#cobalt bee

[pony-central]

Results of the poll (Question - Who is Your LEAST Favourite Natt OC?)

Poor Seroko. Still, who's to blame. It's only a poll.

[jiiamp]

ʚ⬡ɞ Cobaltbeeic & Giftedcobaltbeeic ʚ⬡ɞ

[ Cobaltbeeic and Giftedcobaltbeeic ]

ʚ Cobaltbeeic ɞ

[ Cobaltbeeic ]

⬡ A gender related to Cobalt bee from Roblox: Bee Swarm Simulator, whether it be the aesthetic, color scheme, or any way the user sees fit

Cobalt + bee + ic

Made by me (as far as I know)

Please credit if you repost, it is greatly appreciated

ID in alt text

ʚ Giftedcobaltbeeic ɞ

[ Giftedcobaltbeeic ]

⬡ A gender related to gifted Cobalt bee from Roblox: Bee Swarm Simulator, whether it be the aesthetic, color scheme, or any way the user sees fit

Gifted + cobalt + bee + ic

Made by me (as far as I know)

Please credit if you repost, it is greatly appreciated

ID in alt text

[photonbee]

╰┈➤ cobalt bee moodboard ✶｡ﾟ･ ✧₊˚ 𓏸 ☆

credit: 💫🔷💫🔷💫🔷💫🔷💫🔷

[tinydefector]

Marine Centre 3- merformers AU

Warnings: talking about mating, loss of babies. Arguments

Word count: 2.1k

Masterlist

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Here's some information on how the Pods kinda work in this fic. If you want more details on the pods let me know.

Here are the Five Pods that reside at the Yawk-yawk Marine Rehabilitation centre. Mind you, there are other pods, but they don't reside at the centre but will make appearances in this fic later on.

Pod 1 - Autobots

Optimus

Ratchet

Bumblebee

Jazz

Prowl

Beachcomber

Ironhide

Pod 2 - Decepticons

Megatron

Starscream

Thundercracker

Skywarp

Soundwave

Shockwave

Pod 3 - Young Autobots (off branch Pod/ Young of other members)

Rodimus

Sunstreaker

Sideswipe

Bluestreak

Smokescreen

Mirage

Pod 4 - mixed members

Windblade

Drift

Pharma

Chromedome

Rewind

Whirl

Arcee

Pod 5 - Combaticons

Swindle

Vortex

Onslaught

Brawl

Blast Off

________________

Little thrills and chirps come from the cove as a tiny blur of yellow and black zips through the water, Chasing the human who walks along the shore line. The little pup eagerly calls out with little noises trying to catch their attention. A chorus of soft crooning rises among the mingled pods at the greeting of the tiny pup.

"Hello Babybee!" The human calls out softly to the baby mer. many of the other oceanides kept looking out over the pup, but they were already aware that the human wouldn't hurt the little one.

The little mer thrills delightedly while trying to drag himself onto the sand closer to them. "No, no, no baby you can't come onto the sand." They call while trying to usher the little yellow and black pup back into the water.

A pout forms on the little one's face, tiny fins flapping in dismay. But just as swiftly Dancer is there in an instant, gracefully scooping the youth back into the safety of the pool.

It's only the deep rumble of Big Blue which makes Bee turn around quickly and call out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move. "You haven't been annoying your papa while he's been healing have you?" They inquire only for more little thrills and chirps to leave the pup. Big blue emerges then from the depths, red and cobalt scales gleaming serenely as ever in the midday light.

Bee pouts but subsides against his sire's side, tiny purrs and trills of disappointed longing leave the pup as he clings to the larger mer.

_______

Windblade is first to respond to the little pup, drifting nearer with grace. "Bumblebee, there you are! You know better than to crawl on the sand" she Coos softly to the stripped pup.

Starscream scoffs, though his fins lay flat in disinterest. But ever-playful Skywarp spins gleeful loops around Windblade and pup. "Aww, lookit the little bitlet! You're getting so big, your colours are looking bright" he hums while gently looking over the pup.

"Now now, little one, you know the rules. The beach side is for walking friends, not us, can't have you getting yourself beached." She soothes, calming his upset with the practised ease of a carrier well versed in youthful disobedience. "Aww let him have his fun, Blades! We were all curious pups once."

It's only the deep rumble of Optimus which makes them all go quiet. Bumblebee turns around quickly and calls out loudly to his Sire. But he doesn't move from Windblade’s hold. Optimus slowly takes his pup from her hold cradling the little one close.

"Bumblebee," he rumbles gently, "you know the rules, little one. No going on the sand, you are too young." Gently yet firmly he lifts the pup into loving arms, cerulean eyes glowing with warmth at his little one.

Bumblebee pouts but subsides against his sire's powerful arms, still emitting little Trills of disappointed longing. Optimus meets the caretaker's eyes, they both watch each other for a moment as he continues to cradle his pup.

A mournful stillness falls over the mingled pods as they watch Optimus with Bumblebee.

"last season was a difficult one. But I'm glad to see your little one out and about" Her field pulses faint sadness, she had lost her own too early, taking quickly to Bumblebee as many of the pod did.

“As am I, I'm forever grateful for all the humans have done for Bee, I doubt he would have survived without their help” he rumbles softly. Windblade continues to wiggle her claws at the little one who giggles and grabs them.

"We can't keep losing generation after generation like this. Something's thinning the gene pool and we're not breeding fast enough to replace what's lost." Ironhide calls out while swimming closer. “Hey pup” he hums, giving the little one a head rub.

Starscream hisses uneasily. "There are fewer pods venturing near each cycle. It's those land crawlers doing, mark my words they are the reason for it!” He huffs out.

"I'm aware of the drop in our numbers but as it is, the only help we have received with our young is from the humans, had I not taken Bee to them when I did we would have no surviving pups." His words give them pause. they all knew Optimus was right, Bumblebee was very sick and without the marine centre's help he would have perished.

Optimus to turn to Starscream. “How is Megatron?, I haven't seen him since out fight”

"Megatron's wounds mend, though slowly." Starscream's fins flick in agitation. "The stress is getting to him, he wonders why Primus forbids him his own spawn. But spared yours”

Skywarp chitters nervously. "It's never been this bad before, not for long cycles. Even Megatron knows something bigger's going on, making it hard for the little ones to survive.”

"Maybe the softskins are right and it's more than just bad luck or genes. Something's changing in the deep, and we're on the losing side regardless of the cause." Ironhide shoots back

But Windblade flashes her finned guardians a quelling look. " What matters now is caring for Bumblebee and hope that we are granted a change with the next season."

Windblade continues stroking the youth gently. "Bumblebee would not be here if not for the humans' care. It seems...our song may rely on theirs, if it is to have any hope of continuing in the seas."

Her words are met with uneasy hesitation never before have the Oceanides relied upon outsiders, but Optimus had. Drift speaks up as he Drift's beside Rodimus "Our numbers fall while theirs climb ever higher. If we do not accept assistance, soon there may be no pods left at all."

Starscream hisses uneasily. "Dolphins grow ever more bold and numerous, harassing us when we feed where once they gave a wide berth. The orcas too have tasted our energon and now we have to be wary of them."

Ratchet croons in concern. "The humpback and grey kin have fallen silent, their great pods have moved on. No allies remain in which we can seek refuge when predator numbers swell, our best option is to stay here till they return to these waters."

"The great sharks now prowl only the farthest blue edges, driven from their feeding grounds by the loud noise and flashing lights of human undersea vessels. We have no kin but our own, our safety is the shorelines unless we are in number but with a youngling we can not take to deep waters yet."

Bumblebee chirps again, wiggling in his sires' hold until he escapes, disappearing from Optimus' side and swimming back to the human on the sandy shore again. It earns a laugh from the human as they scoot forward a little. Gently brushing the little frills of his head. It makes Optimus' spark ache.

Starscream vents quietly. "Few among us have known the happiness of sparking and rearing young. I doubt the other pods are having the same issues as us, perhaps we need new mingling when they come to the sands again"

“ It could be an option, considering our five Pods seem to not be having the best of luck” Sunstreaker mutters softly.

“ I'd like to see Chromia again, Hopefully Elita’s pod returns ” Windblade murmurs to herself, she could only hope that Chromia had better luck with a pup. But she did miss her bonded.

“You know the landers don't seem to have much issues with offspring, maybe they'd be willing to help us out” Rodimus blurts out, he wasn't exactly paying full attention to what was being said.

Windblade's fins flare in startled protest. Turning towards the bright orange and Red Oceanide. "Mating with outsiders goes against the sacred bonds of pod and kin!"

"Mating season nears and our numbers dwindle," Rodimus insists. "I'm not saying we have to do anything, it was just a thought!." He huffs out but lounges back against the rocks, his eyes watching the human now playing with Bumblebee in the shallows. But it does make many of the others stop to think. Humans seemed to have much better luck with their young than the Pod. But even that there was no promise of young or if a coupling of that sort would be viable.

Skywarp speaks up next. "If it means pups, what does it matter who their carrier is?"

Ironhide rumbles grim concerns. "Involving outsiders in matters of our Pods could alter both species in ways none foresee."

The younger mers pulse with surging field and logic as Rodimus presses his point. Bluestreak begins voicing his opinion. "Look how the caretaker cares for Bumblebee. Is that so different from how one would care for our young? And see how the little one beams at their touch, as content as any podling among kin!"

"He's got a point - the softskins aren't so strange. And if it brings pups, what's to lose?" Vortex states while watching the other pods continue to argue over the subject.

"Frag the fleshies, if it means more bitlets! Who cares? if it saves our pods I'd say it's worth it” Onslaught remarks only for other mers to hiss at his crash words.

But steely Jazz croons, despite his love for their little caretaker and the other human's of the centre he didn't trust that other humans wouldn't use it to their advantage. "Breedin' another species ain't no simple thing, mech. what's to stop the softskins wantin' somethin' back we ain't willin' to give?"

“We mate freely when the tide flows, so why not them? On land or sea,” Swindle shrugs, it was true, some mers had multiple mades others single, but due to the times they had taken to mating with multiple in hopes for young.

Rodimus refuses to relent under Elders stinging reprimand. "Do you think I propose this out of boredom or mere lust?" he retorts hotly. "Since my own youth, our numbers have halved - and how many more fading cycles must pass before no pups remain at all?, this season we have one surviving, one Pup between Five pods"

"The landers recognize as we do that something ails us. If natural means no longer can restore our numbers, then must we not embrace other paths, however unorthodox, hey im all for if we find another way, but what happens when next season we have no pups"

Rodimus spins to pin each dissenting elder with a fiery piercing glare. "Or would you have us fade to nothing instead, condemning future generations to exist only in memory?" His impassioned defence strikes silence from many.

Optimus' gaze turns to watches with quiet intensity as the human and pup interact, observing how they handle the bitlet with such care.

Long has he guided his pod, but he too knew something was amiss. The broods he once bore long since ventured into the deeps few remained. Yet...if agreement could be found, built, why not try. “If by this season we have no young It will be something the human will know. They are intelligent. If they are willing to assist, we will gladly take their offer” Optimus rumbles, it's the end of discussion as he slowly moves away from the others towards his bitlet.

____

"Yes, yes hello sweet baby, you know I'll get in trouble if I'm around you too much, vets said you need to be around your pod, can't have you getting too attached to me" they hum mainly to themself knowing full well the little pup didn't understand.

Bumblebee thrills piteously, tiny claws outstretched and straining toward them, flexing futilely. "No test today baby, you look so healthy now!" They chimed but sigh as the little one drags themself into their lap. Slowly scooting down the sand they sit in the water so Bee doesn't dry out too much. Their eyes watch the larger Oceanides talk amongst themselves. It almost sounds like a melody with the sweet sounds they made.

“Are the adults boring you baby?” They tease softly only for the little yellow and black pup to snuggle Into their side purring contently. “Gonna get me in big trouble with Quin Beebee.

It's a long while before the older mers finish what seemed like an intense conversation.

Gracefully Big blue nudges nearer, slowly beaching himself close to them, trying his best not to startle either of them. gently but firmly he lifts the pup away, cerulean eye meeting their own with gratitude beyond words. They smile and laugh softly as it earns a grumble from the little one who didn't want to be disturbed.

_______________

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[svearehnn]

black violets and baby's breath | modern!azriel x bridesmaid!reader

summary: feyre and rhys are finally getting married! the tension between you and azriel is palpable.

a/n: part two will be coming soon! once i get my essay done lmao. i hope you enjoy! (i didn’t edit this apologies)

Cobalt blue hugged your form in a silky sheen, falling just above your white ankle heels. You let out a shuttering breath as you smoothed the fabric down, fiddling with the sparkling jewelry that adorned your ears, wrists, and neck. 

You were nervous. Feyre was getting married, your best friend. It was so thrilling to be apart of her wedding party, but you couldn’t help the racing of your heart at the thought of being escorted down the aisle by none other than Azriel, your long term crush and childhood friend. You eyed yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you looked stunning–cobalt was your color, and a polished look seemed to compliment your angelic fae-like features.

However, you couldn’t find it within yourself to step out of the room. You chuckled sardonically to yourself, fluffing your hair, reapplying your lip gloss, doing anything to delay your inevitable exit. You weren’t even the bride, yet it felt as though you had pre-wedding jitters.

A knock sounded on the door, and you closed your eyes. One deep breath in, out through your mouth, and you opened the oak door. Mor stood on the other side, her brown eyes dazzling.

“You ready?” She squealed, excitement palpable in her buzzing form. You nodded hesitantly and took her hand. She squeezed it, a comforting gesture that helped soothe your rampant nerves.

“It’ll be okay. Az is going to think you’re beautiful. I mean, he always does, but goddamn do you look like a goddess right now.” That forced a giggle from your throat, prompting a smile to form on Mor’s striking features.

“There’s that gorgeous smile! Now come on.” Your blonde friend dragged you down the stairs, causing you to stumble in your heels. Once you got to the wooden staircase, you descended hand in hand. Nerves encased your soul, bees buzzing and stinging in your stomach. 

Yet, once you rounded the curve of the stairs and your eyes locked on Azriel’s hazel ones, all the nerves seemed to fade away. His eyes widened, brows raising, lips turning upward in an imperceptible smile that only you could catch. You bowed your head, cheeks aflame as you continued your decline. 

Mor had disappeared, arms wrapped around Emerie, leaving you alone with the railing gripped between bone white fingertips. Azriel outstretched his hand and you took it gingerly, letting him guide you down the last few steps and onto the natural wooden floors of Feyre and Rhys’ River House.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, no words exchanged, just drinking each other in. Azriel wore a black tux, a cobalt tie adorning his neck, accentuating the tattoos that peeked through the black collar of his shirt. His ears held their signature silver hoops and secondary studs, his fingers adorned with bands of silver and stone. He had slicked back his dark hair and it looked nice, yet all you wanted to do was muss it up to its usual messy demeanor.

Azriel spoke first, licking his lips and smacking them before he spoke. “You look…wow. Just phenomenal, Little Star.” He hummed, appreciation coating his tone. He raised your hand, twirling you around in a slow circle, eyeing the slit that went up to your hip and the low V that showed off your collarbones. The blush that filled your features warmed your skin to a feverish glow from his compliments.

“You look wonderful yourself, Azriel.” You murmured, looking him up and down slowly, drinking in every aspect, every detail of the godly male in front of you. He smirked, biceps flexing ever so slightly beneath the fabric of his tux. He held out the crook of his arm as the music began to filter in through the hallway, signaling the start of the ceremony.

“Are you ready, my beautiful bridesmaid?” You accepted his arm gratefully, unusually quiet within this newfound adoration that he was throwing at you.

“Lead the way, my handsome groomsman.” You replied, swallowing thickly. His arm was rock hard beneath your touch, an obvious indication of his and Cassian’s daily gym ventures.

The two of you walked arm in arm to the french doors that lead to the backyard wedding that Feyre and the rest of the wedding party had set up beautifully.

Cassian and Nesta led the line, the oldest Archeron dressed in a stunning dark red dress that matched Cassian’s tie. Then came Elain and Lucian in sparkling gold akin to the setting sun. Mor and Emerie followed, adorned in midnight purple. Behind them trailed Amren and Varian in their signature North Sea blue.

At the strike of the piano, Azriel gave you a small smile and stepped forward, leading you through the glass doors. The sun was blinding, but even through your squinted eyes you could see the flower arch at the alter filled with calla lilies and black violets, baby’s breath dotted in between. You and Azriel floated on a walkway of white peony petals, eyes hardly leaving each other’s, unable to stop drinking each other in.

It was as if a tension had electrified the air between the two of you the second he had set his sights on you when you meandered down the staircase. Your heart was a doldrum in your chest, begging to break through your ribs, taut and strained. As if Azriel could sense your trepidation, he squeezed your arm in a comforting touch.

He leaned down, breath against your ear, the smell of cedar encompassing your senses. “Breathe, Little Star.” You did as told, lungs expanding, nerves unfolding into the atmosphere and disappearing on the wind. Azriel’s thumb traced patterns into the skin of your forearm, soothing you further.

Your eyes left his, landing on Rhys at the altar. His eyes were alight, a slight smirk on his lips. He glanced between you and Azriel with a raised brow. A blush rose on your cheeks. His smirk widened, shoulders peacocking as though he knew he was right. Which, he usually was, you thought. You wouldn’t dwell on it–at least, not now. It was Feyre’s day, not yours.

The song came to an end as you and Azriel reached the dais, parting to reach your respected positions with you on the left and him on the right. As you turned, he grabbed your hand, extending your arm and bringing it up to press a kiss to the soft skin. Without another word he turned, leaving you stunned. Mor had to pull you to her side, her excitement palpable.

“Oh my gods!” She exclaimed, but you hardly heard her as the music started back up and the doors opened. Feyre stepped out, her black dress sparkling in the sun. Sheer fabric covered her arms and her her chest, flowing down into an intrinsic pattern of swirls similar to that of hers and Rhys’ tattoos. It was skin tight down to her knees, the skirt billowing out below, covering her black heels. She looked exquisite. It was impossible for you to take your eyes off of her, and if you were able to look around, you would notice that it was the same for everyone else.

When she reached the altar, Rhys took her hands, helping her up the marble steps with tears lining his waterline. They lined yours, as well.

Gwyn stood behind the couple, hands clasped in front of her, a smile etched onto her face. Words flowed out of her lips, Feyre and Rhys repeating every syllable as salty water flowed freely down their cheeks until the final I do.

Rhys dipped his wife in a passionate kiss, oblivious to the ovation happening around them from their closest friends. When they rose, Feyre raised her bouquet in the air, pride hanging heavy around her, a glow emanating from her skin.

Everyone rose in unison as if in prayer.

“To the new Mrs. and Mr. Carynthian!” Mor called out next to you, her voice carrying through the garden. Voices echoed after her, singing reverants to the newlyweds. As she walked back down the aisle, hand in hand with Rhys, bouquet in hand, everyone cheered as they passed. They congregated behind them, tears flowing, applause echoing through the space as if it were an ancient cathedral. 

Feyre stopped before she entered the house. She turned towards everyone, a grin plastered on her lips, a wink highlighting her stormy eyes. She threw her bouquet high up in the air. Hands reached up toward the Mother, itching to be the one to catch the bundle of violets. 

They fell gingerly into your waiting palms as if there was some kind of divine interference. You blinked slowly, locking eyes with Feyre. They sparked with mischief before her and Rhys disappeared behind the French doors. 

Your heart pulled taut again as you fiddled with the black petals, their touch akin to a feather within your fingertips. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the shadow towering over you until a hand landed on your chin, tilting your head so your eyes met Azriel’s. 

“How was that for a ceremony?” He asked, breathless, eyes wide, pupils dilated. You swallowed, chest fluttering.

“It was beautiful.” Your voice came out within less than a whisper. He smiled, one only reserved for you, as he tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. His hand stayed there for a moment before pulling back, as if he were debating about running his fingers along the length of your cheek.

“You caught the bouquet, too.” You glanced down at the flowers in question, their fragrant smell filtering through your lungs every time you inhaled. 

“I did. I don’t know why the universe gave it to me though, I’m not even close to getting married.” The words fell out of your mouth haphazardly before you could stop them. Azriel chuckled, hands shoved into his pockets, tensing within the linen slacks.

“Have you ever thought about getting married?” Heat rose from your neck to your cheeks. You hadn’t, honestly. The only person you could dream of marrying was him, yet you knew that was far fetched. Even with the energy buzzing around the two of you, the idea would fade within a week. It was just the presence of a wedding, you thought. Nothing would change. Azriel’s hazel eyes were intense, gazing directly into your soul for what seemed like eternity until Mor bumped your arm.

“Come on! We have to get ready for the reception.” You smiled at him as Mor dragged you away by the arm, your eyes never leaving his even as you disappeared behind the same doors that Feyre did. As you and your blonde friend climbed the same steps you had descended only an hour ago, the thought of marrying Azriel swirled through your mind like a tornado, wreaking havoc on any other thought that was there. Maybe it was possible. Maybe Azriel was interested in you. Only time would tell, and maybe, at the reception, the tension between the two of you would lift and reveal the secrets that were hidden beneath hardened hearts.

tags: @kayjaywrites

[ctrlhope]

— Rest, Relax, Reserve ⊹ Series M.List

⭔ : Welcome in! Here at the Humbolt Insect Hybrid Conservation Park, we implore all of our guests to experience the wonderful world of hybrids living in their natural habitats! Feel free to interact with any hybrids that may approach you— however, please keep in mind that this is a no-touch park, these are wild animals after all. Please stay safe, stick to the trails, and enjoy your stay!

Please note: we are not responsible for any risks associated with entering our parks. Keep this in mind when exploring.

Information Board

⭔ : warning! most stories on this list are yandere-themed, meaning they may have elements of dark content in them. all have mature content within them as well. please read all warnings before reading each one!

⭔ : a/n! this series has spawned from my entomology class this semester! so enjoy a lot of useless facts about arthropods while falling in love with hybrid bts <33

⭔ : status! ongoing -> last update: The Pitfalls of Silk

Kim Seokjin

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: blue morpho butterfly

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, insecta, lepidoptera

-> information this species not found! check back later?

Chasing Tornados ⊹ Min Yoongi

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: fattail scorpion

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, arachnida, scorpiones

-> Ever since you were young, you found solstice in the clouds. Found haven in their winding winds, their chilling storms. Monsters of the air meant to destroy became your love— your safety. You know everything about the skies, yet you only want to know more about him. Wish for him to love you just as much as you do him. Your best friend. Your scorpion. Your impossible. Your Yoongi.

Jung Hoseok

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: warrior wasp

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, insecta, hymenoptera

-> information this species not found! check back later?

Kim Namjoon

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: honey bee

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, insecta, hymenoptera

-> information this species not found! check back later?

The Pitfalls of Silk ⊹ Park Jimin

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: cobalt blue tarantula

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, arachnida, aranea

-> The winter gods are out to get you. That could be the only possible explanation for the series of bad luck tumbling before you— tropical vacation cancelled, snow locking you inside. Hell, even your shovel broken in half has got to be the gods playing some sort of trick on you. Pulling you along, making decisions for you as they guide you along the red string of fate. Guide you towards the very spider that found his way into your basement. Allowing him to fall into your heart all the same.

— bites: 01

Kim Taehyung

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: domestic silk moth

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, insecta, lepidoptera

-> coming soon . . .

Jeon Jungkook

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ species: black garden ant

⊹ ׁ ݂┊ ⭔ classification: arthropoda, insecta, hymenoptera

-> information this species not found! check back later?

⭔ : consider buying me a kofi <3

⭔ : disclaimer: all members of bts are face and name claims for all works on this blog. the pieces on this blog are entirely fictional and are in no way meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. any representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[eclipsesdrawings]

I almost forgot to post those here

Sorry if the images are a little blurry;-;

So… Hivewings can be inspired by a variety of different insects right?

We had some that are based off of beetles, wasps, bees, centipedes ect.

I had some spare time and decided to base the ones you see right now off of different tarantulas! (Except the black/gold one) I know that a lot of people are afraid or disgusted by them, but I personally think that they can be quite fascinating and beautiful ^^

I can also imagine that night- and beetlewing hybrids could have looked somewhat similar to this. Beetlewings were described to be very colorful, we can see this by their modern counterparts (silkwings)

This just gave me the excuse to make bunch of more colorful Hivewings

The tarantulas I used es inspiration will be listed below! I didn’t want to use images in case someone has arachnophobia

1. Orange king baboon

2. Ivory ornamental

3. Texas brown

4. Cobalt blue

5. Brachypelma boehemei

[virtual-tchotchkes]

Some Campaign 2 moments I wish to see included in the upcoming Mighty Nein animated show even though they wouldn't have anything to do with moving the plot forward:

1. Jester whispering "thank you" with her arms wide open to ask an exasperated Essek for a hug, to which he ends up awkwardly and begrudgingly relenting to.

2. "Hello, bees!"

3. "Do do do hmm hmm doughnuts!", "Hey, Plank King!" and some more of Jester's most hysterical Sendings.

4. That tender moment between Yasha and Caleb when she shaved his beard with her sword.

5. When Nott tried to steal from Fjord but she got caught by Molly.

6. Beau's asshole pet owl, Profesor Thaddeus.

7. The Nein bringing their horses through Cobalt Soul portals and then getting banned from every archive branch in Wildemount because of it.

8. The Nein turning Yussa's tower into their personal teleportation portal.

9. The Bad Luck Bandits

10. "Oh, Oskar." and every time Jester referenced Tusk Love to the ire of Fjord.

11. Fluffernutter!

12. Fjord and his unfortunate dealings with murderous turtles.

13. Nott's rendition of Sweet Caroline but in Abyssal.

14. Yasha who smells like a crayon.

15. Nott shooting at Beau's butt while they were racing.

16. "Help, it's again" and more of Caduceus' high wisdom low intelligence moments.

17. Beau letting out the Tracy in her to flirt with a guard.

18. Kiri accidentally spilling Nott's secret husband's name to the party.

19. When Yasha learned how to properly use "I killed my whole family, I'll throw you under the bridge" in a sentence.

20. The whole Platinum Dragon prank debacle that Nott and Jester did just so Jester's absentee deity will like her again.

...I honestly have so much more to add, but I would love to hear yours!!!

[colorfulcollectordragon-2f8ee55c]

Gold

Fern/Alloy/Glimmer

Gold/Marigold/Gold

Light Rare eyes

Navy

Falcon/Peregrine/Ringlets

Cobalt/Cobalt/Navy

Water Dark

Orchid

Wasp/Bee/Lace

Pink/Pearl/Orchid

Arcane Rare

Fun fact, pretty sure Purple’s colors are within the range of Orchid and Navy's colors if they were to breed, so checks out

Also Orchid taught Purple the coatl language, which is the note block/music note singing in this au, so boom!

I also made Alan

Basic/Basic/Points

Nightshade/Nightshade/White

Earth Rare eyes

Don't actually think he'd have an element but those eyes are close enough to that

Plain looking but with hidden power lol

[starliights-shining]

Special Person.

Pairing - Bumble Bee x Reader

A/N: Uhhh, this was for a friend, but you guys can have it to. Anyways the reader is GN, all fluff. its not for a specific Bumble Bee. Enjoy :)

Everyone has one, either it being a parent, son, daughter, pet, or special someone. A person they can call theirs, someone who will be there for them, no matter if it's raining, or the sun has collapsed. There will be someone who is there for them, as their person. Well, your person wasn’t a person. More like a car, who turns into a talking, walking and thinking metal alien from space. At least that's what he told you, along with the seven other warnings about why he’s here. A war over a planet, protecting earth from someone named “Megatron”. It didn’t make sense, but the space robot seemed to like you. He comes around for visits and even takes you to random spots he finds. You look forward to seeing him and as the time went on, his visits came more frequently, until they stopped for a moment. You figured he was off saving the world, or something. So you ended every night wishing for his return.

The moments of him being gone were weird. You were left to think that maybe he no longer enjoyed talking to you. The same thought kept coming back, you liked him. That’s why the time without him felt horrible, too far from the one you like, the one you loved. But that leaves his feelings. He doesn’t like you like that, right? He can’t have feelings for someone as small and fragile as you. He would be better off with someone from his own species. You have no chance with him. His return came later, a month later. The sound of the familiar exhaust as you looked out the window. You walked out to him, a bright smile plastered on your face. You stood away but not too far away, giving him the room he needs and extra so he can approach you. He walked up to you, smiling as he handed you a small metal flower. You took it, as you looked up to meet his cobalt blue optics. 

“Aw, thanks Bee. What have you been up to?”

You twirled the flower around between your fingers, waiting for his answer. Thinking about the flower, it wasn’t all too weird for you to receive it, friends can give each other flowers, right? 

“Ah, just the same stuff, saving the world and a bit of thinking.” 

“Thinking? What ya been thinking about?” 

The silence while you waited for his answer was weird, it felt heavy, a little too heavy for your liking.

“I really like this person.” 

He pauses, you see him squint his optics as he looks at the sky. 

“They're so super cool, and has to be one of my favorite people on the planet.” 

You were right he doesn’t see you the same way. How could he ever see you the same way, when he already likes someone who is probably ten times better than you, and is constantly there for him. He’ll never have feelings for you. The small fleshy woman from earth. 

You got lost in thought, as he spoke about this new lady he liked. The simple thought of losing Bee to someone else was starting to weigh on you. Your mood started to dampen and all you could do was respond to him with simple hums and nods as you stared at the night sky with tears in your eyes. 

“Hey (Y/N), ya there. I didn’t mean to scare you with my confession.” 

Confession? What confession, did he say he confessed to the lady. 

“Oh no, Sorry I didn’t hear your confession. What were you planning on saying to them?”

“Oh uhh,” 

He paused, releasing what is your version of sigh, as he closed his optics. Turning to you he opens his eyes, grabs your small hands into his larger metal ones, and locks eye contact he says. 

“(Y/N) I like you a lot. So much I want to marry you, kiss you, make sure you’ve eaten and slept well, watch your hair go gray and your skin wrinkle and your belly go soft- be next to you for the rest of my life and whatever comes after it. I don't care if you don’t look like me or come from the same planet as me. That’s what makes me like you as you. As my special person.” 

You were shocked, you felt him squeeze your hands a little, a small amount of pressure just to bring you back to him. You thought, all this worrying he was going to choose someone else, and run away with them, just for him to tell you the moment he got back, you were his person. You sighed, the original weight of the conversation was gone, you felt as light as a feather. With no worries you smiled brightly up at him. 

“Come here Bee.”

Pulling him down towards you, and giving him a kiss on the side of his face plating. He pulled back and looked away flustered for a minute before you spoke. 

“You had me worried for a moment, Bee. I thought you were going to run off with some random girl. Plus you hadn’t been to visit for a while.” 

You both laughed, not just any laugh, one of those breathless happy laughs. Happy that you know you’ll spend the rest of your life with him, Your Special Person.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 4

The first thing Danny did after Jason stepped aside to let him in was point at Jason’s chest.

“Eeeeey, chest scar buddies!”

Jason looked down at his scars, and then back up again at Danny, whose eyes had traveled farther down, noticing the slowly bleeding wound on Jason’s side.

“Oh! Damn, that’s gotta sting. Do you want some help with that?”

Which is how Jason found himself in the bathroom with Danny chattering away on his knees in front of him, in a vastly different context with how Jason would prefer Danny on his knees.

Bad brain.

“And really, you can’t keep running around with that corrupted ectoplasm in you- it’s stunting your growth! Should I pull it out?”

Jason looked down, straight into Danny’s wide, hopeful eyes. Taken by a sudden fit of brain fog, he shrugged, despite the fact that the other man was stitching his side closed.

“Sure, I guess?”

Danny smiled, big and brilliant, before tying off the last of the stitches.

“Great! Let me-” he hopped up, guiding Jason down to sit on the edge of the tub. “This shouldn’t hurt much, but fair warning, I’ve never done this before.”

Jason nodded dumbly as Danny pulled off his bloody gloves and discarded them before lifting one of Jason’s wrists to his face.

He couldn’t help the goosebumps that prickled his skin as he felt Danny’s warm breath ghost across his pulse point, nor could he help jumping as Danny sunk his teeth into that self-same pulse point.

Something in him kept him from yanking his arm away, something hungry and longing for freedom.

Danny pulled away after a few moments, wiping something dark from his lips with the back of the hand not holding Jason’s arm. Jason was pretty shocked to notice the blue eyes that endeared him so much were, for a few seconds, a toxic Lazarus green.

And then the blue was back and Danny was sticking out his tongue with a grimace.

“That was rank, Red. You should find a better source.”

Jason felt dizzy, and in his last moments of clarity, watched Danny’s face morph into one of panic before the darkness overtook him.

~~~

Danny fluttered nervously around Red Hood as the man groaned awake- he’d managed to catch him as he slumped forward and carry the man to the couch, but other than that, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

Red wasn’t dead, at least, not completely. It was like he started forming a core and just stopped halfway through. Probably due to the corruption in the ectoplasm that helped him form a core.

“What hit me?”

Danny chuckled thinly and helped Hood sit up.

“Uh, me? Technically? I didn’t realize you needed an extra boost of clean ecto when I took out the bad stuff, but congratulations, you’re now a- whatever the hell I am, I guess. There was never a consensus on the naming.”

The other man looked at him sharply.

“I don’t have the meta gene.”

“No, no, it’s not about being a meta, I just picked up the term when I got here. I don’t think you’ll have powers quite as extensive as mine, your introduction to ectoplasm was a lot different, but we’ll have to see.”

He was trying very hard not to word-vomit, but Hood looking at him with those pretty cobalt eyes and that sharp-jawed face just made his brain buzz like thousands of spectral bees.

“Aliens?”

“No, although I’d love to meet one! More like-” Danny paused, parsing through his own words before he said them. “Glorified lab accidents? Or, not really, in your case, but essentially.”

He realized that didn’t really sound better, but it seemed to make sense to Hood, who sat brooding on the couch. Was he supposed to call him Jason now, since they’d met out of masks?

Without thinking about it, he chirped an inquiring noise to get the other man’s attention.

“Please don’t tell me we’re part cricket.”

Danny laughed, less nervous since Jason was apparently joking around with him now.

“No, just prone to vocalizations. Can I call you Jason?”

“Sure, Cricket.”

~~~

Clockwork smiled as the last few pieces to his plan fell in to place- Princess Danielle was starting on a new adventure, and their young King had finally found a reason to live after the torture inflicted upon him by his parents.

All of the Infinite Realms had noted that the king was unhappy, trapped in the land of the dead with no haunt or home- several of them had come to Clockwork, and together they had devised a plan.

A dimension familiar enough for Phantom to slip in unnoticed, but removed enough to not need his particular brand of heroism.

A dimension that was doomed without intervention from someone far more powerful than their eyes had ever seen.

Danny might not notice, but his very presence was protection for this dimension, sating his Obsession without endangering what was left of his life- Clockwork had to work hard to find this place. A place with enough factors leading toward the emergence of a strong and confident King, not held back by the sins of his genetic donors.

Clockwork would call himself Danny’s parent before he would refer to the Fentons as such.

~~~

Dick knew this was the place. Well, he knew it was the Iceberg Lounge, that was a no-brainer, but he also knew that this is where Jason’s mystery friend worked.

They hadn’t managed to figure out what the target did here, but Robbie Malone was about to find out.

He strode in, all quiet confidence, nodding at the bouncers as he made his way to the VIP lounge. The Malone family had a table near the balcony, with perfect sightlines to the door and the stage below. Stephanie was already there, dressed to the nines.

“Cousin! I didn’t know you were coming!” Dick leaned down to kiss Steph on both cheeks, as dictated the Malone family cover.

“The next act is supposed to be on soon- I hear the singer is divine.”

Sitting down elegantly, Dick signaled a waiter for a drink, and then turned to look down on the stage. A willowy blond woman was finishing her song and bowing to the crowd. There was a polite round of applause- until the young woman left and the next singer appeared.

The applause was thunderous throughout the lounge. The young man on the stage held up a hand, and the applause stopped instantly.

He chuckled with a deep voice, and leaned close to the mic.

“You all like my dress that much?”

Dick would admit it was a lovely dress, a dark blue flapper style dress with an unusual plunging neckline.

Stephanie kicked him under the table, tilting her head down towards the singer. Ah, so he was the target.

The music started, and moments later the singing did, too. A smooth baritone voice, crooning out a song. Deciding to listen to the lyrics instead of chat with Steph, he was quite shocked at the contents of the song.

It was a beautiful song, but it spoke of heartbreak and betrayal, longing and fear.

It made Dick sad for the person who wrote it. By the end, the club had long gone silent, entranced by the song. Some patrons were surreptitiously wiping their eyes on their napkins.

Dick turned back to Steph, who was watching the singer with sharp eyes.

“Cousin?”

Steph glanced up at him, none of her cover’s light in her eyes.

“He’s got bad scars on his chest. You can see them under his dress when he leans forward from this angle.”

He looked, and sure enough, there was the tell-tale puckering of skin, right underneath the line of the dress. It would take a trained eye to notice it, but Dick and Steph were nothing but trained eyes.

Danny Nightingale, Singer at the Iceberg Lounge, was more than he seemed.

~~~

Damian noticed that Jason had a bandage on his wrist first. Of course he was first to notice, he was the only blood son.

“What incompetence caused that, Todd?”

Jason, instead of getting angry, just looked down at his wrist and shrugged.

“Vampire cricket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as he said it. Todd tended to be quick to anger, and being questioned would probably set him off. Much to Damian’s surprise, however, Todd’s eyes lit up with mischief.

“Then beg, Demon Brat.”

Damian would have attacked Todd if Father hadn’t swept by in that moment, handing him a file.

“Robin. Arsenal has brought a new member to the Titans. I expect you to zeta to the Tower and meet her as soon as you have finished reading her file.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. Flipping open the file, he caught a glimpse of a young girl with dark hair and blue eyes, smiling cheerily at the photographer.

Phantom Unknown Civilian Alias. Claims to come from a place called the ‘Infinite Realms’- contact John Constantine or Justice League Dark for more information. Powers include Density Manipulation, Flight, Invisibility, and Construct Creation (green). She says she is looking for her brother, but will not disclose a name. Met Green Arrow on a roof in Star City, volunteered to be a superhero upon meeting Arsenal. Denied DNA sample.

[pony-central]

PonyCentwal and Mini Cobalt Bee

Baby Cobalt Bee and Young PonyCentral. Aww, look at how cute they are.

[fauustic]

afraid of what i can do

(implied afab) gender-nonconforming reader x miguel “spider-man 2099″ o’hara

smut. angst. comfort. as miguel grows more intimate with you, his insecurities catches up to him.

warnings: explicit smut. biting, marking, blood discussion. discussion of insecurities and the comfort that follows.

word count: 4238

A scratch of vinyl briefly interrupted the easygoing atmosphere settling upon the living room as the news station echoed softly throughout the apartment, flowing into an easy-going harmony of domestic bliss. It was nearing time to rest, you decided.

On nights like these as the pink hues of the sunset faded into a canvas of cobalt blue, a light smile dusted your features as you waited for your husband to return back home. The apartment you conjured into a humble, chaotic mess of your love became a safe space for the both of you, as the smell of desserts you'd painstakingly learn the recipes of just for Miguel to try with a puzzled curve of his brow and a displeased curl of his mouth, wafted through the kitchen and met your nose. 

You missed Miguel, as you settled into your nighttime routine and slipped on a shirt of his. Sometimes you imagined him getting ready for bed with you, just like any other couple– and falling asleep with him in your hold, snuggled within your embrace like you were the one who protected him. Miguel loved being the smaller spoon no matter the circumstances, after all.

After you had brushed your teeth and even prepared his own toothbrush, you shuffled throughout your shared space to double check if you had finished all the chores to just try and make his life a tad bit easier.

Dinner has been prepared, a comfort food of his that he made sure you knew he craved when Miguel was stuck working at his headquarters: Cocido de Garbanzos; a delicious stew that had bursts of flavors with a variety of all kinds of things, vegetables and pork and chorizo and garbanzo beans and–

You chuckled with Miguel in mind, remembering his panicked sputters of what ingredients were needed and how you weren't preparing anything correctly, it was something Miguel had taught you to make with little snaps to your skill whenever you had messed up– but you knew he loved the time spent with you and the effort you made trying to learn something important to him.

The window leading into the living room was open for an easy entrance, a reminder that he uttered frantically whenever he would wake you up in the early mornings while he got dressed for work. "Remember, mi cielo. Keep that–" he pointed towards the living room before sliding his hands together in a lighthearted plea. "Open, keep it open. Ever since you forgot that one time I am haunted."

Lastly, you wrote a note next to his meal. A simple, "glad you're home safe. I miss you."

The clean, fresh scent of laundry intermingled with Miguel’s smell embedded within his shirt welcomed you within the bundle of blankets and pillows that made up your shared space. Rest came to you like bees to petals on a warm summer day, drifting you off to rest after such an eventful day.

The next thing you remember is the touch of your husband, a pained groan escaping his lips as he slipped underneath the blankets and settled in between your legs without a word. His presence brought a wave of reassurance as he wordlessly clutched onto you like if Miguel let go, he’d wake up from a dream that’s carried him away and altered his very being.

"Long day?" You cooed into his damp hair, petals of water seeping into your cheeks as Miguel's face met your chest with a huff of relief. Sleep riddled your voice as you giggled, his deep inhales grazing your skin underneath one of his shirts. Miguel's shoulders tightened under the touch of your fingers, shaking in pleasure as you kneaded the soreness that plagued his muscles.

His hold wrapped around your ribs that rivalled the touch of handling a doll, meeting at the small of your back as he trapped you underneath him delicately. Miguel's chest rumbled lowly as his scarlet eyes fluttered shut, snuggling closer to your warmth. "You have no idea, mi conejito." He chuckled tiredly before pushing himself up, meeting your eyes with a tired curl of his lips.

You frowned, brushing your index against his freshly split eyebrow. He must have patched himself up while you were sleeping, and the thought of Miguel washing off blood from his wounds and bandaging himself in the silence of his mind made your heart practically shatter in a million pieces. The wince he barely covered up only made you feel more guilty.

"My love, you should have woken me up when you got home." You tutted faintly, speaking to him with so much patience that Miguel couldn't help but melt against the kiss you planted on his forehead after your light scolding. "I'm always here to make things easier on you."

As you took his face into your hands and danced your thumbs around his cheeks, heat met your touch as if he was slightly embarrassed by the way you spoke to him. So tenderly, treating him with the affection of a fragile thing.

"Didn't want to wake you up," he smiled lazily, fangs meeting the plush skin of his bottom lip. "Looked so cute in my shirt, laying in our bed.. baby, I couldn't bring myself to ruin such a beautiful thing." Miguel's words oozed like honey as he pecked you on the lips, short and sweet. A glimpse of the dark circles underneath his tired gaze showed through the darkness when a flying car whizzed by the window of your apartment.

Sliding your grasp up to his curls, you pulled at the dark brown locks peppered with grey. An airy groan escaped his lips as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. "Are you getting enough sleep, honey? I know the city's not going to clean itself, but big tough Spider-Man can take an off day every now and then. Maybe take the advice of those silly coworkers you–"

Your lighthearted mumble, a genuine concern blanketed with a joking tone, was cut off the moment his lips clashed into yours. The abrupt kiss had taken you off guard, allowing him to swipe his tongue into your mouth with ease. Miguel's arms unraveled around your form only to allow his hands the freedom to knead into the flesh of your hips as his tongue fought against yours. He was surrounding you entirely, looming over your form as his touch explored your skin with desperation, a neediness you haven't been exposed to in weeks. The scent of praline flooded your senses as his shirt bunched up, his mouth still greedily taking everything you had to offer. He moaned into your heavy breaths, fangs sinking into your bottom lip as he caged you underneath him.

A gasp erupted from your throat as the calloused pads of his thumbs trailed up underneath his shirt you adorned, painstakingly slow. You almost broke the kiss to tell him to stop distracting you from worrying about him, but he beat you to it.

Miguel ripped away from your lips, a string of saliva following his movements as he brought his forearm to his chin, wiping away your blood and the entanglement of your spit.

"Don't need to have you cracking jokes about those guys I'm stuck with all the damn time. Malditos idiotas." He breathed deeply, his lips– smeared with blood– curving into a sneer at the thought. "Especially due to the fact all I have on my mind is you, and you're thinking about someone else?" His palms cupped your breasts, one hand pinching your nipple sharply as his jealousy was made present. "That's not very nice, cariño." His other hand kneaded into the flesh of your chest, claws threatening the softness of your skin. Miguel was slowly losing his composure.

"Miguel–" you choked out as he straddled your leg, knee planted against your thigh as the other pushed lightly against the newfound need pooling onto the sheets, wetting his skin. His breath hitched as he dove back down, meeting the crook of your neck with urgency. A rip sounded throughout the intensity, startling you as the cold air met your skin.

"I need you," he murmured into your shoulder, marking your skin with hickies like his life depended on it. Miguel's lips danced around your flesh, not missing a single inch of skin as his fangs desperately sought purchase into your shoulder. "can I bite you, baby? Please, please let me bite you," He chanted as his words grew muddled with his mouth reconnecting with your shoulder, warm huffs meeting chilled goosebumps. You could feel his quivering lips, drool dribbling down and framing the curve of your breast.

You moaned, pushing his head impossibly closer to you in a lust-ridden frenzy. "Yes, god yes. Anything you want." You bared your neck, clawing at his messily styled curls that always awarded you with a throaty growl of his. Without another second to spare, hot pain followed with an explosion of pleasure racked through your entire being– rendering your mind useless as all you could think about was: Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.

Legs shaking, the tension you didn't even realize churning within your core snapped as his tongue swiped at the blood threatening to spill from where he pierced. "Miguel, oh my god– I'm, I'm coming–"

A low rumble of something akin to a purr accompanied your hazy rambles, your fingers mindlessly tangled within his curls and pulling hard. His length, confined to the fabric of his boxers and hovering over your thigh, grew impossibly harder as your squirms rubbed harshly against his cock. Miguel whimpered, detaching himself from your shoulder with a long kiss to the wound, just to nibble on your perked nipples as he grinded into your thigh like he's just as high as you from sinking his fangs into your flesh.

"Missed you, mi alma." His lips met yours in a much softer kiss as your body felt worn and blissful all at once. Tongue lazily fighting with yours', the flavor of his spit and your blood intertwined. Miguel lapped thoroughly into your mouth as he had created the loveliest wine. "Been needing this for weeks. Te amo mucho, love you so much it hurts." Miguel breathed into your drooling lips as his claws delicately met your thigh, your skin slick with his precum as he adjusted his position in your legs.

"My everything," He hissed through gritted teeth, tainted with your blood and spit dribbling down his chin. Miguel kicked off his boxers with endearingly cute frustration, brow curling up in irritation as he finally unclothed his achingly desperate erection. Slapping against his stomach, Miguel almost cried out in relief as a bead of sweat dripped from the stress lines on his forehead. "I need you, need you need you– please–" he whined as you heaved for breath, finally coming back to your senses. Miguel melted like putty into your hands as you finally returned your touch to his burning flesh, wiping away the needy tears littering his cheeks.

The stark comparison between the Miguel you found yourself holding hands with gingerly when in public, his expression as stoic as ever while he held onto your grasp like an anchor in crowds of people and the Miguel behind closed doors, desperately taking and grabbing any form of affection he's offered with an obvious craving for attention– the realization would had made you burst out in a puppy-love ridden giggle had he not pull you into another kiss.

"You can have me, baby." You sighed heavily, bringing your shaky hands to your hips in an attempt to remove the short sleepwear you wore to bed– but Miguel had different plans.

You could make out the light shake of his head in the darkness, the dim luminescence you kept on for his arrival peeking through the crack of the door to the bedroom. The consent you gave him, something he asked for every time the two of you fell into the heat of intimacy, altered the dynamic between the both of you the moment the words "yes, take anything you need, all for you" were uttered. 

Miguel brought his index to your stomach, tracing shapes into the softness of your skin like a flurry of fluttering kisses as his elbow met the soft sheets, grazing the flesh of your rib. He held himself up, surveying your expression with a certain coolness where you would have never assumed he was crying for any form of your touch moments ago. Every hitch of your breath would encourage him to brush the same pattern, a slight smirk accompanying his lips when you'd pant out his name like a worshipping plea. 

"Please, Miguel," you grabbed his wrist, encouraging him to soothe the aching bundle of nerves that uncomfortably stuttered against the shorts in every thrust against the air. "Not fair, baby– ah, please– would do anything to have you inside me–" tears welled up, clouding your gaze as you struggled to hold his amused stare. You couldn't help the pout that painted your features as he leaned forward to take your swollen lips between your teeth, furthering you into a puddle only for him.

"Just love hearing you beg," he purred, brushing his fingers further down until it finally reached the fabric of your drenched sleepwear, barely grazing your folds before cupping your entrance entirely. You leaned your head back in ecstasy, choking up as the embrace of your pillow welcomed you lovingly. "I can get drunk on it." His knuckles found its way to your bare clit, teasingly swiping the puffy flesh before you bucked into his hand, an airy chuckle clashing against your incoherence and breathy pants. 

To him, it was the best possible harmony his ears could ever be blessed with as his middle finger finally slipped into your entrance with ease. Your walls clenched around his digit with hunger, bucking your hips into his palm where he matched your pace with fascination and praise. Your tears met the crook of his neck when you pulled him into a tight hug, as Miguel somehow managed two more fingers– your teeth meeting the flesh of his shoulder while he stretched you open and plunged into your heat with an animalistic huff. 

Miguel heaved for air, trying to calm his nerves before he lost control– a single breath out of line would have him accidentally clawing down the trust you granted him. The power in his hands has him shivering, muddling your wrecked cries as he rocked against the spot he knew that had you crumbling in his hold. Your climax brought him out of his daze sparked from the humming reminder he locks away in the shadows of his thoughts, how you could break so easily in the clutches of his jaw.

Your fucked-out smile caught his eye and drew himself out of the dread plaguing his mind as his instincts craved to sink his teeth into your flesh once more, a wobble of his lips instantaneously had sobered you up in a fumble of limbs and soft groan of pain from digits still buried inside you.

"What's, what's wrong honey?" You whispered into the air, blanketed with the smell of sex and sweat. You guided his wrist, sliding his fingers out from the warmth of your core, an exhausted yet concerned frown etching your features. Your flesh ached with the familiar pain from his marks as you leaned forward, caressing his jaw as you lured him out from whatever insecurity consuming him. "I'm here, what's the matter? Did we do something that you didn't like?" Your words came out faintly, testing the waters when Miguel's hard downcast gaze stayed fixated on something between the both of you that weren't there.

You guided his hand, slick with your cum, to the curve of your waist as you took the other in an intimate entanglement of fingers. You kissed his knuckles tenderly, whispering sweet nothings as he collapsed into your chest, your chin meeting his hair as you rested your eyes. 

Miguel was prone to having moments of getting stuck in his own head, something you grew accustomed to as time went on between your relationship. You accepted it with open arms, just as you acknowledged and eased his worries when he finally came forward about being the masked hero that consumes the media. Just how you acknowledged the aspects of him that deemed him irreparably monstrous, the fangs tainting his smile and the retractable claws threatening to dig into anything the moment he loses composure. You had to admit you were startled that it would happen so abruptly in the heat of a moment, but you understand.

You knew his enhanced senses made him easier to overwhelm, so when the thought raced through your head guilt infested inside your brain as you tucked your arms underneath his arms and brought him into a tight hug, something you knew he loved because it helped him ground himself. Miguel's breathing swallowed, nuzzling into the hickies on your breasts that he had etched minutes ago. "I'm.. afraid." He confessed as you swept back his hair in the way you knew he loved. 

Humming in acknowledgment, you brought the blanket pooling around your entangled legs over the both of you. Miguel’s brows furrowed and his lips curled into a pout, smeared with the intertwined concoction of your blood and sweat. He was never one to share his feelings, so you took the time between his silence to braid the long curls– something he grew to love from his brief, unspoken paternal experiences. Miguel had mentioned it once in the quietness of your embrace after he had a much more severe shutdown, and you’ve held the knowledge very dear to your heart

“Afraid of what I could do to you,” He heaved, tears painting your blemishes like watercolor overlaying on canvas. The glint of wetness met the dim luminescence peeking into your bedroom, enriching the growingly red marks littering your skin like a work of art. “For a moment there, I could imagine myself– sinking into your flesh and never letting you leave.” His gaze met yours as he resituated himself, “and I want to. I feel like I need to, and one day if I just let go–” Miguel ripped his intense gaze just to be guided back to your own with your hand meeting his jaw. You said nothing but smiled, as he greedily took the opportunity to nuzzle into the palm of your hand. "I mean it when I tell you that you're my everything, the air I breathe–" the pads of your thumbs met the bags underneath his eyes, swiping away fresh wetness. Miguel hasn't cried in front of you in a long time, the occasion rare and unexpected. But you welcomed it easily, giving him the attention he needed and wanted. "I can't lose you too, mi lucero del alba. I'd lose myself."

You tutted softly for the second time that night, resting your forehead against his as he desperately choked down any air he could afford. His hold on you tightened almost suffocatingly, his bare body cuddling into yours's without a second thought. Forearms tucked around your waist, your hands wandered soothingly over his trembling form.

"You should have talked to me about this before pouncing on me like a rabid animal." Your words rang throughout the air, a silence looming over the both of you before he heartily chuckled– a heart-wrenching, choked huff that had you giggling in relief.

"I couldn't help myself, te ves deslumbrante. You're too gorgeous for this world, and I have you all to myself. Unbelievable." Miguel brought his lips to yours, trapping you underneath him with his forearms all over again. "I thought fucking my problems away would work," it was meant to come out as a joke, a small quip he allowed himself to murmur into the air– but you knew better. Miguel definitely thought it would work, as you drowned each other with kisses.

"Maybe let me lead next time," you whispered into his ear, trailing your fingertips down his abdomen. Miguel hissed, bucking into the soft plush mattress. He brokenly groaned into your neck, his unsheathed claws digging into the velvet flesh of your chest.

Miguel cried out, baring his teeth as he breathed in deeply– a subtle attempt in calming himself. "I don't want to hurt you, cariño." His doubts of himself came out in a huff, if you hadn't been paying attention to every move he made you would have easily missed his worries.

You sighed. Heart clenching and threatening to burst within the confinement of your rib cage, you guided his lips to yours for the millionth time that night. The entanglement of lips was slow as Miguel's breath hitched, your tongue slipping into his mouth. Metal flooded your senses, your basic human instincts buzzing alarmingly in a fit to tell you "run, go away, dangerous," but you never budged.

Accepting Miguel and everything that came with, you held onto his face like he was the only man in the world, treating him with a certain gentleness he's never been exposed to before you. His entire being craved your acceptance that rivalled the need for water and food, as if he didn't have you Miguel would turn into a shell of what he was just like before.

The both of you kissed sensually, taking the brief moments to breathe just to inhale one another's air like you were each other's life-source. Your smile met his unsure wobble of his lips, the salty wetness of his tears mixing with your lips. "I can handle it." You murmured as his cheek desperately pushed against his palm like a cat, a low rumble accompanying his small sobs.

"I can handle you," you told him as if it was fact, like your words were law and there was nothing else to worry about.

"You'll fail." He responded weakly, the trauma he kept locked away resurfaced with each kiss. Miguel looked as broken as you first saw him, an image of the first time you saw him cry after months of dealing with his snippy stoicism flashing within your mind.

"No, no. Not when it comes to you. I'll flip this entire city over for you."

A fragile smile, one that replicated the curve of glass, peeked through his blood-ridden lips. "That's my job, mi conejito."

You flicked him on his forehead, a laugh filling the careful atmosphere. "Well, you better be careful. I heard there was an opening." A growl interrupted your laughs, just for you to giggle tenfold as Miguel began tickling the blemishes littering your form with delicate claws. "Can't happen, baby. Don't want you getting hurt."

The laughter died down as Miguel's tickling came to a stop, his bare physique settling over you like a blanket while he held himself up just a fraction. His damp curls, slick with his sweat, tickled your neck as he used your chest like a pillow. Miguel's breathing finally grew softer and more serene, a soft snore filling the bedroom as you laid there. "My love," you began and Miguel hummed mindlessly. "We need to shower, I can't sleep with my cum on my hip as well as everything else seeping into the–"

"Okay, okay– cállate. There's no need to be gross."

"No need to be a big baby, you can handle my honesty." He huffed fallen strands of his curls from his forehead in faux annoyance at your counter. "I'll clean you up," you offered with a light smile, a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in your chest as he scooped you up in his arms. "Let's take a bath together."

"Don't start that again, I told you I'm no child–"

Your unstable legs met the plush velvet of the bath mat, "I want to lay in your lap as I wash your hair." 

"...' 

You knew you won when he settled you on top of him in the tub, beginning to fill the little area with warm water– something he preferred and you simply just adapted to it. As you lathered his hair, his eyes fluttered to a close and a deep purr rumbled from his throat. Miguel's lines indented within his features relaxed as you massaged his scalp, his hands finding purchase on your ass. 

Yet the heat of the night was over, the touches the two of you shared were nothing more than sweet. Miguel simply enjoyed the feel of his body against yours as his chin met your shoulder, your fingers meeting the nape of his neck while his entire being surrounded you.

"I'm proud of you." Was all you said, nestling yourself against his skin while you washed away the sweat and blood and cum between the both of you.

Miguel grew rigid before sliding his grasp to your waist, wrapping his arms around you in a hug. No words could be mustered, but by the way his muscles contracted and tightened, he appreciated the small praise as a fraction of a sob escaped his lips.

As the two of you settled into the comfort of the bathroom, allowing the warm water run just how he enjoyed it with the smell of bubblegum soap and praline flooding the apartment, Miguel held onto your form like you were threatening to disappear. And you let him, as you kissed his marred skin with unfiltered love. 

[ribesaureum]

There is a lovely patch of milkweed at work that just bloomed

In the western US sagebrush steppe ecosystem milkweed are one of the top plants associated with insect diversity (sagebrush comes in first, which is unsurprising as the entire ecosystem is named after it)

There has been a huge push in recent years to plant milkweed, as it helps the Monarch Butterfly, but just like other pushes to restore habitat for a specific species, this also helps so many other species.

Three species of bee in one frame! The abundance of species was glorious.

A red-femored milkweed borer beetle

Nevada Bumblebee

A striped sweat bee

A hairy footed scolid wasp

Cobalt milkweed beetle

Unknown bee species

American sand wasp

....and more

Small changes to human spaces can bring about such big results and it gives me such hope.

[zzzubie]

I just realized something. I have no clue how anyone pronounces my username so

Moots I'm asking you

@username-not-registered @faelyn42 @guess-ill-dye @g3tmu5hrum3d @cobalt-axolotl @sad-girl-shit11 @xt0t4llys4n300x @sparky4577 @just-a-little-silly074 @jhernand1 @jazzythebow @unstableunicornsofasgard @lyri-da-suprstar @4ndy-th3-z0mb13

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

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