his schedule is (he hardly has enough time for himself so spending time with his lover would be proven difficult) and how poorly he expresses his feelings, thoughts, and emotions. In a relationship, in marriage, communication is the key for it to be successful, and already then, he has failed. He may be a cold man at first glance, but he will not put a woman in s distressing dilemma, not intentionally anyway.

Being the richest man in Mondstadt and being considered attractive by many, Diluc was not foreign to having women throw themselves at him, attempting to seduce him. If maintaining a relationship with a woman with his current tribulations was hard, finding a woman who truly love and understand him was even harder. He has no means of deciphering who were pure with their intentions and those who sought him for his money and influence.

And he accepted his fate without easily, without question. This was the way it was supposed to be in the first place. Diluc Ragnvindr - a lone man, who lived in too big mansion, sleeping on a bed too big for him. It was all he knew. The bright days of his childhood long forgotten.

But then you came to his life so suddenly.

"Master Diluc," Began Jean, a polite smile over her lips. "This is ( Your Name )".

All it took was for you to give him shy smile to have his walls broken down, and for his heart to yearn for what he has resolutely denied himself of for years. And it twisted him, and not in a way he welcomed.

Diluc tried so damn hard to push you away. He avoided your presence, and made it his point to show you he wanted nothing to do with you, and made no attempt to cover it and ignored how his heart broke every time your smile fell. He resolutely refused to yield to your sincere advances.

He treated you the same way be treated everyone, to show you how you were no different from everyone. You were just another dot in his life waiting to be erased and thrown in the back of his mind.

But the harder he pushed, the harder you pulled. In his brightest days and in his darkest days, you have never strayed far and welcomed him with open arms. You always went out of your way for him.

It was hard not to fall in love with you? Why did you have to make things so difficult?

It wasn't too long until he was falling asleep in his bed with you in his embrace, his heart feeling light, warm and content. He hasn't feel like this in a long time - safe, and at home. Diluc found home from someone he tried to push away.

The horror of what could have happened if he had been successful weighed down on him, and it took quite an assurance from you to make him remember that he has failed, and you were his, as he was yours.

Back then, he thought your persistence was bothersome. But as he stood at the altar right now, watching you enter with your white wedding dress, he was grateful you never gave up on him.

Diluc cannot describe how beautiful you looked as you graced everyone in the place with your presence.

Your eyes locked with him, and his heart soared in his chest. And when you smiled at him, an excited gleam in your eyes - he cannot help but smile back.

Time cannot be any slower, and the aisle cannot be any longer. And have you always walked this slow? Or were you just teasing him?

Diluc's breath hitched - Perhaps you knew how much he wanted to get this over with so he can have you all to himself in the comfort of his room.

And when he saw you smiling mischievously at him, he knew that he was right.

His words failed to describe how beautiful you looked. His words failed the joy he was feeling. May Barbatos have mercy on him

But the tear that escaped the corner of his eye explained everything.

"Oh, what is this?" His best man whispered beside him, a teasing tone lacing his voice. "Master Diluc is crying. Why, I never thought I'd see the day."

Diluc shot him a glare. "Do not make me regret making you my best man, Kaeya."

Kaeya laughed. "Ah, ah, ah," He chimed. "Your wife won't be pleased if we fight at your wedding day."

A warm and pleasant feeling coursed through him. His wife.

"She's not my wife yet." Said Diluc.

Kaeya looked at you as you walked down the aisle. "And in just a few minutes, I'll have two Ragnvindr to annoy." He patted his brother on the back, smiling a genuine smile for the first time. "Congratulations, Diluc."

ZHONGLI

Zhongli, or Rex Lapis for that time, has watched over Teyvat for thousands of years and has witnessed firsthand how kings and tyrants rose and fell, how kingdoms were born, how camaraderie are conducted, how romance makes a man foolish and blinded, how society flourished in the hands of mortals as Archons guarded them from their resting place, and throughout the tales of humans, his eyes has laid upon many beauties.

But you? Oh, even the most esteemed bard of all realms could never bring the satisfactory glory to your name and pulchritude.

How dearly Zhongli missed the unspeakable power, money and authority he had back before he revoked his own position as a deity, keeping a close eye over Liyue and his people. But if ever presented with the opportunity to return to his rightful place as part of the Seven, he shall graciously decline, casting his gaze away and simply returning to your side.

After all, what benefit would he gain from it when he already has his heart is content in the possession of a mere mortal, a mortal he loved and adored. He would dream of ever choosing his old power over you, and that can be affirmed when he asked for your hand as the two of you took an evening stroll outside Liyue.

He has fallen for you and he cannot rise again. A gentle and kind woman with an understanding and patience which knows no bounds. If not for his revelation that he has accomplished all his duties and has come to decide to resign from his reign, your existence may be another reason for him to take the form or a mortal and ask for your hand.

He can still recall that faithful day when he first met you at the harbor. He stood by a high balcony, overlooking Liyue Harbor with arms crossed. The sun beat down against Liyue grounds and his skin, but it also casted an ethereal glow on you as you exited one of the ships that stopoed at the docks. And may he boldly say the sun was outshined that day, and his heart has been taken.

Zhongli can only imagine how many men has chased after you, but failed to woo you.

Zhongli understood the concept of love. After all, Liyue and every living being that sought shelter in its walls were close to his heart, but never in his life has he felt the way he felt for you. It was the sort of phenomena he observed between lovers for centuries - unconditional love and care, a sanctuary in the arms of their beloved, an individual to trust and come home to whether the day has been kind or unkind.

What he thought were trivial matters and the means of mortals for survival he has tasted its sweet flavor, and it was by your hand did he receive it. And he was thankful that you have found him worthy of being with you, and soon, being one with him in the contract of marriage.

And thus came the faithful day, the very day he longed to come ever since you have accepted him as your husband to be, and the day you have dreamt of every night you laid with him.

Zhongli counted the months, weeks, days, and if he had the ability to, minutes until the day of your wedding. He has a calendar in his room and everyday, he enthusiastically crossed out every passing day, watching as his wedding with you grow closer.

And when it finally arrived, Zhongli followed a meticulous routine to prepare himself, using expensive oils and perfume to which the Fatui money has provided splendidly. After all, he wanted to look the best he can for you. You deserved only the best of things, and he shall not hold back on anything to please you.

Though Zhongli, most of the time, was a calm man even under the eye of tribulations, when he stood at the altar in front of his close friends and colleagues, he can't help but feel anxious.

Of course he has no doubt in your love for him. He holds on your every word of love and affection as true, and his love for you was as hard as stone. Rather, it was he who doubted himself and his capabilities.

He wondered if he would be able to take care of you, love you the way you should be, bring a smile to your lips, and a laugh out of your mouth. If he had been Rex Lapis still, he would have easily uphold his duties as your husband. After all, what can an Archon not do?

It would be Childe, his best man, who would console him. He would tell Zhongli he is more than capable to care for you. He has a stable job (not to mention his connection with the Fatui), he was eager to please you and give you about everything if he can, he has a kind heart, he was a man who can manage his time wisely and never choose his profession over you, and above all, he loved you. Not many men can afford the luxury of being this perfect, but Zhongli was no man, not originally at least.

He will be unconvinced of what Childe has said. This unease in him was hard to diminish. Not being enough for you will tear him apart. The thought of it just gnawed at him. Will he make you happy? Will you regret marrying him when you realized life married to him wasn't as you expected?

It was only when the doors opened, and his wide and anticipative eyes darted over to the other end of the place did every little doubt in his mind is erased.

You stood by the entrance wearing the white dress you have fought hard not to show him until this day.

That bright smile on your face, those eyes that shimmered at the sight of him, the faint red on your cheeks - Zhongli did not even notice how love stricken he looked, and nor did he notice a tear cascade from corner of eye.

It was only when Childe stifled a laugh and pointed it out did he feel the dampness at the side of his face.

He forgot how to breathe when you finally stood before him. Even a veil cannot conceal your beauty.

With twinkling eyes, you smiled at him - like he was the only person in the room.

"Are you crying?" You ask playfully.

Zhongli will let out a chuckle, and as he take your hands in his, he said, "In such a beautiful day like this with the loveliest lady in Teyvat before me, how can I not?"

Indeed it was a beautiful day, made better when your lips met his.

He can't stop a few more tears from slipping.

THOSE WHO WOULD BAWL THEIR EYES OUT

CHILDE/TARTAGLIA

Childe understood his duties as a Harbinger even if his playful and flirtatious facade may say otherwise. He kissed hands of women and paid them golden compliments until their mind went hazy with his feigned affection, but he was still a Fatui at the end of the day - a ruthless and greedy scoundrel who had too much Mora in his hands.

And it was because of his line of work that he decided never to commit himself. If he was to find himself infatuated with a woman and she reciprocated his feelings and desired to pursue a relationship with him, it would inevitably drag her to the dangers entailed to his position.

The last thing he wanted was someone to dear to him to be harmed, not to mention his lover could become his weakness, she could be taken by his enemies and be used against him, thus, making things more complicated and harder for him to fulfill his duties to the Tsaritsa.

To him, nothing is more important than seeing through his mission with the finest quality of work he can give.

So damn you for coming into his life and distracting him. Damn you for bringing another bright to his life. Damn you for taking care of his family when he was gone. Just - damn you for making him fall for you.

He hated this - the feeling of being weak, of being vulnerable, of laying his guard down. One touch from you and he's no better than the people he despised for being so frail and powerless.

How ever do you possess this prowess to make him so dependent on you, to relish in your voice when you sing to him as the two of you laid together in his bed, how he let his defenses crumble when you whisper his name, the tug of his heart when you he sees you getting along so well with his family.

Childe wanted you. He wanted you more than anything and anyone in Teyvat. He was going crazy thinking about you.

He refused to acknowledge his feelings at first, thinking perhaps he can use you to comfort him and his family in these troubling times. That's all you were supposed to be, a tool for him to make his family feel better whenever he goes off to accomplish his work as a Harbinger.

But he couldn't stomach the thought of using you like that. He didn't want you to treat like a toy. And it did not help that one day, when he was returning from a mission, you come rushing to him and blurting out your feelings and your worry for his safety.

You loved him. Did he hear you right? You love a Fatui, and a Harbinger, no less. Surely, you aren't that stupid to fall for him.

And yet he smiled a sincere smile at your confession, and he too followed your steps. That night, he was at his weakest. Just relishing in your arms and ridding all the responsibilities over his shoulders. He can forget all his faults for a moment, with you. A peace of mind and heart was found in you.

Childe watched as you played with his fingers, and then he spoke. “Aren’t you afraid?”

You hummed. “Afraid? Of what?”

Childe shook his head and held your hand which toyed with his digits. You looked up at him, puzzled.

“Of me.” Said Childe, pulling your hand and holding it close to his chest. He closed his eyes, almost terrified of what your answer can be. “Of what I can bring to your life. I’m a Harbinger, [ Your Name ]. Your life is at stake just being with me. Do you know what you’re in for for loving me?”

You gazed at him, and he can’t see anything in your eyes. He let out a small gasp when you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“I’m not afraid of you or anything this world can throw at me.” You confessed. “You’re going to protect me, Tartaglia. I know you will. I trust you. I love you.”

And fucking hell, did he protect you.

He tried to hide you from his fellow Harbingers, and especially to his enemies. Not because they will use you to get the upper hand against him, a leverage. No, he wanted to hide you, as long as he can anyway (because it won't be long until his secret is out, walls do have ears), to protect you. No one will lay a hand or even get a single strand of your hair. May the Archons have mercy on anyone who dares put you in the middle of the dangers of his job, because he surely won't.

Because of this, you and Childe decided to get married in secret, with no one else but Zhongli, the traveler, and their floating companion to be your witnesses in becoming one. The two of you knew well of the consequences your decision shall birth, but it's the one you're making. Nothing in this can stop Childe from making you his wife, and treating you as such.

Childe could not wait for the ceremony to begin. Even with such a small crowd - very small indeed - he did not hold back to make this day special for you. The finest of everything is what you deserved, and if he could give more, he would. But for now, all he can give you is himself, and he dearly wished he was enough.

The whole time, as he waited for you to emerge from the doors of the small cathedral the two of you chose to be wed in, he kept imagining how his life would be like with you.

Waking up beside you was the thing he looked forward to the most. When the sunrays peeked from closed curtains and cascaded down your slumbering form, a gentle and even breaths leaving your lips, a soft expression of rest - the thought of it filled his heart with warmth, a kind of warmth only you can evoke from him.

Waking up at your side on his bed always reminded him thst you were indeed there, and his. Soon, he'll be waking up beside you with a soft smile on his lips, a reminder that you were there, but now as his wife.

Childe never really considered him emotional. It was part of his discipline as a Harbinger never to let his emotions get the better of him. But when you stepped into the cathedral wearing the wedding dress you personally chose and had hidden from him for so long, a veil over your face but the soft smile still just as bright as the morning sun, it all came crashing down to him.

Childe wanted a lot of things in life. But what he wanted the most was to spend the rest of his life with you - providing for you, protecting you, comforting you, falling deeper in love with your every single day. All this he will do until his dying breath, and he knew you'd do the same.

His dream was walking towards him, never taking her eye off him as she approached the altar.

He can hear Paimon clapping and the Traveler reprimanding her for being a little too loud. He can hear Zhongli saying something to him but he couldn't understand a word he said. But he was too lost in his realization that you're going to marry him.

You chose him, a man with too many faults and imperfections.

Just as you arrived at the small steps leading towards the altar, the tears Childe has been trying to hold back streamed down his face, small hiccups escaping his lips.

You stared at him, worried. "Tartaglia, are you alright?"

Childe would try to formulate an answer but through his tears and hiccups, he couldn't make a single comprehensible word. His posture was regal and proper, as though he was trying to fool everyone that he wasn't crying.

How can you ask if he was alright? How can his heart handle how beautiful you looked right now?

"Excuse me, ( Your Name )," Zhongli interjected as he stepped beside Childe. "It seems that your soon to be husband needs a moment to collect himself. Please, excuse us."

Zhongli led Childe back to his room, and the Harbinger did not fight back. He was still crying even when the doors has closed behind him. Zhongli stood by the door, watching the Fatui sit on his bed, trying to stop himself from bawling.

Childe can feel guilt crawling up to him as he realized what he had done. What was supposed to the most perfect day, your most perfect day, was ruined because of him.

He was scared to think what you thought of him now. Were you resenting him for what happened? Did you still wish to marry him?

If only he had controlled his emotions much better. He shouldn't have let his joy break through him in tears.

"She was crying too, you know," Spoke Zhongli.

Childe raised his head to look at the former Archon. "Huh?"

"Your bride, she - " He smiled at him. " - she was crying too. She's happy to be marrying you."

Childe can feel his heart hammering against his chest in delight at what he said.

"So don't keep her waiting."

Childe bawled his eyes out once more when the words - "I do," - left your lips.

AETHER

When his sister was taken from him, Aether was a lost and wandering soul in Teyvat with the sole purpose of finding her.

Throughout his journey, he met different people from different regions. He learned their values and cultures, he grew to love the world he used to be a stranger to, he was able to utilize different sorts of Visions, and yet, despite all of this, Aether was lonely. Paimon - bless her pure soul - tried her best to keep his spirits and bring a smile to his face (he assumed she too felt the hollowness inside of him) but it was all futile as he often find himself seeking solitude and gazing out in an open field wondering where his twin could be and how she was fairing on her own.

He will let the cool breeze comfort him, but all it left was a searing kiss of reality that his search might have been all for naught. That very concept his mind was conjured haunted him in his every waking days. Is he still journeying through Teyvat and reaching out to all Archons with a solid purpose? Was he no wasting his time looking high and low for someone who could not be looking at the sky as he?

"And what if she is?"

Your words is what got his attention. Aether met you in the evening when the stars and the moon was absent from the skies. He sat on a fallen log overlooking the city of Mondstadt, alone and cold. Paimon has insisted in him accompanying him, but he had snuck away before she can chase after him. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, and with the scarce time he has for himself, he has to make the most of every night that comes.

Lumine was in his mind, and worry was gnashing its teeth at him. He was deep in his own world, sinking to the hands of his tragic thoughts, that he did not hear footsteps trekking the hillock he was at. Nor did he realize he was speaking his own worries in the air, eyes distant and staring blankly at nothing.

"What if she's not even looking for me?" That's what he remembered saying that time.

Then you made your presence known with an answer that refuted his initial thought. He whirled his head to the side, wide eyes with surprise. You stood next to him with a faint smile, hands behind your back and the moon slowly peeking from the shroud of clouds. A light in the darkness, the moon was. And so you were you to him.

"Sorry," You apologized, sheepishly giving him a smile as you rubbed the back of your neck. "I didn't mean to interrupt. You were speaking out loud and-and I just had a feeling I needed to say something." You took in a deep breath, and Aether found the pink dusting your cheeks adorable. "I . . . I'll just go now - "

Aether didn't regret asking you to stay.

Before you came to his life, Aether did not know how much he was dwelling in the own hell he made. His inner tribulations, his worries, his insecurities - he only took notice the torture he was putting on himself when you keep saving him from his own mind.

At first, all he thought of you was a precious friend - someone he leaned on and entrusted with everything, whether it be secrets or help with his quests. He told you about his past, his twin, how exactly he was different from the people of Teyvat, how he and sister fought an unknown god, how she slipped from his fingers when he reached out for her, how much he wanted her back. He was terrified of what you may think of him when he told you these things, but to his surprise, all you did was wrap him in your arms and comforted him.

Along with Paimon, you were his dearest friend.

But as time passed, the longer you accompany him and Paimon in his travels, he noticed something strange. The way his heart skipped a beat when you smile at him, how he can't keep his eyes off you when you laugh at one of his tales, how his heart hammered ceaselessly when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek, the relief that seeps in his system when he sees you unscathed from a battle, how irritated he becomes when someone makes an offense against you, the joy that seizes him when he listens to you talking about something you loved, and how much he adored it when you scold him for being a little too reckless in fighting.

Aether, despite being older than he seems, did not know what to make of what he was feeling. It was strange, a good kind of strange - the kind of feeling that makes him feel like he was floating in the sky. All he thought of it was an overwhelming adoration for a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

It wasn't until Paimon pointed it out did he realize what he was feeling for you.

Upon learning his feelings for you, Aether couldn't sleep for many nights. He was plagued with the desires of his heart and his insecurities. It was like falling back to the same hellish pattern before you came along.

He was in this world for one reason only - to find his twin. And when he does - and he fucking will - he will depart from here with her and continue their travels. Leaving you was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't bear the thought of it. It felt like leaving a piece of him behind in Teyvat, a hole in the shape of your name.

The solution he had for this is directly confessing to you. Of course, the blond was a nervous wreck when he approached you and asked for a moment of your time. Paimon knew of his plan and wandered away for the time being, wanting to give the two of your privacy.

If you did not share the same feelings as he, he can already imagine the pain he will have to deal with, but it'll be much easier to leave. At least then he knows you won't be as hurt as he thought once he takes his leave. He never entertained the idea of you reciprocating his feelings. It would be foolish to - surely you can't find anything appealing with someone like him ; to which you rendered him speechless and a bumbling mess when you pressed your lips against his when he was in the middle of his confession.

Aether shouldn't be this happy with you. He loved you too much to see you hurt when he tells you that he must leave. He was not welcome in this world, he was an outsider, a being not under the authority or influence of any Archons.

But still, he spent months loving you, caring for you, doing anything to come back to you no matter what is thrown at him. He loved having you in his arms when you slept, he loved watching the stars with you at night, he loved you even with the inevitable arguments you two have - Aether was utterly and hopeless in love with you.

And thus, he decided to tell you what will happen after he finds his sister.

He knew he would be heart broken in seeing you cry, but it hurt more to see you smile at to him so genuinely and embraced him, saying, "You used to doubt you'll ever find your sister. It broke my heart everyday seeing you so hopeless, and I - " You composed yourself, shaking your head as your tried to gather your thoughts. " - now look at you," You cupped his cheek, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your smile broadened. "I always knew the day will come when you have to leave me. When you told me you weren't from this world, I knew then I'll have to let go of you someday. But until that day comes - Aether - "

What a shock it came to him when you got down on one knee and presented to him a glittering ring - there was unconditional love and hope in your eyes. It was like looking back at his reflection. "Marry me, Aether, let me make you happy for the rest of the days we still have remaining until you leave."

Aether can never say no to you.

To his surprise, Master Diluc has already agreed to host your wedding at Dawn Winery. Aether was puzzled as to why he seemed unsurprised by the news of his engagement with you, and the Claymore wielding male answered, "( Your Name ) came to me for help when she planned to propose to you."

Aether knew Diluc, as much as possible, wanted to be alone. A lone wolf, he was. But with gratitude for what he has done, he asked him to be his best man. Diluc was startled by this requests but obliged. The red head might not show it but he was immensely flattered by Aether asking him to be his best now (and now time to subtly show it off to Kaeya).

At the day of the wedding, contrary to what he thought he would feel, Aether woke up with his an ache in his chest. He found himself looking out the window of his room, torn between his happiness and sorrow.

In a few hours, Aether will be able to adorn a ring on your finger, symbolizing your promises with one another. He shall be granted the sole blessing of calling your his wife. It was something he was looking forward to - seeing you in your wedding dress, watching as you walk down the aisle -

But Aether's mind kept drifting back to his sister - She would have wanted to be here. He thought.

Aether felt like he was committing a crime when he decided to take a walk just hours before his wedding. But he needed to clear his mind. Lumine never left his mind. He always thought that they would always be there for one another, or at least in big moments like this.

And yet she was still nowhere to be seen.

Is she still alive? Have I been wasting time? Is she still in danger? Is she lost in Teyvat as well?

"Didn't expect to run into you here."

His body tensed when he heard your voice, and he twirled around only to have his breath taken away.

You stood before him in the white dress he had longed to see ever since you proposed to him. He thought he would see a frown on your face, dismayed for his impromptu walk, but you wore a soft smile - a soft and understanding smile.

Aether did know what to say to you. He just stared at you, overwhelmed.

He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed.

You approached him and kissed his cheek. He hummed in delight, eyes closing. "I hope you're not having second thoughts on marrying me." You told him.

Aether was quick to respond. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He looked into your eyes with affirming hues, "There is nothing I'm more sure of than marrying you."

You beamed at him. Seeing your face brighten up is always a beautiful sight for Aether, and it was enough for him to feel enlightened in the midst of his internal crisis.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course you can already tell something is bothering him. Aether shook his head. He has already ruined a small part of what is supposed to be a perfect day, he can't risk another mistake.

"I'm not going to push you to tell me anything." You stated.

Aether smiled. "Thank you." He replied. He gazed at you for a little while, taking you in. "Why are you out here anyway? And in your wedding dress too."

Your eyes widened and you looked down to assess his evaluation. "Oh Archons," You mewled. "I forgot I was wearing this." You let out a groan. "Great, now my surprise is ruined. I won't be able to see you cry when you see me walk down the aisle."

He laughed a little. "But still happy as ever to see you." He said. "So why are you outside?"

"Just . . . " You began, and Aether can detect a hint of nervousness in your voice. " . . . picking some flowers."

"I thought we already ordered flowers." Aether thought, frowning. "Did someone forget to deliver the flowers? I can call someone if - "

"No, I just wanted to pick some flowers, randomly. Like how you wanted to take a walk, randomly."

He looked at you with hesitant eyes. He didn't believe you. There was something hidden behind your motive to be out here. But like how you didn't press him with what was the problem, he did the same for you.

"Okay," He breathed out. "What flowers did you pick then?"

Aether's breath hitched when you pulled out a bundle of Windwheel Asters and several more flowers that was all too familiar with him.

He stared at the white flowers that combined with your Windwheel Asters, the very flowers that he remembered adorned his sister's hair.

"Aether? Aether are you okay?"

He stared at you with glistening eyes, his heart blossoming with adoration and gratitude. Without even meaning to, you managed to make everything alright.

"Yeah," He smiled at you. "I'm okay."

Aether thought when he stood at the altar, he would have Diluc trying to soothe his nerves as his insecurities slowly sink in his mind. But it didn't happen. Diluc merely stood by him with a relaxed expression, glancing at him every now and then.

"You don't look nervous at all." Diluc remarked.

Aether chuckled. "This is the only decision I fully know I won't regret."

Aether felt like it was his first time seeing you in your wedding dress. His heart was filled with the brim with utmost joy, but what caught his attention was the bouquet of flowers in your hands.

You told him before that you will have roses as your bouquet, but to his surprise, he can see the Windwheel Asters and the white flowers that reminded him of his sister.

His emotions was all over the place. He had no idea how he could look so calm. Somehow he managed to hold himself together until you finally stood before him.

When you stared at him behind the veil, he couldn't take it anymore. You were too perfect. How could he be so blessed with you?

Tears sprung to his eyes when you reached out to take his hands in yours. He retracted one of them to rub his arm across his eyes, wiping away the wetness that streamed to his face.

Why am I crying like a child in my wedding? Stop it!

He couldn't.

He only cried harder when you leaned forward, removed his arm from his eyes, made him look into your vibrant hues, to give a small peck on his lips - "You're okay, Aether."

BENNETT

Bennett understood his bad luck more than anyone. He had lived with and through it his entire life he graced the surface of the earth. It was almost pitiful to see the boy smiling ever so brightly as misfortune after misfortune comes hurtling his way, but to him? It was an everyday and normal occurrence, nothing he hasn't seen or experienced before. His spirits has never let their roaring flame vanish, however, and if it had not been for his bad luck, everyone would have been drawn to his warm, welcoming, affable, and cheerful soul.

But just because he was used to the constant array of debacle thrown his way, doesn't mean there were never days where he won't be upset over everything it brought to his life, and others as well, and wonder how long it will take until his unluckiness will lead him back to the very situation he was rescued from when he was a mere baby.

He forgot how long it was when he had experienced something good, miraculously so. The only time he can recall being so was when he encountered the Honorary Knight, convened with them as a temporary adventure team, and found a treasure chest containing items he has only dreamed of in his sleep deep within a domain. However, that was many moons ago, and nothing has ever compared to it ever since. The moment he departed from the Honorary Knight, his bad luck came instantly to bite him.

It was far too long ago. Sometimes, Bennett wondered if that would be the only good thing that can happen to him in his lifetime, and thank the Archons he was wrong because the very worst day that came upon him is a day he will never exchange for another - the day he met you. When it was raining, thunder in the distance, lightning striking trees and soil, his bruised and bleeding form hardly covered under a small and flimsy tent, you graced him with your presence, and an umbrella which you used to cover both of you.

He had never stopped admiring you ever since. His eyes always followed you, wide and shining. He remembered the warmth in his chest and the redness tinting his cheeks when you brought him to your abode and treated his wounds with care gentler than the Deaconess. When he told you what happened to him, he anticipated to he shoved out of the house immediately and have your front door slammed on his face, but you did not. When he warned you about his curse, telling you how you will be affected when you spend a little too much time with him, the look of fright did not cross your visage and you even insisted that he not leave your house until you were sure he was capable of moving without pain, even if you had instantly been affected by his unluckiness (you pricked your finger quite badly when you were stitching a deep wound of his. He always felt guilty for that and has not stopped offering his apologies whenever it pricks the corner of his mind).

Other than the team of adventurers who had saved him from peril when he was a baby, it was difficult to find someone who will stay with him, through bad times and more of it. One cannot simply imagine and comprehend the confusion and happiness that seized him when he found out you were spending more and more time with him, not out pity but because you enjoy his company (which was weird, but he'll take it).

You possessed no Vision, but Bennett never saw you in an inferior light. In fact, it impressed him how you can hold yourself without the aid of any power. Enemies took a little longer to eradicate but ultimately, you were always successful. He held you in high regard, and very much like a certain blond traveler, the poor boy thought it was merely friendship and respect he felt towards you. After all, wouldn't a friend accompany him in his adventures no matter what disappointing or gratifying the outcome is? Wouldn't a friend prepare meals for him before he goes off on a solo expedition? Wouldn't a friend stay up late up waiting for him to return after? Wouldn't a friend welcome him by the entrance of Mondstadt upon his arrival? Wouldn't a friend give him butterflies in his stomach? Wouldn't a friend make his heart pound in a way

It had taken the Traveler and his floating companion for Bennett to learn about how exactly he was feeling for you.

He liked you, and not in the way he liked the traveler or Razor - he liked liked you.

When he realized about his feelings, Bennett nearly short circuit every time you go near him. His face flush a rich color of vermillion, his confident posture stripped down to a coy and uncertain stance, his eyes darted and never meeting yours for too long, a sheepish smile painted over his brims - Bennett had never felt this way before. It was foreign to him - liking someone - and it was worse for him because you were his one of his few friends (you, Razor, the Traveler and their floating friend), and having you withdraw from him if you ever learned his feelings frightened him more than any Ruin Guard could.

He didn't bother entertaining the idea of you returning his feelings. With his bad luck, it was bound to end in a rejection, and he didn't believe he had the heart to accept the hurt that would come.

Bennett tried to keep his feeling a secret, he really, genuinely, did. He locked his feelings for you in a box and stowed away somewhere behind his mind. But it didn't take you too long to catch on. Bennett's theatrics wasn't as impenetrable as he originally thought because there was no other reason for you to corner him in a street in Mondstadt after he tried to avoid crossing paths with you, and admit your feelings to him.

"( Your Name )," Stuttered Bennett, eyes darting to the side to avoid your eyes as he pressed his back against the wall behind him. You gazed at him, a tint of red over your cheek.

Archon, how are you so adorable?

"Uh, hi," He greeted meekly, as he rubbed the back of his head. "I-I was just about to leave for an adventure - "

"Bennett," You spoke, and he froze at the tone of your voice.

He looked at you properly, gulping. Shy eyes, shy smile, shy, shy, shy - and yet somehow, Bennett thought the worse - that you found out about his feelings and was about to turn him down.

He almost got down on his knees and press his hands together in a praying position, head bowed, and beg to keep your friendship. It didn't matter if you did not share his feelings. You were more important than his stupid feelings. He can deal with the hurt of rejection that will soon to come, but losing you completely? Can he even come to terms with that?

But before he can do such humiliating display, you leaned in and pressed a kiss on his cheek,

It was almost too good to be true, and with someone like him, Bennett had to take a moment to comprehend what has happened. His feelings were reciprocated, opposite of what should have been considering his dilemma. How can this be? He was sure your friendship would be put to an end when you learn about what he felt for you. How did you even know that he liked you? Has he been too obvious? Surely not (he was). Perhaps you were merely toying with him, discovering his feelings and choosing to use it as a way to alleviate your boredom -

Horror struck him when he processed the message behind his doubt. How could he think so little of you? Someone as sweet and kind as you would be repulsed by the intention of the actions he thought you were presenting to him. Prideful as this may sound, Bennett believed he knew you enough to know you were sincere in everything you do.

But even if both your feelings are revealed to be mutual, the two of you agreed to wait until a certain age before forming a romantic relationship. The two of you are young and there are a lot more the world can offer outside Mondstadt. There are countless of opportunities to grow and be mature, to be able to have a set of qualities to take of one another.

But that didn't mean the two of you easily managed to hold back showcasing your favor for the other. Bennett will always find himself exchanging secret glances and smile with you whenever a third party joins in on your adventure. He would stick by your side in situations he think could potentially lead you to a major injury. He will attempt (and fail, unfortunately) to whip you up with something delicious when he has free time. And you did the same to him.

With you, there was never a time where his heart wasn't beating against his chest. He can't stop himself from bounding recklessly through his adventures whenever you accompany him, although he will still keep a close eye on you just in case something bad happens to you (but it's always him who ends up injured).

But what he liked the most are the kisses the two of you share. Short, chaste, and shy - whether it be behind closed doors, when others are looking away, or when the two of you set of on an adventure.

Bennett would lay in his bed with a smile on his face, his thundering heart preventing him from sleeping. He'll often find himself burying his face against his pillow, grinning from ear to ear.

This smile was different. This wasn't smile that he usually wore, the kind of smile that persevered through hardship after another. No, it was the sort of smile that was too carefree and too full of utmost joy, no worries or doubts in his heart. Everyday he always woke up to the excitement of adventure, but now, the excitement of it and seeing you once again always had him brimming with the want for the night to be over with so he can chase after his dreams with you. Chasing his dreams with you, what a life.

His world is full of a bad luck, but he thanked the Archons for giving him someone he can depend on in the troubling waters he always he seem to drown in.

Bennett, embarrassing it may sound, often laid on his bed imagining about marrying you.

He can see himself making a fool out of himself when he gets down on one knee and propose to you. It'll be set in the most beautiful place he discovered in one of his adventure, somewhere quiet. Like maybe on top of a mountain overseeing a vast field.

Because of his bad luck, he'll try to prepare for every outcome. To be very sure everything will be saved, he made sure he created a plan B for his plan A, a plan C for his plan B, and so on, and so forth.

He can imagine himself fumbling over his words, blushing a bright red was made prominent because of his white hair, holding a bunch of hand picked flowers a little too tightly, sweat pouring from his face, his suit and hair a little ruffled -

If you say yes (spoiler alert, you will), he will most probably go haywire with shock and happiness, causing him to drop the ring down the mountain, and the two of you will spend quite some time looking for it. But in the end, you two will find it somewhere deep underground or deep underwater (to which you will ask help to retrieve) (Bennett offered to go down to get the ring but you can’t take any chances) and then you can start planning the wedding.

If Bennett had backup plans for his proposal, then expect there'll be much more backups with your wedding. He needed this day to be perfect for you, and his bad luck won't stop him from providing it for you. Even if he had to fight through horde after horde of Hilichurls (please stop him when he does, he definitely will do that for you), making you happy is his top priority.

Bennett will be extremely anxious the day before the wedding. He'll be pacing around his room, and has half a mind of running over to your place and spending the night there to reassure himself that you still want to marry him, and that you’re absolutely sure you want to spend the rest of your life with him. It will be Razor - who the Traveler spent hours teaching the basic information of the role of Best Man to - who will calm his nerves. He’ll stop Bennett from reaching your house and carry him back to his own, and giving him a lecture (he did his best) like the best man he was.

Was he having second thoughts on marrying you? No way! He will just be nervous about how the wedding will go. With his bad luck, something horrible is bound to happen.

At the day of the wedding, Bennett can imagine himself constantly seeking reassurance from his best man.

"What if I mess up?" Questions Bennett to Razor, anxious hands fiddling with his tie.

"Messing up is . . . normal." Razor will reassure him, but Bennett will shake his head.

“But it's me. When I mess up, it's always . . . catastrophic . . . ”

Bennett hoped that at least for his wedding way, everything will go smoothly. A perfect day, for you and for him. He won't embarrass you or himself. He won't forget the rings, he won't have his clothes tucked inside out, he will not spill any food or drinks on himself or on his guests, there will be no random Hilichurl attacks - none of that.

He really hoped for the Archons to spare him from his bad luck.

He will be able to stand by the altar with confidence and a smile, waiting for you to walk down the aisle.

As Bennett is consumed with his thoughts, his eyes drew to the small table at the side of his bed and caught sight of the picture of the two of you perched on the surface. It was a picture you took with a kamera after one of his adventures. The two of you smiling happily as he showcased the loot of vegetables and wheat he gathered in numerous luxurious chests. It was good day, that picture was. He found more resources than usual. Of course, he learned from the Traveler that most of the chest they found contained treasures but hey, vegetables are better than nothing, right?

Bennett stared at your smiling face and can feel the heat creep on his cheeks as he imagined you in a pretty, white wedding dress, smiling at him so shyly and cute - oh, Archons, help him. May them have mercy on him. Of course, you always looked pretty to him - so, so pretty - but in your wedding day? Archons, he doesn't know if he can take that. It'll be too much for his big heart.

He can only imagine how your wedding will play out, but there is one thing he was sure of and that is that he will burst into tears once he laid his eyes upon you - and not the soft cry most men do in their wedding, oh, not at all like that. His heart is too big with too much love for you, and too soft to control his emotions properly.

Bennett will cry (bawl, actually), his tears of joy coming in streams, and it was loud enough for strangers to think he was grieving over a deceased loved one. He was hiccupping and sobbing, will probably be holding on to his vest tightly as if his entire lifeline depended on the pressure of how he crumpled the fabric. He hoped that in that time, Razor or the Traveler will lend him a hand and calm him down before he can ruin his own wedding.

Bennett, as he happily imagined that fateful day to come in the future (spoilers again, it will) did not feel a tear slip from the corner of his eye as he drifted off to a pleasant slumber with a beaming smile.

The boy absolutely adores you.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #aether x reader #bennett x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years

Text

Open: a discarded Thomas and Richard ficlet.

This is a piece I did before the movie was released when all we had to go off of was the trailer that, somehow, managed to make Guy look kinda sleezy. Really, that was an accomplishment.

I originally wasn’t going to post it after I saw the film. It’s not that it wasn’t canon compliant, or that I didn’t ship it anymore, I just kinda lost the urge. I was more okay with the idea of Thomas and Guy than I’d thought I was (seriously, how did they make him looks so ooc sleezy?!?) and while there were points to be made with this piece, I didn’t feel the need to make them.

Then the fandom reaction happened. Fortunately, I missed the worst of the active shipping war, and what I have caught on Tumblr - from both the Thomas x Richard fans and the Thomas x Handsome Men fans - has been the ‘ship and let ship’ attitude I’ve always endorsed. The new works coming out on Ao3, however, have been pretty universally “We must reclaim the canon for our own for the world to be right!” and while one or two authors have been civil about the whole thing, a whole lot more have shown all the grace of a Mary-And-Edith-At-Their-Worst-Sibling-Rivalry.

Seriously, I’ve read one (1) piece that was simply written for the joy of the pairing (and it was lovely) and outside of that I’m about to start looking at Thomas x Jimmy fics out of desperation for something to read since I’m caught up on all the Thomas x Guy stuff.

So.

Despite the fact I wasn’t going to post this and despite the fact that I’m not quite fair to poor Guy because all I had was the Trailer (although it’s not actual bastardization, promise!), I’m going to put this here as an example of this little ship-and-let-ship concept all of the other Thomas ships have made an art form out of called:

AU Canon Divergence

Thomas closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree, listening to the distant babbling of the river and the birds singing somewhere overhead. He’d not dared bring a blanket, in case anyone asked what it was for, but this part of the cemetery was so neglected no one came to clear the moss out from between the tree roots or keep the grass trimmed, so there was plenty of padding anyway. He’d just have to make certain his trousers were free of debris before he headed back up to the house.

Through the sheltering trees, he heard a short whistle, completely separate from the bird song. Smiling, he opened one eye and called, “Over here!” At first there was no response. Then, shortly, there was the sound of a foot on a dry twig and not long after that a tall figure came into view wearing a long coat, a fashionable hat, and a Cheshire cat smile. Somewhat to Thomas’s surprise, he had a basket hooked over one arm. “What’s this? I wasn’t expecting to make a meal out of it.”

The joke earned him a chuckle and the other man tilted his head up, revealing sparking eyes under the hat. “Perhaps not, but how often do either of us get to go on a picnic at all, let alone with each other? Stand up a moment.” As Thomas stood, a bit confused by the instruction, he set the basked down on a large, flat stone (Thomas was fairly certain it had never been a headstone) and pulled out…ah yes. A blanket.

“Richard Ellis, you are a wonder,” Thomas laughed, stepping aside so the other man could spread the blanket next to the tree. “I was just wishing I could have brought one of those without raising suspicion.”

“One of the advantages of staying at home,” Richard grinned at him, settling himself on the blanket. “I was able to pack everything while Dad was at work and Mum was out shopping. No questions asked.”

Settling down next to the other man, far too close for decorum sake, Thomas asked, “How do you plan on getting it all back without questions?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You always do, don’t you?” Greetings and pleasantries out of the way, hidden by the trees and the tombstones that no one thought of anymore, Thomas leaned in for a kiss. He met no resistance, only hands in his hair and a tongue dancing around his own. By the time they came up, he was slightly breathless. “I’ve missed that. Far better than the last fellow, let me tell you.”

“Oh really?” Richard’s eyebrows arched and his smile turned knowing. “Did one of the actors Lady Mary invited into her home try to sweep you off your feet?”

His playful tone was infectious. “Maybe,” Thomas replied, drawing the word out and looking primly away. The coy act helped cover the butterflies that had taken flight in his stomach. They had agreed. They had agreed, in plain English, that they could each see other men, and he’d meant it, and Richard wouldn’t lie about something like that and he wasn’t reacting poorly, so there was no need for nerves. None. So why was he having problems breathing all of a sudden?

“Well there was someone,” Richard pried, still smiling. “You wouldn’t be talking about someone before we met!” He paused, then frowned, his tone taking on a note of (still playful) disapproval. “If it wasn’t an actor, please tell me it was the director and not some lighting boy. You can do better than a lighting boy.”

Nerves aside, Thomas couldn’t help but laugh at that. “And why not a lighting boy?” he protested. “Why wouldn’t I want to kiss a good, working class lad? After all, I know at least one working class lad who’s quite good at kissing.”

Richard received the pointed look thrown his way with good grace. “True, I suppose. But you have a working class lad, when he can get free of his duties, so surely you deserve something a bit fancier now and again?”

“Maybe,” Thomas allowed, although there wasn’t much conviction to it. “And at any rate, it wasn’t a lighting boy. It was a very handsome actor and lousy kisser named Guy Dexter.”

Richard whistled. “Now that’s something more like it! Although, lousy kisser?” He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “Sorry to hear that.”

Thomas shrugged. “To be fair, he had high standards to live up to.” To prove his point, he leaned over and kissed Richard again. He was grinning by the time they broke apart. “And he somehow wasn’t as handsome in colour as he is in black and white. Not bad, mind, just not as impressive. He made up for it in other ways, though. Just wait until I get you someplace truly private. I can show you a few new tricks.”

“Mmm, looking forward to that.” Richard opened the basket again and started pulling out dishes.

The other man’s throaty purr rolled over Thomas, setting the butterflies in motion again. He wanted that ‘somewhere truly private’ right now. He wanted another kiss. And, for no earthly reason that he could explain, he wanted to apologize, to grovel if necessary, and beg the other man’s forgiveness. He watched as glasses followed the plates, and a bottle of what looked like lemonade. “Richard?”

“Yes?” The other man stopped, his eyebrows quirking in curiosity as he looked up from unpacking.

All playing gone, Thomas asked, “Are you really all right with it? With my having been with another man?”

Richard blinked a moment, expression confused, then gave a soft huff of laughter. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? We agreed, didn’t we? To be true to each other, but not to let that stand in the way of opportunity?”

Thomas nodded, feeling silly, but still wound so tightly he thought he might break. “Yes, we said that. Only, it’s one thing to say something, another to have it happen. And I could only imagine what would happen if His Lordship caught Lady Grantham with another man, or if Bates caught Anna.” Actually, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if Bates caught Anna. Not only did that mean imagining Anna being unfaithful, which was impossible in itself, he couldn’t begin to decide which would win out: Bates’s temper (which Thomas remembered quite well) or his inhuman love for his wife.

Richard tilted his head in acknowledgment as he worked the cork out of the bottle and poured them each a glass. “Yes, but that’s different isn’t it? That’s catching someone at something. I’ve not caught you at anything, you told me. And we may have vowed ‘til death do us part,” he paused, then amended, “Actually, we didn’t even do that, so we’re under none of the restrictions they are. It’s one of the few advantages we have, so we’d better take it.”

Thomas shivered as Richard reached out and ran the back of his knuckles along Thomas’s cheek. He caught the slow moving hand and turned, pressing a kiss against the fingers.

“After all,” Richard continued, running his thumb over Thomas’s bottom lip. “Who knows what will happen. We may never get to see each other again. One of us could be arrested, or die in a car crash.”

While he doubted the other man was being pointed in his examples, Thomas couldn’t help but think of sitting in the back of a York police truck, or of Mathew Crawley, dead the day his son was born. His mind followed that trajectory. “At least neither of us can die in child birth.”

“Thankfully.” The word sounded like a prayer between them. “But there’s still so much that can go wrong. No point in virtuously waiting for something that never comes.” The smile crept back, flitting around the corners of his mouth. “And even if the worst doesn’t happen, if, say, they decide to film a sequel and some handsome Hollywood star who knows how to kiss properly wants to sweep you off of your feet and carries you off to a glorious film career, don’t let me stop you.” He pulled his hand back, still smiling. “I’d rather you be happy than be mine for all eternity.”

“I’d like to be both,” Thomas promised, taking the lemonade he was handed. “But thank you. I knew all of that, I just…I needed to hear it.” He took a sip of the drink, then asked, “What about you? Has there been anyone?”

Richard shrugged and shook his head. “No one worth taking the risk over, at any rate. If opportunity knocks, it knocks, and if it doesn’t, oh well. I’m not going to fret over it. Carpe diem, isn’t that what they say? Seize the day?”

Seize the day indeed. It was a lovely day, after all, and he was with a handsome man who loved him, regardless of the circumstances. It was not a day for brooding. Making a concerted move to lighten the attitude he said, “Well, if, by chance, Their Majesties decide to film a movie at Buckingham and some handsome star,” (Richard laughed) “Who is also the master of all passion, comes along and whisks you off to a film carrier, I promise not to be too heart broken.”

The other man laughed at that. “You’re a terrible liar, Thomas Barrow.”

Thomas gave a rueful smile and ducked his head, well and truly caught out on that point. Sharing Richard was one thing, but if the other man left he was pretty certain he’d be devastated. He covered it by taking another drink.

All sincerity and grins, Richard continued. “I promise you, though, while I am in England you have my heart, my devotion, and a packet of roast beef sandwiches.”

Thomas narrowly avoided spraying them both with lemonade.

“Now,” Richard smirked, pulling the promised sandwiches out of the basket, “I want you to tell me all about the filming of what is sure to be this year’s most talked about film.”

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #thomas barrow #richard ellis #thomas x richard #picnic #romance #fluff #open relationships #mentions of guy dexter #slightly ooc sorry about that #remembering our manners #and respect for others in the fandom #ship and let ship #please go back to writing thing because you like the pairing #i want something to read

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mardereads19 · 3 years

Text

Elriel Propaganda, YAY!

Hey hey! I usually don’t do this, but since a Gwynriel really wanted to debate with me on the comments of one of my posts (though they swore this was not about the ships), then I might as well do it on its own post so that all my elriel besties rest assured. 😌

It is long, but I assure you it is worth it. (You will also get an Elriel breakdown!!! Fun!)

They said: ‘places the necklace around Elain's neck we see him mention his scars e.g. 'Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin.' and 'Such terrible things that it was a scarilege for his fingers to skin, taunting her with his presence', however, in the same chapter while he teaches Gwyn how to hold the sword he does not mention his scars once.

doesn't think about his insecurities with her

I say: This one is easy to counter argument: Azriel doesn’t think about his scars because he doesn’t care what Gwyn thinks about them or even himself, for that matter. People get nervous/self-conscious around the people they like or want to impress. Azriel doesn’t need or wants to impress Gwyn. Why should he care about what she thinks of his scars? About him?

And for all you say about him not “thinking about his insecurities with her” you forget how uncomfortable he was during that meeting. The man wanted to leave.

It was too late to bank without appearing like he was running, Azriel landed in the ring a few feet from where Gwyn practiced in the chill night.

The lie was smooth and cool, as he knew his face was.

“Fine," he said, and realized a heartbeat later that it wasn’t a socially acceptable answer. "It was nice." / Not much better.

She opened her mouth to ask more, but he didn't feel like explaining. Or demonstrating, since that was surely what she'd ask next. So Az jerked his chin to the sword dangling from her hand. "Try cutting the ribbon again.”

…grateful for its bracing bite and the distraction of this impromptu lesson.

Compare that interaction to this one:

Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly?”

He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement. “If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we’re out of swaddling.”

Regard how Azriel did not shy away from Elain’s questions. He did not even debate answering her. He was comfortable with her asking questions. In fact, below you’ll see it was mostly him who spoke to her.

Self-conscious does not mean uncomfortable before anyone brings it up.

They said: 1. Also it's a common theme with mates in the ACOTAR series for them to be drawn to one another, we see this with Rhys ('Maybe that's why i couldn't keep away'), Cassian ('Because i couldn't stay away'), Lucien ('That was all he wanted-to see Elain only once') and even Elain ('The half step she took towards the stairs-as if to speak to him. Stop him'). with Azriel we see that when when referring to Elain he had been 'keeping away from Elain as much as possible' but with Gwyn he 'found himself at the library beneath the house of wind' (to give her the necklace) and 2. when his shadows do not warn him of her presence at the training ground. The shadows alert him about everything. They warned him before Koschei made a move, you'd think they would warn him if someone was around but they didn't. I believe it's because they can detect the mating bond (can hear and feel things others can't) they are drawn to her, they do not need to be alert around their mate. Oh but you're gonna say that it's because she's a lightsinger

I say: 1. Where to begin?… First off, Elain is no longer drawn to her mate. So that’s not really true.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to. / Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.” / I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.”

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.” / Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—” / But she was already out of the room.”

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.”

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

And Lucien isn’t always crazy to see Elain either:

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

However, Azriel (up until the bonus chapter) has always been the one to approach Elain. Not the other way around. (Here you’ll find how he was the one to iniciate the convos)

Cassian claimed the spot beside Elain, who clenched her fork as if she might wield it against him, and Rhys slid into the seat beside me, Azriel on his other side. A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent.

Elain said, “It’s all very disorienting.” / “I can imagine,” Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.”

“He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door. / Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. / Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”

I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”/ “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.

His hand is covered in scars, but he still extended it to her. He may feel self-conscious, but it doesn’t stop him.

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports.

“So you three … because you were Made, you can hear it? Sense it?” / “It would appear so,” Amren said… / But Azriel asked softly, “What about Elain?”

Azriel strode to the lone window at the end of the room and peered into the garden below. “I’ve never stayed in this room.” His midnight voice filled the space.” … “No,” Azriel said, not turning from the window. … Azriel remained at the window.… Azriel said, turning from the window at last.

I found Elain studying it, beautiful in her amethyst-colored gown. I made to move toward her, but someone beat me to it. / The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s—the fabric immaculately tailored and built to fit his wings. He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers, but there was little sign of the warrior otherwise. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.”

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea, but I sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before Rhys and I slipped upstairs.

This was at 3 am and Azriel needed to leave the next morning, here he’s not pressuring himself to sleep, something he is doing with Gwyn in the bonus chapter. Look it up

Elain just linked her arm through Nesta’s and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.

And Elain is drawned to him, too:

Rhys chuckled, Cassian’s wrath slipping enough that he grinned, and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.

Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?” / She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.

The whole Eriel scene in Az’s Chapter. (She takes the initiative. Good for her ♥️😌)

What was that about mates being drawn to each other?

There are many more scenes that I didn’t add here because, well… the point was made. But off the top of my head, there are all the scenes in which Azriel is the one to listen to Elain when she’s talking about her visions. (He’s the one to discover she’s a seer.) There is also the whole rescuing Elain from Hybern scene. And more Garden scenes, I’m sure. ( @silver-flames had a post of the Elriel + Garden and @izzyhavilliard has this post about Elriel Moments —includes the ones I didn’t mention.)

Azriel only begun to keep his distance after he realized what they felt for each other. Elain has a mate, and he thinks that it is wrong to pursue her after the fact. But we still learn that they’ve shared looks and brushed fingers. (Swoon!)

“It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching.”

However, the “found himself at the library” moment with Gwyn, can be explained away by the Lightsinger theory (or, in other words, by Gwyn’s powers).

Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening.

You had argued that SJM wouldn’t have written their scene if it weren’t for a reason. Well, here’s the reason for his “found himself at the library” scene:

The wooden pews that filled the massive, red-stoned cavern were packed with pale-hooded figures, their blue gems glimmering in the torchlight as they waited for the sunset service to begin…A bell rang seven times somewhere nearby, echoing through the stones, through Nesta’s feet. Each peal was a summons, a call to focus. Everyone rose at the seventh peal…As that seventh bell finished pealing, music erupted. / Not from any instruments, but from all around. As if they were one voice, the priestesses began to sing, a wave of sparkling sound.

Hmm, that’s weird. Azriel “found himself” at the library at seven in the evening… the same hour the priestesses (including Gwyn with her melodic voice that lured Nesta into scrying) start their evening service. The night before, Azriel notes:

Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

The same way Nesta says:

The priestess drew up to her full height, which was slightly taller than average for Fae females. A crackling sort of energy buzzed around her, and Nesta’s power grumbled in answer.

It’s clear to see SJM used the chapter to tell us something about Gwyn and her powers. Azriel is not being “drawned” to her like you claim mates are. He is drawn to her for something else. Remember Azriel said:

…he found Elain's necklace amid the pile. He pocketed it. Spent the rest of his day, even the blasted snowball fight, with every intention of returning it to the shop in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. / But when he returned from the cabin in the mountains, he didn't go to the market square. / Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind.”

It was not his intention to go there. He just “found himself.”

Also:

“If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.”

And:

He wouldn’t go so far as to call Gwyn a friend.

Chemistry and romance at its finest. 🥰

2. Also, if you want to use the argument of his shadows not warning him of Gwyn’s presence as evidence of them being mates, then what do you have to say about this:

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. / Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. / The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn.

The shadows didn’t warn him of Elain’s presence either and she was literally in the other room under the stair archway. Does that prove they are mates?

The shadows also helped Azriel give Elain her gift:

He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her…Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?”

I do think they are pretty comfortable with Elain. Especially when “they’d always been prone to vanish when she was around.” Like you said, his shadows are alert and warn him when someone is around (like how they were when Koschei made his move), which means they don’t consider Elain or Gwyn a threat. However, only when he’s around Elain, (and previously Mor) did they “vanish.” Based on your argument, they wouldn’t leave Az if there was a threat, so if they vanish when he’s around Elain, then it means they don’t consider her a threat, but the contrary, they feel comfortable in leaving them alone together.

See how I didn’t say anything about Gwyn being a Lightsinger for this one?

They said: Contrast:

1. ' she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars '

2. compared to - ' “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate.” '

Elain is unaware of his brutal side. Gwyn has seen, heard and accepted it.

I say: 1. Elain killed the king of Hybern with Truth-Teller, Azriel’s favorite knife. Elain is not dumb. She knows it is not a butter-knife. This is a killing knife. A maiming knife. She was the recipient of these words:

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to”…“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

To which she answered: “I don’t know how to use it.” She knows Azriel does. And even more impressive, she ends up using it.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.

I love how more Elriel imagery comes up without me intending it.

It is also super canon that Elain is observant. She noticed how much Azriel rubbed his temples during Acofas and she gifted him a headache powder. Elain was the first to found out Feyre was pregnant. Elain was the one to tell everyone about Nesta’s passion for dancing and how good she was. The fact that so many people think Elain is oblivious about what Azriel does is hilarious to me. She’s the quiet observer. She was handed Truth-Teller by him. She knows.

She’s the seer.

Additionally, though she’s not a violent person by nature, Elain has proven time and time again that she is not going to shy away from violence or violent things if it’s necessary.

She kicked hounds with her bare feet.

She stabbed the king of Hybern through the neck.

She volunteered to scry for the Dread Trove.

Because she is not a warrior with swords and shields, does not mean she is not a warrior in a different way. Being bright and spreading kindness when the world wants to cover everything in darkness is a strength of its own.

And if “violent” people could only end up with equally “violent” people, then there wouldn’t be a grumpy and sunshine trope.

2. This argument is… not an argument? Gwyn was being r-worded. He had to kill those people. Just as he would have killed them if it had been Nesta in Gwyn’s place. Or Feyre. Or Elain. Even Nuala or Cerridwen. That scene is not even romantic. It’s straight up human decency. He had to get her out of there. And Gwyn had to see, hear, and accept what he did because he saved her life and saved her from being hurt further. Please don’t ever use this scene as prove of anything regarding Gwynriel. It’s insensitive.

However, we can use the:

Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” / Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. / Nesta said, “Then you will die.” / Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

And compare it to:

“Winnow me to her. Az, you find Emerie and Gwyn.” … Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn.” … “Az said, “We have to get him out.”

That is all.

They said: He nodded to Gwyn and Emerie, the former glancing toward Azriel, who watched din silence. '

' Gwyn again glanced to Azriel, who drifted closer.

I say: Gwyn was saved by Azriel, he was the only person who saw her at her worst. It’s expected she’d be glancing at him. And he was curious about what they were doing with the ribbon. That darn ribbon. Next.

They said: Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him. "See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger," she tossed over a shoulder. Azriel stared after her, brows high in amusement. When he turned back, Nesta grinned. "You have no idea what you just started," she said. Az angled his head, hazel eyes narrowing as Gwyn reached the archway. "Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?" Nesta winked and clapped the Shadowsinger on the shoulder. "You're the new ribbon, Az" '

I say: What am I supposed to be looking at here? Gwyn saying she’s going to see him tomorrow at training and Nesta saying Gwyn is going to beat the course the same way she beat the ribbon. If you guys think this is romantic, it’s not. There is literally more banter between Nesta and Az than between Az and Gwyn. The girl had left when Nesta said that darn line you guys love to use as “romantic” evidence. Nesta. Said. The. Darn. Line. Not Gwyn.

They said: ' Azriel laughed. "I'll give you that." Gwyn smiled broadly. "Thank you." Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed.

I say: Here again fits the Lightsinger theory (Gwyn’s powers). His shadows respond to them, as I already explained above.

But also (this is a flex):

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” / Silence again. / Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. / I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous…Elain smiled again, ducking her head. / Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

Above were compiled another bunch of Azriel smiling for and because of Elain.

They said: so much for "2 sentences" sweetheart? I can link you so many more, you just selectively ignored all these things cause you hardcore shipped Elriel and in some part of your mind already hated Gwyn. I do feel bad for doing this on the post, but I don't hate Elain, and I was an Elriel shipper for a while, but I will voice my opinion on Gwyn and the lightsinger theory, you think it's good? cool, what I think it is, is victim-blaming

I say: There aren’t many more, not romantically at least. “He snorted” isn’t something romantic. And he smiles at Gwyn the same way he smiles at Cassian or Nesta. Az is not as emotionless as the fandom paints him to be, but his smiles are only for the people he knows. Their interactions are platonic.

As you can see, I never made any hateful comment towards Gwyn. I only used canon to counter argument your points. I have absolutely no reason to hate Gwyn, her character is fun and enjoyable and her development is amazing. And I don’t consider her a “threat to Elriel” or anything similar, so why should I hate/fear her character?

I barely mentioned Gwyn except when it was strictly necessary. A lot of my mutuals do the same. Including the people who write about the Lightsinger theory. If there are elriels who make fun of Gwyn’s trauma, I don’t represent them or condone them. But it’s a theory, just like there is an actual “Evil Elain” theory that goes around and you don’t see me up in their comments searching for a fight. Also, the Lightsinger theory has nothing to do with her trauma. If there was one or two Elriels who tied it to it, they are insensitive and cruel. But it wasn’t me. And saying Gwyn is a Lighsinger (has those luring powers = canon) is not victim-blaming.

And to close off, please stick to your tags. My post was under the Elriel tag. If I wanted Gwynriels to debate me, I’d have tagged them. The last thing I do is go around this platform looking for trouble, but it infuriated me that you kept attacking me and spreading Gwynriel propaganda in a post meant for Elriel stans.

Stick to your tags like I stick to mine ♥️

#Stick to your tags #Elriel Propaganda DUN DUN DUN 😈#People want me to enter a reputation Era so bad #Elriel #elriel endgame #azriel #elain archeron #elain #azriel and elain #anti gw*nriel #yes I’m censoring the ship #acotar 5 #my post #pro elriel

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kashimos-hajime · 4 years

Text

darling, dearest, not quite dead | o.k.

summary: twenty years. you have loved obi-wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the supreme chancellor. then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.

WARNINGS: swearing, brief death, mentions of injuries, sexual tension, angst, fluff, obi-wan is being annoying and y/n is being annoying right back, matching energies for our otp ❤️, questioning morality, crying men, happy ending!!! pairing: sith!obi-wan x fem!jedi!reader word count: 15.5k

a/n: i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :) crossposted on ao3!

contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment.

It’d been a mistake—the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing—nothing—

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the whomsh of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do something—“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are shivering as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach.

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant.

They catch ‘critical condition’ and ‘uncertain odds.’

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name.

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done.

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else.

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must love you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even.

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now?

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all real, you cannot even begin to describe.

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know.

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan—Darth Contritus, you should say, but you refuse.

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” With me, you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations.

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

Loved.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things don’t change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

Stop. You can’t think of that, you chastise to yourself. He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be. He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore.

Except he is.

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is alive”—your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch.

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“Darth,” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position.

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you.

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A lot has changed. My answer is final.”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“Stop it.”

“Darling, is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you care for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no time. We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a whomsh and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean ‘or what’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “Go. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink.

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You detest this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. Together. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I am here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim.

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it.

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this.

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right.

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot.

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber.

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“Killed him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just say that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just hold him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and wrong.”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and relished in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean come? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you know you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were following me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so normal. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? No. No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your democracy has failed you twice in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘us’ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just join me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know that’s what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could cherish you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something—something about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare.

“So. That’s what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want me.”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“Yes,” he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away.

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so short, flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is all I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of you that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it.

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, grief, melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.”

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be any more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible.

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… disappeared. Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say? “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“Anakin,” you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to exist, in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am warning you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him.

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold.

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, strong inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For you, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare.

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. “She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘it’ll be okay’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. Is. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth.

You barely remember when your eyes closed.

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water.

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating.

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because—“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand.

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss.

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the clank of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine.

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back.

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are good, Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in.

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away.

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them.

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes.

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you cannot interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there. “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be lying.”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be.

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you can’t. You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a great Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll always feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, never, wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.”

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know that isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.”

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

He’s alive. You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.”

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions.

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

Yes, a quiet voice replies, you are. And then, you will run.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this.

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

Relax, Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. Remember—I do all the dirty work.

That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan, you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

Just a little more.

Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?

Why are you having doubts now of all times? Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him.

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form.

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even recognize the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features.

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your Master taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is treason.”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick slap and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a whomsh.

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had nothing—“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows.

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next.

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach.

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.��

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to.

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits.

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away.

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least look like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes.

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and more of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.

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