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choclodox · 2 years ago

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Change is Who We Are

Chapter 3 - Trust

Word Count: 4192

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Oliver’s weary eyes squinted at the morning sun. As promised, Nikea had returned by the time he woke up. She stood just outside the tree’s hollow facing away from him, but it seemed as though she was getting ready for bed rather than the day ahead.

“I know you’re awake,” she said while rubbing Rini’s forehead between the antennae.

“Not surprising,” he grunted. Tomahawk was still curled up and sleeping outside of the moss bed. Oliver reached his arms upwards and stretched his back and shoulders.

“Well, I’m ready to start the day when you are,” he said. He rubbed at his eyes so they wouldn’t feel as dry.

Rini opened her wings and welcomed Nikea into her secondary arms.

“ You can start the day by preparing your ikran for our flight to the next island,” Nikea yawned. “Rini and I have to sleep.”

The Na’vi woman hopped into her banshee’s arms and adjusted her cloak so it would cover her legs and feet.

“But—”

“Night People,” she said quietly. “It’s in the name.”

It was just another night in Highcamp. As usual, Rini was more than eager to go outside. She even tried to wake up Nikea in the middle of the day. But that’s just what happens when Night ikrans don’t fly as much and as freely as they’re used to. It was a firm rule that no one was to leave Highcamp alone, and if there’s anything Nikea learned growing up as a Night Na’vi, it’s that rules are rules.

Jake had been willing to make an exception; he knew that Rini and Nikea could handle themselves just fine. Night ikrans were naturally built for stealth and sensing threats from miles away. Paired with Nikea, the two were more than ideal for leading night patrols around the mountains, with or without backup.

Then Neytiri stepped in and talked him out of it.

“For goodness sake, I’m not defenseless!” Nikea said hotly. “Eywa knows I was able to fend for myself alone as a child when the Sky People were here last time!”

“This is nothing like last time!” Neytiri hissed. “They’re more powerful and destructive than ever before. No one leaves Highcamp alone, and that will not change as long as I have something to say about it.”

Neytiri was staring at Nikea’s torn up ear when she finished.

Now, Nikea was doomed to suffer Rini’s pettiness since she could only go outside for three hours a night to fly the same boring patrol route.

Only 30 minutes had passed since they woke up, and the two of them were already about to take off for the first of two shifts. Everyone else on the team was saddled up when Nikea saw Jake’s silhouette in the healer’s tent. He looked angry, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying since too many people were talking nearby.

Nikea stopped and turned her good ear at the tent. Rini huffed from her chest to signal that she was getting impatient.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Jake yelled. “What if you got killed? What if you got taken away like Spider?”

The Night Na’vi woman’s heart sank. She mumbled a quick apology to Rini and sauntered to the healer’s tent.

“You two never listen to me!” Jake continued

“But dad—”

“You were supposed to stay with the ikrans so that you wouldn’t get hurt, but instead, you disobeyed me and almost got yourself killed!”

“They were gonna shoot mom!”

“For fuck’s sake, you wanna end up like Nikea?” Jake hissed. The boys flinched at that. “She was your guys’ age when she almost got her head blown off because she didn’t listen! Now she can barely hear anything on one side!”

The boys’ ears fell while Jake stood in disappointment. Their infuriated father flicked his tail, sighed, and then took his leave. Just as Jake exited the tent, he almost jumped out of his skin when he was startled by Nikea standing before him.

His eyes darted off to the side.

“Jake, what is going on? Where is Spider?” Nikea asked.

“Forget about the patrol,” he said. “No one’s leaving Highcamp for the rest of the night.”

“Jake.”

In all her time of knowing him, Nikea had never seen Jake so…uneasy.

“There was this...this squad of…avatar soldiers from the RDA. ” he huffed. “Or at least I thought they were avatars. They tried to take the kids when they ran into each other at the old shack. One of them was…claiming to be Quaritch—the guy who led the Sky People against the Na’vi from the battle years ago.”

“I thought—”

“I thought so too,” Jake said. “None of us got killed, thank God, but…they took Spider before we could get him outta there.”

Nikea’s ears fell. She remembered when Rini tried to wake her up earlier in the day. She must’ve been trying to tell Nikea that she sensed something was wrong, but Nikea had just brushed it off thinking it was just another one of her tantrums. If she hadn’t ignored Rini’s behavior, maybe they could have stopped these demons from entering the mountains to begin with.

“I gotta call a war meeting,” Jake said while rubbing his forehead. “I also gotta get somebody to patch up the boys—”

“Don’t wake up Mo’at,” Nikea said to Jake, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll handle it.”

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but he just nodded and moved out of her way. She looked over her shoulder to watch him leave and then opened the tent flap.

Neteyam and Lo’ak were sitting next to each other with their tails slack on the floor. Nikea took a few sniffs of air in the tent before she spoke to them.

“Looks like you got scraped up a bit,” she said. “And it smells like Neteyam fell into a patch of stinging penghrrap.”

The boys jolted in their seats.

“What are you still doing here?” Lo’ak asked. “Shouldn’t you be out with the patrol?”

“Your father called off both patrols tonight,” Nikea answered. She opened the basket of herbs and bowls and began working on a poultice for their scratches. “Rini will be distraught, but she’ll manage.”

The boys laughed a little, but it quickly regressed back to silence. It was just the rhythmic grinding of dried leaves now.

“I heard about Spider,” she said solemnly. “But I’m sure we’ll find him, as impossible as it may seem.”

Silence.

“If it’s any consolation,” Nikea said. “I think your father is a bit of a hypocrite.”

The boys sat up questioningly.

“You are just like him when he was younger,” Nikea said, and then her ears pressed back in annoyance and paused. “Impetuous.”

“Yeah, and then he became leader of the clan ,” Lo’ak said, rolling his eyes. “Now he has to worry about how he looks and acts in front of everybody. He doesn’t even care about—ow!”

Nikea flicked Lo’ak’s ear hard enough to flip it inside out and continued with the poultice.

“It’s not that he became a leader ,” Nikea said, now fixing his ear so it was right-side-out again. “It’s that he became a father .”

Neteyam laughed, and in return, Lo’ak lightly punched his brother's shoulder.

“I don’t agree with how hard he is on you two,” Nikea continued. “But you shouldn’t resent him either. He may not look it, but he’s scared to death for you. And these rebellious stunts of yours are not helping.”

Nikea tapped the pestle against the mortar, indicating that the poultice was finished.

Lo’ak tensed and asked, “Are you going to use yalna bark?”

“Always,” Nikea said. “It stings less.”

She was now standing behind Neteyam to start dressing his wounds.

“Tsk, Neteyam ,” she sighed in amusement as she brushed her hand over the oldest son’s ripped stitches. “Do you always have to undo your grandmother’s hard work?”

“It’s not like she can do it as well as you can,” Neteyam joked.

“Don’t let her catch you saying that,” Nikea said. “Even if it might be true.”

Neteyam braced himself for the sting.

“We’ll find Spider. I promise.”

She dipped her fingertips into the poultice and gently pressed it onto Neteyam’s wounds.

The sun had just disappeared for the night when Nikea awoke. She wiped her eyes and moved a few of her dreads that fell on her face. Once that was done, she put her ionar back on her face and rubbed Rini’s chest.

She was surprised to see Oliver standing there, waiting for her to wake up.

“Did I scare you?” he asked. Nikea rolled her eyes with a smile.

“It takes more than that to scare me,” she said, while climbing around Rini such that she now sat on one of her saddle’s foot holds. Mansk’s vest pockets were now filled with things to eat for the journey. “Looks like you’re ready to move out.”

Oliver nodded and hopped onto Tomahawk’s saddle.

Rini riggled her fluffy antennae to shake off the sleep, and when Nikea made her signature clicking sounds, she and Rini took to the air. Oliver followed suit, and stayed close behind as they led the way. They circled the island once, and while they did, Nikea reached out her hand to the stars to find her bearings.

“Alright, let’s go,” she said, and immediately after, the eye spots on Rini’s wings illuminated brighter than before. “I’ll make sure Rini keeps her light steady so you don’t lose us.”

Oliver nodded and looked out to the next island in the distance. If it weren’t for the tiniest traces of bioluminescence, he never would’ve guessed it was there on the horizon. He turned his sight back towards Nikea and noticed that once again Nikea and Rini weren’t bonded in “sahayloo” or whatever it’s called. He knew for a fact that Tomahawk would never cooperate with him without connecting their queues, so it baffled him as to how Nikea was pulling it off on the regular.

“When we get to the next island, we’re going to have to work on your saddle,” Nikea said, and Rini slowed down so that she could make eye contact with him.

“What for? It feels fine to me,” Oliver said, tilting his head.

She flicked her unscarred ear and repositioned herself on her saddle such that she was standing on the foothold closest to Tomahawk. Oliver’s brows twisted in confusion when Nikea crouched down, grabbed the foot hold with her hand, the saddle’s straps with her other, planted her feet against Rini’s chest, and then leaned outward towards him and Tomahawk. In response, Rini flapped a little harder such that she was flying above Oliver, and Nikea could get a better look at his saddle.

“Your seat sits too far back,” she said, her queue flying behind her freely as usual. “And your foot holds are too low. It makes you look like you’re sitting around waiting for grandma’s teylu, which is not ideal if you’re flying in combat.”

“What am I supposed to do? Hold the riding stance the whole way through?” he asked while rolling his eyes. “We’re pretty much doing nothing.”

“You’d be able to if you had the proper saddle and technique,” she said back. “And we’re not doing ‘nothing.’ We are riding . Your ikran flies with you on his back because he is your mount, so show some respect as his rider by carrying your own weight.”

Okay, now that stung.

Oliver sat up on the footholds and grabbed onto the handle that held his banshee’s queues together. When he did, he noticed that Tomahawk was able to pick up the pace.

“By keeping the correct stance, it’s less strain on his back,” Nikea said, returning herself onto the saddle’s seat. After she sensed that Nikea was sitting securely, Rini tipped to the side and went back to leading the way.

“We’ll rest here for the next two days,” Nikea said once they landed in the mangrove trees. The two of them hopped off their saddles, and while Nikea stepped onto the tree limb with no effort, Oliver nearly fell on his face.

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned, leaning on Tomahawk. They’d been riding for three hours straight, and not once did he give the Nikea the opportunity to chastise him for sliding back on his saddle. As a result, his legs felt like they’d run a marathon.

“Good, you’re learning,” Nikea said, rubbing at Rini’s chin. “At this rate, you’ll have a respectable level of endurance by the time we arrive at the next village.”

“We’re going to the villages?” Oliver asked, nearly falling over again on his sore legs. “As in, the villages that I burned down?”

“We don’t have a choice. If we wanted to go around, we would have to double back to the last island and take the long way around,” Nikea said. Oliver’s chest twisted as he remembered one of the children giving him a pleading look while his squadmates torched their homes. He took the effort to go around that village’s island not because he was scared of what they’d do to him, but because he was too ashamed to see the aftermath of his actions. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Nikea speak again.

She said something to Rini in that strange version of Na’vi Oliver had heard her speak earlier. He knew that all of the Na’vi had their dialects and accents, but this version was vastly different. It was like a thick accent, and it sounded kind of breathy, but there were also a lot of sounds that were…animalistic. Some of them were even sounds that a human couldn’t make. She crooned one last sentence, and then Rini launched herself into higher canopies.

“She’s off finding something to eat, so we should do the same,” Nikea said. “You can leave your ikran here.”

Oliver nodded along and turned to Tomahawk, giving him a few scratches under his chin before following Nikea.

“So what is your ikran’s name?” Nikea asked. “You already know Rini’s.”

“Uh, Tomahawk,” he said once he caught up to her. She fluttered her ear at that.

“It’s the name of a cut of steak where I’m from,” he explained.

The Na’vi woman lightly chuckled, “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for something like that right about now. I’ve been stuck eating nothing but fruit and other foliage since I got to the islands.”

“But there’s all kinds of fish and animals to eat,” Oliver said, swatting a fly out of his face. “I mean, you seem like you’d be good at hunting.”

“Well, I don’t hunt,” she said sniffing the forest air and then changing the direction they were moving in. “Night Na’vi don’t kill.”

Oliver tilted his head.

“Make no mistake, we still eat flesh,” Nikea explained. “But only if it is given to us by the Great Mother or by the people we engage with, or by scavenging off of other animals’ kills. Night People know better than most that it is rude to reject a gift, and as you’ve seen for yourself, it’s not like we have a choice.”

The tree limb they were walking along came to an abrupt stop due to another tree’s wall of thick, cascading branches that reminded Oliver of a weeping willow. Nikea took another light inhale through her nose, and nodded as if to confirm something she suspected earlier.

Out of curiosity, he sniffed in the direction of the tree and noticed a spicy and sweet scent, but it was faint since the branches of the tree were still in their way. The Na’vi woman didn’t have to tell him twice when she took out one of her machetes.

Once he was a good distance away, Nikea drew back her blade and took a hard, fast swing at the vines. Oliver watched in awe as she cut through the sinewy foliage like a hot knife through butter.

Lyle would always carry his machete whenever they waltzed through the forest with Spider, and since he was the strongest out of all squad, it was usually up to him to clear away the thick brush for the rest of them. The way he was able to hack his way through the dense jungle made Oliver wince at the thought of being on the receiving end of that blade.

Yet, as burly and well seasoned of a marine as he was, Lyle couldn’t even compare to Nikea’s skill. Oliver knew a blade like that paired with a mastery like hers would cut his squadmate to ribbons if they were on an even playing field.

Thank-fucking- God these guys were pacifists.

The Na’vi woman took a few more swings until the branches gave way. There were a few more heavy branches blocking their path, but before she could put a hand out to push through it, Oliver stepped in and started pushing the branches out of the way himself.

“Uh, let me,” Oliver said. It was the least he could do.

When they stepped inside of the tree's leaves, all around, there were fruits that illuminated the interior with such intensity that it felt like it was sunset. With how bright and inviting shone, Oliver felt tempted to wave his hand in front of one of the fruits just to see if it would exude any heat.

The walls of his mom’s dining room were covered in patterned wallpaper of the same color as the lighting he was standing in now.

“We can eat these right away, and the rest we can leave to dry in the sun for later,” Nikea grunted as she pulled a fruit from the branches. Oliver looked over his shoulder to see that she was struggling to reach most of the fruit overhead. He’d noticed that she was shorter than most of the Na’vi he’d encountered so far. Not a whole lot, it was just more noticeable since he was pretty tall for a forest na’vi (which he was sure was a result of the RDA’s scientists going out of their way to make the recoms as genetically enhanced as possible).

“You need help with that?” he asked as he approached her from her left.

“Yes,” she said, and then she continued to collect the others she could reach. “I should probably tell you this, but I can’t really hear anything in this ear.”

Nikea flickered her left ear—the one that was torn up.

“I don’t have problems with hearing how loud or how quiet something is, I just can’t tell from which direction it’s coming from. That and I can only hear high pitched noises as well as you can” she continued. “I get anxious when people walk up to me on that side.”

“Oh,” he said, shuffling away. “Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” she smiled. “You don’t make me that nervous after how many times I’ve had to save you.”

Oliver snickered to himself, and they continued picking in silence.

By now, Nikea and Oliver had returned to their landing site to sit down and start prepping their meal. With most of their food being bioluminescent, Oliver wouldn’t have been surprised if he turned into a glow stick by the time they finished eating.

Overhead, he heard the snapping of tree branches and something breathing heavily. Oliver’s hand flew to his knife, but then he saw one of Rini’s eye spots and relaxed. She was hanging upside down over one of those pink jelly-fish plants and eagerly drinking its nectar.

“Tawtsngal,” Nikea said, putting her three-fingered hand up to signal him to be still. “A favorite among her kind. We can collect its water for drinking and some of the vines to make adjustments to Tomahawk’s saddle. Besides, she has much better hearing than I do, so if there is any danger, she will let us know.”

Oliver looked back at Nikea who had been sitting across from him, and then slowly put his knife away. Sure enough, it was Tomahawk who had caused the disturbance. Oliver spotted his banshee as he joined Rini by sitting atop the tree limb which she dangled from.

“How are you and Rini so in tune?” Oliver asked when he looked at Rini, and Nikea turned her head, not knowing what he meant. “I never see you guys queue up. If I tried that with Tomahawk, we’d never get off the ground.”

Nikea paused and put down the fruit she was peeling. Oliver turned his eyes back to her as she scooted closer. The fuzzy moss beneath her illuminated in her wake.

“Regardless of the rider’s experience or how long they have been bonded, it is significantly harder to hold the act of tsaheylu with Rini’s kind. For starters,” Nikea began. “Rini’s kurus are significantly longer than Tomahawk’s. Hers run all the way to her back legs while mine can barely reach past her shoulders.”

Oliver had noted that detail earlier when he first met Rini, but at the time, he was more concerned with the giant eyespots on her wings that were staring into his soul.

“Next is temperament. The more sentient a being is, the more free will they express through tsaheylu,” Nikea continued. She drew a stick figure Na’vi next to a stick figure ikran. Then she drew a line to connect the two figures, starting at the Na’vi and ending at the ikran.

“Now, Rini is not as sentient as I am, but her emotions still run strong. She may be loyal and overly affectionate, even towards strangers, but her kind are also known for being stubborn and temperamental. They’ll throw tantrums if they don’t get their way, even with the most disciplined rider.”

Nikea drew another line to connect the figures, but this time, she started at the ikran and ended at the na’vi.

“As a result, this makes the bond unstable, and that is especially dangerous when in flight. Everytime we bond, I have to consciously remind her that she is the mount and I am the rider, not the other way around.

“But the real issue is the way we perceive the world around us.”

“Through tsaheylu, I can feel Rini’s breath, her strength, but I can also feel what she senses,” Nikea said. She moved her drawing space closer to Oliver and drew up another na’vi and ikran.

“Most of the creatures Na’vi bond with share the same senses, some just more enhanced than others,” Nikea said. She drew an eye between the two figures. “While Tomahawk may have better eyesight than you, it is still something you both possess, and so there is no conflict.”

Then Nikea crossed out the eye.

“Rini cannot understand the concept of sight because she and her kind are blind from birth by Eywa’s design.

“Paired with a na’vi who are sight-driven beings, they don’t respond to it well, and now I have to concentrate on not overwhelming her with what I see.

“In the end, tsaheylu becomes more trouble than it's worth when we fly. And this impacts the Night People’s belief on what makes the true rider.

“Clans like the Kekkunan or the Omatikaya believe that it lies in difficult maneuvers or flying at great speeds. The Alyara, the clan of the Night People, believe that it lies in how well they train their ikrans, and how much faith they have in each other.”

Rini’s silhouette turned its head towards the two of them and illuminated the eyespot between her antennae.

“It is about trust: The bond which transcends the bond.”

Oliver watched as the drawings faded away, and raised his eyebrows. He was pretty sure that if Quaritch were here, he’d be impressed too. But then a question raised itself in Oliver’s head.

“So wait, you guys never use it? The bond?” Oliver asked confusedly.

“Pff, of course we do,” Nikea laughed. “We still have to when we choose each other and become companions.”

“Well, yeah, but aside from that,” he said back, still waiting for an answer.

Nikea’s light laughter died down, and she said, “Yes, we still use the bond. It just has a different purpose. Rini may be blind, but all of her other senses are incomparable to any animal on Eywa’veng. When we bond, I can use this to observe my surroundings the way she does. Of course, we have to be sitting still somewhere so I can concentrate on it.”

The recom nodded along in understanding, and then he looked at Tomahawk who was preening himself in the canopies above.

“Can you teach me?”

“No, it’s extremely dangerous,” she said simply and returned to peeling the fruit she held earlier. By now, it had lost most of its light.

“So is taming a bansh—an ikran ,” he said, taking a bite out of his one of the atena hana.

“Yes, but you didn’t spend your childhood jumping from ikran to ikran during travels and jumping off of the highest mountain tops to overcome the fear of free falling,” Nikea countered. “Now eat. You’re going to need strength for tomorrow night.”

Penghrrap = “danger teller” plant. I just made up a stinging version of it to be Pandora’s version of stinging nettle Tawtsngal = Panopyra AKA Love Flower (yes, it's actually canon. If you don't believe me, look it up in the wiki) Eywa’veng = Pandora

#avatar #avatar the way of water #nikea #alyara clan #night na’vi #avatar mansk #private mansk #mansk #recom mansk #manskisalive

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tritoch · 7 months ago

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Deciding that my wol does not deviate from canon as presented in the game makes every point where I would have deviated so enjoyably juicy. I thought Wolund might be a WAR in Dawntrail after everything with Zenos and tapping back into his love for adventure! I was extremely wrong.

Musings on character class and Dawntrail. Spoilers through the end of 7.0 below.

I don't think the WoL in Dawntrail can be a Warrior, really: rather than tapping into their love of combat, they've clearly learned to take their foot off the gas. All your most interesting moments in 7.0 are when you don't fight someone, or when you are slow to violence. WAR just doesn't fit, to me.

In fact, no tank fits for me: tanking in duty support means pushing Wuk Lamat out of the tank role, or at least the main tank role for the 99 trial, and that just seems wrong to me from a story and vibes standpoint. Similarly, playing a DPS means making Alisaie heal the 93 dungeon and trial, which is insane to me. I don't think it should be legal to staff-chick Alisaie, as it were. I've also never liked healer G'raha, who shows up in the 97, 99, and 100 dungeons if you're DPS; we see him use PLD and BLM (well, their equivalents) a lot in the story, but only rarely, if ever, WHM.

Of course, playing healer means DPS Alphinaud in the 91 dungeon. That means an ideal "everyone stays in their ideal roles" job means being able to flex DPS or healing. And that leaves me right back where I started the game, withl CBU3's Blessed Siblings: SMN/SCH.

SMN has always been so canon to me: it's FF's special-est magical girl class, it involves claiming your enemies' power for your own, it gives a lot of weight to you as "the savior of the savages" in the eyes of the empire, Y'mhitra shows up in MSQ, Fordola and Arenvald show up in SMN quests. You get the Hydaelyn&Azem-esque Solar Bahamut this time out! Very main character stuff.

And SCH! Dawntrail is, to me, such a healer expansion. Only once, at the very end, do you really bring your own might to bear, and then in the form of the classic Azem trick, Instant Queue Duty Finder. You spend a lot of the MSQ and every role quest mostly playing the role of support, backing people up and rarely taking point. Serving as Wuk Lamat's emotional support is most of the expansion, and MSQ is pretty pointedly about how you're not really the main hero this time out.

So the idea of a WoL who mostly doesn't fight (okay he's spamming Art of War II. It's a gain on 2, Wuk Lamat), but calls directions, warns of incoming attacks, throws up shields, pulls people out of AOEs, that's very good to me. And healer can be the only role you need to pull you over the finish line, as myself and a cohealer learned today when I burned everything to heal him through repeated AOEs (thanks Dissipation and Seraphism) so he could pull off a healer LB3 (double mhroth scholar team, to boot) in the final trial. And wouldn't it make sense for Azem to play that role of battlefield tactician, coordinating their disparate friends? It's also the only role Emet and Hythlodaeus lack between them...

We're not taking center stage and holding aggro this time out, and that's a fun change! Curious to see how it plays out in patches. But rather than having his blood up and pumping again, Wolund seems very much at peace, and I'm excited to see how that plays out.

also biolysis-swiftcast-recitation-adlo-deployment tactics into a raidwide hits so fucking good. that shit's like candy to me.

miscellaneous related thoughts:

- SCH and SMN are also connected to arcanima and the South Seas Isle Lalafells, who seem like they might suddenly be somewhat more important than expected

- I feel bad for many scholars because I know Seraphism doesn't fit your class fantasy. But if you're playing SCH as "this is just the WoL class this time" it hits so good. You're a secretive mentor figure with a secret special ANGEL form that maybe is due to the time your soul was almost permanently warped by light aether or maybe is a fusion with your summon, both of which are basically boss phase concepts to me tbh.

- also looking on Twitter it looks like Seraphism functions normally for most people but uh it removes Wolund's hrothgar coeurlstache. I choose to believe it's light aether fucking him up and if you could see under the hood he basically looks like Forgiven Reticence its NOT his real face

- his pets are ruby (SMN) and emerald (SCH) carbuncle, to avoid scaring people and to keep a low profile.

#ffxiv #wol oc #lions and lily flowers #dawntrail spoilers #warrior of light ffxiv #meta: durai report #wol: zodiac brave story

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baelpenrose · 2 months ago

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Project Praetorian 58: Arrival, IV

Okay this is the part with a lot of brutal CQB, not the last time. TW: GORE. Beta read by @canyouhearthelight

Micah

One thing Micah was learning as he teleported behind a fire team of three Spikes who were spraying plasma down at a squad of infantry attempting to advance through a street, now hiding behind vanishing cover and firing back: Spikes reacted much, much faster than humans did.

A thing Micah had already figured out about organic life: Didn’t matter how good your reaction times were - nothing let you react fast enough to a guy teleporting behind you, rifle already up, and hosing you down with half a mag. After doing it around a dozen times and relieving as many squads or platoons of pinned troopers, there hadn’t been a team of Spikes ready for that trick yet.

He saw the soldiers advancing through the streets flash him a grateful signal as he looked over the ruined alien bodies and checked his ammunition. About three full mags left, plus the half he still had in the weapon - not ideal, he was going to have to save it. Still, it was letting the troopers advance, and only one man had died because of the ambush, so it wasn’t like his counter-attacks weren’t working.

Then his comms buzzed - the excruciating expensive, EMP hardened pieces that Imperator had commissioned. “Glitch, where are you?”

He jumped. Mark’s ‘officer voice’ always made him nervous. “Dropped an alien ambush on the east side, troopers are moving up. Why?”

“Great. Melbourne’s already having them reposition - okay…I figured out where you are. I need you about three blocks north and four west. Siren and Cat are there and trying to cut their way out of a situation - if you can get into the buildings where the aliens have already dug in, and start digging out the flankers, that would go a long way towards solving their problem.”

Micah took a breath. “Understood, Storm.”

***

He saw a flash of plasma from another window. Someone blasting at human soldiers, men already spraying bullets into the window. He took a breath, focusing on the gunfire that seemed primarily designed to suppress - and then the area around him blurred.

And he was behind another alien fire team, already wheeling to engage him as he opened fire.

This one was faster, though. He had come in facing the wrong direction - and a little too close to one of the hated alien soldiers.

He fired, taking down two of the three - and then finding himself desperately fending off the third in close quarters. It had dropped its blaster and engaged him with furious strikes from arms, elbows, claws - strikes from carbon-fiber reinforced bone spikes that would punch through body armor, flesh, bone. He scrambled back, taking a strike across the face that left him reeling, half blind with agony, and fumbled for his pistol.

Micah felt his heart pound as the alien slammed his body to the floor and dropped a knee into his abdomen, felt the spike bite home in his guts, and managed to drive his pistol into its torso, squeezing the trigger. Not the careful shots he’d been trained to, the rapid wham-wham-wham of panic fire as the pressure on his chest fell away.

He was bleeding, and he keyed his comms. “Mags. Help…Position…SOS.” He activated his beacon, then focused - forcing himself into the street, the rattling of distant gunfire helping. He found himself surrounded by soldiers, dull pain searing his stomach as normal troopers surrounded him, applying pressure to his abdomen, a chest seal, something to the side of his face where the claws had bitten home.

“Christ - this kid needs a medic! Hold position! Stabilize til their healer gets here!”

***

Kimmy

She dove out a window as plasma fire raked across the front of a building - and she came up rolling and shooting, grateful for her background as an acrobat. A Spike went down as she shot it, but she was already realizing if they couldn’t do something to break the encirclement, they were going to get overrun.

Another soldier turned to slurry as she watched, the horrible red wash mixing with the blue-white flash of a plasma impact as the blast hit.

Already, she was back in cover, shooting - Molly let loose another one of those high, piercing notes that stalled out enemy fire while the troopers moved up to see if they couldn’t get better angles, but Molly couldn’t hold it forever. Hell, it seemed like even this one was really only about the fact that half the cover had already been blown to dust.

She had to admit, the normal soldiers were insanely brave - covering each other, shouting like madmen, throwing grenades at clumps of Croaks, no powers, just guns and luck.

Then she’d lunged forward when Molly’s next musical surge let her, diving forward and trying to push to the next bit of cover, free of enemy fire, seeing Molly shoot at a handful of aliens who hadn’t realized they’d been caught in the open, unable to retaliate.

Kimmy managed to get one in the open - and then found herself slammed against a wall as one of the Spikes vaulted forward. She twisted and felt a bone spike slam into her shoulder, the blade biting into bone, making her scream. The spike ripped the spine free and she felt the flesh knit back together, itching and burning as she reached for a pistol - only to have the alien soldier backhand it out of her grip, slashing open tendons on her hand in the process. It dove on top of her as her hand started coming back together - but this time she was ready. She rolled out of the way, diving for a dead man’s SMG as she went, but found herself tackled with punches raining on her chest. Her body armor was savaged, ribs cracking, chest punctured, every breath filling her lungs with fire, until with a series of horrible pops her chest healed, ribs snapping back into place and reattaching - then, she held down the trigger and felt the thing back up, backwards jointed knee torn loose. It had grabbed the gun’s barrel and torn it loose from her grip, so she took a breath, panicked, and before it could recover, and put her hands on its shoulders. Then she vaulted over the alien shock trooper, heedless of the savage tail and drew her combat knife, driving the blade into the back of its skull, the tail and neck spikes wounding her almost as fast as she could heal.

But the Spike couldn’t.

She staggered over, dizzy from hunger as she picked up the SMG and her pistol, whole body itching and aching. The fight had been pushed away from her. One of the troopers was gaping, as though he’d covered her but hadn’t dared fire - and she finally became cognizant of Molly screaming in her ear.

“I’m fine.” She was woozy. The advance was still going. “How is…everyone?”

“They’re doing fine. We held out long enough - and you freaked the aliens out after…that. Some of the Croaks panicked. The troopers are pushing. Eat something, please.”

Kimmy tore open her assault pack and started shoving an FSR into her face. It wasn’t enough. She ate another. She was still hungry, but she wasn’t shaking anymore. She was able to stand up. “Okay. Siren. Move up. Let’s keep supporting. I’m ready to help them keep going. Where the hell is Glitch?”

Another buzz in the comms. Micah’s voice. “Back in action. Mags just got me back up. Got in close with a Spike. Those fuckers hit hard. Trying to clear off the flanks. Running low on ammo.”

Kimmy looked up, then at the mutilated corpse of the Spike she’d gotten in close with. “Yeah. No shit. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Jonathan

This was it. No doubt. No fear. No questions if he was good enough, worthy of love, worthy of care, if he had a future beyond the war. No need for any of that. Just aliens, a gun, a team, and the ability to drown all the fear out in the roar of gunfire.

Spikes dropped in controlled bursts. Croaks flew apart wherever he held down the trigger and went down in droves like wheat before a scythe. God, this was amazing. Push up? Yeah, that was the order, Mark said. Push up and towards the Ascendancy command post. Push up. Kill the aliens.

He saw a blast of fire burn half a battalion of Croaks, packed into narrow streets with nowhere to run or hide, even if the damn things were already starting to realize that the sight of Casey, dark hair falling around her face under her helmet, meant a horrible death.

Jonathan ripped free the box magazine on his machine gun as he realized that bullets were no longer pouring from the barrel in a torrent of lead, slammed a new one home, and racked back the bolt to continue the carnage. He knew full well that a common soldier would have performed a similar maneuver with a rifle - but he was a praetorian - and God, it was good to be a Praetorian.

He rushed up to one Croak, clearly flash blind from Casey’s blast, and punched it in the face while holding his MG aloft in the offhand. There wasn’t really a reason, he just wanted to test his strength. The luckless alien’s skull imploded, and the twitching body hurtled across the blackened street, to splatter against a wall on the far side.

Jonathan brought the weapon back to his shoulder as a plasma bolt blew chunks of concrete off the sidewalk next to him, a gout of actinic fire scorching his side - not hot enough to actually burn him. He sent a torrent of lead raking up the building, shattering windows, and saw a burst of maroon blood through the window as a long, reptillian figure spun and dropped. Casey blasted again as another wave of Croaks washed up, and for a moment he heard conventional gunfire from the windows - before it went quiet.

Then he heard something from the comms.

“Something new. Not the usual. Look like their labor units - bigger. Armor. They eat bullets - what the hell? FUCK! FUCK!” The communication cut off. Normal trooper, not one of them. Jonathan turned the corner and started blazing away at a group of Spikes that were covering behind a building - one of whom dropped, arm torn off at the shoulder. One of them reached an arm around, blaster in hand, then found the wall torn away when a bullet struck the blaster. The last two living Spikes, abruptly exposed, fell in a hail of bullets.

Jonathan was already rushing forward, adrenaline roaring in his veins to find more aliens to fight, to challenge. Where was the new enemy? What was the new enemy?

He saw a group of Spikes, and a much larger group of Croaks, clustered around a tank - clearly meant to be screening. He practically mowed the whole crowd down with one extremely long burst from the MG, relying on his unnatural strength to keep the weapon on target, then slung the weapon and unslung his entrenchment tool, sprinting in close. The big gun struggled to bring itself to bear as he got closer. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. Five.

At two, he jumped onto the tank, slammed the entrenchment tool into the hatch, and ripped it open, throwing a grenade in and vaulting off. It was the fifth time he’d done that trick, and it was at this point something he did as much for shock value against the enemy as because it worked.

As the alien tank exploded behind him as he unslung the machine gun, sweeping the surrounding area, he spotted a handful of fleeing Croaks and gunned them down.

Then, as eh was once again replacing the box magazine, he saw something. Something that made him actually nervous.

It looked like the ‘Hulks’ - the designated heavy, specialized labor caste of the Ascendency they’d first encountered on the big ship that had served as their first large battle. Same basic build. But unlike the Hulks, which had been ponderous, slow, almost placid, this was huge, armored in something that he didn’t recognize, moving fast, and wielding a blaster that looked to be nearly the same scale as the weapons mounted to Ascendancy tanks in one hand. In the other, it wielded a sledgehammer that seemed to be propelled on some kind of shockwave, activated by some kind of trigger assembly near the grip. There was some kind of thing pumping out the back - though whether it was an engine for the armor or something more biomechanical Jonathan couldn’t have said.

Jonathan dropped his MG. He wasn’t going to have finished reloading in time anyway. He swung out his entrenchment tool and rushed the monster, screaming in rage.

The entrenchment tool skated off the armor on contact, and the monster swung the hammer, pulling the trigger as it did. Some kind of rocket pulse accelerated it along with the beast’s muscles as it swung towards Jonathan, who just barely dodged it. He dove around, and kicked the thing as hard as he could in the back of the knee.

Jonathan had kicked in reinforced doors with hermetic seals. He’d kicked in steel doors with reinforced hinges. When he kicked something, he expected it to break.

This thing barely buckled, and it whirled around and pistol whipped him across the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. When it whirled around with the hammer, he rolled out of the way and it shattered the asphalt. He vaulted up and swung the entrenchment tool towards the engine - it snagged on the edge this time, and Jonathan tore as hard as he could, prying up and out.

The haft of steady steel bent, then tore, and the engine ripped free with a shower of what was either machine juice, or blood, or both. Then the mutant Hulk screamed and wheeled around, staggering, weapons raised, swinging hard, but sluggish, and Jonathan caught the haft of the hammer. It swung down, furious, but Jonathan caught it. He braced, boots scraping along the concrete, and suddenly found himself swung aloft, but twisted, feeling his back ache as he twisted to force the leverage of the movement back down, haft of the hammer parallel to the ground, back of it along the monster’s neck.

Then he caught an elbow, tightening his abs so he didn’t break, and let go one end, squeezing the trigger with his still gripping hand.

The hammer haft almost tore loose of both their hands, the head swinging dangerously, and swinging sideways to nearly impact the big bastard’s hip. Jonathan swung under the Hulk, lunging at a knee and shoving with his full might to upset it, forcing it down, and then seized the hammer, driving his boot against the creature’s already overstretched wrist, and feeling it break through the armor with a snap.

Then, as the arm with the gun tried to bring it around, Jonathan hefted the massive hammer and brought it down, triggering the rocket at the back, and brought it down on the helmeted head.

The result looked like someone had crushed a can against concrete.

Jonathan lifted his newfound weapon skyward, and braced it against his hands as he saw another one of the new monsters emerging from a building, tearing its way out, armor smeared with crimson.

With a savage smile he rushed forward, hammer swinging towards the knee, sliding under a plasma blast that blew the front off a building, and then swinging up to connect with the creature’s jaw, snapping its head back and clearly breaking its neck. He wheeled around and struck a third such creature with a rocket-assisted blow in the center chest, shattering the armor and sending bits of armor, ribs, and organs flying out the creature’s shattered backplate.

He charged ahead, swinging the hammer, heedless of the menacing hiss-snap of plasma discharge and the searing pain that accompanied it, and when he came to his senses, he was surrounded by monstrous corpses. Spikes, heads twisted off, the new aliens, Croaks, hopelessly shattered - he’d torn through them like nothing. He ran back, aware now, of the burns that covered him, and grabbed his MG, reloaded it, and slung the hammer across his back.

He’d take it back as a captured weapon. Jonathan had a feeling he’d want to keep using it. Especially since Mark was already shouting to start the attack on the command post.

#original fiction #found family #my writing #writeblr #traumatized characters #writers on tumblr #science fiction #project praetorian

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cerastes · 2 years ago

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do you have any tips on beating mouthpiece and playwright with the leader squad? i had a lot of trouble fighting the big sad lock so some advice to help me prepare for the other two bosses would be very appreciated.

I'll make guides for them as well since I do get a significant amount of asks asking for help on those two. I can give you a more summarized rundown for now.

Leader Squad specifically is very good, those 5 shield lives allow you to get goofy with the rest of the run and take risks that would otherwise be unadvisable, whether it be with map selection, route selection, or in-map strategies. Make the most out of this to get as strong as possible through Emergencies. Leader Squad's weakness is the lack of otherwise any other tangible advantage: You have leeway, and that's it (though leeway is very strong, to be frank). Try to grab as many fights as possible at all times... Which is kind of a headache, because you DO want to get Encounters to actually get the Mouthpiece or Playwright routes.

The Troupe's Mouthpiece is the single most dynamic boss in the game, and the antithesis to Big Sad Lock, who is an extremely static boss. On your way to Mouthpiece, you ideally get Squad and Deployment size, at least one of the Berries, and at least one DP generator, but ideally at least two. These are the single most important aspects you can get for his fight, because you have to divide your team into two: Your static defense squad, and your attacker squad.

Red circles are your hold-down areas. Green squares are your DP gen tiles, so that way they don't get sniped by the Scarlet Singers (and so you don't have to waste deployments assassinating them, usually a net loss in time and overall DP). Blue squares are healers; Incoming damage in this map isn't big, but it's constant. A Berry, the Corrupting Heart, or an AoE Healer is enough per side. I recommend you deploy your Berry on the left, as that's where Mouthpiece goes to when he "enrages", so you can buy more time actually blocking him. Purple arrows are your lane hold-DPS. Again, incoming damage isn't high, so Guards, Dollkeepers, or offense-oriented Defenders (like Blemishine or Mudrock) are ideal. They are facing towards the statue tile so that they may attack it when they spawn there. Ideally this DPS Lane Holder has a permanent skill like Blaze S2 or Thorns S3, an steroid like Blemishine S3, or a burst option like Cutter S1 so they can actually deal damage to the statues. The ranged tile next to the DP tile and the Healer tile is for your Ranged DPS. Doesn't matter what type, they are there to help destroy the statues in your hold-down area, and deal damage to approaching units.

Now, here's where it gets fun! The other half of your squad is the attackers, here's where you want to have helidrop Operators, or the closest you can muster, in order to destroy the statues that will spawn across the map in their designated tiles. The statues, known as Mouthpiece's Helpers, deal constant True Damage to tiles around them, as well as halving the attack of the Operators in this selfsame area. For this reason, you want Operators that can quickly get in, deal lots of damage, and then get out. Skadi S2, Nearl the Radiant Knight S2, Lee S3, Jaye S2, Cutter S1, Ch'en S2, Phantom S2, Specter S2, Specter the Unchained S2 and S3, anything that you can drop, activate quickly, and then retreat is good. You'll be doing this a lot. There ARE ranged tiles you can also use but these are less advisable, as they are either in Mouthpiece range (he attacks two targets at once and deals significant Nervous Impairment + 1000 Arts Damage baseline per attack) or in Scarlet Singer range. If you must use these, then do assassinate the Singers.

Mouthpiece is a juggling game of managing your hold-down area while having the resources to keep deploying Operators to far away Helpers to destroy them. Once you lock down on your hold-down, the rest is making good judgment calls with your deployments. I would also advise keeping someone on hand for deployment to secure your hold-down every couple of minutes because the NI will keep building up on any side you don't have a Berry on (and having two Berries tends to be very rare).

I'll do a more complete guide on Mouthpiece later, same goes for Playwright. Very briefly, with Playwright, you want to deploy Operators diagonal to each other so Playwright's cross explosions don't gib your composition, otherwise have as much bulk and healing as you can, because unlike the other 3 final bosses of IS2, Playwright's map is very heavy on incoming damage, and you need to be able to either secure a firm line that won't explode to the immense Arts damage you'll be dealing with, or have enough means to deal with that otherwise, such as secondary deployments once your line explodes, fast-redeploys to hold the enemies that explode outside of range, etc etc. If you have her, Definitely Bring Nightingale. She significantly reduces the difficulty of the map thanks to her Arts mitigation (all relevant damage is Arts) and her Bait helps for emergencies with Playwright's global range. Also you need 1-2 units on the back to kill the Golems. Spawn camp the Golems. If you have Pozy, you can spawn camp and kill Playwright instantly, but that's an if. Nonetheless, if possible, you SHOULD spawncamp him to deal damage. Again, I'll make a proper guide but the important thing is, unless you are 100% sure you can kill him outright, DO NOT pop damage skills on Playwright Phase 1, because Phase 2 (50% HP) makes him VERY bulky (2000 Defense and 90 Resistance!), so save burst for Phase 2. And, it goes without saying, but ideally, you're using Physical damage if you don't have ways to placate his insane 90 RES.

#innovatorbunny #arknights #is2 #dreamknights

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lollybliz · 10 months ago

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Woke up to a friend sending me this to see if I have any advice and I have a few thoughts!

First off, Xiao is a huge asset and it's very easy to cheese his boss so you can level him without ever hitting the big lizard. The primo geovishap has his fun little elemental infusions, right? And if you match shields with his infusion, he's got a kickback mechanic where he takes damage from his own attack. Geo shield work on All infusions, therefore put together a team that can run around and dodge if you need to- anemo resonance maybe, Xiao, Sayu, Diona, Noelle- and make sure Noelle's shield is up every time the lizard goes to set off his big starfall attack. You can get everything you need to ascend Xiao like that, albeit slowly, and then if you put a white tassel on him (I'm assuming you don't have limited weapons, white tassel is a free 3 star polearm you find in liyue chests with good attack and a crit substat, it's a good free option on Most polearm characters) he can become a really effective driver.

For your situation specifically though what you're really gonna want is as many elemental reactions as you can stuff in a sack, so make sure your traveler is on Anemo and that their burst is charged, and bring a team that can handle cryo shields- my suggestion would be Anemo Traveler, Yanfei, Xiangling, and Kuki (especially if you can get her one more ascension, she's an excellent healer and reaction catalyst)

You're gonna want to position yourself in such a way that when you drop traveler's burst, it picks up the cryo slime first and then pins it against the abyss mage- you're trying to infuse cryo into the swirl without having cryo on your team, and the slime will end up breaking the abyss mage's shield for you. Then you want to swap to Kuki and hit her skill, swap to Xiangling and burst, then skill, swap to Yanfei and skill, charged attack, normal attack normal attack charged attack repeat until the cryo slime's shield is broken (should only take the skill->charged attack but Just In Case, a repeatable pattern to follow) and swap back to traveler to Hold skill. Ideally, traveler will have infused Pyro and you'll be getting a combination of Melt and Overloaded, but whatever they pick up will have an element to react with because we have both Pyro and Electro in the mix. It might take a few tries to get the timing and the positioning right, and any levels you could get on any of the characters can only be helpful, but I Do think you can get past this, you've got this.

The climbing tower sucks. That's where I got stuck on my first account. The wiki has a series of screenshots in the middle of the page that shows you where you can drop the geo traveler's skill rocks so you can climb up, it's not the easiest cus the rocks don't always orient the way you'd like them to but it will get you up the tower.

All right, Genshin Impact people, I get it. I understand why there's a fandom. I've gotten more into the story, I've gotten to know the characters, and I've gotten rather addicted. The world's very fun to explore, and from what I can tell so far, every single character in this universe is mega neurodivergent.

But now I make a plea for help. A few weeks back, I started the Trails of Tianqiu quest, naive the horror I was about to enter and unaware that this quest locked you out of co-op until its completion. Thus, my game has been soft-locked ever since, especially since I can no longer ascend characters since I can't beat bosses solo.

The last time I was stuck on a quest I drove a few hours round-trip so my brother could beat it for me. Unfortunately that's not an option anymore as he is in rehab now, so I've gone to the internet. And so far the GI players of Discord, Reddit, and the official player forums have made it very clear that they do not like giving advice to anyone who has not very carefully studied the characters' stats to meticulously optimize their build from the very beginning.

So, I'm hoping Tumblr people will be nicer. I still have absolutely no clue how I'm ever going to finish the climbing challenge (hell, I still haven't even managed to beat that time trial near the Stormbearer Mountains where you just have to climb the spiral staircase outside of that little building - that's how bad I am at orientating myself in video games - so I may just have to wait until my brother's out of rehab for that one), but I can at least see if I can get some advice for the third floor battle with the cryo mage and slimes.

These are the characters that I currently have:

Traveler, level 60

Kaeya, level 58

Yanfei, level 57

Amber, level 56

Noelle, level 50

Ningguang, level 50

Chongyun, level 50

Lisa, level 50

Barbara, level 50

Xiao, level 40

Lynette, level 40

Diona, level 40

Yaoyao, level 40

Gaming, level 40

Xiangling, level 34

Sayu, level 20

Dori, level 20

Kuki Shinobu, level 20

Kujou Sara, level 20

I'm world level 3, currently AR 35 (don't want to ascend until I get this quest out of the way since increasing the world level will only make it that much harder), and play on mobile (my laptop is a piece of junk when it comes to gaming).

Anyone have any advice on some sort of strategy I can use?

#please please feel free to ask more questions if you've got them #i can clarify as needed #bliz rambles #genshin impact

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crystalelemental · 2 years ago

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Following the recent Gauntlet, I felt it necessary to update the Common Grid War listings. There are...a few changes.

Promotions

Shauntal: A -> S. Okay. Shauntal rules. Shadow Ball, on type, has a pretty easy time hitting 5-digit numbers. Like, an EX Support taking first sync pretty much guarantees it. Yes, she has some setup concerns, given Special Attack/Crit needs, but her damage output is outrageous, and they did give her an option to help cap crit. And like...there are no flaws. Her best comparison is Bruno, who is similarly heavy on DPS. Except he’s weaker, has accuracy issues that cut into his energy management for grid, and he doesn’t get to build up his speed until after he’s landed multiple crits. Which, additionally, don’t add up to as much because he’s a lot slower than Shauntal. And his offensive stats aren’t as high. And he’s got a max 90% move multiplier, if you can cap his special defense. Shauntal has +100% basically for free. Oh, and she ignores Light Screen by default. Shauntal is ridiculously powerful, in a type that’s becoming fairly competitive.

Marshal: C -> A. Not a joke. Marshal’s for real. The staggering effect is minor, but it honestly puts in crazy work. Moreover, Drain Punch’s DPS is legitimate, and even without Master Healer, he’s recovering plenty to stay relevant. Additionally, he’s able to help with debuffing on many teams. He’s a fairly ideal partner to Maylene in Gauntlet, staggering foes to reduce the pressure she’s under, and softening up opponents for her Drain Punch at the same time. I really undersold him.

Marlon: C -> B. While I will be first to note that Marlon’s issues are in his gauge control, the tradeoff is you have a super good defense tank with Endurance applied, and actual pop healing, alongside a fairly unique trait in Team Pinpoint Entry to solve for units like Cyrus and Ghetsis who otherwise are self-sufficient. I dunno. This guy feels like he should be more flawed than he is, but every Gauntlet I’m finding some nice utility for him. It’s pretty great.

Brock and Grant: D -> C. I have finally lifted these two out of D-rank. Because 60% flinch rate, on a move that has decent supplementary DPS. Which would, in theory, put them up with Molayne and Wikstrom. Except unlike Molayne, they have poor independent gauge manage, and unlike Wikstrom, they can’t do serious big boy damage numbers when so inclined. Because of this, I put them below Wake, who is comparably sad on sync, but has better gauge control and self setup, even if it’s worse DPS.

Demotions

MU Torchic: S -> A. While it doesn’t have its grid yet, and therefore cannot be held entirely accountable...I feel confident on this assessment. Lack of Endurance, lack of First Aid, and mediocre bulk really hinder this thing. It’s reliant on an ally sustaining it in Gauntlet, and likely won’t survive three buffs in CS without the opponent using their own stat boosters. It’s still exceptional as one of the best special attack/crit buffers in the game, but unlike the premium options, it has trouble with survival.

Noland: A -> B. Noland remains fantastic with self-setup, but this is about all I can say on his behalf. Gauntlet has been very trying with these longer streaks, as Noland can set up reliably, but can’t often deal sufficient damage to make something work. Bugsy feels noticeably stronger, and it’s kinda holding him back a bit.

Maylene: A -> B. Maylene, I want to love you. Atk/Crit buffer with defense drops should be great. But much like a Valerie/Kali situation, your only real healing is on your attacking move. You are a support. You cannot deal damage. No Endurance, no healing outside of her attack, which is high gauge cost, and her bulk is fairly lacking alongside lower offenses. Maylene has delightful utility packed in a unit that struggles to survive.

Sophocles: B -> C. Sophocles, as a flinch bot, is solid. Endurance is great for a last-second survival, and flinch is always valuable. I think my problem is that, unlike the higher-ranked flinch bots, his damage is just poor. Sophocles does not have a great tech nuke. Even against Tornadus he routinely struggles. And his flinch supplies exactly nothing to the damage dealt, really just supplying a stall. Which is a problem against fights where flinch doesn’t last and you’re desperately trying to make it count. Like Moltres. God I hate this bird.

Crasher Wake: B -> C. Exact same deal to Sophocles but legitimately worse. Even as a Water-type, Wake’s damage feels atrocious, because his requirement is that the foe be flinching. It’s too much to expect the flinch to last.

Lucy: B -> C. And another where damage seriously hinders performance. Lucy’s got Toxic and Trap as effects, which are delightful and useful, particularly in regards to a fight like Uxie. But beyond this, Lucy is...kind of a pain. Her bulk isn’t fantastic, and her damage is outright sad. Less than half the HP bar against Bulu while supereffective. Outside of these traits for supplemental damage, Lucy contributes very little. And last Gauntlet, I got to learn how bad it is that she’s also Psychic-weak. So that’s just great.

Inter-tier Adjustments

Nanu: Bottom of S. Honestly, it’s the 40% thing. If he had a full 60% flinch on Bite, he’d be way higher up. But because of that limitation, and the fact he is fully reliant on attack/crit support to even get to 40%, I feel like he’s the last winner of the S-tiers. Fantastic sync nuke, fantastic utility, just...needier.

Ramos: Moved to Agatha. They’re comparable. Agatha has better gauge control, but I feel like Ramos provides comparable utility. I do think Agatha’s decisively better, but I rarely consider her for a sync nuker as it is. Or as DPS with Shauntal around.

Cheryl: Bottom of A. Cheryl, while I love her, does have some notable flaws. Physical attacks can be dangerous for her, and her gauge control is nice but not exceptional. I think the bigger thing is just...lack of real utility after buffing. Hyper Voice and Flamethrower aren’t great picks. I kinda wish Hyper Voice were just Swift.

Wikstrom: Down to Molayne. Wikstrom’s main issue is frailty. Even with Vigilance, he gets trucked by AoE moves pretty easily, and it’s a problem. They’re comparable, with Wikstrom being above Molayne entirely because of his self-setup. But, Wikstrom also has gauge issues while Molayne...pretty much never does. So you know. Roll that into your calculations.

Liza: Above Drake. Drake, for a defensive buffing, dies constantly. Liza doesn’t take hits reliably either, but at least she doesn’t need sync to get the bare minimum of healing. And mixed offense buffing is a nice skill to have, while a one-bar spam means she’s better on gauges.

Hapu and Clay: Bottom of D. These two suck. Hapu really only has accuracy debuffing utility, and isn’t even that great at it. Eggmons do this stuff. But that’s still better than whatever Clay is supposed to be. Speed debuffs are notoriously bad, and Toxic Chance 2 isn’t really anything to write home about. Worse, what should be a defining trait in his sync nuke is woefully poor because he needs attack, crit, and now special defense support, a combination of traits that is ridiculously hard to shop for. He does get double Endure, which is the only thing keeping him out F, but I have yet for it to matter so get ready to demote, buddy.

Final Thoughts I think running a longer Gauntlet streak and having to really push our tools has made some of the flaws in flinch bots stand out in particular. Supplementary DPS is pretty required for it to matter. Moltres will just dunk your ass if you’re not helping push toward the phase change when needed, while Tapu Bulu’s severe flinch weakness only matters if you’re dealing enough damage to take advantage of the delay. Weaker flinch attacks just don’t add much unless they’re partnered with specifically overpowering strikers. This is why Marshal jumped so much; the combination of a flinch chance with really respectable DPS that is also recovery is frankly incredible role compression.

That said, this was also a revelation in the inconsistency of flinch as a skill, compared to the reliability of sleep. There’s a reason the only flinch bots that rank above the sleep bots are Winona and Nanu, two units who also pack insanely good utility in Rain and Screech respectively. I think we’re also coming into the realization that, especially after the common grid war concluded, most damage dealers have some level of self-sufficiency, and therefore a support needs to be a bit more than just a strong buffing kit. Torchic and Maylene largely dropped because of their frailty, inability to heal, and lack of sufficient gauge control, while Roxanne remains top dog for having a solid defensive profile, absurdly good buffing including gauge control, and Endurance. Though admittedly, even Roxanne was challenged. Bulu was strong enough she needed Potion. Though I also blame that on Lodge Marnie being kinda ass.

I also need to admit that Norman’s position in F might not last. Despite my grousing about his grid being so awful that it feels like a joke, the Normal typing means higher general damage, and even with Body Slam, he supplied relevant supplemental DPS in his team. Reliable paralysis and the ability to heal off AoE hits make for pretty good traits, too. I’m not convinced he’ll rise, but I am convinced he might not be bottom of the barrel if Clay and Hapu don’t get it together. Honestly Lorelei too. 30% freeze isn’t great odds and it’s about all she’s good for, so we’ll see.

#sync pair tier list #common grid war

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twstgameplay · 2 years ago

Text

Sorry for long submission! I need help with formulating teams for book 6 (EN)

Hi I'm trying to prepare for the EN's release of Book 6 and I keep hearing that the fights are hard. I've checked out your post of beating the book 6 fights using only SR/R teams and I'm pretty sure I can manage the pomefiore & riddle/azul fights, but my concern is I think I'm genuinely going to struggle with the leona/jamil fights as I basically have zero grass/water of their cards so in theory leona/jamil on the team is a liability. I would appreciate advice on team building for at least book 6 leona/jamil related fights if possible! For the most part I'm pretty sure I have all school uniform/gym outfit R cards for everyone. And the soonest I plan on rolling for cards would be for Halloween Riddle if Halloween Part 2 drops this year, and if it doesn't drop I would be saving for double Azul birthday so I'm not really sure how I'm going to makeup for the two leona/jamil cards that are gonna bring the whole team down. For Cards Spells: Dorm Riddle: 10/10 Dorm Azul: 9/10 (he should be 10/10 soon)

Halloween Vil & Dorm Kalim: 1/1

Dorm Vil: 6/5

Dorm Floyd: 3/5

Dorm Jade: 2/5

Dorm Cater: 1/5

Groom Ace: 7/8

Dorm Ace:2/3

Birthday Riddle:1/9

And then basically all SR/R cards are most likely 1/1 unless they were a free event card then I have them 10/10 I'm working on leveling all my SSR cards to at least level 60, but is there any other SR/R cards I should consider leveling/leveling some of their spells? Sorry for the long paragraphs, but any help is much appreciated thank you!!

———

Hello~

For the Leona/Jamil fight the ideal would be to get at least their Robe SRs or Lab SR for Jamil, but you can still try some R cards, such as Beans Jamil (Flora/Cosmic) — would be great here if you got him — and Uniform Leona (Flora/Fire).

For the extra members, try going for those that might make up for the lack of damage, so:

Dorm Ace (Fire/Flora) + Lab Deuce (Cosmic/Flora), to activate DUO

Robe Malleus (Flora/Water), great with Leona buffing him

Robe Kalim (Flora/Cosmic), for the elements, or Dorm Kalim (Water/Cosmic), for the DUO and POW buddy with Jamil

Robe Jack (Water/Flora), POW buddy with Ace

Robe Ortho (Flora/Water), healers are always useful + his DMG is decent even without buddies

Robe Silver (Water/Flora) + Camp Sebek (Flora/Water), both have buddies with either Leona or Jamil and could also help (Silver looks more useful though)

Here hoping you can get at least get Leona/Jamil’s SRs when you roll for the other cards you want, but even if you don’t it’s not a lost cause and you just need to work on their levels (card, buddy and spell). Good luck!

~ 🦈

#submission #twst #twisted wonderland #twst strategy #mod furoido

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mommymooze · 3 years ago

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A Cleric and a Prince

Dimitri x Reader

Cannon typical violence, deep splinters, personal threats

Being a healer at Garreg Mach is a challenging job. Working with Manuela in the infirmary is a mixture of emotions. Happy to help others, sad that she has so many personal issues, anxious when someone arrives with serious wounds, hilarious when the students tell you exactly how they become (not seriously) hurt before arriving in the infirmary.

You have not yet been instructed regarding the fine points of battle. If the students need healing battalions, you are part of the Seiros Sacred Monks, helping Mercedes. Your group frequently accompanies the Blue Lions in battles as well as working with them in the monastery, being available to heal them after rough sparring sessions and general needs.

Eventually, a few members of your battalion are assigned to specific members of the class. You are assigned to Dimitri and Dedue. You cannot handle Felix’s antagonistic personality. Sylvain, well, he was given a male healer so that he will focus on what is hurt versus being Sylvain.

After a few battles Dimitri and Dedue realize that you are their assigned healer. It is not announced to the troops, however they notice the same healers heading to assist the same team members. Dimitri asks you to sit with him and Dedue during meals quite often. Dedue speaks with you frequently during your time together in the greenhouse. Healing herbs don’t plant themselves.

You’ve become good friends with both of them. Cheering them both on when they enter the lance tournaments. Joining them in the training grounds, healing their injuries, or the injuries of their opponents more likely, after a long sparring session.

Things fall apart after the battle that occurs in the Holy Tomb. Dimitri is acting strange and distant. Dedue shields you from him at times. Dimitri’s health is suffering, you can tell that he’s not eating and sleeping properly. You help Dedue mix other herbs into the prince’s tea, hoping to get him to sleep occasionally. You find out about Dimitri’s ageusia and load up on the sleeping herbs. Dimitri is a big guy and there are enough herbs in this batch to knock out a horse. He finally sleeps for a night, Dedue cannot force the tea on him every day, he gives it to him as often as he can.

The battle when they lose the Professor is devastating. Dimitri is seriously injured, you keep him from the brink of death. As soon as he is mobile, Dimitri disappears with Dedue following him.

Remaining with the Knights of Seiros you are trained to fight like everyone else. Nearly five years are spent searching for Rhea, fighting Imperial troops, and thieves. Returning to the monastery after the anniversary of the millennium festival, the place is a mess, in worse condition than when you marched away with the rest of the Knights. The Blue Lions return. Dimitri is with them, at least the shell of him is here.

You attempt many times to speak with him while he keeps his vigil at the base of the shattered statue of the goddess.

“The Dimitri you once knew is dead, only this repulsive blood-covered monster remains!” he screeches at you as you enter with a tray of food from the kitchens.

You have learned to bring things that can survive his rage. Any food or drink you bring near him is immediately upended or thrown against the wall. In times of true hunger, the Boar forages, grabbing the chunk of sausage or meat skewers, now stale bread and raw vegetables from the floor.

The times that he is lucid are few. Infrequently, the Professor can have a partial conversation with him. If you catch him while he sleeps or as soon as he wakes, he may let you approach to clean a few wounds and heal him.

Felix scoffs at you, telling you that you are wasting your time and effort on a beast, a worthless animal. Yet Felix is there, every day, just like you, watching over him.

The army heads for Ailell, obtaining additional troops and Rodrigue joins them. Rodrigue can have a few conversations with Dimitri, however Dimitri’s anger still controls him. It is only when they take over the Great Bridge at Myrddin that a change is sparked in him, when Dedue rejoins the Blue Lions.

Now, when food is brought, it is handed to Dedue, who will not allow his highness to throw the trays. Dedue directs the prince not to use his rage upon those that come to aid him. He even convinces Dimitri to remove his armor, a few pieces at a time, to be cleaned and repaired. Dimitri allows the Professor or you to approach, assisting with cleansing his wounds, healing, and clearing his infections.

The army marches for Gronder Field. You stand amongst the troops in his battalion, waiting for the order to proceed. Suddenly it is time to advance. Dimitri and Dedue sprint far ahead of their battalions, they are immediately surrounded by enemies. The battalions fight their best, you alongside them. Perhaps nobody will notice if you cast physic on Dimitri. Dedue is a brick wall, or at least is made of stone, he does not get injured often. The Blue Lions fiercely move forward, Dimitri is determined to reach Edelgard and end her life.

Dedue assists by clearing the last armored Imperial fighter in Dimitri’s way as the leaders of the opposing troops battle. You are fighting Edelgard’s battalion members, preventing them from attacking Dimitri and Dedue. A sudden roar comes from Dimitri as Edelgard is warped away by Hubert. His prize taken from him, Dimitri lashes out at her remaining battalion members, crushing heads and ripping off arms, rending flesh.

The sounds of battle dissipate. You are called to the medical tents to assist with healing. Suddenly the word spreads around camp that Rodrigue has fallen. You cry, not just for Rodrigue, but for Dimitri, whose rage was calming due to Rodrigue and Dedue’s work, and for Felix, who is now alone.

Dimitri solemnly returns to Garreg Mach, Dedue at his side as they escort the body of his dear departed friend.

After the funeral, you march to the Cathedral, arms full of bandages and cleansing cloths. Dimitri would not let you treat his wounds after the battle, during the march or the service. Dedue convinced Dimitri to bathe for the wake. You approach them both as Dedue helps you undress Dimitri from the waist up. As you clean his wounds to avoid further infection, heal him, apply salves, and bandage him, Dimitri looks at you for the first time in forever.

“I am sorry for your loss. I know Rodrigue was like a father to you.” You tell him softly as you wrap a bandage around his left arm.

“He told me I should live for my ideals.” Dimitri swallows, his voice trembles, “Rather than stay shackled by the ghosts of the past.”

“Learn from the past, live for the future.” You smile at him, smoothing some salve to his left ribs. “I know you can do it. Rodrigue believed in you. I do too.”

“My apologies for any problems I have caused you.” He says then hangs his head.

Tying off the bandage on his chest you hug him. “All is forgiven. Rest easy.” You whisper.

He’s not sure what to do, he lifts you into his lap and surrounds you with his arms lightly touching your back, fearful of his great strength. He sobs into your shoulder as you softly whisper comforting words to him patting his back and rubbing his shoulders.

When his tears end, you ask Dedue to get a small towel wet. You place it on Dimitri’s face to cool his forehead eyes and nose. While pressing it to his face, you cast a faith spell to reduce the pain and swelling from crying. After a few minutes you peek underneath the cloth over his good eye.

“How’s it going?” You softly ask.

His blue eye looks at yours. “Better.”

You climb from his lap and he stands, taking a deep breath. “I should probably speak with Byleth.” He coughs into his hand. “Thank you.” He says bowing.

“I’m always at your service.” You smile.

The battle in Fhirdiad is awful. You had not been to the capital of Faerghus too frequently, it is painful to see so many lives ruined, buildings and homes demolished. The citizens are rebelling against the Imperial army, doing their best to help. Although the commoners are brave, you cannot help but feel grief-stricken when they are killed. The people are not trained fighters, however they feel so heart strong for their land and kingdom.

The battle against Cornelia is harrowing, under the tactical eye of Byleth and strong will of Dimitri, the Blue Lions are triumphant. Bells ring throughout the city proclaiming the victory. Citizens are jubilant, dancing in the streets. A celebratory feast is held in the castle.

You are in the infirmary, healing and patching up anyone that comes for treatment. Working long hours into the night, you collapse into an empty infirmary bed for a well-deserved rest. The morning comes quickly. Dedue arrives asking for assistance with Dimitri’s wounds. The serious injuries for soldiers have been addressed, ensuring that the soon to be King is healthy is the next item on the priority list.

“Thank you for coming to my aid.” Dimitri humbly addresses you as you enter his room. “I did not see you at the feast. I was told you were working with the other clerics, healing those that could be helped. I feel guilty asking for your assistance.”

“We need you to lead us.” You smile. “It makes no sense to let you become ill from infection.”

As you treat his wounds and bandage him, you tell him stories of his brave people. How they worked together to aid in the fighting, putting out fires to save buildings, pulling other citizens away from the battles, and how all of them support him.

Dimitri again lets his thoughts go back to when he was lost and out of control. You reassure him that the people have forgiven him. They cannot lead themselves, not yet anyway. Everyone can heal together. Rebuild the city, rebuild the people. Put people into place that are good rulers, good people to look up to and respect.

The conversation goes on, you did not realize that the two of you are talking for hours. It is quite late, he should probably be asleep.

“Come Dimitri, it is time for you to go to bed. Get dressed and I will tuck you in and tell you a story.” You grin at him. He holds you to your word. He calls to you after he is dressed in his nightclothes and under his covers.

You gently tuck him in and blow out all the candles but one. You tell him a fairy tale about a boy, magic beans, an evil goose, and a giant. Your hand is on the bed next to him. Gently he places his on top of yours before the story is done. You take his hand in both of yours, rubbing it warmly between yours as you tell him another story about silly animals that think they can sing and their adventures. When you know he is asleep, you take the candle with you as you leave.

The rest and recovery time in the capital is short lived as the army heads out to Derdriu to assist Claude, the city is under siege. Byleth leads the troops just in time to rescue them. The army turns south to head to Enbarr. One last attempt in negotiating for peace is held with Edelgard, however neither side would give in. Battle is the only way to finish the war.

The battle goes through the streets and heart of the city. So many dead, so much blood everywhere. Everyone gave their all. Edelgard refuses to stand down and her life ends. Dimitri, Byleth, and the rest of the army claim the final victory in the war.

You hound Dimitri for thirty minutes before Dedue steps in, helping remind him that he is injured from the battle and needs treatment. Taking him to a quiet and safe room inside the castle you cleanse his wounds, stitching what he would let you and healing him. You then force him to drink water.

“May I finally return to my duties?” He grumbles.

“Yes, now that I feel like you will not fall over in the middle of them.” You answer. Turning to Dedue you instruct him, “Do not let him stay up all night. He needs to try to eat and sleep.”

“As you wish.” Dedue nods as he follows his liege.

“Wait, you have not been healed as well. Sit and show me your wounds.” You direct him to a chair. Soon Dedue is allowed to follow Dimitri to the multiple destinations on the agenda for the evening.

You head to the temporary infirmary, healing and tending to all the injured, be they from your army or citizens of Enbarr.

Finally, the army leaves for Fhirdiad at the beginning of the Verdant Rain Moon. Everyone is happy to be in the cooler temperatures in the northern part of the continent. You settle in the castle, working in the infirmary, staying in the residence for the healers. In your spare time you volunteer healing the hurt and ailing citizens, working alongside them to help rebuild and recover.

Dimitri’s coronation is a grand affair and a healing event for the city. It is a celebration that proves things are well and that prosperity is just around the corner. You sneak out of the infirmary to watch Dimitri be crowned as King. The cheering of everyone brings tears to your eyes. Their hopes and dreams are now resting on his shoulders.

Finishing work, you arrive at the celebration long after the food has been served, someone had been kind enough to send trays of food to the infirmary and it was shared with the patients that remain there as well. Even the spirits of those still suffering injuries are high and in a celebratory mood.

You clean up, wearing clothing proper enough for a meeting with the king, not really fancy enough for a royal party, it is enough you think as you arrive at the festivities that are ongoing. Dancing, singing, drinking and toasts will most likely continue for the entire night. You look over the crowd, finding Dedue is not difficult, he towers over everyone. You wind your way through the other happy celebrants to stand by his side.

“Good evening, Dedue. Is everything going well?” You ask him.

Dedue leans toward you, whispering. “I am well. His Highness has been quite swept up in the events of the day and should move to retire soon.”

“I agree. It looks like he is being cornered by quite the crowd of potential dance partners, let me see if I can intervene.” You answer with the slightest bit of a grin.

Walking up to the King with an air of authority, you bow and wait for the opportunity to address him. Dimitri appears happily surprised at your presence.

“I am pleased to see you are able to join us. Is there anything I can do for you?” Dimitri smiles, but it appears to be a bit weary.

“My King, as your personal physician, I must remind you that your health is quite important and request that you retire. Your schedule is full of meetings tomorrow and will need your complete attention.” Your attitude and stance are such that nobody wishes to question your authority.

“My apologies, ladies. But I must leave the festivities for now, healers orders.” Dimitri smiles sincerely as the women surround him groan in disappointment and disburse, looking for another noble to taunt.

Escorting the King to Dedue, the three of you leave the venue, proceeding toward the King’s residential area of the castle. Once the three of you are far enough away, he stops.

“Thank you so much for rescuing me.” Dimitri gasps. “I felt like the last piece of meat at a butcher shop.”

“Living up to your name, Di-meat-tri.” You succumb to the terrible pun.

He laughs as you head to his quarters. You excuse yourself as you reach his door.

“No, please, come in.” Dimitri opens the door for both of you. He heads straight for a chair and holds his leg up for Dedue to pull his boots off.

“Ahhh!” Dimitri gasps. “My feet are killing me! I have been on them all day.”

Pain? He has pain?! We can’t have that. You procure a stool and sit at his feet. Grabbing a leg you place the king’s foot on your lap and massage it, noticing the slight swelling at his ankle from being on his feet all day. Using a bit of faith magic and expert fingers, Dimitri is content. You turn and take his other foot in hand for some healing and muscle manipulation. When you are finished, you look up to see one very asleep Dimitri.

Dedue smiles and you let yourself out the door as he takes Dimitri to his bedroom.

The castle calms down over the next few days, a comforting routine takes over. Dedue unexpectedly calls you to the King’s quarters, there was an accident in the training grounds when Dimitri was sparring with Felix. Dedue advises you of the situation and you bring the necessary tools to come to the King’s aid.

Entering his room, you find Dimitri seated by the window at his desk, looking over paperwork.

“My apologies for having to summon you. It is a trivial matter, however Dedue is concerned about infection.” Dimitri looks embarrassed. He is in his undershirt, his left shoulder and upper arm covered in dark streaks, debris, and blood. Imbedded under his skin are many long and deep splinters.

“This doesn’t look like it came from a weapon.” You observe.

“No, Felix knocked me over and I fell into the wall. I did not know the wood had weathered and well, here I am.” Dimitri says sheepishly.

“A steady hand and some antibiotics will take care of this.” You nod, unrolling the pack of sharp tools and tweezers.

Beginning with a bit of faith magic to numb the area, you take into hand a sharp scalpel, cutting along the length of some of the deeper splinters to make it easier to remove them. A tool in hand with a needle like point lifts the imbedded wood while the other hand manipulates the tweezers pulling at a large piece of wood. The easier pieces to remove are no problem as you place splinter after splinter on a piece of cloth on the table. Next it is time to work on some that are deeper in his flesh.

“Come on, nice and easy. You can do it. Mmmmmm” You softly say, coaxing the splinter from his shoulder. “Yessssss.” You mutter with satisfaction as it comes out in a single piece.

Laying the bloody wooden spike on the cloth you look up at the King, rubbing his forearm. Dimitri listens raptly to your chatter as you work. You are talking to splinters, but some of the words and how you say them are…sultry.

“How are you doing Dimitri? Need me to take a break?” You look into his blue eye that is staring at you, not paying any attention to his papers.

“I’m…I’m fine.” Dimitri stutters as he grabs a paper, holding it up to read, hiding his blush from the enticing words you are using to help coax out the splinters.

You nod, getting back to work. “You naughty thing, stabbing our King. Right there, yes, come out.” You beckon the splinters out as you dig them from his shoulder. Giving a happy sigh you place another large piece of wood onto the cloth.

“I’m going to tear apart the training grounds and find every splintery piece of wood and give them a piece of my mind.” You grumble as you go after a smaller splinter. Moving Dimitri’s shoulder and arm, you place his hand on your knee, giving the right flex to his arm to get to the next splinter.

Dimitri turns his head and coughs a few times. “Ahem.” He is quite embarrassed. He tries very hard not to think about his hand and where it is. Papers…supposed to be reading papers, right.

“Are you feeling okay?” You lean forward to rub circles on his back. “You’re not coming down with a cold, are you?” Your voice is terribly concerned.

“No.” Dimitri shakes his head trying to clear his thoughts. It’s hard to think while his back is being rubbed. “You can continue.” He holds the paper closer to his face so you cannot see the pink tint return to his cheeks.

You continue to verbally coax the splinters from his arm, occasionally giving a squeal when you successfully remove a piece without it breaking. Applying an antiseptic salve, you rub it into the wound.

“I don’t want to heal it quite yet. I’d like to check later and see if anything is left in there. I’ll bandage it for now and check before you change for bed.” You announce as you pick up his arm and place his hand on your shoulder.

“Hold it right there so I can bandage you.” You demand as you begin rolling the bandage around his arm several times to keep the salve on his wounds and prevent it from soiling his clothes. You sit down and slowly move your hands down the rest of his arm, lightly massaging it as you go. Massaging the center of his palm you are satisfied that you have removed them all.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Dimitri?” You stand and slightly bow to him.

He clears his throat, “No, that is all.” He says in his normal deep voice. Then adds a soft, “Thank you.”

Later that evening you knock on Dimitri’s door, beckoned in you see both Dimitri and Dedue looking at the King’s already unwrapped arm.

Dedue stands behind his arm as you approach. Dimitri is seated in a chair pulled close to a large candelabra providing sufficient light. Dedue points out two areas that are redder than the rest, some deep hidden splinters as you had feared. Dimitri’s shoulder is a bit warm to the touch, another sign of an infection brewing. You hand Dedue your tools, there is no table nearby. Casting numbing faith magic, you take your scalpel and cut a small slit into one area that is bright red. Holding the flesh apart with the scalpel and edge of the tweezers you see a black bit that must be another splinter. Quickly you grasp the end with the tweezer and pull out an inch long piece of wood.

“That would have festered into a terrible mess. Let me flush it with some antiseptic.” You pour some liquid from the bottle onto the wound, wiping the excess with a cloth to not cause a mess.

The second irritated spot is more difficult to see. Changing the angle of Dimitri’s arm helps, you take his hand and place it around your right hip.

“Keep your arm there, Dimitri. Don’t move while I have this knife in hand.” You warn as you cut into another deep area where you’ve already removed some splinters.

Dimitri doesn’t move, he’s frozen to the spot. So close, his arm is wrapped partly around you and your hip.

You hand the scalpel to Dedue as you carefully pull with the tweezers. This splinter is not as long, but already showing signs of infection, a pocket of pus surrounding the bloody wood. Pouring antiseptic in again to flush it clean you dab the spot.

“I hope you don’t mind a couple stitches.” You announce to Dimitri as everything happens at once.

Felix slams the door open to the King’s chambers, asking the boar if he ever got the splinters out.

Dimitri panics as his arm is around a woman when Felix enters the room, thus he stands up, pulling his arm into you knocking you backwards. Dimitri and Dedue both lean forward to reach for your falling form at the same time, smacking their heads together, hard. Dedue stays on his feet. You fall onto your back onto the carpet, followed by Dimitri who falls crosswise across your chest grabbing his head and preventing it from hitting the ground.

Felix stands with his mouth agape as you ask him, “Did you get any splinters, Felix?” looking up at him from underneath Dimitri’s prone form.

“Tch. No. But you may want to check to see that he didn’t hit his head as well.” Felix grumbles as he backs out of the room, closing the door behind him.

After a moment you heartily laugh at the whole situation. Dimitri and Dedue join in as everyone scrambles to their feet. You make them take a seat as you feel the bumps on their heads. Healing their heads first then stitching and healing Dimitri’s arm you ask if there is anything else needed this evening.

“No, that will be all.” Dimitri says with a soft smile.

You smile widely back at him. “Thank you for letting me serve you, my King.” You bow and leave the room.

The next day you are up early in the training grounds with two carpenters and their wood planes, smoothing every visible piece of wood in the grounds. Returning to the infirmary you continue healing those injured in mishaps around the castle. A young page knocks on the door and hands you a note and a bouquet of flowers. You are invited to tea with Dimitri this afternoon. You advise the page you accept the invitation.

The infirmary workload is light today. Things are slowly settling down after the coronation. Visitors have left and reconstruction is not as desperate as before, thus less injuries. Leaving the infirmary you head to your room, changing into a nice dress and fixing your hair a bit. You are eager to find out what business the King wishes to speak with you about. Heading to his personal wing of the castle, you knock at his door.

Dedue answers, inviting you in. As you enter, Dedue exits, closing the door behind him. Dimitri is dressed casually, no coat or jacket, simply in his shirtsleeves. As you enter the room, he stands to greet you.

“Please, join me.” Dimitri smiles, holding out his hand as he sits at one end of the settee, a large table with a tea service and sweet treats piled high on a tray. You take a seat on the other end, Dimitri pours tea for you.

“I believe Bergamot is a tea you favor, is that correct?” He smiles as he gently and carefully hands you your cup and saucer.

“Yes. It’s my favorite.” You return the smile as you reach for the honey, letting some drip into your cup, leaving the tea on the table as the contents are still too warm to drink.

Dimitri clears his throat. “I suppose I should get straight to the point. I am sure you are wondering why, out of the blue, I have suddenly invited you to tea. Things have been quite busy with ending the war and then plans for the coronation and the coronation itself. Of course, things are always busy as one is trying to set up the government again after so many years of chaos. It seems like there is a never ending list of meetings and consultations and conferences. And I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He coughs into his hand and swallows, taking a deep breath.

You reach out and touch his hand that is sitting on the settee between you. “Dimitri, we have known each other for years. We have fought together in a war. I have seen you at your worst. I am so happy now seeing you at your best. You can tell me what is on your mind.” You smile at him warmly.

Dimitri relaxes a little and takes a deep breath. “Yes. We have known each other quite some time. You have been by my side, helping me and supporting our efforts. You were there when I was so terribly lost. I thank you for that very much. You believed in me when I needed it the most. Now…” He takes your hand, softly as he can between both of his, staring at you intently, his hands begin to tremble.

Time stops as you look at each other in silence. His voice is soft and low as he speaks, “Would you…would you allowmecourtyou?” He sighs heavily, searching your face desperately for your answer.

First you smile, then you nod, he still looks at you. Figuring he wants to hear your answer you lean forward a bit.

“Yes.” You gasp, bringing your other hand over his hands that still hold yours.

“Yes? Oh yes! Thank you.” He grins happily. If he were a puppy his tail would be wagging hard enough to knock everything off the table. He had been expecting a no, so the yes took a few seconds to register. His cheeks are red, his eye sparkles and he laughs a bit with glee. “I’m just so happy. I don’t know what to do with myself. I had been worried and fretting over your answer, I had no idea what to think if you actually said yes.”

“Well, right now we can sit and chat and have some tea. Perhaps you can tell me of some things that you would like me to do to help you. Your day is filled with doing everything for the country. Perhaps some time can be carved out for doing things for you.” You reach for your teacup, taking a sip.

“Going outside sounds amazing. I’ve been cooped up inside the castle every day. I want to get on a horse and ride. To no place in particular, just feel the wind on my face and sun on my back.” His look is far away with a relaxed smile.

“If it is a nice day, we can take tea together in the gardens. The King should have the ability to make time for a ride at least once a week, if it is a nice day. If they give you too much trouble, I’ll ask your clerics to write a note prescribing a required amount of sunshine for your health.” You smile then take another sip of tea.

The next few days both of you take tea in the gardens together. You are happily surprised when he identifies several different plants.

“My interest in plants came from Dedue. He is always gardening in his free time. I insisted that we include some flowering plants from Duscur in the gardens. I would love to see plants from all over Fodlan here, growing together, just like the country.” He holds out his hand so that you can take his. He is still too cautious of his strength to touch you on his own.

The Harvest Festival calls for the city to be decorated in oranges, reds, yellows, and gold. Many displays and booths line the streets to celebrate the great harvest now that the land is at peace. Dimitri invites you to the event and you arrive alongside him in the royal coach. The path before you is cleared by soldiers surrounding the king for his protection.

Dimitri graciously offers compliments and accolades to all that have worked so hard providing food for everyone. His eye goes wide at the size of some of the pumpkins entered in a competition to see who could grow the largest. Often the two of you stop to admire a street performer entertaining the crowd. One of the rear soldiers drops multiple gold coins into each of the receptacles of the performers.

Suddenly you hear a shriek followed by a wailing cry. You dash off into the crowd, your medical instincts taking over. At the base of a tree, you find a woman crying over her son. The rambunctious six year old had climbed the tree, much to his mother’s dismay, to have a look at the King as he walked past. Unfortunately, the boy did not know the branch he was standing on was weak, it broke sending the child tumbling to the ground. Mother and child are crying as you kneel next to him.

“What is your name, young sir?” You ask him calmly.

He stifles a few tears enough to answer. “Jakob.”

“May I see where you are hurt?” You smile a bit, holding out your hands.

He points to his arm, his wrist is already swelling. He tries to lift it and lets out a wail.

“Shhhh. Hold still.” You hold the arm and wrist in yours as faith magic works into his injury. You hold his arm straight and begin ordering anyone nearby to provide splints and bandages. Immobilizing and wrapping Jakob’s arm, you give instructions to his mother. As you stand, you notice Dimitri is at your side.

“King Dimitri, may I introduce you to my newest friend, Jakob. Jakob, this is King Dimitri.” You smile.

Jakob has the biggest smile across his face as he stands and bows before the king. “It is my pleasant honor to meet you King Dimitri.”

The King bows to Jakob, “It is my pleasure to meet you as well. I suggest you heed your mother’s warning when it comes to climbing trees.” He smiles as he ruffles the boy’s hair.

“Yes sir, King Dimitri sir!” Jacob stammers.

“Please bring him to the castle tomorrow morning so I can check his arm.” You tell his mother. She thanks you several times.

You return to walking along the street with the King, admiring the displays and visiting with the people. A street vendor hawking his booth loudly calls out your direction.

“Oi! Your Kingship! Have a try at me booth! Just one throw is all I ask!” The man’s voice calls out over the crowd as he stands juggling coconuts.

You bump your shoulder into his and giggle as Dimitri shakes his head and concedes. “What is it that you ask of me?”

The man bows so deeply his head nearly touches the ground. “Ahh, Your Kingship! So wonderful to be graced by your presence. I only ask that you throw one of these coconuts at the stack of milk bottles at the rear of my booth. Should you knock them all down, you win!” The showman raises his hand to the target with a practiced flourish then both hands in the air as a sign of victory.

“Go on.” You nudge him again. He looks so cute when he’s put on the spot.

“Very well.” King Dimitri takes one of the offered orbs, staring at it for a moment, then hurls it at the stack. Milk bottles fly in six different directions, most of them landing far from the booth as the target is destroyed, the coconut breaks open on the rear wall of the booth and falls to the ground, shattered.

“What an arm! Your Majesty! Congratulations!” The showman scampers over to a special box and removes a beautiful hand crafted stuffed blue lion in all its majesty. A collar around its neck proudly displays the shield of Blaiddyd. “Me wife crafted it herself, she did. She said if you see the King, you must gift it to him, she said.” He bows as he offers the regal stuffed beast.

King Dimitri bows and thanks him for the beautiful gift, handing it to a nearby soldier to monitor while he continues his stroll. At the end of the lane where the festival ends, the King gives one final wave, thanking his people for their faith and hard work.

Returning to the castle, Dimitri must attend meetings, leaving you to your own business. Taking the stuffed lion in hand you dash to the servant’s quarters, asking for a few specific items. You then head to the infirmary to notify them to find you when Jakob arrives tomorrow so that you may personally check on his wellbeing. You trust your replacements in the infirmary, you had chosen them yourself, however Jakob is a special patient.

Returning to your quarters, which now are close to the King’s own rooms, you find the requested items. With a bit of assistance, you complete the project and request it be delivered to Dimitri’s chambers.

Joining the King and the current guests in a large meeting room, representatives of the former Alliance region are here to discuss their budgets and new laws for the expanded Kingdom. There is a break for dinner followed by discussions continuing until late in the evening. The conversations finally wind down and you know that Dimitri is quite exhausted.

“I believe everyone has made great progress today. Let us all sleep on this and take this up again in the morning.” You announce.

Everyone in the room nods as you escort Dimitri to the exit. Walking down the hallway, your hand in his, Dimitri yawns not once, but twice from exhaustion. Dedue opens the door for the both of you. Following you inside the three of you sit and enjoy a cup of chamomile tea, a lovely habit you have incorporated to get him to wind down before bed. You must leave soon, his eyelids are getting heavy, you hope he sleeps well this night.

“Come with me.” You smile as you take his hand and lead him to his bedroom. Dimitri blushes and looks quite confused as you lead him inside the doorway. You point at his bed and then he notices the stuffed blue lion. It is adorned with a small crown, eyepatch and a cape that resembles his.

“It’s adorable!” he exclaims as he puts his hands on your cheeks and plants a sudden kiss on your lips.

“Come again?” you gasp, your eyes wide.

Dimitri stops and blushes in his sleepy stupor as you pull on his collar and place a brief sweet kiss to his lips. Dimitri’s cheeks are a bright red as you step back and bow.

“Good night, my sweet.” You tell him before leaving the room.

“The tea was lovely, thank you Dedue.” You announce as you leave the king’s quarters, walking normally. This is a normal pace? Right? Sure it is. You see yourself out the door. Running into your room you fall on your bed and scream into your pillow. He finally kissed me!

The next morning you stop Felix on his way to bang on the King’s door wishing to drag him out for a morning spar. You require his assistance in accompanying you on a trip to the harvest festival area. He complains the entire trip switching between arguing that he is wasting his time doing this and you must stay closer to him, any madman with a blade could try to attack you. Once your mission is complete you purchase three heavily spiced meat sticks for him to enjoy while you head back to the castle.

Upon your return you are delighted to meet with Jakob and his mother in the infirmary. Jakob chatters the entire time that he is bragging to all his friends that the King had messed up his hair and he is going to grow up to be a knight to protect King Dimitri. Changing his bandages, you are pleased with his healing progress, he can take the bandages off in two weeks as long as he behaves. Before they leave, you had a large basket to his mother, filled with fruits, smoked meats, bread, and cookies.

“Share the cookies with all of your friends and neighbors.” You remind him as you wave goodbye.

The visitors with the king leave after a final meeting, heading back to warmer territory as quickly as possible before the snows cover the land. Certainly, it is not today as the sun is warm and the weather is beautiful. You work on a few projects when there is a familiar knock at the door. Dedue has arrived to fetch you for lunch.

“It is so nice out, I thought Dimitri would want lunch in the gardens today.” You mention.

“His Highness said he prefers to have it in his chambers today.” Dedue answers. He opens the door so that you may enter, then closes it behind you as he remains outside of the room.

Dimitri is immediately on the other side, looking a bit flustered.

He reaches for you, ever so lightly placing his hands on your shoulders, his eye searching yours. “Tell me, I cannot remember if it was real or a dream. Did we k-kiss last night?” His face flushes red.

You nod as pink dusts your own cheeks. “Yes.”

“May I kiss you again?” He asks as he pulls you close. His voice is so deep, with your chest pressed against his, you’re not sure if it is the vibration of his words or the shudder of a thrill racing up your spine.

“Please.” You beg him, your hands sliding up his chest around his shoulders pulling him down to meet your lips. It is a bit awkward, slightly messy, and the best kiss you’ve had since the night before. You hold him tight to your chest as he slowly wraps his arms around you as lightly as possible, resting his cheek on your forehead after the kiss. You sigh happily into his chest.

You try to step back, however he has no intention of letting you go.

“We should eat a bit.” You suggest.

“I am hungry for your lips.” He mumbles into your hair.

“They are not very nutritious.” You tap him on his back.

“You would deny a starving man who has just had a small taste of the most delicious thing he has ever had in his life?” He chuckles.

“You are always negotiating. Would you agree to lunch then perhaps kisses for dessert?” You look up at him and grin.

“One now, then lunch.” Dimitri brings his lips to meet yours once again.

After the most hurried lunch you have ever eaten, you find yourself on Dimitri’s lap exchanging kisses.

A knock on the door alerts the both of you to Dedue’s presence. “Your highness, you have a meeting to attend.” He announces.

Dimitri sighs heavily, “The duties of a King are never done.” He bemoans.

You giggle as you clamber from his comfy lap. “Let me get a comb to make you more presentable.” You offer. After combing his hair and straightening his clothes, you send him off to be bored for the remainder of the afternoon.

Things are busy rebuilding the kingdom. There is always another emergency, an urgent need or any excuse for a meeting. He has been in meetings from early dawn, only returning now very late in the evening. He eats little, his head is pounding from the stress of the day. He hesitates to call you, however he has another meeting filled day tomorrow and must try to get some rest.

You ask Dedue to please prepare tea for the three of you this evening. Directing Dimitri to sit on the couch, you stand behind it and apply gentle faith magic to relieve some of the pain in his head and jaw from being so tense. You then place the footrest at the far end of the couch, coaxing him to lie back and place his head in your lap.

You ask for his right hand and massage the point just above the thumb where the index finger would be carried down. Applying pressure first, then rubbing circles with your thumb in each direction. Placing his hand on his chest you do the same with his left hand.

Next you squeeze the spot on each side where the bridge of his nose meets the bridge of his eyebrows. Applying steady pressure there, then releasing and repeating. Finally reaching around to the base of his skull in the parallel hollow areas between the two vertical neck muscles, you press upward to the top of his head briefly release and repeat.

Removing the hair tie from his hair you run your fingers through it, gently scratching his scalp. You watch his face visibly relax and a soft smile is on his lips as you continue to card through his hair.

“Better, sweetheart?” You softly coo.

“Mmmm, yes. Thank you.” He relaxes.

Dedue brings in the tea service, placing the cups and saucers for three at the table.

You tap Dimitri on the nose. “Diiiimmaaaa. Tea time!”

He sighs then sits up. “Whatever you did was amazing. My headache is gone and I think I should be able to sleep some tonight. Thank you.”

Dedue pours tea for everyone.

“Thank you again Dedue, for a wonderful tea.” Dimitri smiles.

“You’re welcome, your Highness.” Dedue answers.

You take a cookie, taking a bite. “Oh, did you make these Dedue?”

“Yes, I had the time this afternoon.” Dedue nods.

“They are delicious. Hmm, anise, cinnamon, nutmeg, pecans, ginger, clove, molasses. An amazing group of flavors mixed in with love. Thank you so much, Dedue.” Your appreciation shows in your smile and warmth toward the man.

Teatime is very much enjoyed. Dimitri looks like he is relaxed enough to go to sleep peacefully and without a headache. Dedue looks away so you can give Dimitri a sweet good night kiss.

Sunday is the lightest day of work for Dimitri. No meetings if there are no visitors in the castle. The weather is beginning to cool a little more every night. It won’t be long before snow covers everything. Dimitri wishes to take a long horseback ride and invites you to join him. You’ve never really learned the skills of being on a horse, Dimitri is more than excited to educate you. Lifting you up straight into the saddle, he climbs up behind you. Accompanied by a few knights on horseback everyone rides out past the city and into the countryside. His destination is a small area of woods that has a cliff overlooking some of the lands of Fhirdiad. Dimitri discussed the location with Dedue, this spot would provide some privacy, enemies could only approach from one side and the guards could stay far enough away, yet still protect their King.

Dimitri dismounts, lifting you from the saddle. He then unties a picnic basket from the back of the horse and tethers the steed to a tree. Spreading out the blanket you unload the basket to find a delicious lunch, complete with sweet tea.

“This is beautiful, sweetheart.” You smile at him as you place food on your plate. “A gorgeous view and beautiful scenery too.”

Dimitri blushes once he realizes the compliment. His mind then heads straight to places it should not go at such a lovely scene. “I am a beast. I have done horrible things. How can you trust yourself to be alone with me?”

Placing your food on your plate you reach out to cup his cheek. “I have seen you at your worst. I have seen you at your best. You are not a beast. You have come so far making amends for what was done and you will continue to improve. I will be here for you as long as you wish, to help you become the best you can be.”

“Why? Why would anyone want to help me? Some days I feel so useless, that I can’t be the King everyone expects me to be.” He is trembling under your touch.

“I help you because I love you. I know you are a great King, Dimitri. We all know.” You smile, using the thumb that is close by you wipe a tear from his eye.

“You…love me?” Dimitri is shocked.

You fold your hands into your lap and look at them. “I must not be doing a very good job of showing you that I do.”

“Wait! Please, take my hands.” Dimitri begs you. You reach out to hold his hands in yours.

You look into his eye, confused.

“I never thought I could be loved. You have always been there since we met, haven’t you? I have been a monster to you, yet you still came to feed me and heal me. When I had asked permission to court you, I thought you would decline. Every day I wake up and think you would reject me this day. I can’t believe you are still here, with me.”

Dimitri bends forward and pulls you close. Placing a sweet kiss on your lips. Your lips are barely touching his as he whispers. “I love you.”

The next few kisses are not as chaste as the previous one. Plates and food are scattered about the blanket as you hold each other close.

Dimitri’s stomach growls loudly, causing you both to laugh.

“I think we should finish our picnic before you begin digesting your internal organs.” You laugh.

“Can that happen?” Dimitri innocently asks with a look of surprise.

“No. Just joking!” You laugh.

“You are a cleric and an expert on those things. I suppose my sense of humor needs a bit of work.” He smiles sheepishly as he helps you straighten out the food. Finishing the picnic lunch, he packs the basket onto his mount.

“Wait. I need to get on this thing without your help.” You announce.

Placing your foot on the stirrup you attempt to hike yourself up onto the horse. Mentally you remind yourself you need to do a lot more squats. The third hopping jump you manage to jump/haul yourself up and stand with your left foot in the stirrup, you haul your right leg carefully over the horse and sit crookedly on the saddle, gently moving and wiggling yourself to center while trying not to upset the steed. Dimitri’s long legs are great for having the stirrup low, but then you had to overcome the length of your legs versus his. Maybe if you had a horse of your own it could be shorter. Maybe a pony? You suddenly notice a snickering man next to you.

“What?” You snap at Dimitri.

“Nothing.” He smiles at you, easily getting up and into the saddle as if he flew on wings.

You turn around to look at him again, he still has that silly grin on his face. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.” You frown.

“It is just that when you have your mind set on something, you can be very stubborn.” Dimitri whispers in your ear. “It is very endearing, my beloved.”

Those two words at the end send a shiver down your spine, followed by a second when he kisses the top of your ear peeking through your hair.

Winter in Fhirdiad is cold, nobody can deny that. Early winter the snow falls, then melts and this repeats as the weather has not quite made up its mind. By the end of Red Wolf Moon, the snow is here to stay for a while. Wagon wheels get stuck, so sleighs are used to cart things around in the northern parts of the kingdom until the snow is too high to move anything.

Although it is cold outside, with enough warm blankets, perhaps a warming box under the seat filled with live coals to keep your feet, legs, and posterior warm, you agree to go on a sleigh ride with Dimitri. Wearing your fluffiest warmest winter hat and coat, you are surrounded by blankets and your boyfriend as Dedue drives the horse drawn sleigh through the city and countryside. Dimitri entertains you with stories of snowball fights and building forts and snow houses with his friends.

Dedue even joins in, sharing his experiences growing up. With the water surrounding Duscur, the snow would be so deep that they had doors on the roof of the house so people could get outside and carry on business or shop or just leave the house to play. Winter is also a time for handcrafts, baking, soups and savory stews. Before the end of the ride, he promises to make a Roasted Root Stew for dinner in the next day or two.

The sun sets quickly in winter, the moonlight giving a bluish tint to the snow as it sparkles all around. The trees look like they have their own coats of white covering every branch. A rabbit scampers across your path, its fur turned snow white to help with camouflage. The most amazing thing about snow is the quiet. Not many birds stay around in the winter. Once it is night everyone goes inside as the little bit of warmth from the sun is gone. The only sound is the horse tromping through the snow and the swwishhhh sound of the sleds sliding across the snow. The quiet is peaceful, beautiful and filled with the air of calm.

The snow piles higher and higher around the castle. Time marches along as the citizens and lands rest, healing from the war. The King is healing as well. His nightmares are not nearly as frequent, he does not seem on edge and full of angst by the end of the day.

Dimitri’s birthday is tomorrow and a small celebration is planned. Several of the other Blue Lions will be attending, easily able to traverse the snow. Dedue is pouring chamomile tea as you review what has happened today.

“I was called to the kitchens again this morning,” You dribble some honey into your tea. “The cook’s new apprentice burnt her fingers again. That is the third time this week.” You frown.

“Perhaps you can provide her some training?” Dedue offers.

“I would like to sew gloves permanently on her hands!” You chuckle. “Perhaps we can set up something to develop her awareness.”

“The meetings were light today. Not too many complaints when people have difficulty making it through the snow.” Dimitri muses.

“Tomorrow is the big day, not everyone will have problems getting here tomorrow, I hope.” You smile taking a sip.

“Felix and Sylvain will have no trouble whatsoever. Mercedes and Annette will arrive with them.” Dimitri’s eye shines brightly as he goes through the list. “Ingrid will be on Pegasus, so no issues there. Of course, Ashe is a knight here, so the only concern would be Byleth’s arrival in time.”

“Am I spoiling you if I want to be the first to give you a birthday present?” you ask him just before he must go to bed.

“Sometimes, my beloved, I have noticed that you are not the most patient of women.” Dimitri grins. “I will allow this, only for you.”

You happily pull him to his bedroom door and open it so he can see it.

Normally the proud kingly lion sits in the center of his bed, awaiting his return. Tonight, he sits opposite a beautiful female lion. She is adorned with a circlet of flowers around the top of her head and ears, long ribbons down her back and a clerical cape like yours. The lions face each other, touching noses.

“They are adorable.” Dimitri smiles.

You bend down to the bed patting the lioness on the head. “Oh, what is this? I think she has a present for you.” You softly say as you get down on a knee to reach and obtain a box that is sitting between her front paws.

Dimitri comes closer to join you, only for you to stay on one knee and turn to face him with the box in your hands.

“Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, will you marry me and make me the happiest woman ever?” You ask, your eyes welling up with tears.

Dimitri gasps and falls to his knees in front of you. “What? Oh yes! Of course, yes!” He declares as he takes you in your arms and kisses your lips and face urgently. Eventually, the two of you have to break apart to breathe.

“You definitely have an impatient side to you.” He laughs, placing his forehead against yours.

“What? I have the patience of a saint.” You giggle. “Saint Cethleann was very impatient.”

“I suppose you are entitled to this.” Dimitri walks to his desk and opens a drawer. He brings a small box to you. “Just to be certain, will you marry me?”

“Let me think.” You chuckle. “Yes. Without hesitation.” Pulling him close you kiss him again.

The day of Dimitri’s birthday is a joyous event for everyone in the castle. Guests arrive and are settled in their rooms. Felix, Sylvain, Annette and Mercedes make it without incident.

“Come on Boar, spar with me. We have time before dinner.” Felix grunts as he shoves Dimitri in the shoulder

You have a cup of tea and cakes with Annette and Mercedes in your parlor, catching up on the latest gossip. You are relieved that they are wearing gloves, you have not had much experience in the high circles of society. It is cold in the hallways, and they certainly help.

“Teaching at the School of Sorcery full time really keeps me busy.” Annette says as she places her teacup down. “It is fun to see the wide eyed new faces get excited about casting their first spells.

“Annie, that is so sweet.” Mercedes laughs softly. “Things are going very well at the new orphanage we started in Fraldarius. We have a huge building and a room for each individual child. We really appreciate the help from Dimitri and Felix. The children are going to write thank you letters soon. I hope you get to see them.”

“That is wonderful to hear. I am sure Dimitri will be well pleased with the news.” You thank them. “Getting the country back on its feet and prospering is his main goal, of course. I hope to see some of these places myself when it warms up in the spring.”

“That would be awesome if you can come visit!” Annette gasps excitedly. “We could have the students show off their talents. Many are working hard to take existing spells and making them useful in every day life.”

“Can someone look into a spell to cast on ordinary items that resist breaking?” You giggle. “I know someone that would appreciate that spell for sure.”

The table erupts in laughter. Girl talk continues as Ingrid joins you. Byleth’s arrival is announced, and everyone heads to one of the comfortable dining rooms that is prepared for the lavish feast the cooks have prepared.

Dinner consumed, the reunited Blue Lions retire to the King’s wing of the castle in a parlor fitted with plenty of furniture to accommodate everyone comfortably. Chairs, lounges and couches are scattered about the room as well as bowls of fruit, trays of cheese and sausage for snacks. A well-stocked cupboard carries glasses, wines, ciders and hard alcohol.

Sylvain makes himself right at home pulling out a large bottle of brandy and filling a few glasses. Annette picks out a fruity wine made with blackberries and between the two everyone has a glass.

“May I propose a toast?” Byleth spoke up and everyone shushed. “Happy Birthday to Dimitri, King of United Faerghus. May he have many happy and peaceful birthdays to come.”

Sylvain let out a whoop, most others give a respectable cheers! Everyone settles into little groups chatting amongst themselves. You lean on the arm of a comfy sofa, talking with Byleth about what is going on in the monastery.

“The rebuilding and repairing is going well.” Byleth shares. “The classrooms are functional, and all of the dormitories are repaired. We are rewriting the curriculum to teach mathematics, reading, writing and other necessary classes for the public. We want it to be a school for the children to learn, leading into better careers than just becoming knights or fighters.”

“That is wonderful to hear!” You excitedly clap your hands together. “A well educated people is a boon for everyone.”

Dedue is on the left side of the room with Ashe and Mercedes discussing recipes. Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri and Sylvain are discussing some recent merchants that arrived in Fhirdiad offering impressive and finely made weapons from Dagda and Brigid, the styles of weapons being the main topic of conversation.

Mercedes sits next to you for a while, speaking with you and Byleth about a recent idea you are testing. Setting up healing clinics in the city in several areas to assist in keeping the people healthy. Byleth approves of the idea and may test some clinics in areas around Garreg Mach.

Sylvain has been keeping everyone’s glasses full. He notices that he really hasn’t had to fill your glass much, however the glass of water next to your wineglass is nearly empty. Leaning over the back of the couch he starts massaging your shoulders.

“Hey.” Sylvain bends over and speaks softly close to your ear. “If you don’t like the wine we have other drinks. Loosen up and have a good time, beautiful. Get relaxed. “He grins at you and then winks.

Before you can turn your head to tell him no, Dimitri marches over and sits next to you on the couch removing Sylvain’s hands.

“Refrain from manhandling my fiancée.” Dimitri growls at him. He then gently places his hand on top of yours that is sitting on the couch cushion between the both of you.

You blush at him as several gasps utter in the room.

“Fian- you’re getting married Dimitri? Congratulations!” Sylvain nearly shouts, slapping him on the shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you! When did this happen? Tell us all about it!” He runs around to the front of the couch to take a seat in the chair directly opposite Dimitri so he can watch his friend’s every move.

“I-well. It just happened. We aren’t quite ready to announce it, but then Sylvain…” Dimitri hangs his head down, shaking it while blushing profusely.

You decide to swoop in to save him. “You see Sylvain, when two people like each other and get to know each other well, spending time together, sometimes something special happens. We have been courting for quite a while you know.”

“I know, yeah. But he’s Dimitri! He has no idea how to flirt or capture ladies’ hearts. Has he even kissed you?” Sylvain looks quite shocked.

Dimitri’s face is red all the way to his neck. You take his hand in yours and squeeze it tightly.

“We have kissed. He kissed me first and everything else is our business. Change the subject.” You give him your evil eye look.

“Wow.” Sylvain laughs. “Wah-hah-how.” He stands up and walks to the alcohol cabinet. Felix gives him a punch in the shoulder.

“Shut the fuck up, idiot.” Felix mumbles.

“Felix, do me a favor.” You smile slyly. “Take Sylvain to the training grounds with you early tomorrow morning and give him a good workout. I’ll even tell them to lock you two in there so he can’t escape.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Felix gives a courteous bow and Sylvain a side eye.

“Speaking of sparring,” Byleth says loudly. “I have a few new swords I’ve brought if you want to have a look at them Dimitri. Fantastic workmanship. I hear this weapon maker has some amazing materials that are being shipped in from Dagda.”

You get up to move about the room, talking with Ingrid about improving farming techniques in their territory.

“We always thought Galatea had poor soil because certain fruits and vegetables would not grow well there.” Ingrid sips her wine. “We kept fighting with the land, trying to make it grow what we wanted. Finally, we’re growing what the land wants, what grows in our type of soil in the first place. This is the third year for cranberries and the bushes are loaded. Rethinking our ways has improved things a hundred fold.”

“I love cranberries.” Annette croons. “They make a really tart sauce that is great with bird meat.”

“I like the juice for breakfast, it certainly is an eye opener!” You add.

The conversation quietly moves to anything and everything except for the engagement. Annette heads over to speak with Felix, Ingrid heads to Ashe to discuss something.

Sylvain stands close, but not too close to you. His grin is full of mischief. You dread what is going to come out of his mouth.

“So, when you planning on having kids?” Sylvain not so innocently inquires. “The council has been dogging him about heirs since the day after his coronation.”

“One more word from you and I will have Felix take you to the training grounds now, followed by Byleth, Dedue, Ingrid, Ashe and myself. Am I making myself perfectly clear?” You give a smile through gritted teeth that makes him cringe down to his toes.

“Yes Ma’am.” Sylvain whines as he backs up and heads to the farthest side of the room, only to find Dimitri there, so he splits the difference and heads to a corner furthest away from the both of you.

Sylvain stays in his corner. Ashe approaches him, asking a question. As he opens his mouth you stare at him. Sylvain dutifully closes his mouth and only answers by nodding yes or no. His voice is not heard throughout the rest of the evening. It is a fine party indeed for Dimitri’s birthday.

#fe3h #fe3h fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fe3h x reader #dimitri alexander blaiddyd #blue lions #fe16

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions. Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic. There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic. As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC. Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction. The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years. “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think. The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing. Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars. The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers. Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber. The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi. Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics. That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order. The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers. You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that. At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility. Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green. Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?” You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction. “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums. “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him. Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage. Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order. Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones. “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment. “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it. An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again. The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does. Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it. A mild trepidation.

“I am…” You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words. “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him. “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor. “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify. “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle. “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return. He always did have that effect on you. “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach. “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees. “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition? Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod. “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same. “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment. In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature. Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud. Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please. Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease. Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order. While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?” You ask, the throne room doors now in sight. You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council. Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors. “Now. Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours. “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar. He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly. Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature. More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth. You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks. “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order. No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright. “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing. The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns. Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi. You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class. You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling. Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do. A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature. You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location. Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor. Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy. He went through the subsequent stages with you. A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters. Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went. He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet. Serenity. Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean. Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough? Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing? Were you simply just strong in the Force? Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door. He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking. He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?” A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been. Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?” You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…” He eventually cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator. “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long. So long since he’s had to correct you in any way. As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest. It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way. You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said. He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes. They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention. It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room. Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance. The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around—

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh. The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events. Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place. The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it. In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet. “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you. “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title. She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods. “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking. “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time. However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you. “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words. The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi. There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move. However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns. “However. As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence. Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…” She tilts her chin at you, considering. “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war. What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong. This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars. Full stop. Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature. “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically. “My terms are simple, really. All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you. “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours. “Thought I saw you back there. Shall I elaborate? I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out. You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter. Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you. “Please.”

What?

You? He wants you to leave? But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation. Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it? Openly? In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you. “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned. Your Master has never spoken to you this way. You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud. But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through. Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course. Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult. He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification. He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts. “Do you really still view her as a Padawan? But she’s such a pretty girl. And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts. “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?” Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Maker, he’s getting a headache. “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne. “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago. There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges. “And now we are grown. Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs. “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi. The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people. I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen. But I fear that will not be enough. The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities. The Council will never agree to such measures. There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience. “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!” The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration. “I cannot make them fight! They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake! These traditions have lasted for millennia! Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges. “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never… It’s forbidden. And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?” He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless. The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature. The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh. “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually. I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing. However. You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement. This is the best I can do. Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze. “I… I don’t know. I must confer with the Council first. But… but with their permission…” He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods. “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise. Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort. He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before. He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on. “No matter. What of the girl, then? A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows. “The girl? What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly. “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward. “No, that wasn’t the deal. The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual. She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?” She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room. “Is that how you Jedi treat your women? Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’? Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way. He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out. Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order. By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions. You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully. “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?” She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment. “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation? There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her. When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her. “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding. “Clever. Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords. But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage. My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you. I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now. “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet. But. At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face. Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?” He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare. “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?” She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him. “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand. It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once. He’s getting whiplash. “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan. Come now, don’t be daft.” She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being. “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs. “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times. We still send them, of course, as is tradition. We have for a few centuries at least. A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind. She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies. “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her. “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?” She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes. “I see. Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure. Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice. He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach. “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this. “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor. “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.” She almost sounds… impressed. “Think, Obi-Wan. Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight? The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset? The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her? The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her. To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another. Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core. Stars. I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor. “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan. Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed. If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?” He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide. “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance. This was the only way. And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay. My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor. You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories. “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…” He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?” She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation. “We are of similar age, correct? Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps. “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her. “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully. “She’s loyal. She thinks much higher of me than I deserve. She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare. “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her. After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course. I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did. And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.” She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together. “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it. This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her? My, the scandal it would cause!” The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne. “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master? In my good temple? Shame! Shame! Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?” Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation. “The youngling I raised? The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.” s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics. “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan. I did. And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature. Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth. Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi. Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury. But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?” You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred. “Padawan? Is that what he thinks of me? That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child. And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General. You are a Consular. You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs. Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response. You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity. But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate. Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still. You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself. Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life. Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this? This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion? It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them. It’s not fury, not anymore. It isn’t sadness, either. You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize. That’s what this must be. You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you. You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi. This is hurt. Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches. You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible. So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice. A peacekeeper. A dove. When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying. “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why. You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you. For an eternity, he looks at you. Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it. “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room. I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council. Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters? And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds. “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year. Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order. “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon. None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation. Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?” He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate. Yes. Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea. “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly. “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion. “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi. This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order. May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good. This is, in fact, very much a disaster. This is a mess. This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker. First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation. Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier. Stars—he handled this terribly. He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed? Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone. He should meditate. He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts. It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this. He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there. Sitting there, empty. This is good, really. Truly, this is a good thing. A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really. No, this just feels… grey. Desaturated. Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers. This time you don’t look at him, though. You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence. You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state. Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands. You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before. So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other. His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you. A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you. You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak. Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft. “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you. This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf. Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself. “Well, no—I don’t. I don’t understand, but. Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale. “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…” You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible. “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly. Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far. “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…” Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud. He still hasn’t looked at you. “I find myself… wishing you were. That we could go back to those days, the days before the war. Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them. The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one. I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now. In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign. I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology. “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him. It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it. Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee. “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you. Finally. For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful. “Ask. Please. That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more. “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake. Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor. “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate. The Uncharted Regions are… different. They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic. It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year. The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask. It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity. “…What is…” Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet. “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap. “Ah. Yes. That. Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh. Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more. “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other. Openly. Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act. In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform. It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler. He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you. Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this. And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission. You understand now, you get it.

“Ah. Okay. And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?” Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers. “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once. Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest. Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial? Are you hallucinating? Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever. How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage? And yet never has one been so incredibly creative. Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh. Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time. It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity. This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter. To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions. Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really. Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?” You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you. And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there. He sees it. Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say? What did he say? He tries quickly to remember. That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to…

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake. He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours. He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion. You. The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be. The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right. Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.” Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you. “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one. And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically. “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads. “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through. So he doesn’t try to hide it. He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully. You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years. You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in. You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter. And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair? The one with the fingernails?” You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot. “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?” Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—? People don’t—??” You wave your hands around uselessly. “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?” He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise? I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,” you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much. “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance. He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often. It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student. Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody. Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why. Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them. She gets bored, see. Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions. She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him. “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly. “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be. It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?” You eventually ask. “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed? That’s it? No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod. “No other options. I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could. It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same. Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes. Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay. Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being. “Well, what are—what are your… concerns? Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet. He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory. He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him. He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why? Why are you able to be so… calm about this? Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is? When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical. Are virgins typically so considerate? Is he just being over-dramatic about this? Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself? Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why? Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?” You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes. Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to. It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing. You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead. “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small. “I don’t know. Not make any sounds? Or hide my face? Or… something?”

“You’re…” Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them. “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal. I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think? That this isn’t a ‘big deal’? He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him. Terrible. On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side. On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong. Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly. “I… No. No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway. A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour. It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic. “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence. The translator turns back to you both. “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet. “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation. He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables. “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi. If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what? Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters. “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly. “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer. You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him. “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly. “Either way. Not a big deal.”

It’s strange. He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected. Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet…

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic. He’s certainly not being fair to you. He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat. “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time. Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars. Initiate the what? Is this a self-destruct sequence? It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly. “Uh. I guess. Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally. Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave. “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars. He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

#obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #fanfic #self insert #no-droids

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

Text

Night Changes [Five]

Series Masterlist

Summary: Poe and the reader eagerly focus on their friendship. Unfortunately for them, life isn’t that easy.

Warnings: Language, mentions of smut, violence, injuries. WC: 11.1K

A/N: Please enjoy this failed attempt at fluff. Also, thank you to @hoeforthefictional for inspiring a scene in this chapter (see: Charlie’s shirts)

Your hand smacked against the cool steel of the dining table as you snorted, “That is not true!” You exclaimed, watching Poe run his hand over his mouth to try and hide his smile, though you could still see him shaking with laughter. “Poe that was Charlie, it was NOT me!”

“Sure Sweetheart,” He drawled through his chuckles, quirking a brow at you, “Charlie convinced your dad that we could all be trusted on our own for the weekend. ‘Cause, he was the one with the big sad eyes your dad fell for every time.”

You groaned, knowing Poe was right, your giggles confirming it to him even though you didn’t outright admit it. “Well you were the one who suggested we try to nab some booze at Eddard’s,” You pointed at him accusingly as memories of you, Charlie and Poe as preteens trying to break into a closed cantina to steal spotchka replayed in your mind. “I was the only one the old man didn’t hit.”

“My ass smarted for a week after that,” Poe frowned at the memory and you giggled again. He grinned over at you, and you felt a flush of delight at the early morning banter, each of you sipping your caf as the golden sun streamed in through the high windows and the room steadily grew busier around you.

It had been a few weeks since your return from the classified mission, the data collected on the outpost proving to be immeasurably useful, earning you both a very pleased smile from the General. A larger secondary team was already there; though they were outfitted with greater protective equipment and a lot more manpower to clear back some of the overgrown jungle from the base and work to bring it back up and running.

While it was a severe break in protocol, neither you nor Poe included the exposure to the red flower pollen in your mission reports. You described the sighting of the plant, cautioned approached and advised the settlement team to wear protective gear, but that was all. Though a mild amount of guilt settled in your stomach for the breach, the idea of writing down what had happened, of being hauled for questioning and medically assessed, was more than enough to make you feel it was the right decision.

It had taken three days to return to base from the mission. Even after your long conversation with Poe assuring him you were alright and that you didn’t blame him for what happened, he still walked around you like he was afraid any moment you would crack and reveal your anger or mistrust. He’d pointedly refused to touch you or come too close after the initial embrace you shared, and although you disagreed with his reasoning, you couldn’t help the relief that you felt because something about being close to him, touching him, stirred feelings inside you that you didn’t want to address.

It made it easier to focus on repairing your friendship if you maintained a slight distance from the man you’d known your entire life. Better to set aside any feelings or thoughts and work to find your way back to the version of yourself you missed. The one who had been happy. You wanted to be her again because the lonely woman you’d become was less than ideal. And you had missed Poe more than you’d admit.

You just wished you could stop the dreams.

“You know,” You spoke slowly, your eyes losing focus as you thought back to those younger years, “I’m pretty sure that was the weekend I became obsessed with learning about Mandalore. I saw that picture of the really famous one up in the cantina and wanted to know everything about it all.” You shook your head at your youthful silliness, the crush you’d developed for the faceless bounty hunter simply from hearing the tales of his heroics. You’d even had a-

“Remember the picture you had?” Poe cut into your thoughts and you refocused on him, “You had that up for years, on the back of your door, a street artist's painting of the rogue Mandolorian, Charlie teased you all the time for having it.” He was smiling at the memory, his eyes crinkling slightly.

You stared at Poe in surprise as warmth swept through you. “You remember that?” He shrugged, his eyes flicking away to glance at the table as if he was suddenly self-conscious, surprised at himself.

“Yeah, I...” You watched as he appeared to steal himself, his cheeks dusted with colour. “I remember everything. It was always us three, wasn’t it? I’d never forget Charlie or y-you.”

When he looked up again his eyes were burning with bright intensity. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, even as your heartbeat tripled and emotion swelled inside you. Everything else-the noise of the caf, the sounds of others laughter and conversations-it all faded into the background as Poe and you regarded one another across the table.

A hand coming down onto your shoulder jolted you from your thoughts. You glanced up to find Temmin grinning at you both as he moved to take a seat next to you. “Morning, morning,” He glanced over mischievously at Poe, then back to you, “Sorry to interrupt your eye-fuck session, just wondering if you saw our surveillance got moved up?”

Poe was quicker to recover, pulling Temmin’s attention from you as heat flooded your face and you gaped wordlessly. “Uh, to now, I’m assuming?” Poe spared you a glance, his eyes unreadable as you swallowed, embarrassed at your reaction.

You’d anticipated those close to you or Poe to tease you both about the renewed friendship, entirely unsurprised that Temmin was the leading comedian about the entire thing. He’d happily jumped on any excuse to tease, but even though you were never one to flinch away from adult banter, the occasional sexually suggestive comments brought you straight back to the memories from your mission and rendered you speechless each time.

Pursing your lips, you took the last sip of your caf and stood up, your hands automatically sweeping down the front of your flight suit to straighten any wrinkles. You tried to give a half-hearted smile, hoping Temmin didn’t start to think you had a shitty sense of humour.

“I’m going to get started on pre-flight, in that case.”

You glanced at Poe and found he was already watching you, his lips quirking up in a way that made your insides bubble confusingly. Before you could turn away, however, Temmin was gently grabbing your forearm.

“Don’t uh, go that way, use the longer route. For your sanity.” He suggested, grimacing as you groaned in frustration.

“Kriff. Thanks, Snap.” You spun and stalked in the opposite direction, your eyes still scanning to ensure that you didn’t accidentally run into Rush despite Temmin’s warning.

The Healer had not taken kindly to your outright disinterest, apparently taking Poe’s interference at the cantina before your mission as a challenge. You felt you had enough on your plate now to justify not telling him point-blank to fuck off. You’d instead found yourself actively avoiding him, going so far as to duck into storage closets to hide, or in the case of two days ago, hide behind the broader frame of your Captain when you’d spotted the Rush walk into the hangar and look around for you.

Temmin had started to goad you after Rush had departed, stopping when he saw the look on your face and you’d resigned yourself to explain the situation. When you’d finished, he’d offered to talk to the Healer for you, suggested the Poe could and would step in as well, but you had been very clear that you didn’t want either of them to deal with your issues and told Temmin in no uncertain terms to keep the situation from Poe. He had been going out of his way in previous weeks to be kind to you. His continued (and entirely unnecessary) attempts to make up for everything that had happened, both on the mission and before. Having him do another favour for you when you had yet to figure out how to give back to Poe, didn’t sit right with you.

So you snuck out of the back of the dining hall and hoped you’d bought yourself more time to figure your shit out.

Earlier that morning

His curls were softer than you’d remembered, you loved sinking your hands into them and gripping. Your head felt so heavy that you felt yourself drop it into his neck, your heart swelling at how right it felt to nuzzle into Poe as he held you.

Fuck, it felt so good to straddle him this way, not just for how close your bodies were, how easily you could kiss him, but because his thick, long cock hit the best spots inside you at this angle. It was bliss, delicious, something you should have been doing for years. You rolled your hips as you came, crying out when he slammed you onto him and held you there as he came undone as well, feeling close to passing out when he cried out for you.

“Sweetheart, oh fuck, (y/n)!”

“FUCK!”

You gasped as you woke from your dream, trying to sit up even as your body continued to convulse from your orgasm and small moans tore from you. You gripped the sheets, panting as you floated down from your high, again. Another dream, the same memory replayed over and over every night until you eventually woke up like this, shaking and sweating and cumming.

You sobbed, sitting forward and drawing your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself as you dropped your head. This needed to stop and you didn’t understand why it wouldn’t. It had started up the first night you were back on D’Qar, always the same; the memory of those finals moments wrapped around Poe, the last orgasms you each had as the pollen had worn off, and then you’d wake up as you came. You’d tried masturbating before bed just to try and curb the need, but that hadn’t helped in the least. You were desperate now, confused and exhausted from waking up day after day filled with an intense need for something you shouldn’t want.

A good part of you thought your sleeping brain was just cruel, taunting you for what had occurred. But the logical side of your brain noted that it could very well be an aftereffect of the exposure to the pollen, perhaps the last dregs of it working its way from your system when you were most vulnerable. But since you hadn’t reported the exposure, there was no way to find out. It wasn’t like you were going to ask Poe if he was experiencing anything similar-either response he could give was equally as mortifying just to imagine.

Kicking your sheets away, you glanced at your clock and noted the early hour before stalking angrily into your fresher to take a shower. A cold one, because despite the daily orgasms you were waking up from, you were constantly on edge, hornier than you’d been in a long time.

It didn’t help that you were a touch-starved, lonely and unattached woman. Aside from what had happened with Poe on the mission, you hadn’t had sex in a long time and even the last few times you did, it wasn’t anything spectacular. Which was why you’d been almost ready to let Rush take you to bed before, just to feel something pleasurable.

And now...now you wanted to run away from all pleasure.

Poe watched as you hurried out of the room, your shoulders stiff and he frowned when you glanced hastily toward the other doorway before slipping out of view. He looked at Temmin, who was giving him a knowing, guilty kind of smile from across the table. “What the hell was that about?”

Temmin considered his words for a long moment, rapping his knuckles on the table. Finally, he said, “Major hasn’t told you?” As if hoping Poe might suddenly realize what was going on with you and let him off the hook. At the same time, his friend appeared unsurprised of the direction the conversation had gone since your odd departure.

Raising a brow at his friend, Poe leaned forward. “No,” He replied slowly, shaking his head, “Told me what?”

“Let me preface this by telling you she asked me not to make you aware of the situation. Healer Derrin has been cornering her around base every day since you’ve been back, trying to convince her to give him another chance,” Temmin paused as Poe shifted from curious to downright outraged, “Don’t look at me like that, I just found out myself like two days ago.”

“But-I-” Poe stammered, half rising from his seat, “What the fuck has he been doing?”

Temmin waved a hand in a calming manner, “Popping up all over, trying to catch her for a conversation. Only reason I found out was that he came into the hangar the other day and she practically climbed on my back hiding behind me from him.”

Beside himself with fury, Poe took several deep breaths to relax. “Fuck,” He growled, running his hands over his face.

A distant part of his mind wondered why he was so physically worked up, ready to seek out the Healer and lay into him. When he glanced up, Temmin was casting an obvious glance to the time and Poe relented, releasing his anger to focus on the task at hand. “Sorry, thank you for telling me. Let’s go.”

With a curt nod, Temmin jumped to his feet and fell into step with Poe as they made their way to the hangar. It didn’t go unnoticed by Poe that his friend cast a wary eye around, no doubt concerned they would run into Rush and he would be required to break up a fight.

Quietly sighing to himself, Poe rationalized that he could focus on patrol, then return to base and seek out Rush for a civil conversation, nothing more. Flying would calm him, help him to clear his head, and despite your request to keep Poe out of it, he wasn’t about to let you down by allowing some dick head to harass you.

Patrolling the Resistance base was a duty that fell upon every squadron, regardless of status. Poe knew he could probably convince Leia to let Black team off the hook, considering the number of high-status, incredibly dangerous missions she entrusted them with, however he felt it was good for his team to pull their weight when it came to the less exciting tasks.

It was also a good opportunity for some team building, as you all kept your comms open to have idle chit-chat throughout the shift. “Listen, Poe, Tommy was a lot taller than you. You know it, I know it, hell Temmin knows it! He knew Tommy!” You were giggling now, which was the only reason why Poe had continued to argue that Tommy wasn’t all that much taller than him.

“She’s right, Commander.” Temmin supplied with a chuckle.

Kare’s voice joined in, “I’ve never met this Tommy but he sure sounds a lot taller. Did you date him, Major?”

At the question, Poe felt himself stiffen slightly, suddenly extremely curious to hear your response. You didn’t hesitate, “Oh, maker, no. Never.”

“Wow,” Poe chirped with a laugh, “I’m kind offended for Tommy with how passionately you just said that!”

You laughed, “Tommy wasn’t my type, Kare. We were just friends.”

“But he did ask you out,” Temmin suddenly supplied, unknowingly causing Poe to frown. Tommy had asked you out...when? It can’t have been during Gold team days, because then he’d know about it, if not from you then certainly from Charlie, who was close with Tommy. Which meant that you had seen Tommy at some point after you left and spent enough time with him for the handsome pilot to ask you out. Jealously silenced Poe and he opted to listen only.

“Oh,” You sounded surprised that Temmin knew about it, “Yes, well we were stationed together for a while at an outpost a few years ago.” Though your voice had tightened somewhat, Temmin had apparently not picked up on it and continued speaking, teasing you.

“Huh well, Major, from what I heard via our mutual friend Rico, you two had a 'friends with benefits' thing going on during that assignment.”

You laughed in embarrassment, “Fuck off, Temmin.”

Realizing that his silence was both telling and uncalled for, Poe decided to join back in. “What, sweetheart, embarrassed to admit you liked his man-bun?” He joked, happily drawing further laughs from you and the rest of Black team. Inwardly, however, Poe was spinning and he tuned out of the remainder of the conversation as he fell into deep thought.

It was incredibly wonderful having you back. Despite everything that happened during the mission, the resulting change between Poe and you had exponentially increased his overall happiness. It felt, in some ways, like old times. The void that was Charlie was there, ever-present but not always overwhelming, sometimes it was just a hum of grief in the background as you walked next to Poe, your shoulder occasionally brushing his arm, or when you laughed fully and your eyes crinkled the same way Charlie’s had.

And stars, you were funny-Poe had always thought you had a great sense of humour, but the past few years had given you a slightly harsher perspective, something that most Resistance fighters developed in time. It meant your wit was a little drier, your sarcasm in great abundance. He’d laughed more these past few weeks than he had in years, something that didn’t escape Temmin’s notice, his friend often shooting him a knowing wink when you weren’t looking.

Professionally, not a whole lot had changed, though conversation and directives were less chopped, he was proud to know that despite the tension and anger that had been between you before the mission, you had both worked immensely well together.

He had been terrified that you would leave again, despite your assurances on the contrary. He wouldn’t even have blamed you if you had; he remembered everything that happened, the way he’d touched you, the dark bruises and marks he’d littered across your soft skin, and the things he said. The harsh, cruel words still twisted in the back of his mind, surging to the forefront at random to taunt him, force him to relive the way he’d demeaned you. But you hadn’t left, in fact, Poe was pretty certain that the first few days back you had barely left his side just to prove to him that you wouldn’t, and he was grateful for that more than he could tell you.

He was grateful to have you back, to banter and tease, to see your smile brighten the room every day, usually because of something he had said. His old feelings were stirring, never really having faded altogether, but he was eager to push them down again and focus on the friendship. He needed to reign in his jealousy over something that had happened years ago between you and Tommy.

There was no reason good enough to admit how he had felt before Charlie died, and certainly, nothing in the galaxy could convince him to confess to you how he was starting to feel now.

It was better, he thought, to just be friends. Safer.

Earlier that morning

Your skin was soft, delightfully silky and smooth under his rough fingers, and he enjoyed gripping you harder, pulling your hips to his as he filled you, over and over. Your warm body pressed against his as you straddled his lap, your moans weak and head lolling from the pleasure.

The feel of your head falling to his neck, your body curling into him as your orgasm hit.

“Oh Poe, don’t stop!” The way you said his name. How you clenched around him, pulling him to his own peak. The feeling that was coming inside of you, bliss and rightness of the action intensely overwhelming as you shivered in his arms.

With a start, Poe woke up, his dream-induced orgasm ripping from him. He was unable to do more than groan in pleasure, his hips rutting against the mattress as his cum spurted, hands gripping his pillow. Biting his lip, the shame washed over him before he’d fully finished cumming, his groan morphing into a pitiful sound of desperation.

Every fucking day he woke up much the same, his dream-memories of those final moments under the grip of the pollen replaying over and over until he woke up mid-orgasm. He hadn’t had wet dreams since he hit puberty, for Maker’s sake. He thought it must be an aftereffect of the pollen, further proof the intensity and potency of the red flower was beyond anything he’d ever heard of.

Grunting in frustration, Poe climbed out of bed and retrieved a towel to clean up his mess. Turning on the shower, he glanced at the time, happy that he had enough time to rinse off before meeting you for what was becoming a routine morning caf.

He kept the water cold, punishing himself for his dreams and wishing like hell he could erase the images of you, so beautiful and soft around him, from his mind.

It was ideal that the man essentially stalking you was a Healer because it meant that he was relatively easy to track down on base. Healers had long shifts in the med-bay and usually didn’t stray far from base in case something major happened that required additional medical support. Poe was walking to the med bay now, leaving you with Temmin and your funny friend Ana back in the dining hall, to confront Rush.

He’d come up with a simple excuse to step away, stating he required a few essentials from the commissary and wanting to get there before they closed. You were eating slowly tonight and he had taken advantage of that and Ana’s rare presence-something that would keep you in the dining hall much longer, conversation flowing, so that he could slip off to the med-bay.

He’d felt your eyes watching him as he excused himself, burning into the back of his neck as he tried to walk as casually as possible out of the room. As soon as he was clear, he sped up in case you decided to follow him, but a glance over his shoulder before he turned the corner a few minutes later proved he was right that you would linger with Ana instead.

As he walked along the halls, nodding and smiling at anyone he passed, Poe attempted to steady and control his emotions. He would ask Rush to leave you be; be nice but incredibly firm. Advise the healer that it was in his own best interest to keep things professional unless you did indicate you were interested. As he argued with himself on the best way to word the request, Charlie’s image floated around in his head, reminding him that if he was still alive and some dick head was bothering you, he would be the one to calmly protect you. Poe was the less than calm protector, but he needed to channel your brother here because he hoped to prevent you from finding out he’d cornered Rush.

As he approached the final stretch of the hallway that led into the med-bay, a nurse just coming off duty came walking along in the opposite direction. Poe recognized the older woman, brightening when she glanced up and saw him. “Evening, Rosie, how are you?” He flashed her his best grin.

With an affectionate roll of her eyes, Rosie calm to a halt in front of Poe, “Good evening Commander, what brings you to our neck of the woods? You don’t look injured unless your big head is giving you a headache.”

This was why Poe liked her, she was the type to catch on to bullshit and funny as hell. He couldn’t help his bark of a laugh, “No, I’ve gotten pretty good at lugging it around,” He replied, “Listen, can I ask you a quick question before you head off for a night of dancing with a lucky guy?”

“Lucky lady,” She corrected with a wink, and Poe smiled apologetically with a nod, “And go ahead, what’s up?”

“Right, my mistake, although now that I think of it I don’t think any of us men could survive your charms,” He joked, pulling a laugh from the deadpan nurse, “I’m looking for Healer Derrin, do you happen to know where I could find him?”

Something close to a knowing look flashed in her eyes then, but Rosie didn’t comment. “His shift just ended, actually. He left for the hangar roughly, oh, ten minutes ago.” She glanced at her wrist comm for the time, nodding to herself at her estimation.

Poe frowned, realizing that it was routine for you to have left dinner already to go to the hangar to input your mission report for the day and perform your check of his and your own ships. Because you were dining with Ana, however, you hadn’t left yet. “Thank you, Rosie.” He gently clasped her shoulder as she smiled at him with that look still in her eyes, but she merely bid him farewell before he spun around a hurried away, taking the quickest route to the hangar.

When he arrived, the hangar was fairly quiet, only a few lingering mechanics wandering about, several service droids cleaning the large space and performing nighttime checks. Still wearing his medical clothing, Rush was easy to spot as he stood near your ship across the room, eyes staring off at nothing as he waited to see if you’d turn up.

When he heard Poe’s footsteps approaching, he turned with a hopeful look before spotting him and shifting to a placating smile. “Evening, Commander!”

Poe stopped a few feet short Rush and tried his best to return the smile, “Healer,” His voice was clipped, and he took a careful breath in an attempt to keep calm and channel Charlie. Friendly, to the point, no need to get worked up. “What brings you here so late?”

Rush shrugged, “Hoping to catch the little bird that keeps flying off,” He admitted, gesturing at your ship, “Can’t seem to get any face-to-face time with her, but I’m hoping to clear things up and start fresh. Think I moved too quickly before.”

Poe plastered his face with a neutral expression as his insides burned upon hearing Rush refer to you as ‘little bird’. “Listen, man, I’ve known (y/n) my whole life and I don’t think she’s interested, I mean, it’s been weeks since your date and she’s been avoiding you since.” Poe kept his voice as steady as possible, not wanting his tone to convey anything other than mild interest.

Rush bristled immediately, however, “That your objective opinion, Dameron?”

His voice was pointedly not steady and his tone was anything but mild. Still, Poe held up his hands in a placating gesture, “It is, and it’s kind of...uh, obvious, I guess.”

Poe watched as Rush took a measured step closer to him, though this didn’t serve to intimidate as the Healer stood an easy couple of inches shorter than him. “You’re full of shit. You’re telling me this because you want to fuck her,” He glared up at Poe, who was frowning as he fought his internal battle to remain calm. “Actually, noticed you two are buddy-buddy all of a sudden; so that’s it, isn’t it? You went off together for nearly two weeks and she spread her pretty legs for you-“

Well, no one could say Poe didn’t try. His fist was connecting with Rush’s smug face before the Healer could continue his vulgar accusation, falling back a few steps before regaining his balance and shooting a glare that did nothing to intimidate Poe.

Forcing himself not to move in for another punch, Poe pointed his finger at Rush, “Shut the fuck up, asshole. I never want to hear you talk about her that way again, got it?”

Rush scoffed, his hand rubbing along his reddening jaw, “You’re only proving me right, reacting like that. Either you want her so you’re trying to prevent me from having a chance, or you already had her,” The Healer was seething mad, clearly not thinking straight. He didn’t seem to see the tension rolling over Poe’s body, anger coiling within and ready to burst forth in more than just a single punch. Or maybe a handsome guy like Rush Derrin couldn’t stand the idea of having a competitor, as he seemed to view Poe, and it clouded his usual ‘nice guy’ personality entirely, made him mean, made him say things that he really, really shouldn’t. “Tell me, what is she like when you’re balls deep-does she moan as loud as I-“

This time, Poe didn’t hold his anger back into a single punch, he opted instead to launch himself at Rush, whose eyes flashed in fear just before he was taken to the ground. Fistfights weren’t something that Poe usually got himself into anymore, though he’d had more than his share growing up. He held himself to higher standards now, especially considering his high rank within the Resistance, the respect he had from his fellow fighters.

All of that was out the window though as he wrestled on the hangar floor with Rush, who gave a yell of anger as he tried to out fist Poe. He was strong, a decent enough match physically despite being shorter than Poe, who twisted his hips to roll Rush in a flurry of movement, eager not to end up bested by being pinned under the man. He did feel the punches he gained in return, particularly a stinging blow to his cheek that seemed to hit directly on the apple, skin splitting on contact. Rush was wasting energy on cursing and yelling insults, most of which didn’t register with Poe as blood rushed loudly in his ears, rage only intensifying.

It was only a few moments of fighting at this point, not long enough for anyone who had been on the other side of the hangar to have made it over already to break them up. This was why Poe stiffened in complete surprise when he saw a figure approaching quickly in his peripheral vision, which distracted him just enough for Rush to take advantage and roll heavily, slamming Poe into the floor. He felt his head hit the concrete, though it wasn’t too hard of a blow it was disorienting. Before he could even begin to attempt to get Rush off of him, however, the figure that had first distracted him now came directly into view over Poe.

It was you.

But you weren’t yelling for them to stop like he would have imagined you would do. Instead, from his vantage on the ground, Poe witnessed your fury first hand, so much more intense than he’d seen in years. But the night of Charlie’s funeral that fury had been lined with grief and heartbreak. Now, you looked shockingly terrifying as you swiftly launched yourself at Rush, tackling him off of Poe in one motion before rolling with ease and jumping back to your feet.

When you pointed your blaster down at the Healer, who lay flat on his back in complete shock, even Poe flinched at the look on your face.

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” You hissed, your voice cold and low. There were a few people nearby, all who’d frozen upon seeing the Major asserting her authority over the lower level Healer. Though he partially flushed with pride and equal parts surprise, Poe was quick to scramble to his feet and hurry to your side. “I forbid you to enter this hangar again unless it’s for medical purposes, got it?”

Poe could see that your finger wasn’t on the trigger of your blaster, the safety clicked on still. All the same, your reaction was completely out of character and he wanted to stop that cold, harsh look on your face in its tracks, even if it wasn’t directed at him.

“Sweetheart,” He murmured, quiet enough that only Rush could discern his words, “Let’s take a walk, let Healer Derrin go and lick his wounds.”

The moment you dropped the blaster, Rush was on his feet and hurrying out of the hangar, blissfully silent, entirely amusing. Poe glanced around to the others nearby and gave a friendly nod of release, and they broke away to finish their work. Placing a hand carefully on your lower back, he put a slight pressure and started to walk, relieved when you complied and holstered your blaster.

Though he’d suggested the walk, you seemed to take control of the direction and somehow Poe found himself stepping through the door of your room minutes later. He barely had a moment to glance around at the minimally decorated space, his eyes again finding your pinned copy of his favourite photo on the corkboard, before you rounded on him.

You weren’t as furious as you had been before, but he still took a measured step away from under the heat of your gaze, flinching as he waited for you to begin yelling at him for interfering in your life, for embarrassing you, bracing himself for your wrath.

Instead, your angry gaze met his own and you faltered, your eyes flicking over his face and Poe watched the anger melt away, your expression softening into concern. “Oh, Poe,” You sighed, closing the distance between you both to reach up and carefully grab his jaw with one hand, turning his head to peer up at the cheek he’d taken the worst punch to, “Are you alright?”

You dropped your hand, not completely as he would have expected but to rest on his chest, just over his heart. Poe felt himself stiffen again, the casual way you touched him driving him almost into a frenzy of confusion and hope and fear.

“I’m fine, I can take a punch,” He grinned, cringing when his cheek stung from the movement. “Might need to pop a bacta-patch over this, though.” He reached up and carefully prodded the split skin, hissing at the pain.

You stepped away, tugging Poe by the arm, “Sit,” You ordered, pushing him toward your bed. He perched himself on the edge and watched as you went to the med-kit you kept in your fresher to pull out bacta-patches. “I knew you weren’t going to the commissary.” You added when you walked back toward Poe, grabbing your desk chair and setting it in front of him before taking a seat.

“In my defence, I was being nice at first,” Poe said as you wiped away the blood on his face before gently placing the patch, your eyes focused on your work. “He uh, turned out to be a bit more hot-headed than I’d have thought.”

You snorted, “I came in too late to know who hit who first, but you don’t need to defend yourself,” Picking up another wipe, you cleaned around the patch and some spots along the rest of his face that must have had blood splatter. “I made Temmin tell me if he told you about Rush. I know you were fighting with him because of me. And that’s...that’s why I hadn't mentioned it, actually.”

Poe stared at you for a beat, “What do you mean?”

“I just,” You sighed, your eyes searching his face before you tossed the wipe in the trash and you sat back in your seat. He already missed the feel of your hands on his skin. “I knew you would want to talk to him, and that could lead to a fistfight or whatever on my behalf, and I didn’t want you to put yourself in that position just for me.”

“Just for you?” Poe repeated in surprise, leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, to look at you closely, “Sweetheart, come on, you know I’d do anything for you.”

You nodded, but Poe wondered if you understood how serious he was, how he wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t question. Or maybe you did understand and that was why you looked slightly afraid, your face flushed as Poe gazed at you intently.

“Poe, you’ve been going out of your way for me since we’ve been back. You know it’s all...we’re good, I trust you,” You leaned forward, your face mere inches from Poe’s, and took his hands into yours, “So you don’t need to keep proving yourself, I promise.”

Poe felt himself nodding as he looked at you, gazed into your bright eyes and saw the sincerity in them, the emotion. He was still, afraid to move now that there was nothing between either of you, fully aware that you were alone together in a locked room and nothing could interrupt you. He felt himself blush, heat crawling up his neck, and Poe wanted to lean away and clear his throat and push back everything he was feeling but you were making it too difficult, sitting there with wide eyes and plump lips and a look so earnest, so trusting that he was transported straight back to the first time he’d wanted to kiss you.

But the thing was, he was a skinny teenager back then, and it had been easy to talk himself back and resist the urge because of Charlie. Because he didn’t want to offend you. Because your mom was just down the hall and could walk in at any moment.

But here, Poe wasn’t a teenager anymore, and for that matter neither were you. No, you were both fully grown adults, a fact he was keenly aware of as his eyes moved from yours, slowly, and he saw the way your lips were parted, the flush up your neck, the way your chest was heaving slightly.

He’d never wanted to be braver in his entire life.

Just as he thought of closing the gap, though, an image surfaced. The memory of you, trembling on the table after the pollen had worn off, just before he could give you the bacta shot, your body littered with marks he’d put there, the marks that were in the nightmares he kept having. Bile rose in his throat and he was sure you sensed the shift then because you were pulling away even before Poe broke the connection of your gazes and eased his hands from your grasp.

It was quiet for a minute, each of you looking determinedly away from the other. You stood, and Poe glanced up, fearing you were going to ask him to leave. You had a thoughtful look on your face, however, and moved over to your dresser instead. He watched as you opened the lowest drawer, flipping through the contents.

“I realized the other day that you didn’t have any of Charlie’s clothing because of course, I’d taken it all,” You straightened, turning around with a small stack of shirts clutched in your hands, “But I shouldn’t have done that, so here, take these.” And you held the stack out to him, biting your lip as you did.

Poe’s heart stuttered in his chest and he had to blink a few times to clear the sting of tears threatening the corners of his eyes. “These were...Charlies’?” You nodded, your eyes swimming with similar emotion. He took them from you and looked down at the familiar, worn fabric in a variety of colours, each shirt soft and well cared for. “Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say.”

He stood up, gripping the clothes in one hand before carefully reaching out and wrapping his arm around your head, pulling you close and kissing your hair. You were stiff in his arms, but he felt you patting his mid-back. “You don’t have to say anything, flyboy.”

—

It was very rare that you found yourself in your current position, crouched outside of Poe Dameron’s window late at night, grateful that his father slept on the lower floor of their home because he found it cooler. And even though you knew Mr. Dameron wouldn’t be mad if he found you sneaking into his son’s room, because you and Poe were together most of the time anyway since forever, you didn’t want him to interrupt your attempt to apologize to your friend.

You carefully slid the window open, your eyes attempting to adjust to the darkened room within but there was no light this evening, even the stars were hidden by clouds that threatened rain you knew wouldn’t come for another day at least. You were gazing in the direction of where you knew his bed was, so when hands shot out to grab you from almost right in front of you, you couldn’t help the squeak you let out, still desperate to be quiet, before promptly falling backwards. You wondered if you were about to break your arm again, and it had only just healed the month before. Kriff.

Thankfully Poe had already grabbed your waist, his hands gripping tighter when you lost your balance before he pulled you through his window with a grunt, both of you tumbling down due to the force he’d used to ensure you didn’t fall. Landing clumsily on top of him with a thud, you both froze in the dark, listening for any sounds from downstairs.

You waited a few minutes, heart pounding in your ears, wishing you could at least see Poe’s face but it was too dark, you could only make out the faint outline of him. You could tell he was looking up at you, but that was about it. Feeling confident Mr. Dameron was still fast asleep, you shuffled off of Poe, only his hands were still gripping your waist, so you ended up kneeling right next to him.

“Poe?” You whispered, moving a hand down to pat the back of one of his, “I think we’re good-sorry, I wanted to-“

Poe’s angry sigh halted your words in their tracks, and you felt his fingers flex before he released you and moved away. After a pause, light from a small lamp bathed the room in a low, golden glow and your best friend came into view, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I heard your apology the first time, (y/n),” He hissed, and you hated the way he said your name, that he even said it at all when you were used to him only referring to you as ‘sweetheart’. “Breaking in to say it again doesn’t really-“

You had climbed to your feet, dusting off your knees before glaring up at Poe, “Fine, I won’t apologize again. But I’m not leaving until you talk to me, tell me how I can fix this.”

Poe ran a hand wearily over his face, not meeting your eyes. Guilt and shame and sadness were all that you felt these past several days as Poe actively avoided you, refused to even look at you, because of what you’d said. And you hadn’t meant it, you really didn’t, it just slipped out in a moment of heated disagreement and you wished you could eat the words back up before you’d fully finished speaking. The look he’d given you...

“I don’t know, I just need some time,” He grumbled, still not looking at you. You took a half step closer, hoping to draw his gaze. Disappointed when he only frowned harder and kept his eyes on the wall. “I know you’re sorry, but you still fucking said it.”

“And I have no excuse for it, Poe, I was out of line. I was angry and I wanted to just...”

“You wanted to hurt me.” He finished, and you were shaking your head violently because that wasn’t it, it really wasn’t.

“No, no that’s not why,” You breathed, tears threatening but you swallowed them back, blinking, “You’ve just been so weird lately, and you wouldn’t tell me why so I lost myself and wanted a...a reaction, something, from you.”

Poe’s eyes locked on yours then and you felt yourself shrink inward at the coldness within them, “You said my mother would be ashamed of me. Out loud, to my face. Because I wasn’t explaining why I’ve been moody-which by the way, if you thought about it you’d fucking realize why-so that was your solution?”

His voice had raised only a fraction, a whisper yell in the dim room, yet he might as well have been screaming at you. You deserved for him to rage and yell because you had said that. In a stupid, selfish moment, after weeks of odd behaviour from Poe and another fruitless attempt to ask him what was going on, you’d said his mother would be ashamed of him for shutting you out. You hated yourself for saying it.

You grappled with yourself, struggling to find words and Poe jumped on your silence to continue speaking. “I forget sometimes that you’re just a kid, a silly, spoiled little girl who gets her way all the time,” His words cut through the air like little knives, driving straight into your chest, “But in the real world, when you say mean shit like that you can’t always just bat your pretty lashes and say you’re sorry. Words have consequences, you fucking brat.”

You bristled, despite having known when you decided to come here tonight and beg for forgiveness that he might lash out, you weren’t prepared for Poe to talk down to you like this. Little girl. Spoiled. Brat. Was that really how he saw you?

Was he really going to leave to join the Resistance and you’d never see him again?

“Fuck you,” You gasped, pain lancing your heart as you glared up at your best friend, “You don’t talk to me like that, Poe Dameron. I said a shitty, horrible thing to you and I didn’t mean it and I’ve been trying to apologize, that doesn’t give you the right to speak to me like this. You’re calling me the kid when you-you’re acting like an angry little boy?”

Poe dropped his crossed arms, his mouth opening in fury as he stepped toward you, and you were ready for the fight, for the words to start flowing between you both as whatever the fuck was going on lately seemed to bubble up and over. But the dim lighting of the room left a lot of shadows and darkness, and his sudden movement toward you startled you. You couldn’t help it, you flinched, visibly and almost bone jarringly. You flinched away from Poe, one hand half raising in front of yourself defensively.

And the fight in Poe, that fire and passion, it was out in an instant. Like you had flipped a switch and all the power was sucked from the room. For a moment, he stood frozen in mid-motion, gaping at you as you straightened from your defensive stance, and you shook your head to organize your thoughts, wanting to just apologize again and leave. But he was looking at you so intensely now that you felt like you couldn’t move; like he’d pinned you with his horrified expression.

“Are you-?” His voice almost broke, and he didn’t try to clear it, merely lowered the pitch, “Are you scared of me?”

You wanted to shake your head, but your brain was still processing the shocked look he was giving you, the colour rising to his cheeks as emotion seemed to overwhelm him. Poe looked utterly wrecked at that moment, and even though you knew he needed to hear you speak, to assure him that of course, you weren’t scared of him, the sudden movement and looming shadow on the wall had simply caught you off guard, you couldn’t bring yourself to fucking speak.

“Sweetheart, fuck, I’m so sorry, please don’t be afraid,” He gasped out, holding up both hands slowly, palms facing you, “I would never-shit, sweet, beautiful girl, please don’t be afraid of me, please I’m sorry, I’m so so-“

You cut him off as he started to nearly sob, convinced you were scared of him, that you thought he might hurt you. “Poe, no, I’m not scared!” Regaining the use of your brain, you stumbled forward and threw yourself against Poe’s chest, gripping the soft tee he’d worn to bed, your face pressed over his heart. “I was just startled, I’m not scared of you, I could never be scared of you.”

You could hear his heart hammering away in his chest, feel how tense he was, his hands hovering in the air behind you. His voice was so quiet when he spoke that if you hadn’t had your head so close against him, you wouldn’t have heard.

“I would never hurt you, fuck, I wouldn’t try to intimidate you. I’m sorry I was going to stand closer so I-I could yell without waking dad up, so stupid...” The sob that had been threatening him tore out, crushing your heart a little.

He was ridiculous because you’d know him your whole life and you knew he wasn’t the type of man to physically harm or scare anyone. Sure, he’d been in his share of fistfights, but even you knew he was usually throwing a punch in response, and these last few months he’d been relatively cool-headed, a sign of his maturity.

You pressed your body closer to his before lifting your head to look up at him. Poe was still not touching you, and he was looking across the room unseeingly as he blinked back tears, his expression tense and upset. With slow movements, you reached up to stroke along his jaw, your hand pausing when you first touched him, your heart rate picking up a little when his eyes closed at your touch. You stroked more than the usual three times, repeating the action until his body relaxed against yours, continuing until his hands tentatively moved, one settling on your waist and the other raising to cup your face.

You stood like that for a long moment, your fingers still trailing the familiar path of his stubble, drinking in the way his expression, eyes still closed, softened for you.

“I know you wouldn’t ever hurt me, Poe,” You whispered, “That’s why I’m fucking wrecked that I hurt you. If you don’t want to see me anymore...I understand, I crossed the line like an idiot. Our friendship has always been the most important thing to me and I overstepped and I’m sorry, you’re right that I’m just a stupid little-“

“Stop,” Though it was low, whispered into the room, the command behind the word was enough to silence you and you gazed at Poe in surprise. He looked at you then, and you delighted at the expression he had, so filled with love and care. “I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean it. I saw your face right as you said it...we just, we both got too worked up. We keep doing that, I think because we know Charlie and I leave in less than a year.”

You nodded in agreement, the small movement making you suddenly very aware of how tightly pressed against Poe you were. He was still holding your face gently, but the hand on your waist was gripping you in a way the suggested he felt the proximity as well. You took a shuddering breath, “I love you, Poe. I’m sorry.”

He dropped his head to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering half shut, and the weirdest thought suddenly cropped up in your head. The most absurd notion that you could easily tilt your head and press your lips to his. You remained still, but couldn’t help but stare at his soft lips as he spoke.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” The hand on your waist clutched you closer, which you hadn't thought was possible, “And I promise I would never hurt you, never lay a finger on you or say something awful that I meant, never. Nothing could ever, ever make me hurt you, sweet, lovely girl.”

You closed your eyes, unable to trust yourself to resist kissing him when he spoke to you like that, his words coated in the deep, suddenly husky tone of voice. And you couldn’t rid those thoughts as he led you over to his bed and you cuddled against him, ready to sleep but your heart thrumming away as you imagined what it would be like to kiss him, your Poe.

What would it be like to be with him, to touch him, to-and you really blushed now, grateful he’d shut the light back off and his light snores were filling the room-feel him hard for you...you’d never been with a guy before, not like that. You’d had some steamy make-out sessions, groped and fondled with cute guys...but the idea of your Poe coming undone for you...

Well, that was suddenly an idea that you were completely unaware would have such an intense impact on you. You let the images play out in your mind for a moment before taking a deep breath and pushing them back and down, convincing yourself it was just a reaction to the adrenaline, the high emotions. Poe’s grip on you tightened in his sleep, and you snuggled closer to lay your head over his heart and listen to the steady beat.

—

Word travelled quickly around base that Rush Derrin had been beaten up by a pilot; the surprising thing was, at least to you, that the pilot in question was you and not Poe. Apparently, Poe scrapping on the floor with Rush wasn’t nearly as interesting or exciting as the story of how you’d tackled Rush, moved to your feet and drawn your blaster on him in one swift motion.

You had grown used to the quiet greetings over the months you’d been on D’Qar, and enjoyed the last few weeks of friendlier hello’s that cropped up in response to your rekindled friendship with Poe, but the tale of your no-nonsense, ego stripping attack on the rude Healer seemed to blast you into the same orbit Poe had been in as the ever-popular poster boy for the Resistance.

Everyone said hello, no matter where you went or the time of day. Ana sought you out the afternoon after to tell you that all the mechanics were raving about how they thought you were snobbish, and now realized you were, in fact, a silent badass. As embarrassing as it all was, it was nothing compared to Poe’s response to your new status.

He was insatiable, eagerly and proudly telling anyone who would listen-and it seemed everyone did want to listen-his first-hand account of watching you tackle Rush. Of how you’d coldly told him off as you followed your professional directive-protect your Commander, no matter the threat. Your shoulders were starting to ache from the number of times he’d clapped his hands over them, rooting you to the spot so that you couldn’t escape the latest admirers, gripping you because he really was proud, really meant everything he said.

“Okay, seriously,” You breathed when you finally broke free from a group of younger pilots, Poe laughing at your side in amusement at your reaction. “Commander, I may have protected you but I can just as easily go ahead and kick you in the-"

“Ah, come on now sweetheart, you wouldn’t do that,” He laughed, a playful arm dropping around your shoulder. Your insides had started reacting to every single touch, lingering or not, that Poe gave you. Which had been happening a lot lately. And it didn’t help matter that he’d look at you the night of his fight with Rush like you had told him you’d hung the moon just for him. You couldn’t shake the memory of the way he’d gazed at you as you sat frozen, inches away.

“Don’t be so sure,” You grumbled, allowing him to lead you to the hangar, “I now have to hope that if either of us gets seriously injured Rush isn’t the Healer on call, because I doubt he’d be much help now.” You noticed then that even though you were still passing people, and those people were smiling at you, no one had stopped you or spoken to either you or Poe.

Confused, you frowned up at Poe, intending to ask him, but the words died on your tongue.

No one was stopping you because they didn’t want to interrupt Commander Dameron and Major Horn, happily wrapped around each other, looking exactly like a love-struck couple. You were sure that a previous version of yourself, the one who existed years and years ago, would have quickly sprung out of Poe’s reach and laughed awkwardly, made an excuse to run to the fresher. Instead, a feeling grew inside of you that felt a lot like...

Possession. But that wasn’t right, was it?

Poe wasn’t yours, not like that. It was almost like there were two parts of you reacting to the increasing touches; the part that enjoyed the familiarity of his affection, and a part that starved for more and grew hungrier every time it was fed. It made it hard, impossible even, to sort through your real feelings for Poe. Because you did love him, you did feel yourself flush at the idea that others were viewing you as a couple, and yet...the path of your thoughts seemed to reroute itself constantly, focusing on the physical and craving more of it.

Maybe this was your problem before, you couldn’t admit to yourself how you felt toward Poe and it ended up being twisted up until Charlie died. You’d admitted to yourself that the biggest reason you’d fled was that you had realized, all those years ago, that you were in love with Poe. Was that what this was now? Old feelings slamming back home with startling intensity?

Then why could you only focus on his hands on you, if that was the case?

He’d noticed you’d gone quiet and came to a sudden halt in the empty hall, glancing down at you curiously, his eyes darker than normal. You felt his arm hold you a little tighter, the hand on your shoulder gripping almost too hard.

It felt really good.

Fuck, what the fuck.

“Sweetheart?” He searched your face, brows pinching in confusion.

Feeling a little dazed, you shook your head to clear your mind, keenly aware that there was no space between your bodies, that you could press up against him easily. And you were warm, actually. Really, really warm.

“Sorry,” You murmured, forcing yourself to give him a placating little grin, “Just...a little overwhelmed, I think.” You admitted, conceding a partial truth that you knew would suffice.

Instantly, his expression softened and he was backing up, pulling you with him until he was leaning against the wall. He spread his feet apart and pulled you to stand between them, his hands moving to cup your face gently as he looked down at you with kind eyes. You think you stopped breathing. You think he did too. He seemed surprised at his actions.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been teasing you for days,” He sighed after a pause, one thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheek. You were going to combust or pass out, or maybe just evaporate on the spot. “Good news is, I’m pretty sure the General has another mission that’ll take us out of this parsec for a day or two. Should give everyone enough time to move on.” His other hand moved from your face to brush back a few stray hairs, his eyes following the movement hungrily. They were darker still.

There was a familiarity in that darkness.

“That-that’s uh, good,” You stammered, your eyes moving everywhere except to meet his. You were afraid of what he’d see if he looked directly at you. Of what you’d see...but you didn’t understand why you were afraid.

You just got Poe back, you weren’t fucking this up. Get it together, get it together, breathe...

“I know I don’t need to ask,” His voice was low, the timbre shooting straight to your core, “But are you okay to fly, because you seem a little out of it.” His voice sounded wrecked, like it was painful to be speaking.

You nodded hastily, pressing your hands into his abdomen for some unknown reason. You could feel the muscle under his shirt, hell you could remember what it felt like to touch those muscles, to drag your tongue along the surprisingly soft skin, before...before...

Oh fuck.

You think you realized what was happening a moment before it was too late to react, your brain opting to shut down as pleasure ripped through your body with a ferocity that knocked you clean over. With a shuddering moan, you collapsed into Poe as your orgasm rocked through you, unable to speak now as wave after wave turned you into a whimpering mess. He caught you, his face confused even as he unknowingly rutted his hips against you and started trembling.

“What-?” He got a good look at your face then and realization dawned, his expression twisting in horror. “Oh shit, shit,” He groaned, clutching you harder against him and you heard him breathe out your name, equal parts fear and desire colouring his tone before he sunk to his knees, bringing you down with him, and his body stilled.

His orgasm tore through him just as violently, the only thing he could think to do was nuzzle his head into your neck and hide his face as he came. You were limp, your body jerking and convulsing as the high never ended, it seemed to hold at its peak and just drag you along for the ride, unwillingly. In the very back of your mind, you recognized that what was happening was, undoubtedly, an aftereffect to the pollen you’d been exposed to weeks prior. The nightly dreams, subsequent orgasms, the way fire licked up your spine at every touch from Poe...it made sense, and if you weren’t currently trying to keep yourself and Poe quiet as you each came, you’d probably be feeling like a first-class idiot for not reporting the exposure.

“Fuck,” You whimpered pitifully, clinging to Poe for life. You felt another hand on your shoulder suddenly and registered a voice saying your name. It took a few moments to find enough clarity to look up, blinking through the haze to find Temmin standing over you both, his expression frantic with concern.

“Major, (y/n), tell me what’s happening, talk to me here!”

“T-Temmin...we, we were exposed on our, shit,” You had to pause as your orgasm seemed to notch up another level, dropping your head to hide your face against Poe’s. “Mission. Red fertility plant, help, oh maker please help!” You cried out, the burning and heat threatening to undo you completely, no longer overwhelmed with lust but now a high that seemed too far for humans, your heart hammering in your chest like it wanted to break out, run away from you and abandon your trembling body as you burned.

You slumped over, distantly aware of Temmin roaring for medics, but determined to bring your focus to Poe, who was now holding you too tightly. You realized he was speaking into your neck, and you had to tilt your head awkwardly to hear. Your vision was narrowing now, but you could hear him perfectly.

“I can’t hurt you again, don’t let me hurt her, please make it stop.” He repeated this plea over and over, and it was the only thing you could hear as your eyes began to close, as other hands were on you, pulling him away and you fought to keep him close until the heat became too much and a sudden stinging cool hit your arm and you were falling, down and into an unknown abyss, your last thoughts swirling in your head louder than any voice around you.

‘Don’t let me hurt him again, please don’t let me hurt Poe again...’

—

Temmin paced the med-bay waiting area frantically, waiting for an update from the Healers on both the Commander and Major’s statuses. He’d been leaving the hangar when he found them in the hallway, clinging to one another as they seemed to convulse with pain, and it had fucking terrified him. It had made some sense when you’d be able to gasp out an explanation that you’d each been exposed to a fertility plant during your mission. But he didn’t have any room to be embarrassed that you were both essentially having orgasms in front of him because you looked so scared and confused and Poe’s words were stuck in his brain now.

“Please don’t let me hurt her again, make it stop, I can’t hurt her, she’s everything to me, please make it stop...”

While he knew he was a less emotional sort of man, Temmin wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Poe and you were soulmates who’d been through some seriously dark shit. That you just needed to work through it all to find your way back to one another. And apparently, you had started the process-finally-during your classified mission. He had been overjoyed at the change in your interactions with one another, that you seemed to be friends again, at least.

But he’d also noticed the weird reactions you both had to some of his more inappropriate teasing, seen how you would both flush and change the subject and he thought at first that maybe you had started dating again, only something seemed off. You had become increasingly more wound up over the weeks, and Poe had appeared to turn inward more and more, as though his thoughts were so intense he was trying to conceal them with every fibre of his being from everyone.

You had only mentioned a suspicious plant in your reports from your mission. It had been with dawning horror, as he screamed for Healers, that Temmin understood you’d mentioned the flowers because you’d been exposed. That whatever had happened upon exposure had been so bad that neither you nor Poe wanted to include it in your reports.

“Captain?” A Healer came out from the back, a soothing expression on her face that told him you at least weren’t dead.

He hurried forward nonetheless, “Maker, Healer Brooks, please tell me they’re going to be alright!”

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