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yourneighborhoodporg · 8 months

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The Guardian

Chapter 10: Troubled Water

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: Banter, fluff, ANGST, references to war/drowning/migraines, descriptions of pain/violence/slight injury, near-death experiences, super worried/concerned Obi, Reader really going through it 👀

Summary: A week following your and Obi-Wan's dalliance with The Muntuur, you decide to spend the day meditating on the famed Temple contemplation balcony. But after an unexpected visitor disrupts your concentration, you find yourself trapped within a new, wildly dangerous situation. Good thing Obi-Wan is nearby to share in the risk.

Song Inspo: Bridge Over Troubled Water — Simon & Garfunkel

Words: 13.4k (please take breaks I beg you)

A/n: Soooo splitting up this chapter wouldn't have made sense so y'all getting a two-for-one deal for the Part I finale, which hopefully makes up for the big delay lol. This will be the longest chapter I ever post I promise you. I’ve been so excited to write this one. It's a bit intense. Song inspo for this chapter is supes important. Like, it’s literally Obi singing to the reader, I CANNOT (there’s a line talking about his “silver girl” 😭)— ALSO updates will be slightly less frequent for the following chapters because we ‘bout to be officially entering tcw plot lines and imma need more time to review them lol. Also, will be using the next week or so to respond to requests 😋 As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments, and be sure to tell me if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Anyways, enjoy 😈

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Oh, when darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

— Paul Simon

The glittering, golden rays of Coruscant’s sun submerged your resting eyelids in its warmth, only to be abated by the partial shade of plump bushes whose orange-red gradients reigned proudly around the meditative stance you now held. That, and the occasional gust of cooling breeze, which brushed across your cheeks in its periodic hold on swaying shrubbery, trembling at its mercy. Still, despite this wind tunnel encircling the Temple’s primary spire, it was not enough to limit the sporadic vegetation’s effectiveness in secluding your crisscrossed posture from the rest of the rather exposed contemplation balcony that skirted the tower’s median.

You had discovered this bronze-floored platform of rest and meditation during that first week at the Temple, surmising its intended purpose from the few Jedi you’d spied engaging in those familiar, solitary explorations against a backdrop of the wider District. It was one of the primary reasons you’d decided to return to this spot when you had the chance— to engage in such like-minded behavior with fellow Jedi for the first time in many years.

For the first time since Qui-Gon wished the Force to be with you for the very last time.

However, despite earmarking the serene terrace’s smooth architecture and scattered plant life as a sensible spot for meditation, you’d only really had a chance to visit it this afternoon— three weeks since your arrival on Coruscant.

It was hard to forget that, in the days following your first Temple appearance, perplexing headaches had severely limited any propensity for introspective freedom. Initially, by coercing you to find the next best thing in terms of a quiet place to meditate by the suddenness with which they arrived. Frustrating the immersion necessary to delve deeply into your inner being.

But that was nothing compared to the searing pain which radiated throughout your body in each cognitive session following a certain, fateful hour—

In which you bestowed a name upon the affliction’s sensation in hopes of understanding it better.

Black Water.

You shook your head haphazardly, eyes still sealed shut while your subconscious attempted to dispel that particular thought without disrupting your current, and long sought after, communion with the Force.

With a lift of each wrist to protruding knees, you relaxed your palms open, as if to better catch the swirling energies like falling snowflakes that absorbed into chilled fingers. A gliding stream that energized your veins and stood unparalleled when weighed against the prior weeks you were desperately trying to put behind you.

In a way, finally tasting the Force’s unfathomably profound vibrancy with such renewed vigor was enough to comfortably remind yourself that you could dive as cavernously as you pleased, since the listlessness of penetrating headaches was now a time of the past.

And you really did have Obi-Wan to thank for that.

In an afternoon with The Muntuur, you’d unexpectedly uncovered that mindless sprints down seedy tunnels, hours with your nose stuck in a holobook’s blue glow, and playing copilot with Anakin were not your only options to dampen those sharp stabs into dull throbs. With a suddenness akin to explosive laughter, those moments that followed ignited an inner epiphany—

That the power you siphoned from the Force by focusing your mind on others acted as some sort of natural medicine, as a booster that couldn’t be equated.

Whether that was training beings in the intricacies of a long-lost Jedi device or finding the humor in the attempts that followed, your mind gradually discovered the strength that wafted from these seemingly trivial interactions like sparks off a campfire.

In hindsight, you kicked yourself for not recognizing the presence of this strange ability earlier. Though, having previously held the revered title of ‘Sole Planetary Being,’ it hadn’t given you much in terms of options for discovering it on your own. But even then, when finally faced with an endless sea of individuals following your daring escape from Hoth, it still all took much longer than you would have liked.

Mostly because, during those few heart-to-hearts with Anakin, you had appreciated that the baring of souls— for an instant even so fleeting it could be compared to the flick of a lightsaber— was enough to reconnect you to the Force’s lifeline like a falling anchor. It was something that helped you read the young Jedi just as well as it saved you from being launched into space by a certain garbage pit acceleration shield. Yet still, you hadn’t read it as anything more besides some possible understanding that a long-foretold prophecy drew between The Guardian and The Chosen.

You just never really put two and two together.

Until it stared you right in the migraine-dulled face with blue eyes, curled auburn hair, and a well-kept beard.

And, obviously, once this particular realization clicked, you were sure to lean into these revitalizing energies with every repeat opportunity that presented itself.

In the week that followed, you and Obi-Wan excitedly wrung out a few more collective hours with The Muntuur. In which he steadily absorbed the programming basics while you conditioned yourself to hold any semblance of composure during the Jedi’s subsequent twirls around invisible foes.

A skill you had yet to fully master.

And then, in the next few, rousing days, as the communications system was re-secured, and ramping up Council meetings dragged Kenobi away to organize and assign new deployments, you soon faced the inescapable reality of extending this perspective to other day-to-day moments that excluded the Jedi Master.

And you certainly did your best.

You’d draw on the vigor of swapping taunts with Anakin’s passionate personality in afternoon spars. And focus your senses on welcoming Master Windu’s signature into your thoughts— though still with little success. Even those periodic study sessions with Ahsoka became just as much a chance to learn more about the confident Padawan’s perspectives and person as a way to strengthen your mind against the piercing throbs that weakened like a dying candle following each of these interactions.

Consequently, it was during these same last four or five days that you’d finally found yourself beginning to open up to the beings who’d rescued you from Hoth. Because it wasn’t until you were forced to gather up fortitude from the rejuvenating effect of drawing on your connection’s ability to swirl in others— like plucking flower petals from a field of solidarity— did you realize your mistake since arriving on Hoth.

That, in an effort to come to terms with Qui-Gon’s death, you’d closed yourself off to the impact of other’s around you. Giving all of yourself to every prophetic instant with an emphasis on Anakin’s well-being without truly finding a moment for yourself to allow this new connection with the Order to take hold. Without permitting yourself the chance to absorb all the strengths such unity imbued.

Nonetheless, the more you unlocked your rigid chest to the beings surrounding you, the less frequent and tender those shooting pangs became, as they slunk away like the migration of a long winter season. All the way up until the last few days, in which, for a lovely change, the familiar, hammering pressure at your sinuses never came.

Still, no matter how well this unique manipulation of the Force aided you in your affliction, it still left you quite unsettled, weighing down your sternum like a misaligned rib.

You’d never heard of a Force Ability that drew upon a Jedi’s connection to other beings. Nor a power so unique that its strength was determined by the wielder’s level of familiarity with the associations they extracted from. A concept that immeasurably wise Jedi like Master Yoda and Master Windu would be quite uncertain of, you confidently ascertained. Because, in a way, this talent seemed to teeter on the edge of what was accepted by the Jedi Code by their strict standards.

It was moments like these that you’d wished Qui-Gon was here.

He always understood exactly what to say, and precisely what to do.

But your late Master was gone, and you could only make the best decision you could at this moment.

So, deciding to take a page out of his book, you determined it necessary to hold off on sharing this new tidbit with anyone, especially the Council, until you knew more.

Another chilly gust of wind whipped at your hair, snapping off a few clusters of brittle leaves that quivered past closed eyes, sparkling in the Force like bustling dots for your senses to discern. It deepened your concentration, imploring you to consider the sweeping impact of such an odd development. How it rippled into your past of isolation and everlasting hardship, and how it newly affected your approach of the Order. Mostly, you chewed over the possibility that finding strength in connecting with the Order and the beings it housed was all a wider symptom of your purpose.

You were The Guardian, after all. An individual whose entire existence premised on the notion of putting others before themselves. It was only rational that a creature of prophecy such as that would gather strength from those they were tasked with protecting.

Anakin, the Order, and, in a way, the Galaxy itself.

And, now that you’d finally reoriented your bearings, you were finally planning to put that new solidity to use.

Once more, you stretched your lungs with a rapturous inhale, taking in the contemplation balcony’s encompassing, earthy scents that barely cut the surrounding district’s gaseous fumes as they crawled over the fringe of your senses.

It was easy to see why Ahsoka complained about the lingering smells of speeder exhausts or freshly welded metal any time she considered meditating outdoors. Citing it as the primary example for her difficulty concentrating in such a space.

Yet, you found the opposite to be true.

After years of traversing anosmic ice sheets atop Meetra’s pungent fur coat, you relished in the cold’s ability to naturally numb your olfactory. And it turned out to be another one of the many factors on Hoth that disconnected you from other worlds. So, when finally given the chance to absorb the kaleidoscope of essences Coruscant had to offer, you couldn’t help but feel as if it tied you with a sturdier knot to the wider Galaxy’s intertwinement with the Force.

Maybe that’s why you’d finally found a yawing peace in this little alcove. Guarded by a half-circle of vermillion bushes that stood in staunch defiance against the acrid aromas climbing over and onto the platform’s edge. A nook so ethereally stilled that it nearly cleared your mind of the bustling city below. In an afternoon which snugged exposed arms and a poised neck in toasty rays that capered in equilibrium with the occasional gusts encircling the Temple’s main spire. A quiet locale that released clasped breaths, with each exhale further lightening your mind into the Force’s eternal flow.

“Hi.”

Creasing one eye open, you peeked out in search of the youthful voice, following its eager jump at your senses once drenched in tranquil quietude.

A young, human boy, maybe six or seven years, was leaning into the alcove’s overgrown doorway, small hand clutching a nearby bush as he idled. Jet black hair accented against the warm tints encircling you both, making room for strikingly green orbs to splash another vivid shade into your line of sight while his head curiosity tilted to observe you.

“Hi there,” you responded cordially, shutting your peering eye without a second thought.

“Who are you?” He asked, with a rapidity that implied you’d never dignified him with a response in the first place.

Quite blunt, you noted behind the soothing shadows of resting eyelids. But it was hard not to appreciate that quality. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you were certainly like that at his age.

Stifling an endeared smile, you answered.

“My name is Silvey.”

“Nice to meet you, Master Silvey,” the youngling greeted brightly.

“Just Silvey is fine,” you gently countered. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you as well—“

“Petro,” he announced quickly, while you sensed his feet meandering toward your form. “Jedi Initiate.”

Returning to centering breaths in the cursory stillness, you could already feel how your words finally registered with the youngling, his meek boot passing by your attuned senses as he nudged a nearby, pattering pebble.

“Are you not a Jedi?” He bemused, pausing a meter away.

You confirmed. “I am.”

“Well, you seem too old to be a Padawan.”

You chuckled lightly at that, wrenching your eyes open to stare at the unfazed youngling with a feigned dare in your gradual stray from the interconnectivity of a previously solidified, meditative state.

“You’re right, Petro. I’m a knight. I just prefer the name. Without the title.”

Forehead furrowing in uncertainty, he squatted down, joining you with his own meditative stance that sacrificed elements of tranquility in its desperate attempt to mirror yours.

But you, instead, followed by resting your hands on either side. Using them as pillars to support your weight that leaned back in an attempt to encourage relaxation in the young boy.

And also, because, it looked like your session was reaching beyond the point of no return.

“Why?”

A good question, you admitted. You didn’t really have an answer for Ahsoka either when you asked her to avoid that particular designation. Though when she did pose a similar inquiry, you somewhat knew in the back of your mind that the personal values that’d emerged from your unusual upbringing were certainly a factor.

The reasoning you presented then should do, you presumed

“I suppose having a rank divides me from those who do not share it. And, as a Jedi, connecting with the Force through all living beings is a part of who I am. It’s harder to do that if I’m placed on a pedestal above them.”

The boy’s nose crinkled, almost as if he’d just registered the District’s sickly fumes that billowed into a drifting fog from below.

“I always thought you were supposed to call Masters that to be respectful. Because they know so much, and they can do those big flips in the air with their lightsabers. And I’m still stuck on Form One.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t wrong, you mused. In fact, his astute analysis was detailed enough to bring you back to threading memories of that rainy afternoon. When Obi-Wan found you at the outer edge of the Senate District, and the burden of piercing stabs dissipated in the hours that followed. Attributable to what was aptly described as invariably sound advice, or, ‘knowing so much.’

You hummed contentedly at the memory.

“They are quite wise, aren’t they?”

But it was clear that such a jettisoned comment did not swing the pendulum of Petro’s mind in any particular direction regarding your previous statement.

Time to take a new approach, you decided.

“Do you believe in the value of all living beings?”

“I guess,” he mumbled indecisively.

Your brows skeptically raised as you probed his response.

“You guess?”

Petro’s voice gave way to an embittered tone. “I don’t like those Separatists we’re fighting. Especially General Grievous. When I get my lightsaber, I’m gonna challenge him to a duel and destroy him for the Republic.”

You took pause at the vexation which plumed into the Force and prodded at your senses. Swelling into cascading clouds throughout the proximate ambiance from a being who, if stood on the tips of their toes, would barely reach four feet.

“It was not long ago that those worlds were once part of the Republic. Would it surprise you to know that even the beings on the side of the Separatists are just as important to the Jedi?”

Scratching his knee, Petro unshackled his gaze to wander upwards, green eyes unfixed as he spoke simply.

“I don’t understand. The Separatists aren’t our friends anymore because the Jedi are fighting them in a war. How can we hurt them and care about them at the same time?”

Your eyes crinkled in serenity.

“Because all life is sacred, young Petro. No matter what side any being is on. No matter what rank they hold.”

You exhaled, gaze standing firm as candor seeped from your pores.

“Though I must admit, I’m also quite confused about our place as peacekeepers in this war. But as long as you preserve that belief in your heart, I’m sure it will take you far in your journey as a Jedi.”

He nodded, that ever so slightly ripening mind absorbing your words. But, like with most maturing Jedi, it didn’t take long for a satisfied grin to peak through the abating wonder that had once lined his features.

“Thanks, Mas—“

Petro cut himself off, inhaling as his teeth caught up with his brain.

“Thanks, Silvey.”

You offered a soft smile.

“Is it easier to mediate here?” He continued, topic shifting just as abruptly as he spoke. “This is my first time visiting the contemplation balcony. I know it’s usually meant for Padawans and Knights, but I’ve been having trouble meditating on my own.”

You considered the youngling’s words, panning your gaze by the swaying orange-red bushes and toward the distant cityscape infested by disparate skylanes.

“Yes, it’s quite nice here.”

You faced the black-haired Initiate.

“And usually very quiet.”

But Petro simply stared at you blankly as that thinly veiled joke vaulted over his head.

“You can meditate here with me if you’d like,” you offered, hoping to bide some silence without discouraging the young fellow.

But the boy was way ahead of you, shutting his eyes with a beaming expression before you even had a chance to finish your sentence.

And, for a moment, it was calm.

The sway of rustling shrubbery and distant whirs of dashing speeders reentered your senses. You found yourself relaxing your shoulders back into the swirling stream, resting your wrists on each knee once more to deepen your connection. Quicker than the weeks before, you could feel its tingling energies crawl up your forearms and widen your perception of the swarming, broad region. The many Jedi circulating through local walkways, training, or even meditating nearby as well as the thousands of beings going about their daily lives only within a few blocks of the Temple.

Their distant mutterings. Their footsteps. The way with which their signatures contributed to Coruscant’s hive. Even young Petro, his squirming facial muscles and bouncing knee tugging at your senses as he attempted his own communion with the Force.

But, of course, it never did last for long.

“How old are you?”

You kept your vision obscured, hoping not to lose your progress in intensifying your concentration as you swiftly responded.

“That’s a secret.”

“Why are your eyes silver?”

“Family trait.”

“What color is your lightsaber? I bet it’s green.”

“Gray.”

“Gray!? That’s so cool! I’ve never heard of a gray Kyber crystal! Did you find it like that or—“

A sharp spasm speared through your mind, stunning your eyes wide open as your posture collapsed forward. Arms flinging out toward the ground to catch yourself.

With every extractable effort, you tried to absorb the debilitating sensation, hoping that if you just let it flow through you, it would pass as quickly as it came. A pain that, for an instant, felt as if it dwarfed all the headaches of the last several weeks.

“Are you ok, Silvey? I’m sorry if I said something wrong—“

“No,” you heaved, catching your breath as the feeling slowly dulled into the background.

Glancing up at the nervous boy, you offered a tired smile, reaching out into the Force’s eternal connectivity to focus on the beings around you.

“You did nothing wrong, Petro. I’m just—“

Another flash of white-hot agony, searing into your mind a sustained hammering that yanked from feebly quivering lips a distressed groan. Your fingernails dug into the squeaking bronzed platform, almost as if to distract your head from its steadily swelling excruciation with the torment of scraping skin against metal.

Yet, it only produced a mere fraction of the pain.

You couldn’t help it. It was the only way to avoid screaming out at the blinding sensation. That, and the anesthetic of grinding your teeth— an operation which made it equally impossible to speak.

“Get….”

Another penetrating stab ripped open your jaw, unshackling a jarring yell as your heartbeat began to quicken against a heaving chest.

“Get what?!” Petro implored, panicked, as he sprung to his feet.

“Is there something I should get?! What do I get?!”

“…help” you croaked.

“Help?” He sounded, tasting the consonants in his mouth.

Then, his alarmed gaze exploded in recognition.

“Oh, help!” The black-haired boy exclaimed, waving his arms while the cogs of his mind zipped into overdrive.

“Get help! I can do that! I can do that.”

Petro froze, dropping into a lower hush as he calmly addressed himself.

“I can do that.”

Bright green eyes snapped back up at your writhing, keeled-over form.

“I’ll be right back, Silvey! Don’t move!”

And with that, the energized youngling hopped into a sprint, barreling through the doorway out of your meditation alcove. Skidding to the left in an attempt to avoid one of the larger vermillion shrubs before disappearing around its lush corner.

But that still left you, reaching up to rigidly clutch your head out of instinct. Fingernails furrowing into disheveled hair and scrapping against the irritated scalp below just as ravenously as the floor.

Because, to you, superficial discomfort stood as the sole avenue to divert your attention from your paling face and shaking hands. As a means to grasp onto escaping tendrils of concentration amidst spiraling torment. You knew that intense focus was your best chance at ejecting these perforating splashes of acid from your mind. That intertwining with the Force’s undying strength would be the only pillar maintaining your teetering consciousness.

So, you plunged into it. Enveloping yourself deeper into the circulating stream’s linking medium with the aim of drawing stability from the beings who resided within and beyond the Temple.

From the Order itself.

Hoping that your brief theater to their energies would prove potent enough to pave you a path out of this torture.

Until it wasn’t.

Black spots began to cloud your vision, bobbing in from your peripheral, swelling to obscure the still swinging bushes and greater District’s landscape. Smothering you into a sea of darkness as if the Maker themself reached up into the sky and darkened the Coruscanti sun with a flick.

It was then when you prepared yourself for what you assumed was coming.

Snapping your eyes shut, you braced for the sudden dizziness that you were sure would take hold. A weightlessness in your stomach destined to shoot up your esophagus. A heated copper platform soon to meet your pained skull with an unceremonious slam.

But none of that ever happened.

Instead, the darkness began to dissipate. Clearing like a temporary fog that was simply passing through.

But this was no ordinary haze, it seemed.

Because in its place, with the continued volatile pangs slowing your eyes in their attempt to refocus, emerged a realm you had no words to fully describe.

And no idea for how you got there.

Your neck was angled downwards when your orbs first began to blink away the daze as the headache of before dissipated into a faraway hum. A position that encouraged you to confoundedly rub those same, silver eyes the instant you realized you were suddenly standing.

And on a ground quite unfamiliar to you, no less.

Beneath your feet ran an overlayed pile of black rocks, smooth yet jagged as they hugged your brown boots with slippery bodies.

You lurched back, disorientation from the drastically altered sight driving your feet as unknown, overcast skies darkened your movements. A freezing ache from the shock attacking your hands while you moved.

Until you quickly realized that each brisk heel rapidly digging away brought your legs deeper into the pile’s mass like a quicksand.

You went rigid, taking swift note of the sharp stones that now slithered around your ankles with a consistency akin to having been dipped in oil.

Quickening heartbeats shot up your gaze as you tried to reorient yourself within these new surroundings. Secretly hoping that perhaps you’d accidentally stumbled into some strange rock exhibit on the contemplation balcony.

But it didn’t take long to surmise that belief’s impossibility. Because to your left and right and as far as the human eye could see, was an endless accumulation of overlapping rock mounds. Rolling like black sand dunes on a lifeless island on which you now stood.

And solidifying your credence that, wherever you were, you definitely weren’t in the Temple anymore.

Still, that wasn’t the only new terrain that infiltrated your senses. By a flickering gleam a few meters ahead, you abruptly spotted a body of water that skirted the rock formations. A strange moat that seemed to stand still atop a bottomless pit of murky shadows with an eery calmness that made it nearly invisible to the naked eye, despite it being located just under your nose.

Then, still raising your head, you spied another structure just beyond the channel. A jagged rock face of stacked boulders that bore a towering plateau reaching twenty meters into the gray sky, measuring at least the same distance from which its foundation stood beyond the trench. You assumed from the few, fluttering wisps of green grass oscillating over its edge, that the sky-scraping crag’s inviolability clearly rivaled the unstable land on which you now stood. One that collectively squirmed from the same occasional gusts of cold, damp breeze, which left the calm waters unaffected.

Decidedly, you needed to find a way over there.

With considerably more caution, you stepped toward the standing water, trusting in your ability to inch close enough in order to gauge its depth without sinking too dangerously below the slick rocks as they continued to wriggle up your legs. Still, each lumbered stride became increasingly difficult while the hill’s pressurized grip tightened around each calf before squeezing at your knees.

But, in spite of that noticeable roadblock, and following several strained, jerking steps, you were finally able to near the bank. Drawing close enough to gaze into the river’s spine-chilling, shadowy underbelly.

Angling downward, you reached out a hand with the hope of splashing some dulled skylight into its depths for a better view. Perhaps it was more shallow than you initially surmised, which would certainly make your journey across its waters much easier.

But as your fingers graced its surface, you were completely unprepared for the jolting fiery shock that surged up your arm, triggering you to yank it away as if you’d just been splashed by pure, volcanic ash.

You hissed from the sting, cradling your arm while staring deeper into the river’s shadowy depths that rippled from the sudden distortion.

Within seconds of the minute cascading wavelet stretching and dissipating into the river’s outer rims, a handful of bubbles trickled toward the surface from inside its murkiest blotches. The first set effervescing skyward only to, one after another, snap and crackle like watery fireworks whose speckled flakes stung your arms stuck in the crossfire at the river’s bank.

Soon, though, the last gurgle fizzed into a silent pause. A deafening calmness purveying the unknown land to which you’d somehow been transported. Providing an opportunity to formulate some new strategy of escape.

An instant immediately stolen.

In a snap, the waters became overwhelmed by a swarming array of roiling bubbles. A rapidly expanding feat that began to overtake the stream. Transforming the once-still liquid into a gurgling mess as if a thousand lightsabers ignited its expanse from below to tip the already blistering lake over into a chain reaction of pure, uncontrollable entropy.

Your lips formed a thin line as you hummed to yourself.

“This is gonna be a problem.”

—

Obi-Wan Kenobi continued his steady jog down the main Spire’s winding staircase. Nut brown robe fluttering by each pearly step while the bearded Jedi considered just how long he’d been waiting for this pertinent moment.

Or, at least, for the assignments finally allocated at the Council meeting this morning. One that he was just now departing.

It had been six, prolonged days brimming with Jedi deployments following the communications system’s final clearance for secure use during sensitive operations. One after another, fellow Masters and Knights, accompanied by the occasional Padawan, circled through the Council’s chambers like an endless revolving door of diverse faces. Accepting each new mission with complete decorum before bowing to the seated assembly to make their exit. Ensuring space for the next General to enter the yellow rotunda of decorative inscriptions and curtain walls before encircling chairs and the distant panorama of Coruscant’s tallest structures.

All to receive critical orders.

That included Anakin and Ahsoka, who, by request of Master Windu, had departed from the Temple just the other day for the Bith System.

All and all, it had been nearly a week of Kenobi’s colleagues rejoining their clone forces to tackle the Separatist threat. After almost a month of virtually twiddling his thumbs while the men in his battalion laid down their lives without him. A scenario that weighed on the Master Jedi.

Thank the Maker that was no longer the case.

The first set of Council members— Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon, and Shaak Ti— had finally received their first returning assignments since the full communications lockdown. But while those other Masters were expected to lead their respective battalions alone or be the sole Jedi representative on other worlds, for the first time since Anakin was his Padawan, Kenobi would have a companion.

A being, by Master Yoda, he was tasked with integrating into the Order. And, as a high-ranking Council member, one whose true identity Kenobi needed to protect. An individual who had mentioned to him earlier their plans of meditating on the contemplation balcony before his morning meeting. And because of that, a Jedi he knew exactly where to find to inform them about their mutual deployment scheduled for tomorrow morning.

You.

The auburn-haired man paused mid-step, brown boot hovering over the next, grayed stair for an instant before gently touching down as his senses attuned to their surroundings. His ears perked while a subtle distortion washed by stilled feet, like the elusive splash of a puddle that just happened to knick the edge of his shoe.

With a hand on the thick, wooden guardrail, The General’s curious head smoothly tilted over the staircase, as if to spy the source of the atmosphere’s twitch that he found so strangely difficult to describe by simply peering at the level below.

His brows twisted in slight confusion. Mostly because, after conducting a quick analysis of his environment, the Master Jedi found the subtle sensation’s presence to be quite foreign to him. It wasn’t anything he believed to be particularly concerning. Though he couldn’t admit to having encountered it before. No matter his countless meditation sessions or travels to other worlds.

Perhaps that too was why, despite its innocuous nature, the sudden shift in the encompassing hum of the Force still gave him pause.

Resting his eyelids, Obi-Wan focused his mind on the strange discrepancy, reaching out with the tendrils of his senses to ascertain its truth.

It was as if, within the Force’s steadily taught string, a subtle dip pried down one insignificant section of its intrinsic flow. As if in its everlasting stream that moved throughout every being and world, a fly became caught, with wings too soaked to free itself.

Overall, it was a feeling that wasn’t quite… right. Something that shouldn’t necessarily be there, he gleaned.

An otherwise benign inconsistency Kenobi was confident you wouldn’t mind him investigating. Even if it meant a delay in hearing the details of your upcoming, joint mission.

The blue-eyed Jedi resumed his trek down the spiraling staircase, spry footsteps leading his loosened form. This time with his aim shifted toward the curious ridge that etched into the Force and canopied his senses.

With ample time to reach the variability and a wandering mind, Obi-Wan took the empty moment to consider the Grand Master’s decisions regarding his delayed assignment.

Of course, The General understood the logic behind Master Yoda’s insistence that non-Council members be deployed first while those left behind delegated such commissions. If the Republic expected to recoup its battlefield losses, it was wisest to finalize those strategies with the senior decision-makers still in one place. All while those uninvolved in the planning process took those first, few important strides toward implementing the Grand Army’s ever-evolving designs.

Still, the wait became arduous. The bearded Jedi was usually more patient when it came to such matters as these. And, to be sure, he wasn’t particularly enthused about the encroaching sleepless nights or measureless tasks that were destined to cut into his meditation time.

But now that most of the overarching battalion strategies tailored for the Jedi’s return had been finalized, General Kenobi could not wait any longer to dig his heels back into every effort the Republic put forward to preserve peace in a Galaxy threatened by shadowy forces. Agents of the Dark Side like Count Dooku who, week-by-week, further convinced Master Yoda of his Sith identity.

One of two beings Obi-Wan could never risk permitting either of which to entertain the idea of your existence.

“Master Kenobi!”

Traversing the last few stairs onto the Spire’s median platform, Obi-Wan promptly raised his head toward the adolescent voice. Taking note of its high-strung manner as a dash of jet-black locks jounced into the lower creases of his vision, followed by a flash of green orbs ablaze with panic.

He tilted his head inquisitively.

“Yes, youngling? Is there something wrong?”

But the winded, wide-eyed boy couldn’t answer, mouth agape like a Bluefish thrust from the ocean. Instead, he flung out one distressed arm, grasping Kenobi’s own to tug it frantically toward the platforms behind while breathless words tumbled from trembling teeth.

“We… we need help! Silvey needs someone… someone to help them!”

A raw chill surged up Obi-Wan’s spine, spreading across his cheeks like icy roots that temporarily sucked the color from his lips. Providing enough of a momentary shock at the boy’s words to nudge Kenobi’s heels forward as the youngling dragged him along.

The Guardian, in need of help…

Considering how stubbornly independent you’d always been, this notion certainly worried the Jed Master. It would’ve taken a great deal for you to request any sort of assistance. And from a youngling, no less…

Something must’ve been seriously wrong.

And, as the Jedi whose only indefinite assignment to himself was to ensure your protection, the idea of you being seriously injured or worse fleetingly triggered Obi-Wan’s anxieties about the future in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Not since his experiences as Qui-Gon’s Padawan, at least.

“Slow down. Tell me what happened to Silvey. Are they alright?”

Both Kenobi and the youngling fell in step, the former walking briskly with the semi-jogging boy across the rotunda’s cobalt blue carpet while he continued to tug at the Jedi Master’s sleeve.

“I don’t know!” He huffed, slightly sniffling as he gazed up at the elder Jedi with teary eyes. “We were just talking and they fell and they looked like they were in a lot of pain! They told me to get help, so I did.”

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his mind from the initial surprise.

He had an idea of what could have caused this, yet it didn’t make any sense. The bearded man thought that these stress-induced headaches had resolved. At least, that’s what you had told him. He’d become convinced that your efforts to focus that bright mind on differing matters had finally compelled them to fade into the background.

But, if that was the case, what could have possibly changed all that in the matter of a day? Of an hour, since last he saw you?

“Where are they right now?” Kenobi coolly spoke as agile Jedi and youngling stepped onto the contemplation balcony, the gleaming rays of Coruscant’s blazing, yellow sun beating down on the pensive man’s searching face.

“I told them to wait in the Redweeds Circle where they were meditating.”

Obi-Wan halted, forcing the glassy-eyed yet somewhat more sedated boy to skid to a stop, fingers still tightly clasped to his brown sleeve as he frighteningly gazed up at the bearded man.

“I will go and check on Silvey, youngling. But I have one very important task for you while I do that.”

The boy emphatically nodded, lifting up a pair of knuckles to swipe away a dribble of snot leaking down his lips. Still, he listened, green eyes glistening.

Kenobi exhaled, kneeling down to address the boy at his level. “What is your name?”

“Petro,” the youngling sniffled.

“Young Petro, I want you to run up to the High Council Chambers and find Master Windu. Tell him what you told me and where to find us.”

A slight twinkle flickered in the boy’s eye. “I can do that.”

“I know you can,” Obi-Wan graciously smiled while resting a hand on his knee to stand once more. “Now go. I will see to it that Silvey is alright. Have no fear. You did well.”

The black hair boy nodded.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Petro vocalized, a modest upturn gracing the corners of his mouth.

With a pivot of his foot, the youngling trotted back toward the inner spire, beginning his lengthy journey to the tower’s highest point where the Council chambers lay. Still, despite his frazzled signature and hurried pace, Petro still found a moment to call back to Master Jedi who’d just resumed his trek toward your being.

“I hope Silvey will be ok!”

And Obi-Wan certainly agreed with him.

Trailing the copper-tinted curvature of the Spire’s outdoor platform, Kenobi quickly sped toward the Redweeds Circle, passing the occasional Jedi and botanical display in his tempered jog to reach you. He paid no mind to the blue lekku that hung smoothly from either side of Master Aayla Secura’s head as he glided by her deep, meditative trance at the terrace’s outer border without a second thought. He brushed off the District streets’ eddying fumes, accompanied by an unbroken chain of droning speeders and stirring winds that echoed down the path toward the secluded divisions of the balcony.

But the instant his bounding steps brought him within reach of those familiar fiery shrubs, Obi-Wan suddenly found, with his legs uneasily immobilized just before the alcove’s parted entrance, that a familiar distortion had weaved its way back into his senses. And in a fashion that couldn’t simply be ignored.

Because it was the same bend in the Force that he’d sensed on the main Spire’s stairway just moments ago.

A discrepancy, Master Kenobi realized, as he was once again driven to spin through the verdant corner and onto the meditative alcove, was coming from you.

Drinking in your slumped-over spine and cradled head in a blink, Obi-Wan’s unexpectedly spurring heartbeat bolted him toward your figure, stirred to quicken his pace as another pained groan escaped your lips.

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan called out, concern tugging at his sternum while he slowed to kneel beside you.

Eyeing your obscured countenance, Obi-Wan tried to slightly lean in, hoping to catch a glimpse of your face to help gauge the severity of your condition.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that Kenobi had never seen such a strong, physical reaction like this from you before. Especially with regard to the migraines of the last week.

“What is happening? Is it the headaches? Have they come back?”

“Obi-Wan?” You croaked, flicking your head out of cupped palms in startled search of him.

But what Obi-Wan saw nearly made him stumble out of your line of vision altogether.

In place of your brilliant, silver eyes had emerged a thin, gray film, wrapped around the delicate orbs like a taught bedsheet. Seemingly acting as a buffer in your vision during your aimless search for Obi-Wan, despite him being knelt directly in front of your wandering gaze.

“Where are you?” You intensely inquired, vision oscillating from side to side.

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. “I’m right next to you.”

Puzzlement jerked at your brows. “I- uh. I don’t see you.”

“You’re sitting on the contemplation balcony with me.”

Lifting a hand, he reached out for you, placing his palm on your sun-kissed shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze as a freezing tinge enveloped his fingertips.

“Do you feel my hand?”

“No, I can only feel this damned headache!” You groaned. “And I’m gonna have to disagree with you, Obi-Wan. Wherever I am, it’s definitely not the balcony, and it’s pretty hard to move.” The Master Jedi spied as your hand shot back up to massage your temple. “It doesn’t help that this ache is weighing me down.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth devolved into a thin line, worry etched across his features as he absorbed your troubling words.

“I’m not sure I quite understand. Are you saying you’re seeing some other… place?”

“If you can call it that, yeah.”

The bearded Jedi’s blue eyes narrowed, unsettlement bubbling like a steeping tea at the uncertainty of your condition.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I’m…”

Kenobi dropped his hand while your head swiveled, scanning the encircling vermillion bushes and bronzed terrace below as if you could truly see those landmarks through swathed orbs.

“I’m on some sort of… island. But it’s made up of these strange rocks. They’re oily, covered in soot, and… seem to act like quicksand around my feet. Uh, there’s a lake? It’s surrounding the island. But, Obi-Wan?”

Your neck swiveled like a droid urgently conducting a scan as you again searched for him, uncertainty contorting your features.

“I’m here, Silvey,” Kenobi reassured, scooting his knees against the smoothed floor to resettle directly in front of you as your cloudy eyes stilled straight ahead.

“What is it?” He implored, attentive stare unmoving. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“The water… it’s… black. It’s so black it’s like a shadow in my hand.”

The Jedi Master did not like the sound of that at all.

Kenobi steadily exhaled, a swirling array of thoughts fighting for dominance while he attempted to ascertain what could cause such a condition. And, more importantly, what he could do to stave off its symptoms to ensure your stability, even if temporary.

“What worries me is…,” his eyes refocused on your shifting gaze as words trickled past his ears. “…Is that’s what I called my headaches. The name Master Windu told me to assign to it. Black Water. And now that’s what I see. But when I touched it, it started to boil.”

Your brows contorted in realization, jaw tightening while you spoke.

“I think it’s gonna flood the island…”

Instantly, Kenobi felt his forehead will toward yours. Slowing just inches before your nose as if proximity would make his voice clearer to you. As if it would bring your mind back from being trapped inside this bizarre realm.

“Can you get out?” He implored, a serious quickness charging his tone. “Is there somewhere you can go?”

“There’s another tall island on the opposite side, but I can’t reach—“

An audible gasp ladened with visceral pain tumbled from your tongue, followed by a stiff exhale from flaring nostrils. It was enough to draw Obi-Wan to launch his hands out to clutch your upper arms, holding them so staunchly like it was the only thing keeping you talking. Like it was the only way to keep your body from disappearing too.

He was supposed to be protecting The Guardian, and, by the unnerving sight before him, it looked like he was already failing at that task. A notion that only drove him to accelerate his spoken tempo in an attempt to seek the answers he needed to help you.

“What was that?” He worried, eyes softening at pain transparently emanating from your features. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happening.”

“The waves,” you swallowed with stitched brows, rubbing the back of your hand while you spoke. “It splashed my hand. They’re moving closer. And every time I step back to get away, I sink deeper into the island. I don’t think I can walk any further. And I can’t use the Force here to pull myself out.”

Obi-Wan’s gaze sunk, allowing his arms to fall to his side as he settled into folded legs in an effort to parse out this rapidly developing situation.

Master Windu still hadn’t arrived, and there was no way Kenobi was leaving you by yourself to deal with this unpredictable vision only to fetch a distant Healer. If he could call it a vision. The General had certainly never heard of a Jedi becoming fully imprisoned within their own mind by one.

Though, despite being trapped by his own expeditious attempts to decipher the imminent disturbance, the uneasy man still noticed out of the crest of his vision a splash of reddened skin with peeling flakes as your soothing fingers uncovered the striking development.

And it was a sight perplexing enough to compel Kenobi to grab your wrist, just when you began to pull it away.

“Silvey…” he spoke lowly. “You hand.”

“What?”

“It’s red.”

“What? You can see the burn?” You asked, confusion dripping from your cheeks. “How? You’re not in my mind.”

“It’s here. It’s on your hand here. On the balcony.”

“Oh,” you vocalized, scrunching your nose as you continued.

“That’s really not good.”

Kenobi’s already galvanized chest hammered deeper, threatening to fracture a rib.

If, much like The Muntuur, this strange affliction within your mind had a devastating effect in the real world, it was quite possible that were this dubious river to flood your mind’s island before you had the chance to escape, your body would likely go down with it.

And, given your tightening jaw and sucking, painful breaths in your continued purveyance of invisible surroundings, Obi-Wan at least knew this:

That he had to do something.

It was his duty, after all. Even if that meant putting his mind, or life, on the line for The Guardian.

Not just for you. Or Anakin. Or the Order.

But for the Galaxy itself.

For Qui-Gon.

Positioning his hands on each knee, Kenobi rested his posture into a taught line, hoping to focus his racing thoughts on reaching out to the swirling energies that glided throughout him. Paying careful attention to narrowly avoid that dip in the stream that characterized your being and infected the flow.

“Hold on,” he murmured, releasing his mind into the Force. “I’m coming to get you.”

“Obi-Wan, no,” you rejected, vehemently shaking your head. “We still don’t know what this is. This is my mind we’re talking about. You know, the one Master Yoda had trouble analyzing? The one Master Windu hasn’t broken through? It’s too dangerous for you to even try exploring it in this state.”

“You forget,” he jested, pressing against the severely weakened barriers to your signature while his eyelids swung shut. “Facing danger in service of others is a Jedi specialty.”

But despite the confidence leaking from the bearded Jedi’s whimsical words, it was still not enough to prepare him for the astonishing sight that beclouded his bright blue orbs as Master Kenobi shouldered through the thin, protective layer that gave way to your inner mind.

—

You knew the uphill battle of hiking away from steadily rising waters lapping at a disappearing shore would inevitably sink you far enough into the mound’s squirming pebbles to trap you indefinitely. Thwarting away any hope of putting another inch between you and the frothing black liquid whose gurgling waves rolled over each other as thickly as a bubbling oil field.

You just didn’t realize that waist-deep would be the cutoff.

The deadly river roiled just a few meters away, unleashing its intensifying rage with sporadic splashes scattering far enough to swipe searing lines across the sides of your neck and forearms.

Yet, even then, the distance still appeared skewed, mostly by steaming rocks transferring the stream’s burning heat against the protective layer your robe provided. Its slender fabric barely cut their progressing fever while they buzzed with an intensity akin to the campfire rocks you remember scavenging during those late-night cave explorations on Hoth. And, with memories of prematurely dispersing those pebbles with the help of a sleeve, it didn’t take long for you to realize, eyes fixed on the unfortunate sight, that your ash cloak’s thickness wouldn’t be enough to stave off the shards’ uniformly climbing heat for long.

“It appears you could use a hand!”

Your gaze flung upwards, eyes narrowing pryingly at the rough skirt of the grassy precipice from which a carrying voice resounded down the crag and bounced across the humming buzz of scalding waters, all the way to you. Vision sharpening through rising smoke plumes, a hazy emergence snagged your focus while a brown robe flapping around similarly tinted boots crystallized in the fog.

You crossed your arms, elbows gracing the wriggling, sizzling pebbles as an incredulous smirk charmed your expression.

“Last time I checked, that was my line.”

Your brows furrowed in bewilderment.

“Wait—“ you exclaimed, having fully registered Kenobi’s presence within the inner facets of your troubled mind while your arms released to gesticulate your point.

“—How are you here?! Master Windu and I have been working for weeks to even access my thoughts!”

“Whatever this is, it has severely weakened your barriers!” He called out, a swelling wind swishing auburn curls and a shadow of unease clouding his countenance.

Soon, Obi-Wan’s lost stare raised to absorb your mutual surroundings in his scan of the endless, inky mounds whose rolling bodies far surpassed your being into the outstanding, elusive expanse. And, inside those few, short seconds, it became clear that whatever he saw germinated an element of disfavor that stitched like a spasm deep into his blue orbs.

“I sense a great darkness there!”

“Fantastic,” you huffed lowly, sarcasm nurturing its steady drip while you returned toward the preoccupied Jedi with a pointed stare and wry chuckle.

“Still think it’s just stress, Master Kenobi?” You poked, raising a brow.

And you could tell from the Jedi’s mixed expression that he realized he definitely deserved that.

A searing slap at your cheek drew out an uncontrollable hiss, snapping your gaze back toward the sizzling rapids. During the progression of your exchange, the raging waters had crept close enough to now densely crackle less than a meter away from your confined frame.

“Uh, any ideas?” You vocalized, nervously eyeing the encroaching, greasy waters.

“You’re going to be alright!” Obi-Wan shouted, arms extending over the cliff side with fingers pointed toward your figure below about thirty meters away. “I believe I can access the Force here! Don’t move!”

“Thanks for the advice!” You deadpanned, feeling a slight pressure begin to tighten under your armpits, and bow your elbows. “I was originally planning to practice Form Four while stuck in these quicksand rocks, but now I know not to do that.”

With the rise of his palms, your torso harshly tugged upwards, bringing the borderline of writhing pebbles roughly below your rear while the belligerent waters licked at the unstable land mere feet from your anchored form.

“You know what I meant!” He objected tensely, forearms straining in his continual heave skywards.

Another squeezed yank, and most of your heated legs were finally freed. Loose, burning shales tumbled back into the cavity hatched by limbs kicking out to freedom during your hasty retreat to elbow onto flatter land.

And just in the nick of time too.

Boiling liquid instantly engulfed the mound that once had you ensnared. Only seconds after you’d finally, gratingly freed a boot momentary wedged among interlocked shales.

Still, despite your newfound freedom, you couldn’t help but refocus your mind back on the black river’s looming essence as you were promptly reminded by the mounting deluge that your temporary haven would be just that.

Temporary.

“Obi-Wan…” you uneasily droned, sights locked on the molasses-like liquid traveling intelligently across the last few inches that divided its scorching heat from your fidgeting, sweaty feet.

“I don’t understand!” He nervously exclaimed, drawing your stare while he viciously grappled with thin air before his arms fell with a grunt. “I can’t move the rocks! Can you see anything that could be used to block the overflow?! Or to help you move away?!”

“No!” you shouted, fruitlessly surveying the endless mounds of black shards to your rear before facing the quite visually unsettled Jedi. “And if I move back any more I’ll get stuck again!”

Tensely biting your lip, you stretched your neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of any way across the crashing waterway— a loose path of stepping stones perhaps— when your vision once again spied the rocky cliff towering fiercely in support of Obi-Wan’s faraway figure. And while you scrutinized the plateau’s craggy outer foundation that fabricated a makeshift shoreline, you did happen to spot amidst its rugged construction two round, graphite boulders of particular interest balancing against each other toward the divide.

They stood at about half your size and appeared sturdy to move, you assessed. Making them maybe, just maybe, durable enough to get you off this death trap of an island.

So, extending your mind through elongated fingers, you attempted to clasp onto one of the shapes.

That was before learning the hard way that on that faraway shore too, you could still not manipulate the Force.

“What is it?!” Obi-Wan called out, having seemingly noticed your distant focus and budding frustration.

“Those boulders below you!” You replied, motioning for his probing peer to traverse back over the river’s murky depths. “Can you move them?!”

“I can certainly try!” He exclaimed.

An echoing grunt reverberated down the cliffside while Kenobi struggled to negotiate the boulders’ dense builds. Even from your remote spot through clouds of smoky fog and under overcast, gray skies, you could almost glimpse the blossoming of thick veins that tirelessly pulsed throughout both of the Jedi’s tautened arms.

But it wasn’t before the obvious strain brought Obi-Wan’s two, forcibly planted feet teetering just at the cliff’s edge that you felt compelled to somehow strategize a new plan. Because no matter how dangerously close those bubbling waves came, you were far more driven by the heightened danger Kenobi inched toward with each onerous yank at the structures below, effectively stiffening every muscle in your body.

Until the tiniest twitch in the right boulder stifled your breath.

Within the span of a blink of an eye, Kenobi had, by all accounts, unearthed the brawn demanded to barely lift the grayed boulder, prying it from the delicately balanced pile that slumped noisily from its removal.

He hovered it through the splintering waters, securing the object against crashing waves that threatened its journey. Holding it steady enough to shakily maneuver its shape before finally allowing it to clatter inches before your feet.

“I’d like to know why you can access the Force in my mind when I can’t!” You complained, grappling onto the giant stone with grayed sleeves clutched between your fingers as you rose atop its structure, two rapid heartbeats before the dark waters encircled the drifting, black rocks below.

“Never mind that now!” He remarked. “I’m going to build you a bridge!”

“You can’t!” You called out, boulder quivering up your legs from the rushing stream. “It took nearly all your energy to move just one of them!”

His eyes dilated with apprehension at the truth behind your words. Until that was all washed away by an element of reluctant resolve.

“When you have another suggestion I’d be happy to take it under advisement! But, for now, this is the plan!”

With rounded lips, you sighed, whispering lowly to yourself as you considered this rapidly developing predicament that you somehow now roped Obi-Wan into.

“This is not gonna end well…”

So, for those next several, tense minutes, once you acquiesced to Kenobi’s plan, it became a desperate race between you and the troubled waters persistently frothing its deadly torrent always just below. Obi-Wan constructed you a path to deliverance brick by brick, with a cacophony of strained grunts and shouts to watch the slippery corners that, following one misstep, were sure to lead to a scalding demise. It certainly didn’t help that the river had once again proved its near sentience, with the blubbering, hot liquid countering your bid for freedom by striving to surge and crack against the ascending bridge, passion like an Alessian Terror Moth to a Glowlamp.

Though, despite the restless undercurrents of anxiety breaking against your own subconscious from the absolute instantly that was this situation, a small part of you eased at the ongoing effectiveness of this thrown-together strategy Kenobi had arranged. With every available effort, the auburn-haired Jedi briskly lugged each shiftable boulder ahead of the flooding river and rising steam. And, you had to admit, his perseverance had certainly helped alleviate any general unease surrounding the plan’s ill-advised nature, calming nerves that you didn’t even realize had heightened before the adrenaline began to shake out of your system.

That was, until his complete exhaustion started to manifest through heavy perspires, drenching his face and tunic and stiffening his increasingly stuttering movements. Especially once you passed the waterway’s halfway point, those sluggish maneuverings of trembling boulders barely lifting off the ground soon became a new cause for concern.

“You need to take a break,” you advised with a comforting gaze and more standard projection, now able to make out the bearded Jedi’s entirely drained complexion from just twelve meters away. “The water will still be safely low enough for a few minutes at least.”

All Master Kenobi could do was nod while labored breaths struggled in and out of his lungs, hands reaching for rigid knees as he subsumed the brief instant greedily, fatigue dripping down every inch of his hunched body.

It was really difficult to see him like this, you absorbed, eyes glued to the troubling sight. Obi-Wan was by far one of the most intelligent and capable Jedi you’d met during your time at the Temple. So much so, that had Qui-Gon seen this day, you knew he would’ve been immeasurably proud.

Then, to watch him crumble within the confines of your strangely infected mind? Putting every piece of himself as he was known to do in service of others? Toward some crisis you could’ve escaped on your own had you held out for just a little bit longer?

You felt awfully guilty.

You sighed, attention so strongly levied on the recovering man just above and beyond that you almost missed the nearly imperceptible, detached rattlings that ostensibly reflected from the torrent below.

Ears perked, you glanced around the set of stacked boulders that precariously buttressed your balancing, skyward frame. Allowing your severely debilitated senses to lead you into a turn as you tracked the clatter toward the flooded land from which you just barely escaped. Still, despite being initially met with the broad flood of shadows, you encouraged your vision to center.

It was a decision that empowered you to quickly spy a thread of black specks emerge from the dark waters, swelling quickly in their rapid, squirming approach up the bridge with movements so coordinated you assumed they had to have been connected by some invisible thread.

“What in the Wampa…” you whispered to yourself while trying to discern this strange sight with squinting eyes.

Neck craning to take a closer look, you soon recognized the flecks’ familiar snaggy shape and greasy complexion as they melted into a pebbled form.

With nowhere else to go, and a healthy bought of curiosity driving your gaze, you observed as the black rocks slithered up the last few boulders, wondering if some strange wind trap created by the manmade bridge had somehow twisted these shards up and out of their sodden cradle.

But you were swiftly proven wrong when, madly wrapping around your leg like an unshakable boa constrictor, the reactive pebbles seized you into a downward tumble, preventing you a chance to even react. Still, your eyes grew wide at the twist while a startled Kenobi called out after your disappearing figure.

Your back slammed roughly against the bridge with each jolt, forcing you to twist and wrestle for an imperfection to grip. All the while blistering rocks jabbed into your leg with a wildness that made you gasp.

With fingernails continuing their descending scratches against a flux of smooth surfaces, you finally felt your arm give as it locked onto an indent in one of the jutting boulders. Eliciting another groan while the gravely serpent continued to tug at your commandeered limb just before the simmering heat that now suddenly reigned a centimeter below.

With a heartbeat exploding so hotly it felt as if the organ itself would stop altogether, you floundered to face the earthy creature. Spine twisting and arms tightly hugging the boulder beneath while you attempted to somehow come face-to-face with its pants-shredding clutch, hopefully without plummeting off either edge of the narrowed bridge.

Soon, however, by the swing of your other limb flipping your body, you were finally able to secure a newfound position of dominance. With the resulting urgency that rushed through your veins playing a pivotal role in raising your uncaged leg to rally a string of unfettered stomps across the organism’s linked skeleton.

One by one, you snapped off each wedge of the unwelcome parasite, feeling each incisive, prodding sting until you watched the last pebble fall with a hiss and whine back into the deluge. One that, any second, threatened to nip at your ankles.

“Nevermind!” You yelled, leaping to your feet in a desperate race back up those few, squeaky boulders you’d collapsed down.

“No time!” You continued, finally reaching the bridge’s incomplete brink and nearly stumbling over it altogether before halting just in time to spot an aura of relief wash over Obi-Wan’s features the instant you emerged.

“The rocks are alive and they’re trying to kill me!”

Kenobi’s head retracted in befuddlement from registering your words.

“What?”

Another clamor of pattering clicks rang out from the rear, soon overwhelmed by a racket of grating cracks and splashing plunges that whipped your head so quick it took a full second for your hair to catch up.

Alert eyes stilling on the alarming sight, you quickly registered that, in place of the bridge segment once fastened to the tumultuous waters below, now stood a fractured crater. In fact, the structure’s first disappeared steps into ascendancy had overflowed with squirming oily shards and rushing black liquid. The same conscious elements that began twirling like waterspouts with the intention of shimmying up to the next set of boulders, only to girdle the masses with a tight squeeze that sent another section of the bridge bursting into useless fragments.

Staunchly pointing at the rear development, you addressed the perplexed Jedi once again.

“Now they’re eating the bridge!”

“What?!”

But it didn’t take long for Master Kenobi to understand what you meant, as the last few levels of the hazardously erected configuration began to buckle under readily collapsing supports, drawing you into a falter while you tried to steady yourself atop the highest-reaching boulder.

Clearly, this situation was becoming far more dangerous than you could have ever predicted. And with that came a very real realization—

That the longer Obi-Wan remained here in his futile attempts to save you, the more jeopardy he’d be entrenching himself in.

You’d had your fair share of tight circumstances before. And, no matter how dire this one seemed, you knew by your track record that you could probably figure some way out. But, each time you faced down another bloodthirsty Wampa with a broken arm and fractured clavicle, or defended against greedy pirates who’d temporarily stolen your lightsaber, or even traversed icy plains after becoming lost in the dead of night, you still felt comfortable taking such risks.

Because you had faced them alone.

There was no one else you really had to look out for that prevented you from subjecting yourself to the perils necessary to survive.

Until now.

With this danger unlike any other.

One that you could barely predict. And one that had tangible consequences transferable to the physical realm.

One that siphoned the security you usually experienced in attempting such perilous schemes into unruly disquietude. At least since an unpredictable element by the name Obi-Wan Kenobi illuminated the fact that you’d now be endangering a life other than your own.

The land he stood upon was much safer than the vanishing oily mounds below. You understood that. But such a belief would only hold true for so long. It was just a matter of time before the troubled waters threatened to swell and engulf the bearded Jedi whose features contorted in uncertainty as he stared down at you.

Even if he waited until the absolute last second to escape— at the instant when your dreadful doom was sealed— you didn’t believe that the Master Jedi could pry himself from your mind fast enough. At least, not before it was wholly consumed by slippery shadows.

And, most importantly, if you knew one thing, you knew this, and with the confidence of a simple math equation no less:

That if Kenobi got hurt because of you, you would never forgive yourself.

In the short time he’d known you, he had already done so much. Acted as an incendiary to healing discoveries about yourself that you had no previous notion of exploring. Stayed at your side during those inner battles of painful migraines despite your initial attempts to push him away for his own protection. Truly, you couldn’t allow a man as kind and affecting as that to put his life on the line for you. Not when the Galaxy needed Jedi like him.

Not when his death would feel like losing a piece of Qui-Gon all over again.

Besides, being The Guardian of The Chosen One didn’t just mean protecting Anakin, but anyone who you believed to be a part of his destiny.

And you were quite confident that his former Master certainly qualified.

With the prospect of an untimely and horribly painful end slapping you in the face, your sheet-white face finally gravitated toward the unsettled blue-eyed man above you. For the first time since you were both thrown into this bizarre mess, the two of you exchanged a lingering gaze, silently arguing about the best next step as you gradually came to terms with the prospect that your insatiable luck may have finally run its course.

But while your features drowned in realism and pursed lips, Obi-Wan’s seemed to harden with sharpened brows and a newly robust determination, one that threatened to cut down your soberness with a mighty slash.

Because, if you remembered correctly, Obi-Wan Kenobi never believed in any such thing as luck.

“You need to jump—“

“—You need to go.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“The water is rising too quickly, Obi-Wan. You took so many rocks from the cliff side that it will probably collapse once it nears my position—“

Another quake in the tottering bridge jumbled your feet onto a slippery edge, nearly toppling you off the bridge altogether before a strong yank tugged you back by the hood of your robe.

Quickly, you replanted your boots, releasing a shuddery exhale as you spotted Obi-Wan’s outstretched fist lunged toward your figure, an agitated sigh falling past his evenly firm lips.

“There is no choice, Silvey!” He sternly repeated, heavily lowering his outstretched arm. “You must jump!”

“It’s a death sentence either way!” You yelled before dropping into a pragmatic tone.

“It’s too far for me without my abilities. I’ll fall.”

“Then we’ll work together,” he suggested, closing his eyes and releasing his spine as he spoke.

“Focus on my connection to the Force—“

With literally not a second to lose, you did as the wise Jedi advised, pressingly reflecting his posture amid roaring waves and collapsing boulders that you did your best to drown out with eyelids that fluttered closed.

“—And repel the shadows.”

But it was hard to sense his meaning.

The instant you tried to reach out to Kenobi’s figure with every branching fiber of your being, all that you were met with was a brick wall. As if the rising steam had congealed into some sort of smoky barrier that reigned all around you and deepened the blur of your senses. Suffocating your connection to these strange surroundings in a way you didn’t think was possible. And in a way that you couldn’t control.

“It will feel like a bright flicker in the darkness.”

Darkness? Could that be what this was? A pure, unadulterated aura of the Dark Side? And encompassing a portion of your grievously debilitated mind, no less.

You’d never had the occasion to sense the Dark Side of the Force, having only known one light side Jedi during your isolation on Hoth. You didn’t even know what it felt like. Master Kenobi had mentioned he could sense it here. Perhaps that was why your connection to the Force felt indefinitely cut off.

And, if that was the case, then maybe you were going about this all wrong.

Rather than force the shadows away in their immovable form, rather than controlling forces quite unknown to you, perhaps you could glide through them.

And the instant you endeavored through this tactic, you soon realized that Kenobi was right.

As you reached out again, this time wading past the confusing blockades that bloated into mist as you tapped them away like drifting bubbles in search of anything familiar, you finally tasted it.

A gentle orb of glaring light that, despite its size, radiated with the strength of a thousand suns.

An energy so sweet, tangible, and linking within these ubiquitous, observational shadows, that you felt lured with shaky fingers to touch it.

“Find your connection, Silvey. Whatever you must do, find your way back to the light.”

An aura so intoxicating, that you took a bite.

An unparalleled sensation of light surged through your veins. Radiating up your arms and throughout your body with an intensity that wrenched your eyes open with a sharp inhale as you felt the tingling buzz of the Force reactivate through standing hairs across your frame.

After a moment to settle into this stream’s bright yet anomalously quivering touch, with prickling cheeks gradually subsiding, you finally felt able to breathe into the remarkable feeling. First encouraging your nerves to cool while electrified eyes refocused on the auburn-haired man above, who appeared similarly disoriented and breathless.

You couldn’t blame him, though. With a quick glance at the deluge below and the rapidly ascending shards bouncing behind, you both registered that you had mere seconds to make a decision. Still, despite perceiving a reconnection to at least some piece of the Force through Obi-Wan’s dependable guidance— no matter how strong that initial connection felt— you couldn’t help but sense it to be much weaker than you’d ever experienced in the real world.

If you were being completely honest, as you readied yourself with heels digging into the slate boulder, you didn’t think this was going to work.

But waiting any longer meant giving more time for the troubled waters to reach Obi-Wan.

And that was unacceptable.

You needed to move.

With a hand boldly cast down, he yelled for a final time, imperious, blue stare burrowing into yours.

“Jump!”

And, so, you did.

With this newfound connection to the Force, the faith it partially imbued, and the man you needed to protect in dire need of saving—

You jumped.

Your feet soared above the lapping waves of piping liquid as the bridge’s final pillar shattered, toppling the structure’s remains into gurgling oblivion. You felt the blistering swipes of the ensuing, loose droplets at your ankles, catapulted by the boulders’ untimely descent while you neared the overhanging, verdant ridge from which Kenobi’s hand remained firmly extended with eyes locked tensely on your gliding frame.

However, what you had judiciously feared, and what the Master Jedi hadn’t seemingly predicted, was that, despite the helpful boost in mending a fraction of your Light Side connection, the degree to which you became entwined with the distant Force appeared to fall short of your immediate needs.

With ash-like steam thrusting against your face, you began to lose propulsion too soon, leading to the drastic turn that sent you hurdling toward a lower portion of the cliff face with no discernible crevices to grab ahold of.

Subconsciously, your legs began to kick, arms outstretched to brace yourself as if that would cushion the inevitable crash that was sure to bounce you back into the boiling, black river rumbling just below.

But that darkness never came.

In an instant, Obi-Wan had vaulted over the precipice, using one hand to grab the crag’s lip while he swung in between your collision course. Tirelessly flexing arm outstretched, he slid a loose, sweaty palm into yours, clutching it tightly before ripping you out of your momentum and into a brief twirl, leaving you both to dangerously dangle feet above the boiling stream that steamed your swaying boots.

“Maker…Are you insane?!” You screamed, a crimson outrage blooming on your face at the sheer recklessness with which he acted. “Why did you do that?!”

“I seem to have learned…a thing or two…from our mutual friend,” he grunted, attention focused on your upward escape while his knuckles whitened on either end.

You didn’t want to believe it, but you were confident in its truth.

If you stayed like this, you both were going to fall.

“Obi-Wan,” you gulped, a chill running up your spine against the smoldering background as you tried to calm your voice.

“You need to let me go.”

His bewildered gaze snapped toward yours.

“Absolutely not!”

“You’re just going to get yourself killed…” you explained, ogling him sensitively.

His eyes softened.

“Then save us both,” he hushed. “The Galaxy needs you just as much as Anakin.”

Kenobi’s eyes warily flickered past your figure as his voice intensified.

“Now, whatever you may have done earlier, I suggest you try it again before we both become another ingredient in this ghastly stew!”

You followed his stare, catching sight of the same encroaching waves that churned inches from your toes, thickly crashing and gurgling up black spouts over the array of sporadic boulders.

Wait.

“I have an idea!” You exclaimed, digits extending toward the smoky, gray body of a nearby boulder. “Cover any exposed skin!”

Tapping into that tiny spark of light blooming in your chest, and in cahoots with any and all available facets of energy remaining in your wearied body, you heaved the giant rock, clenching every possible muscle in an effort to nudge it upwards.

With a guttural cry you had no idea was your own bouncing off the cliff side and across the rumbling river, the rounded mass finally broke free, following a sedated, wobbly climb up the crag toward both of your hanging bodies.

Only a third of the way up, you became numb, extremities tingling while you focused your entire consciousness on ensuring this last-ditch plan’s success. So much so, that as your eyelids drooped in and out of blurred vision, you didn’t even realize that your clasped palm had begun to slip.

Until Kenobi let out a pained gasp, taking on the brunt of the collective weight by clamping onto the remaining loose fingers so tightly that you would’ve been surprised if he hadn’t broken one or two.

But that extra two or three seconds was all you needed. Within that frame, you’d raised the dense boulder to hover just beside Obi-Wan’s swaying form, providing a stepping stone of sorts to the ledge just above.

“Climb,” you arduously breathed, skin itching as your muscles threatened to give out.

And you certainly didn’t need to tell him twice.

Using his robe to protect himself from the rock’s blistering heat, Master Kenobi swung one leg and then the other onto its rounded body, heaving himself up with every procurable limb that wasn’t attached to you. All the while you desperately held the boulder in place as black dots began to dance at the creases of your vision.

Swiftly, he found his bearings, using the newfound surface to lunge onto the grassy knoll that characterized the plateau’s surface before immediately swiveling to drag you up with him.

“Let go of the boulder!” He exclaimed while his other arm reached down in urgent search of your Force-wielding fingers.

But the moment he told you to release it, those digits fell limp, collapsing just as quickly against your side as the giant rock plummeted back down to the dark, troubled waters below.

Yet, crouched over the cliffside, Obi-Wan refused to give up.

Tracing the outline of your slumped limb with the back of his hand, you felt the warm thread eventually reach your frozen palm, grasping it eagerly before the Jedi Master tugged you upwards by both arms.

Slowly, but surely, you felt your body lift while rising steam dissipated into a cold sweat, eventually permitting weak feet to mindlessly carry you over the partition and onto solid, green ground that pushed up against your soles.

You blinked.

“Silvey?”

The familiar sway of red-orange bushes and distant commotion of cityscape bustlings suffused your senses. In time, you spotted Obi-Wan, crouched directly in front of you with a particularly troubled tint lining his features and a warm palm resting gently atop a shoulder that you barely distinguished as your own.

You were back.

But something felt…

Off.

You shot up, legs buckling slightly as if you were trying to walk for the very first time in years. Brushing off Obi-Wan’s touch with the back of your hand in an attempt to continue your driving stumble forward.

“Wait a moment,” Obi-Wan insisted while bolting upwards, propelling opened palms to hover by your sides as you momentarily stilled in between them. “Take it slow—“

“What is going on here?”

Squinting, you spied the familiar figure of Master Windu, brows crossed in stoic reprimand as he whisked toward you both, brown cloak whipping behind him. With a wandering gaze, you narrowly spotted out of the far corner of your eye a familiar set of black locks. Peaking out from an inconspicuous hiding place behind one of the far vermillion shrubs that betrayed their location in its periodic swerves against the breeze.

“Master Windu,” Kenobi called out, waving him over. “We require your assistance.”

But with a body that, for some reason, felt uncannily like your own, it became hard to focus.

Master Windu eyed you critically. “What happened?”

A dizziness overtook the distant migraine of before, black splotches from your mind returning with a vengefully accelerating frequency. It blurred your vision into a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that soon mutated the eyes, and noses, and lips of the men before you into an unnatural, dripping putty.

Your mouth opened disjointedly, yet no words came out.

“Master Kenobi, what’s going on?”

You reached for your head.

“I’m… unsure. Silvey? Is it still the headache?”

Weightlessness.

“Woah woah.”

Warmth.

“Youngling, fetch us a Healer—“

“Silvey, can you hear me?”

“—And then see if Master Yoda is available.”

“Silvey?”

End Part I: Rescue of the Fates

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spemtang · 7 months

Text

Everything You Do & All I Try To Do

A DrakGo Fanfic.

Artwork by: Me!

Read on AO3

Summary: Drakken loses the medal he received at the ceremony months prior. He and an annoyed Shego have to go look for it. Hopefully, nothing bad happens.

Drakken tossed aside another overturned drawer, papers scattering across the floor. He had torn through the lair for over an hour, yet still no sign of it. Stupid, foolish mistake to misplace something so important.

His eyes examined the room, taking in the varying layers of dust settling on old doomsday devices. A small part of him was relieved at his own current failure. The thought of failing at something had him reminiscing, a nostalgic feeling. When was the last time he had used any of them? Weeks? Months? He couldn't remember. Time after time he had rebounded from failure; ironically, it was success that he found himself unable to recover from.

Drakken slumped into a chair. He’d foiled himself for once.

Kim Possible, his teen archnemesis, had always been the one to put an end to his plans. But lately, though no fault of her own, nothing. No thrilling chases, no banter, no imminent sense that his adversary could burst through the door at any moment to stop his world-dominating schemes.

Though not the burst he expected, the sound of a metal door sliding open was enough to alert him that someone had come in. He could quickly tell who simply by the way she walked.

“Lose something, Dr. D?” Her ever-sardonic tone permeated the quiet room, peering around at the ransacked environment that had once been the study.

“Shego.” He acknowledged under his breath, letting out a heavy yet admittedly reverent sigh at the familiar voice. “Obviously. I can’t seem to find that medallion from a while back-” His voice trailed as he tossed another book off the shelf.

Shego watched it clatter by her feet, then snorted, “Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me you actually lost that thing?” She said, forcing a snarky grin. Yet, she found her cunning remarks coming less naturally than they used to. She turned her eyes away temporarily, trying to brush it off; perhaps it was the lack of recent schemes that kept her out of her prime... mockfulness?

She's pulled from her brief introspection by the sound of a grumbled response followed by his voice, “Yes, yes. Don’t remind me.” he said, turning to Shego. “Any ideas from you as to where it could be?” She paused to think, “Uhh, not that I can remember, sorry.” She said, giving a nonchalant shrug.

A small device sitting on a nearby desk caught Shego’s attention.

“What’s up with this thing?” She asked. Drakken peered over his shoulder to look before turning back.

“It’s an electronic dog whistle I’ve been making. Commodore Puddles has been tearing up the furniture lately, I figured I should focus on training him for once.”

Shego gave him a look, “Wow...What a responsible owner you are.” She mocked, “Y’know, I think that’s the most ambition I’ve seen out of you in months, Dr. D.” She added, tone a little bitter about the lack of action recently.

He didn’t reply.

With a quiet scoff, Shego made a show of plopping herself down into the nearby armchair, whipping out a magazine. Yet, she was too distracted by the whole “missing medal” ordeal to focus on its contents. Peering over the top of her magazine, she watched Drakken scramble around the lair, tossing things aside haphazardly. He was clearly obsessed with finding that medal. Seeing him so distressed stirred a hint of emotion she couldn't quite place. Concern? Sympathy? She didn’t like thinking too hard about it.

“Y’know, hate to sound like a broken record, but you’ve really turned this place upside-down, Doc.” She commented, noticing many more books lying around than she had initially observed.

“Not without reason, Shego.” He replied bluntly, shuffling through neighboring rooms, increasing and lowering his tone to match the proximity. “If I were none the wiser, I’d think someone took it! But what business would anyone have stealing that thing? There are plenty of fancy gold vaults to steal from; why me?”

“Not sure,” Shego replied, entertaining enough weak conversation to keep him going.

Drakken deactivated the study’s remote-controlled fireplace and examined behind it, “I could’ve sworn I had it just the other day. It’s my fault I hadn’t checked on it in a while.” He continued with a sigh, “I mean, it’s got to be around here somewhere...”

He halted briefly,

“Er- Well-”

Shego peered up from her magazine to look at him,

“What?”

“Let’s say...hypothetically, a few days ago, I felt a little bored and nostalgic and was taking it to a lot of our old lairs, and I may or may not have left it at one of them-”

Shego groaned loudly, “You can’t be serious...How many is ‘a lot’???”

“About 14 of them.”

She gave him a long, hard look. Then, she sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose in frustration.

She stood, marching for the door.

“Whatever, let’s just get a move on.”

On their way out, Drakken nabbed the device he’d been working on. Despite his confidence, it’d be best to keep himself occupied if this–like Shego probably predicts–is a total waste of time.

Thrusters hummed smoothly beyond distant, quaint villages and ski resorts as the hovercraft rocketed over the landscape. They flew high above the valley below into the jagged, sky-piercing peaks of the range. Thick, perfectly white snow blanketed the steep mountainsides, gleaming brightly in the afternoon sun. The pair were blasted with its thin, frigid air, which held a crisp alpine scent.

“Come to think of it, this might just be the place.”

Shego glared, her hands flickering a threatening glow, “Are you telling me we didn’t have to go to the other 13!?”

Drakken tensed up and raised his hands defensively, “No, no! Your services are appreciated, Shego! It was perfectly likely for it to be at the other ones as well.”

Her palms fizzled, and she relaxed slightly before turning away, “Good. I can’t believe you revisited the wreckage of that stupid underwater lair.”

“I felt like scuba diving then, alright?”

“Yeah? I didn’t feel like scuba diving today .”

The two of them approached Drakken’s freezing lair in the Alps, still standing tall with its many pointed, almost pitchfork-like spires — yet decorated in a dense shrubbery of flowers, they looked to be two, no, three times as thick as the last time he was here. Surprisingly, they were not dead from the cold, though he supposed they were super high-pollinated . It wasn’t often he returned to old lairs; it would be the fourth time for this one in particular; it almost made him feel bad about the conditions he left them in.

As the two landed swiftly, he thought back a bit more. In truth, he was lying about being so sure only to make Shego feel more motivated; he wasn’t even sure if he went inside this one, the later details of the day having betrayed him.

“Do we really have to scout this garden of yours, Dr. D?” Shego asked with a noticeable irritation in her voice. Drakken hesitated, “Well, not particularly, no. But I’d appreciate it if-”

“Forget I asked. Let’s get in and out of here, and we’re done.” Shego remarked sourly. She was just about done with all the running around she’d been doing that day, and the freezing temperature certainly wasn’t helping his case.

Hiking up the side of the tall, icy glacier, not helped by the dense vegetation, Draken saw something in the distance.

“H-hey! Look! It’s one of those alien drone things!” He proudly announced, looking at the dismantled Lowardian machine in a distant snowy crevice. Shego sighed but didn’t look back, “Yeah, good job on saving the world, Doc. I’ve spent all day being reminded of your accomplishment.” Drakken almost opened his mouth in retaliation but decided against it, eyeing Shego as she trudged ahead. Frankly, he owed her for putting up with this wild medal chase. Hopefully, he could make it up to her once this was over.

For now, he decided keeping quiet and getting this search done quickly was probably the best course of action. Drakken hurried to catch up, the frigid wind biting through his coat. The sooner they got out of there, the better.

A faint green glimmer lit the black interior of the lair for a moment through cracks in the door. It was moments like these that Drakken was especially grateful for Shego. It’d be a real hassle getting all the vines off the handles without the use of her glow. There were... a lot of things to be grateful for when it came to Shego, actually.

The rickety door crept open, striking a small amount of light into the dark chamber, large patterns of vines and branches scaling its enclosure.

“A bit dark in here, isn’t it?” Drakken whispered, stepping across the cold floor and crunching leaves.

Shego looked around before spotting a faint light, “There,” She replied, blasting her glow at a dense gathering of vegetation, revealing the large hole the Lowardian Walkers had made in the wall. Sunlight poured in, brightening the room and showcasing a large shrub of flowers and vines.

“Much better.” Drakken acknowledged with an approving nod as he scanned the ruined lair.

His gaze wandered over the vibrant floral blooms now bathed in sunlight that beamed through the hole Shego had blasted. He watched, transfixed, as the petals seemed to perk up, stretching and unfurling as if soaking up the long-awaited rays.

A satisfied smile tugged at his lips. His, albeit mutant, plants had endured, bringing an unexpected vitality to the ruins. He admired the new growth sprouted from the weathered walls, winding through broken glass and overturned debris.

Then he looked back at his henchwoman, getting her hands dirty, and frowned a little. Stepping over to her awkwardly, he started, “Shego-”

Yet before he could start, a deafening crash drowned out his words. Shego’s head whipped over as their combined attention turned to a giant metallic claw that had formed a large crater before them — a booming, animal-like screech ruptured from the shrubbery across the room.

The ruined Lowardian Walker's limbs shuddered and jerked as if pulled by unseen strings. What once appeared as a mound of overgrowth stirred, vines cascading off metallic parts as the robot arose on rigid legs. Shambling forward awkwardly, its shattered frame moved with an awkward organic gait rather than mechanical precision.

Dull metal peeked through a living patina of roots and vines that clung to its body. Strange leafy tendrils protruded from joints like parasitic growths. It appeared much less a machine granted false life than a creature born of steel bones now overtaken by flora.

“Dr. Drakken? What is that thing?”

Drew paused in imminent fear; what was that thing?

Shego’s pupils thinned as the beast stirred, and she turned for the entryway. “Yeah, uh, I don’t think I get paid enough to deal with that so–!” She exclaimed and decided to hightail it out of there. Drakken nodded and quickly staggered to follow.

The pair burst out of the lair; their feet slipped on the snow-covered rock as they descended the icy cliff. The building effortlessly crumbled behind them as the giant mechanical monster stirring from a long slumber shook its already plant-weakened foundation. The reanimated monster smashed through the same entryway, letting out another piercing metallic shriek.

Before they could reach the Hover-car parked below, the Walker bounded past with alarming agility. Whether by cunning strategy or mere primal impulse, it pivoted sharply and kicked the Hover-car with all its might. The vehicle went sailing over the horizon, spinning end over end until it vanished.

The beast reared back on its hind legs, giving another enraged screech. Puppeting vines twist around its limbs, writhing in anticipation.

"And...there goes Plan A," Shego muttered, igniting her glowing green fists. "Guess we’ll have to go with Plan B." Her voice held an uneasy confidence. She leaped into action, hurling blasts of green energy at the lumbering monster. They sizzled against the metallic exterior but barely slowed its advance. It roared, charging at Shego. “Any plans, Doc?” she shouted his way, rolling away from a giant stomping leg.

Drakken blinked, "Right, yes, good call," Drakken said, peering around nervously for anything they could use. His scrambling was interrupted by the monster, quickly turning to rush his way. Shego hastily shot at a joint with another strong blast, knocking it off course with a squeal.

The two split up, trying to divide the creature's attention. Shego nimbly evaded each lumbering swipe, countering with bursts of plasma. Drakken ducked behind icy boulders, fumbling for any gadget in his coat that could help.

"Could really use one of your brilliant ideas anytime now!" Shego yelled over her shoulder.

“Ngyeehh, I’m working on it!” He yelled back.

To his credit, he was working on it. He dumped a variety of incomplete doodads from his coat, using little pliers and screws to put random pieces together. He had a raygun he’d constructed a while back on him as well, but knew it’d be useless against the exterior of one of those things.

“Think, Drew...you just have to come up with something.” He muttered to himself.

Then, he had it! Using parts from a magnetization ray he had been working on and a few emergency batteries he kept on him, he could construct some type of electromagnetic frequency emitter, totally frying that thing’s remaining systems! He just needed a few minutes to-

His momentary pride was shot down by the sound of a scream, followed by a loud crash. He’d be relieved if it weren’t for the fact that the scream was human, and Shego’s.

Quickly peeking around his cover, he saw only the aftermath — Shego tumbling through the snow before she lay limp against a clump of snow.

She didn’t seem to be getting up, either.

“S-Shego!” He called out in worry, the creature’s lumbering form snapped toward him the moment he chose to raise his voice.

Drakken quickly ducked back behind the cover, he needed to crunch those minutes into just seconds now. He rushed to shove the parts of his mechanism, pausing on the battery slot.

“Come on...! Which way, which way?” He muttered frantically, looking at the plus and minus symbols. “There!” He beamed, before throwing the device out into the open and taking cover.

Large, booming frequencies of electromagnetic energy pulsated from the device. The robot winced, slightly, but seemed largely unaffected. It stomped the device into oblivion before continuing its pursuit.

Drakken froze in fear. He was sure it would’ve worked! The machine’s systems should’ve been...completely fried.

Then, his eyes focused on its limbs, vines sliding and gripping. Overgrowth pulling and directing the Walker’s monstrous limbs.

Was it a machine at all?

No.

Its body was merely a husk, the shell.

It wasn’t a robot holding onto its functionality through botanical means. No, something lived inside. That something was orchestrating the remains of what was left in that place months ago.

Drakken, at his wit's end, did what he was best at: running away.

Drakken's legs pumped faster than they ever had before, fueled by sheer adrenaline as the monstrous walker bore down on him. He zig-zagged desperately, boots slipping on the icy terrain, but couldn't shake the thundering steps behind.

Just as a giant metal claw swiped at where he'd been seconds earlier, the beast suddenly halted. Drakken risked a frantic glance back. The creature swayed, vines writhing along its frame as if uncertain.

Drakken's mind raced — was it confused? Losing his trail? Or toying with him? He didn't intend to wait around to find out.

That thing was back to pursuing him a moment later, he ran into what he thought would be his saving grace, a crevice through the mountainside. Unfortunately, the monster was easily capable of turning its frame to follow him in. And, if things couldn’t get any worse, a towering wall at the end marked a dead-end for him. Regardless, he ran to it with no other option.

Coming to the path’s end, he whipped back around to see it looming over him.

Was this how he was going to go out? At the hands of the plants, he played a part in creating?

He pulled the dog whistle out of his coat as the Walker neared.

Tears of despair welled in his eyes, regardless of his feelings were meaningless to the simple beast before him. He hadn’t even fine-tuned the device he was going to make for his dog today.

Yet, as the device slipped from his shaky hands, it wasn’t Commodore Puddles that was on his mind, it was Shego.

Just as before, and just how things had always been. He was caught up in proving himself, proving his worth. It was the Bebe robots then, the medal now. All just to be in the disapproval of his peers by the end of it. It was his colleagues then, Shego now. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d let her down, of course. But it was looking to be the last.

He winced, taking a pathetic step out of the way as if to delay the inevitable. And as the Walker raised its claw for one final strike against its prey.

It stopped, it recoiled, and it writhed. Its heavy claw clattered to the ground out of the way as roots shivered along its metallic form.

Drakken almost thought it may have felt sympathy and spared him were it not for his eyes turning down and finding the cause: it was the dog whistle! He must’ve stepped on the activation button, and the creature was sensitive to the sound it made! He wasn’t sure why that was, but he took the opportunity to nab the device and dart away while it was stunned.

His feet slipped and stumbled as he fled through the deep snow. Behind him, a deafening roar shook the mountainside as the walker freed itself from the crevice, hellbent on pursuit.

Glancing back, Drakken noticed a gaping hole blown in the monster's armor from Shego's earlier attack. Green “flesh” writhed within, exposed. He just needed time to exploit that weakness!

But as Drakken turned forward again, his stomach dropped. Mere feet in front of him, the snow gave way to a sheer cliff plunging hundreds of meters down. Another dead end.

Whirling around, he came face-to-face with the monstrous Walker looming over him, escape cut off. Drakken desperately held out the screeching whistle, but if anything, it only aggravated the creature more.

Vines twisted furiously around the ruined parts of its metallic body. The monster's large flower appendages looked like two judgemental eyes staring down at him. A mass of leaves and petals shook, vibrating with something akin to rage. Time was running out.

Drakken's eyes darted around the narrow cliff edge. There had to be a way! He just needed to buy a few precious seconds against this unbridled fury...But it appeared there was no last-second idea he could pull to escape this situation.

The Walker reared back, shadowed by the sunlight as it prepared to deliver a final blow. Drakken stood with uneasy anticipation, but a flash of green exploded against the creature's back before the strike fell.

"Shego!" Drakken cried out in relief as the monster staggered.

She huffed, "Miss me, Dr. D?" Shego quipped, though looking a bit battered.

The monster whirled with a metallic roar, vines twisting furiously. As it charged Shego, Drakken seized his chance. He pulled out his raygun and fired at the damaged spot.

The creature screeched, whipping back toward Drakken. But Shego was ready, striking it again with her glow. They fell into a pattern — it would turn to attack one, only for the other to blast its weak point from behind.

With a final, piercing wail, the unbalanced Walker lurched toward Drakken. He braced himself, but Shego was faster.

"Hope you packed a parachute, you overgrown weed!"

She launched a powerful flying kick to the creature's back. And, unable to support its own weight, the monster tipped over the cliff's edge, plunging into the misty depths below with a fleeting, monstrous scream.

The two looked down into the gorge as the Walker plummeted into oblivion, equally releasing a heavy sigh.

Shego broke the exhausted silence first after catching her breath. "Glad that's over with."

Drakken turned to her, relief washing over him. "Shego..." he whispered.

He stepped closer, just needing to see her okay with his own eyes. "I was so worried about you. I'm glad you're alright."

Shego softened slightly, an uncharacteristic sincerity coming over her. "Yeah, I'm glad you're okay too, Dr. D."

She straightened, regaining some of her usual casual confidence. "That was some quick thinking with the raygun. I Didn't even know you had one of those."

"What sort of self-respecting villain wouldn't have one?" Drakken replied with a flashy grin.

Shego smiled warmly, head tilting. A moment of understanding silence fell between them.

Drakken broke it this time, voice heavy with remorse. "Shego, I'm...I'm so sorry about all this. For dragging you along over a silly medal."

Shego blinked, having nearly forgotten their reason for being there. "Hey, don’t worry about it. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made me do something stupid. Nor the second, or the third..." she ribbed lightly.

Drakken rolled his eyes but smiled, “No need to rub it in, Shego.”

He noticed her windswept hair.

“Let me-”

He gently brushed a loose strand behind her ear. Her eyes closed momentarily as he did so.

"There," he murmured.

Shego blinked and met his eyes, her gaze lingering. "I can make an assumption or two but," She started, “What made that thing so special to you?”

Drakken sighed lightly.

“Maybe it was pride,” He paused to think, “But, it meant a lot to me as a sign of victory, I suppose. I haven’t done a whole lot of winning in my life.” He confessed.

Shego smirked playfully, “I think I’d know that more than anyone, Doc.”

Drakken gave a weak smile, the expression vanished from her face.

“Sorry, that was-”

“No, it’s alright.” Drakken assured her, “I like your edge, Shego. You know how to keep me in check.”

Her cheeks flushed just a little, and she smiled again.

“Thanks, Dr. D.”

Drakken turned his head up and to the left, he looked over at the overgrown lair for a moment.

“I don’t think I appreciate you enough.” He admitted, “I mean, I pay you to work for me, but still. I’m not sure if I ever got around to telling you this, but I really appreciated you coming to save me from the Lowardians back then.”

Her head perked up and her cheeks grew just a smidge redder, “Oh- It was nothing, Dr. D, honest.”

“Even if it was nothing, Shego, I still appreciate that you did that for me. I owe a lot to you, a lot more than money can pay for, anyway.” He relents, “For sticking around, that is. Even when I do stupid things all the time. I’m glad you’re still here.”

Shego felt a shiver run up her spine, and it wasn’t from the cold.

“Hey, uh, sorry we couldn’t find your thing.” She muttered, trying to ease the tension.

Drakken smiled.

“I’ll be alright, Shego. I feel I...found something better anyway.”

She swallowed, and without thinking, wrapped her arms around him. A sudden need enveloped her heart.

"Dr. D," she whispered.

Drakken turned to meet her gaze, taking in every detail of her face. Her fire, her strength, her loyal persistence through it all suddenly struck him. She was incredible.

His eyes fell half-lidded as he lost himself in hers. The frigid air faded away in the warmth of her embrace. Timidly, his hands came to rest at her sides, drawn in helplessly.

"Shego."

She took a small step closer, snow softly crunching underfoot. Time seemed to slow, the space between them electrified. It felt right.

Drakken leaned in hesitantly at first, then, as was routine, surrendered himself when Shego picked up the slack, confidently sealing the gap.

In the moment, he felt as if the world had fallen away. Her kiss enveloped him in an indescribable warmth, a tingling sense of belonging spreading through him- newfound purpose excavated from the depths of his timid heart. His hands moved from her sides and delicately cupped her face as he savored the intimacy. Her lips were so soft, and inviting.

Shego drew him closer, her aggressive edge giving way to tenderness. She never wanted this moment to end.

When they eventually, reluctantly parted, Drakken kept his forehead resting against hers, noses still touching. A faint smile played on his lips. Both were resistant to leaving the other's arms. Right now, they had each other- perhaps as they’d always had each other. And for them, that was enough.

“I think I’m in love with you.” He breathed.

“Yeah, I got the impression.”

Drakken clicked his tongue, catching Puddles’ attention once more. The whistle had proven quite effective for training after just a little tweaking, working out the odd frequencies.

"Come on boy, just a few more times around the lair," Drakken encouraged, pacing backward as his pet obediently waddled after.

Shego peeked up from her magazine and watched as Drakken and his dog scurried around the corner. The corners of her lips tugged upward, though she hid her expression. She gave him a bit of crap for it just the day prior but found it sorta endearing after everything.

She stood and followed after him.

“I can’t believe you’re just now training that thing after you’ve had him for...how many years now?”

Drakken scowled, some things never changed about her.

“He’s not a thing , his name is Commodore Puddles.” He remarked, pridefully lifting his pet, “And...world domination schemes get in the way, alright?”

She laughed, “Does that imply you’re retiring from world domination?”

He froze up, “Maybe...maybe not. But don’t think I’m going soft, Shego!”

She snickered still, and he grumbled at her.

“How’s this:” He started, “I’ve scouted out a museum with quite the rare artifact. What do you say we steal it together sometime?”

Shego raised a brow, “What do you plan on using it for?”

He shrugged, “I was thinking about stealing it just for the heck of it.” He admitted.

She grinned.

“I like the sound of that.”

Notes: I don't write very often, but I made this. I hope I got their character right. IDK... Here's a concept sketch of the Lowardian Walker-plant monster thing. Maybe one day I'll make a proper drawing of it, but consider this the canon-fanon for now.

#dr drakken #shego #kim possible #drakken x shego #drakgo #drakken #fanfic #fan fiction #writing #criticism is appreciated #sorry bcbdrums... i stole how you format fanfic posts

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starlightandetherealshadows · 1 year

Note

DUDE NO ‘CAUSE IMAGINE (Content Warning for mentions of hallucinations, dissociation, and just general results of isolation in humans because we don’t do well at all like that for those who need it!)

You’ve been alone for 2 years straight. Seemingly no positive human interaction since a father and his daughter getting shot on the outside of a dumpster you’re hiding in. Meaning you’ve probably got some severe hallucinations going on here and there, a really messed up psyche, depersonalization/general dissociation, de-socialized, some vocal issues since unless you’ve been talking to yourself you probably haven’t talked in a long ass time, and even more issues because humans do REALLY FUCKING TERRIBLE in isolation for far less than 2 years. And then, in the span of not even a day, you: get attacked by a monster (albeit seemingly an injured one), experience your first social interaction that’s alright in 2 years with someone whose personality would probably be pretty overwhelming after that long, have a panic attack in front of said person, get introduced to someone who proceeds to point a gun at your face and mocks you for a non-surprising and pretty fair reaction, learn about a rebellion, and proceed to get shown someone from the same species that caused you to go into social isolation for 2 years straight and caused a lot of trauma

Like, yeah, everyone isn’t in the best place mentally right now, but god damn props to MC for not having a breakdown (yet) because wow. That’s a lot for someone who has been used to silence and absolutely no company or banter or companionship for a while now and given no time to really grapple with now having to be around folks and get used to them just even a bit because I’d crumble

MC is a fuckin badass like they’ve really survived in a way I don’t think I’d be able to. If I didn’t die in the initial Invasion, then the loneliness and depression would be the end of me.

Your introspection is really cool!!! You’re spot on with what I wanted to convey in chapter 1 regarding MC’s mental state. Plus, why would they trust a bunch of strangers they just met wholeheartedly? If I was them, I’d be like hold up…y’all too damn friendly 🤨🤨🤨

And then MC thinking about the cannibals mdndkdndjdjdbb can you tell I watched The Walking Dead and The Last of Us before drafting that part 🤣🤣

#mmspoilers #ask: answered

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loosesodamarble · 8 months

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Hello soda, I love your blog. I'm a huge Nacht fan and I want to write a Nacht x reader/oc (haven't decided) fanfic . I'm too shy to post it but I want to write it for myself. Can you give me tips to write fanfic especially about Nacht.

🖤 Anon! The answers you seek are finally here!

It's very exciting that you're writing some self-indulgence! It's one thing to make requests for what you want to see but taking the writing into your own hands is something else entirely! Make the most of it!

(This post ended up being longer than expected so pardon for the rest of it being under a cut.)

First off, reader insert or oc, or heck you could even do a full self insert. Any way you go about it, do what gives you the most fulfillment! You said that you aren't gonna post it but even if you did, your first and most important audience is yourself, so cater to what you want.

Second, when it generally comes to writing fanfic, play to your preferences. Do you enjoy banter or heartfelt dialogue? Then you can easily write scenes that focus more on characters speaking with little sprinkles of scenery and action written in. Or if you prefer prose and detailing the finer details of a moment, feel free to write a fic where you go five paragraphs without character speaking.

(For me, I like fic that's a little introspective. Where prose isn't just about the characters' actions or surroundings but also acts as their inner monologue. And thus, I tend to write fic that's a lot of "their feelings swirled inside of them like a storm" stuff.)

And don't worry about skipping over stuff that you don't feel confident or interested in writing. For me, I can manage a bit of fight scene choreography but it's not my strong suit so I don't write fights often and I usually keep it vague and short. The less interest you have for writing a certain thing, the less you end up writing. (That's not the whole picture since burnout/writer's block can leave you wanting to write but not having the energy or mind to do it.)

Something that I try to keep in mind when writing is the question of "what is the ultimate point of the piece?" It can be anything from a simple "I want these characters to talk/fight/kiss" to a complex "I want to show how a single event is actually a chain reaction of smaller happenings and how they can have massively different effects on people's lives and personalities." For me, the answer should be less a plot summary of the piece you're writing and more your motivation for writing it.

TL;DR for those previous points: write what you like, don't write what you don't like, and know why you're writing (since that can help you stay motivated).

Now when it comes to writing Nacht specifically, I keep these character details in mind:

Nacht has self-loathing issues, making it hard for him to believe he is good.

That self-loathing is projected onto others, mostly Yami.

While he does care for others, Nacht is afraid of loving and being loved. He fears hurting those he loves (see Morgen's death).

Those are probably the most important traits of Nacht's to keep in mind when writing him, pre or post Morgen's death. Although the projection aspect of his personality more shows up afterwards.

I also tend to write Nacht repeating the same mini arc. -He looks down on himself -He resists happiness when he has a chance for it -Someone talks some sense into him -Nacht lets himself be happy

Yes, it's keeping his character kinda in the same arc over and over. But to me, Nacht is a character that I see struggling to accept that he's allowed to be happy despite his dark past. He lets himself be happy but he doesn't want to risk too much good fortune in case it blows up in his face, if you know what I mean.

I think that writing Nacht is about finding the balance between suffering and salvation. He hated and punished himself for the longest time until he finally learned to let go of his guilt. Although I personally like to keep Nacht from fully letting go of the guilt and grief. Because squeezing out angst from Nacht's character is fun. Giving Nacht love and letting him be happy is ultimately more fulfilling though.

Really, like for any character, you have to write what you want for Nacht. And for me it's that ever present sorrow in his life. For you, it could be something else entirely.

You gotta write for you, 🖤 Anon. But hopefully my advice gives you something to work with. Good luck with the Nacht fic and I hope you enjoy what you come up with~!

#questions from the ask box #soda asides #🖤 anon #initially i was going to start the post with a joke of like #i dont write i just black out and a few days later i wake up to a fully written fic #but eh seemed inappropriate #so you get the watered down version of the joke here in the tags #i really hope that what i wrote actually makes sense and helps #there's no real concrete writing advice #like when it comes to grammar or story structure #but that's not what was being asked for anyway

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davnittbraes · 2 years

Text

The Third Step - Chapter Twenty-Two

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this chapter but series as a whole)

Word Count: 5100

Warnings etc.: anxiety, introspection, a smidge of fluffy domesticity, a pinch of banter, excessive description of nighttime, ANGST, mentions of past emotional and physical trauma, mentions of slavery and forced confinement, mentions of potentially abusive strict religious code, two poor lil bbys finding solace in each other I’m crying 😭

Notes: I’m going to officially jump off the edge into AU territory here, because I just can’t resist using a headcanon of mine re: The Tribe’s social structure and culture and I get the feeling it won’t align with what we actually see in the show. Filoni, please don’t fail me in S3.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

The mid-afternoon sun filters down through the trees, painting the forest floor in dappled blues and greys, catching on the blue-leaved saplings and ferns that grow in patches scattered over the forest floor. There’s nothing but forest as far as you can see, endless stretches of trees and gently rolling hills, the only sounds the soft susurration of the wind through the leaves above.

You’d shed your jacket before setting out and slipped on a sleeveless shirt, anxious to fully immerse yourself in the natural beauty of this little planet, and the breeze is pleasantly warm on your skin.

It’s grounding, being in this sort of solitude again. You haven’t been this far from another person - and you’re still only about half an hour’s walk from the Crest - since before you’d joined Mando and the kid. It almost feels like seeing an old friend after a long time has passed, familiarizing yourself with how you used to move about the world, the quiet that makes your thoughts bloom brighter, louder, nothing to interfere or distract them.

You slip through the trees, meandering, no particular destination in mind, keeping the sun on your left so you can find your way back when you’re ready.

Smiling to a tree as you pass it, your fingers graze the small bump in your blaster holster belt - there was always Mando’s comlink if you get lost.

Kriff, how embarrassing would that be, though. Having to call him to come rescue you because you got lost on a little walk through the woods?

A memory flashes across your thoughts - flying above Mos Eisley, his arms cradling you close to his chest, your nose tucked into his neck and the scent of him filling your lungs.

Ok, maybe being rescued by him wasn’t so bad.

The branches just above your head rustle, a distinctive skittering of tiny claws on bark.

A quick scan of the trees above doesn’t show you anything, maybe it’s gone -

There.

It’s only a blur of grey, movement so quick you can’t really make it out before it disappears behind the truck of a tree.

One of the small, tree-dwelling animals, must be.

The creature is probably just curious, and you have absolutely no intention of disturbing it.

But there’s a lot more of them than there is of you.

Your gaze drifts over the trees around you, searching for any movement, any sign of animals or otherwise.

Nothing.

Except - the trees thin out, just over there. You can see swathes of the pale blue sky between them, instead of the shifting glimpses in the forest around you.

Curiosity wars with caution.

Less trees means less cover, more exposure to anyone - or anything - that might be around.

But when are you going to get another chance to free roam through a beautiful forest like this one?

Curiosity is already moving your feet before you can think of a counter-argument.

You weave through the thinning trees, all senses tuned for signs of movement around you.

Dank farrik. Beautiful.

The forest ends abruptly, cut off by a wide canyon that eats up most of the ground in your sightline, with a steep drop down to thick brush below. Cliffs of white stone shimmer in the sunlight on the far side, dotted with - are those caves? Interesting.

A tree branch just over your shoulder suddenly bends, dips sharply.

Your blaster is out of its holster and in your hand before you register the round, furry creature on the end of the branch.

It’s curled in on itself with all four paws gripping the branch tight. Standing on its hind legs, it would probably be as half as tall as the kid. Grey and silver-striped fur covers its entire body, down to the tip of its long, thin tail, which is currently wrapped securely around the branch it’s perched on.

And two large, circular eyes stare at you, unblinking, bright blue irises fixed on the blaster in your hand.

Slowly, you relax your finger off the trigger, keeping your voice soft and unassuming. “Hello.”

Those bright blue eyes flick to yours, snubbed snout twitching.

Ok, well. That’s better than attacking you.

So not inherently aggressive toward people, at least.

“Sorry to disturb you, I was just taking in the view.” You shift your feet just a little, intentionally, watching for its reaction.

The creature glances at your boots then back to your feet, tail twitching on the branch.

Likely one of the larger predators in this area, then, if it doesn’t spook easily.

But if it’s not scared of people and also not used to being threatened, that could mean it’s not afraid to act aggressively, too.

Time to go.

You give the creature a little half-smile. “Well, I should be getting back. Enjoy your evening.”

That bright blue gaze never wavers as you deliberately turn to the forest, step back into the trees.

You only get a few paces before the skittering of little paws sounds off above your head. Looking up, you can see flashes of grey fur and a rounded body moving quickly through the treetops, following your path.

The creature stops right above you, this time sitting out in the open, blatantly watching you.

With curiosity, hopefully.

It follows you all the way back to the clearing the Razor Crest is in, occasionally leaping from one branch to another in order to keep up, though it never moves closer, maintaining what it obviously seems is a safe distance from you.

Which you’re fine with, the last thing you want is for it to feel unsafe in its own home.

As you near the clearing’s edge, the sunlight glints off the Razor Crest’s hull, dazzling your vision for a moment. A quick glance shows you no sign of Mando or the kid, but they’re around somewhere, no doubt.

The rustling above stills, and you pause, looking up into the trees, searching - there, two bright blue eyes peeking out between a cluster of leaves, just out of your reach.

“Is this where we part ways?” You gesture to the ship, and the creature’s nose twitches again in something like a response. “I’m guessing you’re not eager to get close to the giant shiny thing. Or the smaller but equally imposing shiny thing and his tiny green sidekick.”

The creature suddenly chirps, a high-pitched shrill sound, and takes off in a flurry of frantic movement.

Your instincts kick in hard, and immediately your blaster is in hand again, boots shifting to turn and assess the danger, heart in your throat.

Mando.

Standing there a few paces away, the kid in the crook of his arm.

The black visor turns back to you from where it was focused on the animal’s departure. “Adding to our collection of adorable creatures again?

You smile at the reference, remembering the sweet little houjix on Kinyen. “Unfortunately, the recruitment campaign was unsuccessful this time.”

“We’ve got our hands full, anyway.” He bends to set the kid down, the little guy wriggling free at the last minute to start shuffling toward you.

Holstering your blaster, you squat to grab him, dramatically swinging him up into your arms as you straighten, laughing along with his giggle. “Is that right, kiddo? We got our hands full with you?”

Big amber eyes blink up at you, his ears slanting downward just a bit in a perfect expression of innocence.

You lightly flick the end of an ear. “Can’t fool me with that look, I know who ate all the cookies I hid from the last supply run. And it wasn’t me or your dad.”

He suddenly turns away, squirming to get down, and you carefully set him back on his feet, clicking your tongue as he shuffles away. “I see how it is, confronted with the truth and you take off. Well, don’t go too far, we’re going to practice reading in a minute.”

Mando watches the kid move away, black visor trained on him while a gloved hand lifts toward you, pulling you closer when you take it. “He missed you.”

Your smile grows as you move to stand beside him, pressed against his arm. “I missed him, too. Though it was good to get out for a bit.” Glancing at Mando out of the corner of your eye, you squeeze his hand once. “What about you? Miss me?”

The helmet tilts in consideration, playful regret heavy in his modulated voice. “Guess I’m getting used to having you around.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

You shift closer, and the helmet turns to look at you, his hidden gaze heavy on yours as you press your breasts to his bicep, run your free hand down his arm to slip a finger under the cuff of his wrist and caress the warm skin there. “Still. What can I do to ease your suffering?”

His arm flexes slightly, a tremor you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been so close to him. “I can think of a few things.”

A spark of want flickers in your core at the low rasp of his voice, but it’s quickly suppressed by mild amusement as movement across the clearing catches your gaze. “You’ll have to tell me later. Right now, we should probably handle that.”

The helmet turns fast, a muttered curse you can’t quite make out filtering through the modulator as he obviously spots the kid clawing his way up the trunk of a tree, already a few feet off the ground.

Both of you move as one, striding quickly toward him, and even though your hands had parted with the motion, you feel the warmth of his palm against yours for a long time after.

*****

Night comes slowly on this planet. It creeps along the horizon, a barely noticeable shift of colour and light that washes infinitesimally through the trees, shadows growing longer until they blend together and blanket the world in comforting dark.

The hull of the Razor Crest is still warm from the fading sunlight as you lean against the frame of the open crew door. Soft sounds float through the hold behind you, Mando putting the kid to bed after an evening of play and reading practice. A small smile curves your lips, remembering those big, amber eyes studying the words on the datapad as you and Mando took turns showing the kid the respective objects.

Trying to teach him “ball” might have been a mistake - as soon as you brought out the metal sphere that screws onto one of the levers on the ship’s control console, the kid’s attention had shifted immediately and lesson time abruptly ended.

You were happy with the progress, though. Well, not that there was much, it was hard to tell what the kid understood. But he’d been attentive, surprisingly focused. You had hope he would learn to read, and be able to move through life with a skill you knew from experience was worth more credits than you’d ever earn.

Now lesson time was over, play time done, and you and Mando have the night to yourselves.

Breathing deep, you close your eyes for a moment, focus on feeling the cool, sweet air filling your lungs, the rustle of leaves in the trees on the edge of the clearing as the breezes sifts through them.

Kriff. This is nice.

It’s been a while since you simply stood and enjoyed the night like this. Probably Bakura, that would have been the last time - sitting on your back deck, thinking about where the next step in your life was going to take you, just before a certain Mandalorian had appeared, looking for help for a sick kid.

But before that, you had loved it, the transition from day to dark. It had been - still was - a moment of peace, calm. Tranquility.

With the night came quiet. Time to lose yourself in thought, no demands to be met, no fear of retribution for resting.

A dull throb of something like hurt swirls through the pit of your stomach as memories float to the surface of your thoughts.

Memories usually buried deep, locked away.

You open your eyes, automatically tilting your face up, gaze fixing on the two moons rising above the treetops.

Memories of looking up to find other moons, on countless other planets, sometimes through windows, sometimes through cracks in ceilings. Sometimes only in your mind, the cold press of binders on your ankles nothing like the cool brush of dewy grass on your skin, as hard as you tried to imagine it was.

Swallowing back the lump in your throat, you force yourself to smile at the moons. Because those memories - that’s not now. They’re old, faded with time, distant in the past.

Now, you have this, a quiet night on a remote planet, a ship you call home, a little creature who has nestled deep in your heart.

And him.

Soft bootsteps head toward you from the hold, and moments later a strong arm is curving around your waist, solid frame standing close.

“Kid is asleep.” His modulated voice floats just over your shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just… thinking.” You push those memories aside, leaning back into his embrace. His pauldron digs into your shoulderblade, sparking an question you’ve been musing on for a while.

The problem is, you’re not sure if it’s… inappropriate. Maybe it’s frowned upon, even shamed.

But you want to know more, want to understand -

“You’re thinking too loud again, tionas.”

“Dank farrik.” Sighing, you turn to face him, resting your palms on his breastplate. “You sure that helmet doesn’t come with mind-reading abilities?”

He hums noncommittally, free hand settling on the small of your back. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Ok. This is him, it’s fine, just ask.

You slip your hand across his chest to trace the symbol on his pauldron. “Can you tell me about this? What it means?”

Too much, too forward, you shouldn’t -

Anxiety chips away at your forced confidence, and it instantly crumbles. “Pfassk, I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer, I just - I don’t know, teaching the kid to read tonight brought back some memories and I got lost in the past there for a minute and when I came back I realized I don’t really know much about your past and that’s ok because that’s what we agreed to when we met, that we don’t have to share our secrets, really it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, please just forget about it and crikking hells I’m rambling I’ll shut up now.”

The last few words push out of you in a rush, and you groan in frustration, bringing both hands up to cover your face. What is wrong with you, kriff, you need to get a hold of yourself, you can’t be dissolving into nonsense like this.

Long, leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away. Your vision fills with black and silver, reassuring, steadying the reactive nervous flinch that tries to pull you away from him.

He calmly places on of your hands back on his chest, the other over the symbol on his pauldron. “A lot has changed since we first met.”

You huff a laugh, still fighting to shake off the itch of anxiety. “Understatement.”

His soft chuckle is soothing. “It is. Everything is different with you, now.”

Those familiar words sink through your skin, the warm bright thing in your chest flares in response, burning away the last of your anxiousness.

He leans in, gently taps his forehead to yours, the beskar cool on your skin. “My secrets are yours.”

Your heartbeat skitters, a deep breath steadies it as your fingers glide over the symbol. “Ok. Then will you tell me what this means?”

The helmet turning to look down at your hand on his shoulder. “It’s my clan signet.”

A memory, his soft voice telling you how he had defeated a massive beast. When he first saw the kid use his powers. “The mudhorn?”

He nods once. “My tribe’s leader said I earned it but I… resisted, at first, because I thought…”

A deep breath filters through the modulator, his shoulders rising and falling with it. “The kid was a quarry. It didn’t feel right, an enemy had helped me. But the next time we spoke of it, she gave me my mission - reunite the kid with the Jedi, care for him as my own until then. She insisted I had earned my signet.”

You slip your fingers under the cloth of his cowl, find his warmth underneath. “She must have known how important he was to you, even then.”

He pauses, clearly considering your words, then hums in agreement. “She is very wise. I should have listened to her the first time. But I doubted myself. The earning of a signet is a rite of passage. Especially for someone like me.”

There’s a hint of something heavy in his voice, something like regret. You slide the hand on his pauldron down to find his bicep, squeezing reassuringly. “Someone like you?”

“A foundling.” He pauses, words muted by emotion despite what you can tell is a strong effort to ignore it. “Mandalorians view adoption as the same as blood relation. We have a saying - aliit ori’shya tal’din. ‘Family is more than blood.’ But the foundlings rescued during the Clone War are… kept separate. Adoption isn’t allowed for us. We are expected to found clans of our own, to replace those that were destroyed.”

He’s said these words to himself many times before, you can tell. Practiced forcing pride for his people’s ability to survive against all odds into the words, repeating them until it sounded convincing.

But you’ve grown accustomed to listening for any slight inflection, any hints of emotion in his voice. And you can hear it, the hurt underneath those words.

The pain of being forced to be different. Of not being permitted a clan. A family.

Maybe it’s louder because it echoes the hurt in your own heart.

What comfort can you give him, when you’re still trying to heal that same part of yourself?

A breeze floats through the open door, carrying the cool scent of the forest. Those memories resurface, those many moons and stars and dark horizons, the ache in your chest as you gazed upon them.

Your fingers find the outline of his collarbone underneath his cowl, thumb grazing the shape through his layers of clothing. “Mine are yours, too, you know. My secrets.”

He lifts a hand to gently cup your cheek in silent thanks, warmth of his broad palm quickly seeping through the leather of his glove.

Your words falter, unsure. “Can I… show you one? A secret of mine?”

“Of course.”

Anxiety surges up the back of your throat, bitter on your tongue, and you swallow it back down.

You can do this. You can face those memories, for him.

Taking Mando’s hand, you lead him down the ramp into the clearing, pausing when your boots hit grass to look back at the ship. “Can you close the door? It’s best if there’s as little light interference as possible.”

He releases your hand, deftly keys the command into his vambrace, looking back to you as the door slides shut. The only light is moonlight, filling the clearing with a pale glow that blurs the edges of shapes and outlines.

Perfect.

You move a little further away from the ship to the centre of the clearing where the night sky is most visible, and cross your legs underneath you, sinking down to the ground. A shuffle of movement and he joins you, stretching one long leg out in front of himself, bending the other at the knee to prop an arm up.

The moonlight glimmers off his armour, setting it aglow, and for a moment you can’t think, can’t remember what you were doing here because your thoughts are filled with him, the fluid grace of his movements and the blatant strength behind them, the way he follows your silent request to join you in sitting without question or hesitation.

If you had any doubt left about whether or not you could trust him with what you’re about to say, it would have vanished in that moment.

The warm bright thing in your chest pulses in time with your heartbeat.

Gesturing toward the sky, you look up, let your gaze drift over the star-studded dome above you. Take a deep breath. Begin.

“When I was a kid, night was always my favourite. My owners were usually asleep, so it was the only time I had to myself. No chores, no duties, no demands, just me and the dark. I would sit at whatever window I had access to and watch the world, covered in night.”

His helmet tilts, black visor turned to the sky, gloved hand finding yours in the grass. The way his long fingers curl around your palm is a blessed distraction.

A reminder that he’s still here, despite knowing who - what - you used to be.

Breathing the silent reassurance in with the cool breeze, you smile, let your thoughts drift. “Everything looks so different, at night. Buildings, mountains, plains, all of it. Like those trees -“ you point toward the forest - “so pretty and delicate in the daylight, now they’re shadows with mysteries of the creatures that live among them. As if they lead two different lives, one they show to the light world and one they only show in secret.”

A subtle movement in the branches nearby draws your attention, but it stops before your gaze can fix on it. “The animals are different, too. At night, nocturnal creatures invade, move along the same paths as those day dwellers, making them their own for the night. Animals who have learned to live without the comfort and safety of warm sunlight, to not just exist but thrive.”

The helmet flashes in the moonlight as he follows your gaze, again when you turn back to look at the sky once more.

Even though you’ve seen a starry night sky countless times, there’s something about it that still takes your breath away, turns your voice soft with wonder. “Then there’s the sky. That’s always my favourite part.”

Words fail you for a moment, your gaze taking in the endless expanse of stars and swathes of dust in wide lines, pricks of light and shimmering arches against a field of dark. Countless planets, moons, nebulas - worlds, filled with cities and wilderness and as many people as there are stars.

He shifts beside you, letting go of your hand. “Stay like that.”

You watch him move to sit behind you, confused. “What are you doing?”

“There are night filters on my helmet I can’t turn off.”

Realization fires panic through your veins, and you turn away frantically. “Oh, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, we can stop -“

“It’s ok, I want to see what you see.” His back presses against yours, and a glint of metal flickers in the corner of your eye, his hands setting something in the grass beside him -

His helmet.

Your heartbeat pounds in your throat.

He’s right behind you, bare-faced. All it would take is a simple turn of your head and…

Something hot and sickly turns your stomach.

You can’t even think it.

He trusts you. More than he’s ever trusted anyone before.

And you’ll never betray that trust.

The breeze catches on the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, and you blink to clear them, refocus your gaze on the sky above. “I’ve always thought the night sky is the most beautiful part of any planet. The stars, planets, moons - light and dark, contrasts that could never exist in the day. And there’s a depth that your eyes can never quite see the end of - no matter how hard you focus on the dark parts, it’s like there’s always something, some little faint light that your eyes can’t see. But it’s there, and it could be a tiny star, or a planet with trillions of people. Only the universe knows.”

He’s quiet but you sense that he’s still listening, so you continue, bringing your knees up against your chest and hugging them close, as if they were a barrier protecting you from the dull throb of emotion that grows with every word you speak.

“I used to try and see those faint lights as a kid, figure out what they were. Imagine that, maybe, they were planets or ships with people who…” The words stop up in your throat, and you breath deep to clear them, push them out. “People who knew me, knew where… where I came from. And maybe they knew I wasn’t supposed to be a slave, that there was somewhere I belonged, and they were looking for me.”

The night sky disappears from your sight as your eyelids squeeze shut. “I used to imagine I had a family up there, and I would find them one day.”

Tears threaten to spill and you shake your head firmly. No, you will not cry over those memories. Not any more. Because they are the past, and what you have here, right now, is important.

Clearing your throat, you open your eyes, focus on the dark outline of the trees swaying gently in the breeze. “Sorry, I got away from myself for a moment there. I just wanted you to know that I… I understand what it feels like to not… belong. And to wish you did.”

A flare of anxiety makes your fingers twitch. “Anyway, it probably sounds like a child’s silly daydream - or night-dream is that a thing? Well, there’s dreams you have at night, but that’s not what I mean, obviously.”

“Every child dreams of things they don’t have.” His unmodulated voice is so soft, it’s familiarity soothing the sharp edges of your memories. “And you had more reason than most to dream.”

You blink up at the stars, processing his words. “Maybe. But you’re right, every child dreams, just as every child has to struggle through something. We can’t compare our struggles, only try to understand them. Because surviving those struggles is what makes us who we are.”

A stillness settles over him. You look down at your knees, uncertainty squirming behind your ribs.

Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far? What -

“You remind me of him.”

His words pull you out of the threatening anxiety spiral, and you tilt your head just a bit, curious. “Of who?”

“Din Djarin.”

Mild confusion buzzes through your limbs, and you frown at the dark trees.

He takes a deep breath, a sigh that moves gently against your back. “I will always be grateful to them. Without my tribe, I would not have survived.”

There’s a rustle of motion, whatever he’s trying to say obviously making him restless. “When I came of age, I put on the armour, swore to follow The Way to my last breath. Became a Mandalorian. Faceless. And nameless. That’s how we ensure the Creed stays true. By erasing who we are. Making us only Mandalorian.”

A particularly strong breeze swirls around the two of you, pulls the edge of his cowl along your arm, and your fingers dig into the skin of your calves with the urge to touch him. Let him speak, let him finish, he needs this.

He huffs a laugh - not his usual one. This sounds is full of disbelief, heavy with regret. “But you remind me that under the armour and the Creed - maybe even despite it… Din is still there.”

Time stops.

Realization washes through you, cold and hot at the same time.

Din is still there.

Din Djarin.

His name.

That warm bright thing in your chest suddenly bursts, fills your entire body with an overwhelming need to somehow prove that you see him. Under all of it, despite all of it, you see him. “Everything you’ve been through… you… you call me ‘undefeated.’”

The words shift, change as they push past your tight throat into the night, soft. “I think Din is ne’kotir, too.”

Silence.

Drawn out, thick and heavy, settling over you, undisturbed by the steady, gentle breeze.

Then he’s moving, quick motions that you can’t follow by listening, and -

His arms pull you back against his chest, legs border yours as he wraps his frame around you, and your eyelids slam shut instinctively just as a gloved hand slides over them, tilts your head back into the crook of his elbow.

Then his lips are on yours and you stop breathing.

His free hand cradles your face, fingers curve along the back of your neck, holding you there as his lips move so softly, coax a whimper from your chest.

You can taste them - the words he wants to say, sweet, the same words that hover at the tip of your own tongue. Remain unsaid, but there, in the way his breath stutters against your cheek.

Slowly, he pulls away, gently turning your head back to face the trees and letting the hand over your eyes fall to your waist.

Your lungs fill again, shaky, fluttering at the same pace as your pulse. He settles closer to you, tugs you deeper into his embrace, arms securely around your midriff, chin resting on the top of your head.

It’s quiet in the clearing, a few moments passing with just the sift of the wind through the leaves.

His hands find yours, threading your fingers together over your stomach, his voice soft and low. “You’re right, tionas. Every child struggles. Fights to survive.” He swallows hard, presses his lips to the top of your head. “I survived before I met you. Now, I live. Din lives.”

The words reverberate, weave through every part of you until they find their echo in the depths of that warm, bright thing in your chest.

And you know there is no reply, nothing that could be said to convey everything you feel in this moment.

So you pull his arms tighter around you, breathe deep the scent of the night mingled with him, with Din, and let your gaze drift up to the sky, seek out those dark voids where dreams used to hide, and smile at the reality surrounding you.

***** Mando’a translations

Tionas - question

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #mando x f!reader #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x you #no y/n #reader insert #the world is light embodied

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frostfall-matches · 5 months

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[ matchmaking... ]

@imjustabeanie : [ match report ready ]

your match is…

✦ Fushiguro Toji

-> Toji is someone who can deal with someone that’s rough around the edges. It doesn’t matter to him if you tend to come off as cold or sarcastic, because he’s not all that warm and fuzzy, either. Most people are just in the way, in his eyes (and when he’s at the point in his life where he’s abandoned his children, he could honestly care less about making friends or getting a partner). The first few interactions you two have are potentially a bit dicey - you’ll give back attitude if you get it, but you’re generally polite to most. Toji… well, it simply depends on how he’s feeling. He’s not necessarily polite, but he’s not super rude and aggressive to people he’s just passing by. He can be a bit gruff and condescending, so your guys’ interactions depend on how you perceive and respond to his behavior. Still, there’s a certain charm about him that you’re quick to notice, and vice versa.

-> He either doesn’t react to your flirting, or flirts right back. Just depends on his mood. He’s not really the type to get all flustered or fall for someone just because of some casual flirting, and he has the feeling that you’re just doing it to be playful. He does think it’s amusing, though, seeing this side of you when you seemed so guarded and cold before. Toji can totally dish it right back, though, almost sweetly complimenting you with a smirk on his face - and at some point this probably forces you to seriously consider your feelings towards him. Even when you often don’t recognize your feelings right away, or you bottle them up and ignore them, it’s hard not to at least do a bit of introspection sooner or later when you’re confronted with someone who banters and flirts back with you.

-> The fact that you’re not overly clingy or jealous is a big plus in Toji’s eyes. He would really hate the type of partner that breathes down his neck and tries to control what he does in his free time, or the type of partner that is so insecure and jealous that they start making assumptions and refuse to trust him. Toji is simply the type of person who needs his own space sometimes, and he refuses to be stifled by a suffocating partner. And it’s not like he won’t spend time with you - he can be quite affectionate in a very relaxed, casual way, he just needs to actually let you in. He isn’t one for those grand, sickly sweet shows of affection. But he pulls you in close and holds you tightly when you go in for a hug, or slings one of his legs over yours when the two of you are cuddled up on the couch or in bed together.

-> He has no hesitation calling you out when you’re being moody to the point that it’s unreasonable. Will this likely flare your temper up even further and cause more issues right at that moment? Probably. But he claims that it’s not his fault that you chose to bottle up your emotions and that you decided to lash out at him for no reason. (However, if you lash out at him because of something stupid or irritating that he did? Yeah, that’s fair - he won’t try to argue with you. He does definitely try to push your buttons sometimes and he knows he has to deal with the consequences.) That said, regardless if he considers your moodiness and ire is reasonable or not, he does leave you alone when you decide to isolate yourself to cool off. He doesn’t take it personally or get all whiny about it. He knows you’ll talk to him again when you’re up to it.

-> Aside from that, he finds your temper quite amusing. When it isn’t directed at him, that is. Toji just really likes how feisty you can get with people who are irritating or inconveniencing you. If he ever happens to see you get really competitive and mean with someone, trying to get your opponent to lose their temper, it just cracks him up. He’s very much the “sitting on the sidelines munching popcorn” type of guy when that whole mess happens. You have a backbone and you’re clearly willing and able to stand up for yourself when needed. And honestly, he could care less if you have some sort of grudge against someone, plotting revenge… Just know that you may very well spark his own ire if you decide to get petty with him on a regular basis.

-> Toji thinks it’s quite contradictory, the way that you refuse to harm an innocent person but also struggle with really defining your own morals. He’s not one to fuss over morals much himself - he’s willing to do some shitty things just for the money, completing dirty work when he’s willing to put in the time and the effort. On top of that, someone else’s morals really aren’t his problem. He questions you about it sometimes, bringing up hypothetical scenarios, wanting to see where you draw the line. But it’s purely out of curiosity for him, because he wants to see how your mind works. Besides, if you were a complete goody-two-shoes, you probably wouldn’t have bothered interacting with him in the first place. Whatever morals you hold won’t affect his own; and if you have a problem with his morals, then it’s up to you to either turn a blind eye to his beliefs and actions or simply leave.

-> Toji quite enjoys sparring with you and it becomes a fun pastime for both of you. He’s insanely skilled and strong, though, and most people aren’t on his level - so he does “go easy” on you (fortunately or unfortunately, however you wish to take that), but he certainly doesn’t make it easy for you, either. And why would he make it easy on you? It wouldn’t be fun for either you or him, and when it comes to sparring a boring match is just awful. Toji loves seeing that competitive fire in your eyes, enjoys taunting you just as much as you taunt him. The majority of your sparring matches do end with him besting you, but occasionally he’ll let you win, wanting to see that spark of pride and victory in your eyes… Even though you might end up pouting or scowling as you realize that he just let you win. If he gives you any compliments on your technique, though, they are genuine. And you do make him work up a sweat sometimes! He has to be on his toes around you.

-> He doesn’t participate much in your other hobbies with you. He’s a man with limited interests, knowing very well what he likes and what he doesn’t care for. But your hobbies are your own, and he does think it’s nice that you’re able to keep yourself busy and occupied regardless if you’re alone or around him. Toji will admit, though, that he quite likes the quiet afternoons and evenings when you’re busy reading a book or sketching. These times are relaxing, and he’s able to just kick his feet up and spend a bit of time in your presence without you two feeling the need to do something together in that moment. He’ll often have the TV going, volume a few notches lower than usual. Occasionally he’ll have a book himself. On another note, he does like when you decide to bake. He’s not a huge sweets person, but you make some tasty treats and he’s happy to indulge.

#user matchup #exchange #it's funny lol. there's a combo of traits that you and i share that i don't usually see in many ppl #but some big differences too! just neat to see different personalities #anyway - i had fun writing this and i hope you like all your matches!#jjk

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th3okamid3monart · 1 year

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Comfort Comics: My Giant Nerd Boyfriend

If you ever want to get off the stress inducing, horrible news barfing media from either videos or rants on any plataforms that alllows people to get angry about from the most serious to the super dumb reasoning, then this comic might be for you!

This webcomic is about the chronics of a lovely couple, the author named Fishball and aforementioned Nerd Boyfriend. SPOILER: Now Fiancé, Through the many chapters you can see what an actual healthy couple looks like, the strifes they get, their issues and how they work them with each other and a bit of their past lives prior to meeting each other.

The way the drawings and color palette are use for this webcomic can only be summarize as comfy and approachable, since reading it would make you feel like a friend is telling you an anecdote. I know there are issues with the parasocial situations, although I think comics make it a little harder for this parasocial relationships to become into an obsessive mess (just my unexpert opinion on the matter).

Aside from that, the combination between the cartoony style to a more realistic to a VERY exagerated cartoony style can be jarring if you aren’t used to the changes in between, but this aspect benefits tremendously to the punchline of the joke, which is mostly how the characters react to a situation. For example, a bit spoilery, Nerd is very afraid of insects, so his reactions from being scared in as a person might not be as funny, unless he was drawn with a horrid expression, color fading off his face and flipping his entire body as he tries to escape a cockroach. Whenever something of the sorts are explained or shown is always a delight since they show care to each other but also banter and light jokes.

Whenever a hard and serious subject is brought up is always in a very respectful way, very introspective as well. It will make you think about the whole situation that is currently happening since this people are living it or were living it at the moment the strips were updated. It will give you a sense of less loneliness and comfort as this people explained how they’ve been doing, specially through hardships they have experience as of late. It’s always beneficial for everyone to listen to this experiences since it looks like it helps the author as well as the readers. I would lie if I said I didn’t cry a couple of times reading this webcomic, when it hits you IT HITS YOU.

If anything I feel this comic is like a warm cozy hug, maybe a nice coffee break, or a chill day as you lay down and think about nothing as you spend time with people you like or even a pet (because the author has a pet which is also showcased in their own section as ‘Oh Biscuit!’).

Do give this comic a read! In a time where life has become hard and my brain is slowly but surely getting better, this comic is a refresher from the craziness from the world, the internet, and even other comics.

This is a bit of a rant: I’ve grown into a more sensible adult, or maybe just less tolerable to be suffocated. I’ve tried just keeping my feelings to myself from time to time, I put so many expectations to other people that just made me isolate myself due to my own inability of fixing my own issues. I’m kinda in the isolate part a bit since I don’t talk to others about my issues anymore or as much. I find very comforting this kind of comics because it makes me feel like everything is ok at the moment, its a relief, its a break. I always leave this comic at the end because it calms me so much to read it, even the sad chapters. I’ve decided I wanna have an optimistic outlook in life, I wanna continue forward, I wanna experience things. This comic, along other medias have helped me have a more optimistic point of view, not only the idea of things getting better but working hard to get it better. And so far its going! I feel a bit more in control with my own things, I still have a long way to go though. I also kinda learnt a thing about me and I dont know how to really cope? Because It’s not like I have complete confirmation but it makes me believe that it explains a couple of things. In general, I just wanted to talk about this because I love this comic, I love it so much. It feels like a hug even if it sounds weird. I like when things make me feel cared in an odd way. I dont know how else to explained it. Anyway!

My Giant Nerd Boyfriend <----- Link to webtoon comic

Hope you have an amazing day or night! Remeber to stay hydrated and to get enough sleep! -TOD

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foryoureyes-o-n-l-y · 2 years

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I have read @bananaheathen 's fics before, almost all of them multiple times over, but I hadn't dared to start Of Mates and Men as a WIP. I know , I knowwww it was constructed in a way that it was equally enjoyable as a WIP, but knowing how much I loved their other fics , I knew I would be obsessing over the wait time too much to properly enjoy it

ANYHOO , All this to say that I had been saving it as a sort of treat to myself during the winter holidays because the hype around it within the Fandom made me feel like it was an indulgence I would enjoy the most tucked under blankets with a hot beverage , that that, is the kind of treatment it deserved. Now I have been told I'm too particular and dramatic about the way I consume media, so much so, that in trying to consume every piece of media to make sure I enjoy it the maximum amount, I've ended up not consuming them at all. But, hear me out. You all were NOT KIDDING ABOUT IT BEING AN INDULGENCE, A PROPER TREAT, A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCE IN MY LIFE THIS YEAR AND ALSO QUITE LIFE CHANGING. After having curled under covers with hot beverages ( and also using every other ounce of free time I get to read it because I am addicted?! ) and having given it the treatment I assumed it deserves, I have some thoughts ( yes, more, actual thoughts, this was just the introduction )

1. I didn't think you could learn THIS much from a fic, to put it plainly. And I've read tons of fics before this which were absolutely beauuutiful, fics that've made me cry(out of happiness and/or pain), fics that I took time to recover after just because they were so moving, so SO nice, I couldn't quite believe it was real. I've read so many fics which had one huge moment or several scattered pieces which really made me stop and introspect and take a deep breath and have touched me in more ways than one. I've read fics before that I considered instrumental in some way, in making me a better person. But friends when I tell you This Fic surpassed it all, i mean, THIS

FIC

SURPASSED

*ALL*

Look I was ready for a good fic, I really was, i read great banter by the author before, and I loved Louis going bonkers over Harry in very dramatic ways in their other fics as well so I genuinely knew I was in for a good time. But I could never, ever ever prepare myself for the personal impact of the fic on me. I hadn't ANY idea, a fanfiction could teach you this much about life, about myself, about - IDK I'm already out of words this is not going great 😭

Fanfiction usually teaches you a few life lessons there's no denying that. But I genuinely didn't expect to learn so much about myself, to actually feel such a personal connection to any story. Idk I just, feel like a better person, and my relationship with myself has changed even if by a little bit and I just observed that I'm being a little kinder to myself, in my head. It's never , EVER happened before and I'm not sure how it did now. It was the life lessons that came dressed as beautiful life lesson-y sentences that hit you HARD (idk if you know what I mean ) but it was also the overall journey, the consistent little things, the changing relationship between Louis and himself, the persistence of people who love him in his life and the love he has for them, and the way the love shapes him as a person - It was all of that and more, or less Idk,

I feel good in my heart, when I read this, a warmth I cannot explain, a safety that's...I'm not even sure how that could happen, a love for my people that's 10 times fiercer than what I consciously felt before and a very new, fresh friendships with myself that was definitely not their before.

Is this actually therapy in the form of a fic? No absolutely not. I would never say that. Therapy is important, it's irreplaceable like that really.

But does it heal you in a way ONLY art can? Absolutely yes. Does it just touch you so very intimately that you feel better just by that? Absolutely. Is it the literal example of how art just existing, makes us so much better as humans just by making us FEEL? 100%

I've learnt so much from this fic about love and friendship and grief and sorrow and Happiness and love and friendship, but I cannot emphasize this enough, no fic has ever impacted the relationship I have with myself, the unfairness of it , the cruelty of it, and somehow this has. And if it was not clear from this terribly wrong rant, I'm so eternally grateful to you @bananaheathen for doing this. You don't know how many lives you've touched and changed Just by providing this very enjoyable, very beautiful work of art. .

(I'm not done

Can you imagine 🥲)

2. The JOKESSSSSS. The inside jokes, the jokes within the inside jokes, the Fandom jokes, the wordplay The WORDPLAY, the niche wordplay that's just there for the fandom to find like little treats within a large treat for being a part of this chaotic space. One thing about me is I love canon references in AUs because they are so creatively done and it's just so fun when you realise that a canon moment is happening and you know, You knowww it's one of those momentsTM and you know what's gonna happen next and it's just a special thing between the author and the fandom and yeah. One of my favourite things.

But again, I was not ready for the way this fic includes Canon references( I don't think anyone can be ready for that actually). Because it's SO FRESH, SO UNIQUE??!?!!!!?! like I would have never imagined the Restaurants being named like that?!?! Sarah and Pillow Person?!???! Diana?!?! Perrie's?!!! ( I'm trying to make this spoiler free hence the ambiguous exclamations but also I have no words to explain the genius behind this so I'm not even trying )

They just keep coming 😭😭🤯🤯 they just keep blowing your mind and then they are just followed by more. If you thought you were floored by Tea Swift, welp you didn't think fast enough and now you're floored by Pillow Person and then soms other niche reference that only the fandom will get IT'S SO LOVELY GUYS HOW IS IT SO LOVELY I GENUINELY CANNOT BELIEVE HOW GOOD THIS IS LIKE I'M ACTUALLY HIT BY A TRUCKLOAD OF FEELINGS OF ADMIRATION AND REVERENCE WHILE I WRITE THIS

3. The banterrrr The banter, THE BANTER !

The OT5 Banter, The boyfriend banter, the best friends banter, the consistently enjoyable and somehow so accurately characteristic banter that pervades this fic is probably the mosttttt enjoyable part for me. Makes me want to reread it while reading it. For the first time.

4. OT5 feels. So. Much. Of. It.

The friendship makes you laugh and cry the most I think. It's just. It's beautifully done, a work of art to just narrate the evolution and the persistence of the friendship in that way. Something that is so purely done in the story I would Never be able to praise in enough words.

5. Look I cannot see an end to this post if I keep taking up one thing at a time that I loved about this, maybe I'll write a post as big as the fic ( no that's too much, it's quite a big fic , But I might, it is possible). The relationship is beautifully done, the Individual character arcs and their growth, beautifully done, the relationship develops very very very beautifully and is a whole other thing of beauty in itself i don't know how else to define it.

I have several more thoughts but I would never finish them I think , because I keep getting new ones as I write this and whenever I find myself thinking about this fic. So to summarise my rant about how miraculously good this is, I just want to say,

My feelings towards this fic are similar to Louis' feelings for Harry in it, and to anyone who's read the fic, the seriousness of that statement is not lost, i know.

Thank you so so much for this @bananaheathen Ironically, I don't have words to properly thank you for what you've created. But it is a highlight of my year.

#I haven't written a fic post #like ever #but I just had to with this #i was bursting at ths seams with my love for this fic

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nebulousnajm · 2 years

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“in a snowglobe” – a scarabedo fic

G rating - 2,979 words. ao3 link at the end.

Summary: Scaramouche convinces Albedo to go to the festival he's been wanting to visit for years but has never had the time for. Banter, disguises, a bit of introspection, and fluff ensue.

––

The winter holidays are usually meant to be a carefree and joyful time, but for Albedo it's one of the most stressful times of the year. Which is saying a lot, considering that there are many things that regularly stress him out.

Dropping temperatures and decreasing hours of daylight make the residents of Mondstadt slow and more predisposed to curling up beside the hearth with a spiced hot drink, and for all the knights’ attitude and posturing, they’re no different. It leaves Albedo to pick up the slack his lab team leaves behind in favor of less demanding activities, and while he doesn’t mind, it’s not something he’s exactly grateful for.

He’s always thanked profusely after the frost melts and the sun-adoring flowers open their petals for longer, but a bitter voice in his head (that Albedo tries his best to keep quiet) tells him that gratefulness won’t bring back the lost time he could have used to do the winter-exclusive things he actually wants to do.

Like following through on his promise to Klee of building a snowman together. Or trying the hot chocolate drink that Angel’s Share only serves during the holiday season. Or conducting his environmental experiments that need cooler temperatures. Or painting the Mondstadt square when it's dusted with snow and the fountain has frozen over. Or or or. The list is endless and Albedo stops himself from dwelling on it further as it will only worsen his mood.

Still, it’s hard not to when the cheery and festive sounds of the Knights of Favonius’ fundraising festival are carried over to him by the wind, as if taunting him. He’s on the base of the mountain to collect some samples he needs, and he can easily spot the stalls and ice rink set up across the river, reminding him of yet another thing he wants to do but can’t. Sighing and shaking his head, Albedo quickly identifies and gathers what he needs, and swiftly makes the return trip back to his camp.

He’s so caught up in quieting his thoughts that he doesn’t even take note of his visitor standing by the easel.

The visitor watches in silent amusement as Albedo deposits the items in his arms on his already-cluttered desk, muttering to himself something indiscernible but no doubt about what he plans to do with everything in front of him.

But something makes the visitor pause. Though Albedo’s face is the calm pond it usually is, today, its placid surface belies a disturbance beneath. There is the slightest frown pulling at his lips and eyebrows, and his movements are snappy and impatient rather than methodical and unhurried.

“So who pissed you off today?”

Albedo almost messes up his writing and whips his head up towards the source of the voice, shoulders tense.

He immediately relaxes upon recognizing who it is, even if a voice in his head tells him that he really shouldn’t have that reaction towards this specific individual.

“Scaramouche,” he greets with a relieved laugh. “How long have you been there?”

Humming in faux contemplation he says, “not long, but long enough to notice that something has disturbed your peace.”

You and your theatrics, he thinks, not unkindly.

“You picked up on that fast.” Albedo hasn’t yet mastered reading Scaramouche the way the other has for him.

“Resentment is an old friend I’d recognize anywhere.”

“Always so dramatic,” he remarks, maybe fondly.

It occurs to Albedo that it is probably a testament to whatever strange and likely unwise thing he shares with the (ex?) harbinger that the latter didn’t immediately glare at him for the comment.

“‘Resentment’ is a strong word for it but…” he trails off with a sigh. How can he put this kindly.

As Albedo is thinking, Scaramouche approaches the desk, pushes a few things aside, and lifts himself to sit on it.

“Have you ever said anything without thinking a hundred times about it?” He asks teasingly.

Raising an eyebrow, he returns, “of course I have, but you clearly have more experience.”

Scaramouche sticks his tongue out at him and turns his head away, but stays silent while Albedo puts his thoughts together.

“The holiday season is when my lab team… does the least amount of work even though we still have the same deadlines to meet, so I end up completing their work for them. My assistant always offers to help, but I don’t want to burden her. I don’t mind it per se, but it leaves me little to no time for my own leisure.”

Looking outside, he sighs. “Take today for example. I’d like to visit the small fundraising festival that the knights set up for the week, but I’m too busy.”

When Scaramouche remains silent for a too-long moment, Albedo turns to him only to find that he’s staring at Albedo with an unreadable expression on his face.

He’s about to ask if he said something strange when Scaramouche says, “just go now.”

Albedo stares at him in return. “I just told you I’m too busy.”

Shrugging, he simply says, “aren’t you busy all year? I’m sure you can leave this paperwork for an hour or two.”

I guess that’s technically true, he considers, surveying the work on his desk. But while he can leave the paperwork for a while… “Sure, but where would you go? I wouldn’t want to just leave you here.”

Mischief stretches a smile on Scaramouche’s face. “Who said anything about leaving me? I’m coming with you.”

His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Are you sure?”

He tilts his head. “Well if it’s caught your eye then it must hold something interesting.”

“It’s a very human festivity, and you don’t tend to like humans,” Albedo reminds him.

“Leave the conclusion for me to reach.”

He hums, turning the idea in his mind. He’s not opposed to it –quite the contrary actually– but it does raise a problem.

“Then we’ll need to disguise ourselves. All the people there know me and you’re not exactly inconspicuous.”

Scaramouche looks around the camp. “I don’t see a closet anywhere. What’s your plan.”

“You’ll definitely have to leave your hat behind,” he starts as he makes his way towards a wooden chest tucked in the back. “And while I don’t have a closet, I do have something useful.”

Albedo opens the seldom-touched chest and finds the neatly folded coats, sweaters, and scarves right where he left them. He takes out a black, light coat and a purple scarf for Scaramouche, and a white turtle-necked sweater for himself.

Scaramouche inspects the chest’s contents over Albedo’s shoulder. “Why do you even have all this stuff? I know you don’t get cold.”

Turning to hand him the coat and scarf, he says, “Yes. You know that, but not the knights; I need something to fool them. And most of the time they need an extra layer anyway because they’re the ones not dressed appropriately for the climate.”

He scoffs at the second part. “Why does that not surprise me.”

It draws a quiet laugh out of Albedo as he goes to leave his short-sleeved jacket on the desk chair and pull on the sweater. The knights have good intentions –most of the time– but they do have their short-sighted moments.

An idea occurs to him. He takes out the tie holding his braids together and works the hair loose before tying it back into a small ponytail. He figures that everyone has seen him with the braids often enough that they won’t expect to see him without them.

Glancing at Scaramouche, he finds that he’s propped up his hat against the wall and put on the coat and buttoned it all the way, but the scarf lies forgotten in his hands as he stares at Albedo for a reason he can’t fathom.

He takes advantage of this distraction to approach him, take the scarf from his unprotesting hands, and wrap it snugly around his neck. Stepping back, Albedo surveys the disguise he’s chosen for him and decides that it’ll do. All fatui imagery is hidden away and people tend not to recognize someone if they’re not at all expecting them to be there.

Scaramouche gathers enough of what he lost to say, “I look ridiculous.” His voice is slightly muffled by the scarf covering his mouth.

Albedo can’t help but smile. He looks unthreatening and dare he say cute like this. “Maybe. But no one expects the Balladeer to be dressed like this, so I believe it will work.”

“You better be right.” He hears him mumble as they exit the camp and make their way towards the foot of the mountain. This is going to be interesting.

Strangely enough, it seems like Scaramouche doesn’t hate the festival. – much to Albedo’s surprise.

After paying the entry fee, they decided to walk around first before picking something to do. Albedo knew he wanted to go to the ice rink, but not immediately.

Sticking close to his side, Scaramouche’s eyes are narrowed at almost everything, but if Albedo is reading him right, then there might be curiosity glinting in them too.

It’s hard not to be drawn to the atmosphere after all. Jewel toned tents sprout like blooms from the snow-covered earth; children weave between them and the seating areas with frost kissed cheeks; and a certain joy seems to emanate from the strategically placed braziers, which upon closer inspection, he realizes are actually contained pyro seelies.

It’s difficult to find something derogatory to say about any of it – until he spots three of his lab team members huddled over a table with coffee cups on it and a card game laid out.

“Ah. Of course they’re here.” They seem to be in the middle of their game, completely absorbed and ignorant of the world around them (including the work they left behind).

His companion follows his line of sight. “Are those the assholes that dumped their work on you?”

He suppresses a smile. “I wouldn't say that exactly... But yes.”

“I’ll say it for you then.”

“Is your work ethic this strong all the time?”

“There’s no room for being lazy with the Tsaritsa; she’d have your head for it,” he wears a cryptic smile, “or worse.”

Albedo raises his eyebrow at the comment but doesn’t say anything, though he mentally files it away for later. It wouldn’t be smart to discuss this in such a place anyway.

His gaze returns to the outdoor cafe that his unsuspecting team members are sitting at, and is pleasantly surprised to see that it belongs to the Angel’s Share. Maybe he’ll get to try out that hot chocolate after all.

“How do you feel about hot chocolate,” he asks Scaramouche while looking at the queue. They’ve caught it in a rare lull, so it shouldn’t take long to order at all.

“It’s not bad,” he answers with suspicion clear in his voice. “I prefer it when they use dark chocolate.”

Albedo glances back at him. “‘Not bad’ is high praise coming from you. Let’s go see if they have that.”

Seven minutes later, they’re leaning by the fence bordering the festival and sipping their drinks (an extra sweetened hot chocolate for Albedo and a dark chocolate one for Scaramouche). They have a decent view of the entire place from here.

Chancing a glance beside him, he finds Scaramouche lost in thought with both hands holding his cup.

Albedo can’t contain his curiosity any longer. “So what do you think of the festival so far?”

Scaramouche looks at him before sweeping his gaze once more across the grounds.

“It’s not torture… but I don’t get it. What are all of these fools so happy about? It’s just snow and cold and food they can eat at any time. Why do they restrict these things for themselves to this specific time of year?”

He remembers wondering the same thing a few years ago, and smiles at the thought. “The cold of the winter months tends to draw people to sources of warmth, both literally and figuratively. They huddle around fireplaces and campfires with family and friends, and pass the time with things they’ve delegated to the holidays.”

Meeting Scaramouche’s eyes, he continues. “Sure they can eat Honey Moon Pies, Pumpkin Soup, and have hot chocolate at any time, but by only having them in winter, they bring a unique joy that makes people look forward to this time of year. It can keep them going.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot.” A begrudging fascination peeks between his words.

“Yes; humans are very complex, but also deceptively simple at times.”

“And it doesn’t make you feel isolated?”

“Why would it?”

Scaramouche’s expression goes deadpan and he pointedly looks at where his diamond birthmark would be, were it not purposefully hidden behind his sweater’s collar.

“Mondstadt doesn’t care about what or who you are. As long as you are in its borders, you are a child of the wind. Barbatos is very accepting in that manner.” As long as you are not a threat to his people, that is , he adds to himself in his head.

He only gets a hum in return, though he doesn’t move away as they continue to drink their beverages in comfortable silence. Albedo gives him the time to consider their conversation; he’s rarely seen Scaramouche so contemplative.

After a few minutes, he turns his head ever so slightly and stills at the soft smile on Scaramouche’s lips and the bittersweet melancholia in his eyes. It’s a world’s difference compared to the fury and resentment he so often holds on to.

He’s looking at something a small distance away, and he follows his line of sight to a slightly older child helping what seems to be his younger brother build a snowman.

Never had Albedo wished he had his sketchbook on him more; he feels a need to preserve this precious moment of peace, if only to remind its subject that it is possible to achieve.

Scaramouche blinks and the moment ends. Catching Albedo staring at him, he raises an eyebrow.

Panicking, he remembers his primary reason for wanting to visit the festival in the first place. “Do you want to go ice skating?” At least the rink is big enough that they can stay relatively undisturbed.

“Do we have to?” Scaramouche asks, wary.

“No, of course or not, but–” Scaramouche's expression gives him pause.

He tilts his head with an amused smile. “Have you never ice skated before?”

When he looks away with indigence, Albedo thinks he may be better at reading him than he thought. “No. Why would I have.”

Humming, he says “I guessed that maybe you’d have some experience from Snezhnaya since it's freezing for all but one month of the year there.”

“As if the hag ever allowed me a moment of peace,” he scoffs.

Referring to the Tsaritsa as “the hag” is certainly something, but he’ll just have to file that away for later as well.

“It’s not too difficult, I’ll help you on the ice too.”

Scaramouche narrows his eyes at him. “I can learn to skate by myself, thank you very much.”

Albedo shrugs and keeps his smile to himself, knowing what comes next. “If you say so.”

Scaramouche has Albedo’s forearms in a death grip.

“I swear if you let go–” He’s faintly wobbling and focusing on the ice beneath them like it’ll tell him the meaning of life.

Laughing, he says “I won't, don't worry. And I couldn't even if I wanted to.”

As soon as their skates hit the rink, Scaramouche fully comprehended just how out of his depth he was. He had immediately latched onto Albedo’s arm next to him as he tried to balance, and didn’t protest when Albedo moved in front of him to take hold of his other arm and guide him around the rink.

“You said this wouldn’t be ‘too difficult.’” Scaramouche remarks, almost affronted.

“Is it?”

He glances up at him for a fraction of a second, “This is like learning how to walk all over again.”

“Most people don’t remember that” but then again…

“I thought we established that both of us aren’t ‘most people.’”

“Hm. We can do something else if you want,” he points out.

Albedo thinks he probably imagined the slight tightening of Scaramouche’s hold on his arms. “No. This is fine.”

His balance becomes noticeably more stable the more minutes they spend on the ice. The speed of his progress is surprising, but maybe it shouldn’t be, considering everything.

It’s almost peaceful like this. Not many people are on the rink, and faint laughter and carefree chatter tangle with the snowflakes in the air and float over to them on the wind.

Eventually, with Scaramouche’s improving balance, his hold on Albedo loosens but doesn’t relinquish. When he skates without any mishaps for a little while, Albedo loosens his own grip and starts moving away.

But when their hands make contact, Scaramouche holds onto them and doesn’t let go.

Blinking in surprise, Albedo looks up to find him staring at their joined hands as if he, too, is caught off guard by his own action.

A quiet laugh escapes him and Albedo squeezes his hands before pulling him along slightly faster, which causes Scaramouche to hold on tighter to stay upright – but it draws a laugh out of him too.

The whole evening had felt surreal, but this, especially, feels like a moment they’d have in a universe where they weren’t what they are and where everything didn’t seem to inevitably lead them away from each other. And yet here they are, holding hands and skating serenely.

Well, as serenely as they can with Scaramouche still almost losing his balance every now and then. But Albedo doesn’t mind; he knows that with patience and time, all things eventually come into fruition.

––

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43556802

#mine #my writing #scarabedo #albescara #genshin impact #scaramouche genshin impact #albedo genshin impact #scaramouche #albedo #scaramouce x albedo #scaramouche/albedo #albedo x scaramouce #albedo/scaramouche

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nerdynatreads · 1 year

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book review || Happy Place by Emily Henry

video review || I'm Not Gonna Apologize -- Anticipated Releases Reading Vlog|| Happy Place & In the Lives of Puppets

Not a new favorite, but definitely not a disappointment either. Emily Henry’s books are always an enjoyable ride!

Let me first say, my favorite part of this book was the friendship group. Harry, Cleo, and Sabrina were totally my way to reminisce about college with my best friends and all the trips we’ve taken together. Henry’s atmosphere work also took me on vacation with them. I loved that they all knew each other so well, that they were there for each other through it all, I even appreciated that the third act conflict in this was really more about their friendship than the romance itself. Friendship was my favorite part of this book.

I felt a bit called out by Harriet’s internal struggles in this, but I also felt comforted by the introspection. I think that’s another strength of Henry’s work. She’s able to take such deeply personal topics and put them into words beautifully, making them into something so many people can relate. Harry struggles so much with her own identity and trying to please everyone around her and damn if that didn’t hit me square in the chest.

Now, the romance. This… wasn’t my favorite. I love second-chance romances and this did manage the balancing act of convincing me their previous breakup was logical, but not so terrible that they can’t get back together. The fake fiancée bit didn’t feel over the top, but there was still plenty of miscommunication to annoy me. I wasn’t throwing the book across the room, but it was enough to irk me.

Apart from that, I just wasn’t completely sold on Wyn. He and Harriet had fantastic banter and there was solid sexual tension any time they were together, but he actually seemed like the flattest character of the group for a lot of this book. I think that got a lot better toward the end when they finally talked out their issues, but it felt a little too late. This, in turn, made it so I wasn’t as absorbed by their romance as I’d like.

I think I liked this more than People We Meet on Vacation, but less than Books Lovers.

4 / 5 stars

#book review #happy place #happy place by emily henry #romance books #romance book recs #romance book recommendations #second chance romance #second chance romance books #bookblr #booklr #book tumblr #booktube #booktuber #book youtube

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meganlpie · 2 years

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Hello dear,

First of all I wanted to tell you how I absolutely love your work! Reading you is always a delight and I was absolutely in love with the story you wrote with Victor. So, thank you very much!

I wanted to ask - if you want and have time of course - for a male ship with : LOTR, Gotham, Game of Thrones and Peaky Blinders.

It's the first time I ask for something like this so please bear with me 😅 Also, I apologize in advance for my English mistakes, it's not my first language.

So! I'm 29, 5'7 and have an athletic body, brown eyes and hair (shoulder length) and usually wear glasses.

I'm a pretty straight forward woman most of the time, and usually don't have any problem with telling someone what I think, even if it's not something pleasant to hear. I love to use irony/sarcasm, puns and dark/morbid humor. My friends and relatives describe me as someone with a sharp mind and a very sharp tongue too. Clearly verbal banters are something I enjoy immensely.

I'm on the INTP side, and love my little (BIG!) moments of deep introspection. I also love to work on computers, read, and play strategy games.

As I told you before, I'm athletic (12h sport per week), and used to practice Taekwondo for a decade. I would only use it in case of absolute necessity though.

I can be difficult to approach at first IRL and be a bit cold. Nothing personal, I have trust issues but I'm working on it to be more open to new people!

I can also be very stubborn and have short patience, which I'm also working on. I'm very exigeant with myself and tend to be with my friends and relatives, which isn't a good thing I know, and makes mistakes pretty difficult for me to forgive. It's also something I try to work on.

And I think that's it. I hope it wasn't too long and gives you enough to play matchmaker 😊

Again, thank you for your work and the kind comments you posted on my stories. I wish you a good day, a beautiful Christmas and can't wait to read you!

Take care 💐

Hello! Thanks so much for your kind words! Your English is great and good on you for being able to learn another language!

I ship you with;

Boromir! The two of you butt heads so often when you first meet, especially because this idiot will NOT admit that he adores you. However, after a while your honest nature rubs off on him and he finally opens up. Your quick wit and straightforward attitude is something Boromir appreciates because he is absolutely the kind of person to act first and ask questions later, but at the end of the day, you two love as fiercely as you once fought.

I ship you with(and this one took FOREVER!):

Victor Zsasz! Look, this was really hard for me. I tried not to, but really, he is the best match for you. Victor appreciates honesty in all things. He never lies about who he is or what he does and he doesn't like when others lie to him. Victor loves that you can defend yourself because it gives him less to worry about since he has so many enemies. The two of you banter and debate fairly often, but it's almost always "friendly" except when Victor does something to irritate you beyond reason.

I ship you with:

Tormund Giantsbane! Tormund is the guy laughing in the background when you give someone a tongue lashing. He is the very definition of "That's my partner, look at them go" kind of guy. He always has your back after you've earned each other's trust. He doesn't trust easily either, but once he's in, this man loves with his whole heart. He can be a lot, but he will listen when you honestly tell him if he's being too much for you in the moment.

I ship you with (and this was the easiest one);

Thomas "Tommy" Shelby! Tommy appreciates your sense of humor, especially given the life he chooses to live. But he adores the fact that you don't sugarcoat anything. Tommy is so used to people telling him what he wants to hear instead of what he needs(with the exception of Pol). The two of you do argue simply because you are both rather impatient, but Tommy will respect you if you choose to walk away from an argument. And the two of you always make up eventually.

#shippingmondays #boromir #victor zsasz #tormund giantsbane #thomas shelby

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sergeant-spoons · 2 years

Text

120. Gotta Count For Something

Verity/Victor Rich

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow @chaosklutz @wexhappyxfew @50svibes @tvserie-s-world @adamantiumdragonfly @ask-you-what-sir @whovian45810 @brokennerdalert @holdingforgeneralhugs @claire-bear-1218 @heirsoflilith @itswormtrain @actualtrashpanda @wtrpxrks

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"Get me that napkin, would ya? Not you, Johnny, stop scowlin'- Jesus-"

"Oy, Perconte! Get your own toast!"

"Hey, O'Keefe—catch!"

The breakfast time banter of the 506th—convivial as ever—rose through the hotel dining hall all the way up to the bowed roof. The paratroopers who had settled into Zell am See a little less than a month ago felt commonly that they would rather be stationed here than anywhere else on the continent. Austria was the closest thing they'd get to a vacation from the war—even the drills Major Winters filled their days with felt more like training back at Camp MacKall or Fort Bragg than preparations for resumed engagement. That fine June morning saw every window of the hotel dining hall thrust wide open, letting a warm breeze in to tousle the troopers' hair and send a dozen or so men scuttling after their napkins left untended. Friends laughed and joked and jostled for spots on the long benches before the even longer tables, enjoying the fresh air and the company of one another. Summer had come to Austria in full swing and Easy Company welcomed it with open arms, sunburns and sweat and all.

One trooper refrained from the breakfast conversation. Poking at her eggs and potatoes with her fork, she speared bits without ever raising them to her mouth. Her introspectiveness and lack of appetite would not have been unusual had she not also skipped dinner the day before.

"Rich? Hey, Rich?"

Unresponsive, Verity kept pushing her eggs into a corner of her plate. A few morsels spilled onto the table, and she lifted the napkin on her lap to clean them up. Her neighbor, frowning, bumped her arm with his elbow.

"What?" She glanced at her meal. "Did I drop something else?"

"No." He jabbed at her potatoes with his fork. "You gonna eat those?"

She pushed her plate his way. "Nope. All yours, Pat."

Christenson happily picked up her plate and slid the potatoes onto his. Verity was about to offer him her eggs too when a foot tapped hers under the table. She looked up and saw Donald Malarkey watching her.

"What's up with you this morning?" He pointed with his butter knife at her plate. "You haven't eaten at all."

"Yes, I have," she lied, showing him the crusts of her toast, which had not been eaten by her but by Liebgott across the table. "I'm just not that hungry."

Yesterday, around 16:00 hours: Easy Company had crammed into a room with a no-smoking sign (heartily ignored), a projector, and not nearly enough chairs for the number gathered. The afternoon was hazy after a morning of rain, and the humidity caused headaches in enough soldiers that evening drills had been called off. Retreating indoors, they'd been persuaded by their higher-ups to sit for the showing of a film before dinner. They'd expected The Wizard of Oz or some other Hollywood prize, but instead, they'd been treated to another propaganda piece on the war in the Pacific. It was safe to say no one much appreciated the reminder (one of many) that they'd be back in the fray before long. Affected enough to lose her appetite, Verity had skipped dinner and gone up to her and Perry's room. She tried to distract herself from the tightness in her chest by reading one of the books left on the shelf in their room by the previous occupants. It turned out that only one of the novels was in English, so she'd selected that one; looking back, her attention had been so far gone that she could only remember fragments, such as the author's name—George Orwell—that the book was charred on the top right corner as if someone had attempted to burn it, and it had something to do with a Civil War in Spain. The title of the account escaped her.

Halfway to taking another bite, Malarkey hesitated, watching Verity's gaze trail away into the distance yet again. She'd been sitting directly across from him for the entirety of the morning meal, but she'd hardly said hello. Christenson supposed around a mouthful of sausage that it was a stomach bug—"Heffron had it last week, 'member?"—but Malark couldn't find it in himself to believe it. He lowered his fork to his plate and nudged Verity's foot with his again.

"Red? C'mon, what's up?"

She hesitated. Should she tell him how she tried to read that book, but all she could think about was the Pacific and how soon they'd be going? They'd been training and trying to pretend it was like Toccoa or Benning all over again (sans the unwanted grace of Sobel), but that film had made it seem so real. Should she relate how she'd gone to write a letter to her father only to sit there for ten minutes with her pencil hovering over the paper and then giving up without writing a single word? She didn't know what to say, not to Pa, not to Malark. The last time she'd written her father was before D-Day, over a year ago, but her friend didn't know any of that. Even if she asked his advice, it would be an empty request. She'd never be able to use his words, they'd feel stale and empty; even if they'd come from his heart, they hadn't come from hers. And what about what Perry had said? She'd come in just after sunset, three sheets to the wind, preaching on the subject of the war in the Pacific without ever making it clear who she was talking to, her roommate or herself. There was no way they'd leave before they'd made use of that airfield down in the valley, she'd claimed, haphazardly shucking clothing as she paced across the carpet, and there was plenty of land here for training exercises, they needn't find more, and besides, even if they did end up going-

If? Verity had wanted to ask as her friend's drunken ramblings were muffled into her downy pillow. Don't you mean when?

She shrugged and looked back up at Malarkey, who was still watching her expectantly.

"It's nothing."

His gaze narrowed, and though she knew she'd done a poor job of convincing him, she'd at least expected him to drop the matter.

"C'mon, Red, you think I'm dumb enough to believe that?"

"No! No, I definitely don't, I just-"

His pointed look told her she'd given exactly the answer he'd expected, and she sighed. Ducking her head, she averted her gaze as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Oh, alright. I just- I had a dream."

As if the night couldn't get Verity feeling any lower, she'd finally tossed and turned her way into a tentative sleep only to find a troublesome dream awaiting her. It was not a nightmare, but it was not even remotely happy. Walking along an endless beach with the ocean on one side and long sands and turf on the other, Verity had found Don Hoobler sitting in the surf. He splashed water at her and grinned as he said hello. Stunned, she told him he was dead, and he shrugged and replied that he didn't think he was, but it was nice of her to let him know. He raised his hand and she helped him up, and together, they walked for a very long time. She couldn't remember what they'd talked about. No matter how hard she tried to cling to the conversation, wishing it was her friend visiting her from beyond the grave even though she didn't believe that was possible, the memory all but disappeared the moment she awoke. Even in the dream, as soon as the waves came up, his words and her own were washed away along with their neighbored footprints. It was not the light of early morning but the taste of her own tears that had woken her up.

"A dream? About somebody?"

She nodded and looked up just in time to see him opening his mouth, then closing it as soon as she met his gaze. He'd been about to ask who, she had no doubt, but he didn't, and instead offered her the other half of his toast.

"Eat."

Surrendering, she complied. As she swallowed the tasteless, lukewarm bread, her friend brought his canteen up onto the table and transferred the water from his glass.

"How about you come with us into the woods today?" he offered. "Some of the guys are going hunting, Bull and me and a few others."

She quirked a brow. "This have anything to do with Popeye seeing that buck the other day?"

"Sure does. If there's deer around, we're gonna try and get us some venison—and we're taking Shifty, so you can pretty much count on it."

It was a sociable enough request, but Verity could tell he was trying harder than he let on to help. To find a way to take her mind off her lost friend could very well be to save her sanity—they both knew thinking about the dead was a treacherous wire to walk. Revisiting those faces long buried below stiff earth (or, worse, blown to bits in a split second) could send a man (any person, really) spiraling into a grief from which he may never recover.

They'd come too far to lose themselves now.

"Alright," she decided in a burst of gratitude, "when are you leaving?"

"Just as soon as we're all done eating." A slight smile. "And knowing Perconte, that could be a while."

Catching his name, Frank looked up with a scowl. "The fuck's that s'posed to mean, Malarkey?"

"Nothing at all," Verity assuaged. "You want my eggs?"

He'd taken her plate before she'd even finished the request.

"...You're welcome."

Still chewing, Frank shot her a lopsided grin. Meanwhile, Malarkey, who'd just finished stacking his dishes (along with some of his clamoring friends'), started to stand.

"See you out there, yeah?"

He kept an eye on her as he rose, taking his tray with him, requiring her confirmation before he left.

"Yeah."

She doubted she'd need her rifle, but she went up to her room to get it anyway and found Perry still drowsing in bed. Luckily, they had the day off from drills—Verity could hardly imagine the hangover her friend was going to have when she woke up.

"You look like you have plans."

A smile creeping onto her lips, Verity turned around from where she'd been quietly closing the door to the room. Gene kissed her on the forehead, and she smiled, brushing a few locks of dark hair out of his eyes. They looked remarkably blue today. She told him so and was pleasantly surprised when his cheeks pinkened. Nodding down the hall, he asked again what her intentions for the day were, and as she followed him to the room he shared with Babe, she told him where she was going and with who. He smiled a bit peculiarly as he turned the knob and let them both in.

"I didn't know you hunted."

"Oh, I don't. I just thought I oughta bring my rifle, seeing as everybody else is."

"Ah." He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer to him, nuzzling his face into her neck. "You sure you wouldn't rather stay here with me?"

She laughed and kissed the top of his head. "You know I would. But I kind of promised Malarkey I'd go..."

"I figured. Still..."

He kissed her on the lips, sound and sweet, and she swore she saw stars when they broke apart. Someone hollered for her from the bottom of the stairs and she bit the inside of her lip.

"Looks like we're heading out."

Gene smiled and squeezed her hand before letting her go.

"Don't have too much fun without me."

"I won't—oh, and Gene-" Turning over her shoulder as she opened the door, she shot him a sheepish smile. "-do you think you could check in on Perry for me? Apparently, there was a party last night for somebody's birthday, and she didn't hold back when it came to the alcohol."

"So I heard." He sighed. "A medic's work ain't never done."

"Sorry." She glanced down the hall, saw no one, and kissed him again for good measure. "We'll have a day with just you and me, alright? Soon."

He brightened up. "You promise?"

She tugged on his collar, straightening it out, and kissed his cheek.

"I promise."

An hour later, out in the forest, seven soldiers walked in a line, chewing on toothpicks and poking fun at each other as the sun filtered green through the leaves.

"What're you crouchin' down for, Perco?" Liebgott laughed. "Think the deer's gonna shoot back?"

Frank's nose crinkled up in displeasure. "Leave me alone."

"How about y'all just shut up," Bull suggested, chewing a wad of tobacco, "and let Shifty kill us some dinner."

"I've never had venison," Verity said, trying to redirect the conversation. "Is it good?"

Shifty, next to her in the line-up, glanced her way with a small smile. "Yeah, pretty good, if you cook it up right."

On Verity's other side, Joe Ramirez made a face and mumbled something to himself in Spanish. He didn't seem too thrilled with the idea of venison, and Verity couldn't puzzle out why he'd decided to join them. Maybe he'd thought they'd be shooting pheasants or rabbits instead.

"Eh, what's the matter, Bull?" Frank teased. "You tired of eatin' dried-up spuds three times a day?"

"Not this morning," Verity pointed out, trying again at harmony. "We had eggs and toast, too."

"Yeah, too—with the potatoes!" Frank exclaimed, squinting at her as if she'd said something rather ludicrous. "Not that you ate much of it, anyway."

"Hey, you know what, I got an idea," Liebgott spoke up. "Why don't we just shoot Bull here and feed the company for a week?"

Just as Verity was about to tell him to be quiet, a branch snapped in the near distance and Shifty raised his hand. Everyone stopped and dropped into the crouched position they'd all become overly familiar with throughout the war. On Shifty's other side, Ramirez and Malarkey raised their rifles in sync, but Verity did not join them, fingering the strap over her shoulder. She looked for what had caught Shifty's eye and found the very thing they'd come looking for: a deer, chewing on the tall grass that populated these woods, standing at ease in a grove not far off. The orange of the pelt on its back faded into a white neck, leading up to a head with a large, flared nose and tall, beige antlers. Its eyes were dark brown and calm. It had not yet spotted them. Shifty dropped his hand and raised his rifle to his shoulder. Verity glanced between him and the beast. A bird twittered the same note over and over, Frank lifted his head, trying to see the deer better, and a stick snapped somewhere apart from the group but not far enough.

"Aw, goddamnit Shifty," Liebgott complained, "you let him get away."

A glance at the others revealed varied expressions of either discomfort or vague annoyance, but Verity felt only relief. She got it, why Shifty couldn't shoot that deer. It was for the same reason she saw dead friends in her dreams. The humanity of their lives was coming back to them, something that didn't belong in a war. They were still soldiers, but soldiers in limbo. She'd never been a hunter like Shifty was before the war, but somehow, she understood.

Once you've put a bullet through a man's head, shooting a wild animal seems pretty pointless.

She started to feel a little queasy again, the same way she had after the propaganda film yesterday, and she turned to Shifty with a mild shrug.

"We'll find another one."

Liebgott, still disgruntled, rolled his shoulder and grimaced at Shifty.

"Jesus. Army oughta be glad to be rid o' you."

Shifty had yet to lower his gun. He started to nod, and Verity's proffered smile fell, seeing Liebgott's comment had struck a chord with him.

"I wish, you know?" he replied, and it was the first thing he'd said since they'd set out. "Seems they want me to stay around a while."

"What? Really?" Verity blurted out at the same moment Liebgott asked, "You serious?"

"How many points you need?" Malarkey added.

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen!" Malark gasped as Ramirez let loose a whistle of amazement. "Jesus Christ, I thought I had it bad."

Shifty sighed. "No purple hearts, never was injured."

Verity had to look away. She wanted to scream. Was it too much to ask for her friends to get home without a coffin being their only way?

"What about you, Red?" Shifty asked, leaning around to see her face. "Surely you can go home now."

"Yeah, no, not yet." She shrugged. "I don't have it quite as bad as you, Shift, but I'm stickin' around, too."

"But you've got a purple heart, right?" Malarkey pressed. "You got shot in Bastogne, that's gotta count for something."

"Sure did," she agreed, pushing back her hair to show the remains of her right ear, "but they called it friendly fire."

"Fuck." Liebgott spat on the ground. "It was that supply drop, wasn't it? When our own planes fired on us."

"Yeah," Frank remembered, "right before Christmas."

Verity nodded. "That was it."

"So no purple heart?" Shifty asked, sounding like he really didn't want her to confirm the reality.

"No purple heart."

"But you got hit in Foy, too," Shifty added. "Don't look at me like that, Red, everybody saw it. We just didn't say nothin' 'cause Doc Roe said you didn't wanna go off the line."

Verity ducked her head, embarrassed that she'd been so confident in having hid her neck wound.

"Yeah, well, it never got documented, and I never came off the line, so to whoever's counting, it never happened."

"Jesus," Malarkey swore. "That's- that's bullshit."

Verity shrugged. He was preaching to the choir, and besides, they all knew there was nothing anybody could do about it, now that only a thin white strip of a scar remained.

"Oh well, I guess."

"So Shifty never got shot and still needs fifteen points," Ramirez recounted. "How many for you, Rich?"

"Seven."

"Seven!" With the same incredulity as he'd possessed for Shifty's revelation, Malarkey shook his head. "How the hell- And you got hit more than me!"

"I can't help but feel like the whole points system was a bit rushed in the making," Verity admitted. "But hey, if I had it my way, all of you would be on a ship home tonight."

Her friends shifted uncomfortably. No one knew quite what to say. Gratitude for the unattainable seemed misplaced—but here came Liebgott, who hated silence like this, to brush off their cares.

"Eh, not yet," he declared. "I'm not goin' home before I get myself a piece of Austrian venison."

Verity and Shifty shared a tired look, and Verity waved vaguely, turning around.

"You keep lookin' for that, Lieb," she replied. "I'm goin' back to town."

"Oh, come on," he groaned. "You're the best shot here, 'sides Shifty. You can't just leave."

"Oh, yeah? Watch me."

"Fuckin' hell." He grimaced. "Who shit in your foxhole?"

She shot him a look that had Frank and Bull on either side of him pausing in surprise. Liebgott made a face, raising his hands in resignation.

"Fuck, Sarge, I was just kidding."

"Oh." She eased her brow. "Sorry."

"'Sorry'? Jesus Christ." Shaking his head, Liebgott turned away, muttering something along the lines of, "Three years and you still don't know a man..."

"You know, Red," Bull chuckled, clapping Verity on the shoulder, "you can be downright scary with that look."

"'Scary'," Liebgott grumbled. "Yeah, right."

"I'll go back with you," Bull went on, ignoring him. "I've got to pick up my laundry anyhow."

"Oh, shit, we've got that ceremony thing tomorrow, don't we?" Malarkey frowned and scrubbed at his cheek. "I gotta shave."

"Same here," Ramirez agreed. "Can't say I'm lookin' forward to standing in the sun all day."

"Better than the same drills over and over again," Malark supposed. "What d'you think they're gonna do for it?"

Ramirez frowned. "For the ceremony, or..?"

Frank snorted. "No, for you shaving your face."

As he and Ramirez bickered, Verity turned to Malarkey and shrugged.

"I dunno what the plan is."

Shifty tipped his head. "Ain't it for the anniversary of D-Day?"

"Oh, yeah." A thoughtful look came onto Malarkey's face. "Damn, that really was a year ago, huh?"

Verity kicked at a leaf and uncovered an ant marching across her path, wiggling its antennae as if surprised at the sudden disappearance of its shade. She lengthened her stride and let it pass on.

"Yeah, it's been a year. Kinda crazy, right?"

Shaking his head, Malarkey chewed on his toothpick and huffed a heavy, humorless laugh.

"Yeah... Crazy."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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