#writing for writings sake

[shortpirateking]

Midnight Musings

(A/n: This takes place in the ‘Hawk of Masyaf’ universe which is just a giant self-insert that has been spinning in my head for too many years... so yeah! Also this is protocreed)

None of them truly belonged.

At least, that was how Clay thought of the dynamic between him and his.. lovers? Honestly, no matter how often they all spoke to him it felt like he shouldn’t even be here- be with them. A living Virus, an immortal, and the man who was a messiah in his own right...and what about him? Compared to them he was little more than a failed subject like the rest of them. Hell, he should have been dead!

At least... he should have- all of them should have by then... but for some odd reason each one of them continued on in some way that defied what logic should entail. Alex should have been some unconscious virus with no sense of self, Ariel should have died over 900 years before(and in the future too, had the Isu not thrown them back), and Desmond should have been like him; Insane, suicidal, possibly braindead from all bleeding he had endured...but unlike himself...he persevered. He lived when he should have died- because of Clay- because of them.. And it was because of them that he was still here too... 

At least... sort of. The ‘real’ Clay had died many months before. He was little more than a computer AI of him, but still....feeling the outside world had done wonders for him despite is guilt of the fact that he wasn’t the same man who had died before. Which... he supposed would put him with the other three around him. He didn’t truly belong either, did he? An Ai of a man brought to insanity with little to do besides make way for the savior.

“Clay?” 

The groggy voice of Ariel brought the man out of their stupor and bringing them back to the present- in bed between their smallest lover and Desmond with Alex on the far end.. Clay almost wanted to look away from the concerned grey-green of the smaller man’s eyes, assure them that he was fine... but he knew well enough that Ariel could see past that, past his walls. 

A sigh, and Clay shakes his head in preparation to speak... and tensing in surprise when a much smaller hand grasped his own in a gentle embrace. Clay turned, and once more he met the same understanding and loving gaze that he fell for long before this- when he was a simple college student and her a cashier at the local store he often stopped by for snacks. Before he knew about the assassins and templars, of Desmond or a bioengineered supervirus.

“It is too early in the morning for worries” Ariel finally spoke once more with the same look she had given Desmond when she had accompanied him onto animus island(with the help of Alex, apparently)- when she had looked in the mirror for the first time and allowed him to touch and feel, when Alex would hold them close and lose form when the world was too loud for him... and now she directed that same gaze to him once more.. as if this wasn’t a nightly occurrence, as if none of them truly had a full nights rest because of their pasts. Even them, during the nights they sobbed silently about long lost lovers and brothers lost to time.

Arms wrapped around him- Desmond this time, groggy and certainly not at all awake. “c’mon Clay... you can be thinking later... we need to sleep” the man’s voice brought shivers against his pale skin where his breath ghosted over it, and Clay halfway expected to be pinned down by Alex... but he relented with a sigh. Despite his worried and fears, his doubts and insecurities... he loved them all- like they loved him. Because none of them belonged

None of them belonged anywhere but in each other’s arms... and that was enough for the man.

[rae-butter]

Honestly, I love it when characters relapse. When someone who’s gotten over their anger issues falls into a situation so out of their depth they fall back on their old habits. When someone who’s learned to open up becomes a recluse again in order to cope with something outside their control.

There’s just something so horrible, so toxic, about watching a character grow and then slip back into their old selves in order to cope, bc you know they still care, that they’re the same inside, but watching them hurt so hard they don’t know what else to do brings a sense of catharsis.

[essayofthoughts]

Genuinely, I think one of the most fun and crunchy things about any character is

How far they will go for things they want

What they will do to get things they want

Things they won't do, no matter how much they want what they'd get in exchange

Because these things tell you some very important things about the character, namely their limits, their price, and their absolute No's. (And it lets you create some really REALLY crunchy conflict)

[zwoelffarben]

Edit: A writer's strike has not started. The Guild's membership has just authorized one in the cause that Guild reps and studio executives cannot come to an agreement on the contract.

Don't pull out the spirit holloween banners yet, is all I'm saying.

Edit 2, circa May 1, 2023: The studios have refused to negociate with the writers' guild in good faith, leaving the guild no choice but to strike.

A WGA STRIKE HAS BEGUN.

[lungthief]

klavier “thought crimes” gavin

[meoowwxx]

It looks like they all pretty much look the same age now. By the end of Boruto, Ino and Sakura would definitely look older than Tsunade, since Sakura opted out of using the transformation technique.

[benevolenterrancy]

Scholarly peak is catching up on recent literature

[housedyke]

The thing about Buffy is that it's been thoroughly established that she doesn't do casual sex. She rejects guys in high school who move too fast too soon, is devastated when she find out there isn't anything emotional between her and Parker, and makes no non-magical attempt to sleep with people she isn't in a relationship with

So option 1 is that she's decided Spike, of all people, will be the first time she has casual, no-feelings sex. Or, option 2, she knows they have some weird fucked up relationship but doesn't want to say it out loud

[mxmarsbars]

he never wanted to move.

maybe he would’ve been better off secluded on that island, away from all the chaos. he told them it was safer that way. but he agreed to move because he wanted to be good for his team, make friends, be social. he wanted to be better. and it got him killed.

[nat-20s]

mulan/belle really does work based on like personality and goals and actions. They'd like each other sooooo much belle would be like "oh fuck he's handsome and goofy and kind and smart!" and then she'd find out that mulan is (sometimes) a woman and she wouldn't have this language at the time but i think she would have the internal sense of *kisses my wife* a win for feminism everywhere. Mulan would think Belle is cool and smart and also like? low key really funny? She'd also really appreciate that Belle has a desire to be understood but no desire to fit into her society and is fine with being seen as unusual and dreamy. PLUS they would super mega bond over both of them being driven by taking their fathers' place in a circumstance that would almost certainly kill him. Ignore the 1200 year age gap

[whump-in-the-closet]

a disorientated whumpee at a party with whumper's hand uncomfortably wrapped around their collarbone. There's a spiraling fear that they can't quite name-- they're losing themself in this nightmare of insinuating whispers.

The music is pounding and Whumpee can feel it in their teeth.

Whumper pulls them into a dark corner to push a drink up to their lips. "Your friends are coming," Whumper's voice is low, it's calm, it's measured, and Whumpee's skin crawls. "You're going to tell them you want to stay with me."

"No--"

"Or one of them will take your place."

[starrystevie]

steve's desperate, okay?

he's officially running late for his first date with linda because he couldn't find his car keys and the shirt he wanted to wear just wasn't working so he had to grab something out of his hamper and throw it on blindly which then messed up his hair and he almost forgot to brush his teeth again but remembered as he opened the front door and-

he only realizes he forgot to put on cologne once he makes it halfway to her house and smells himself. the shirt from the hamper smells stale, not bad, just stale. and steve in his normal, non-rushed state wouldn't have noticed because his trusty calvin klein would have covered it up but today is apparently not a day for things to go right.

with a sigh of frustration, steve pulls into the hook's drugstore a little too quickly and it makes his stomach lurch the tiniest bit before sliding into an open parking sport at the front door. he rushes in, pushing the door open with too much force and books it to the fragrance aisle.

"this is so fucking stupid," he mutters to himself, unable to be heard by any surrounding shoppers over the annoyingly loud jingle playing through the speakers.

steve skids to halt in front of the cologne section, crouching down and scanning quickly over the tester bottles for obsession. once he spots the amber bottle, he yanks it towards himself, spraying as much as he can onto his chest given the awkward angle he's at. as he stands back up, steve pulls his shirt collar up towards his nose and the ball of nerves in his stomach loosens at the familiar smell. he may be late but he feels like he's back in the game.

checking his watch, he sees just how late he is and makes a beeline for the door, nearly running into an older lady with far too many rolls of toilet paper in her tiny arms. as he dodges around her and extends his arm to push open the door, he hears a loud voice over the intercom.

"you're not going to buy anything after stealing cologne?"

steve stops, freezes where he is and frantically turns his head around to spot the cashier grinning at him. he has long hair and a bright red hook's drugstore vest over a denim vest which doesn't look very comfortable. he has chains in his jeans and handcuffs holding his belt closed and a smirk that is trying to kill him and oh-

"wait, stealing cologne?" steve shakes himself back into existence as the old lady pushes by him without dropping a single roll on the way back to her car. "you're going to call me putting on a few sprays stealing?"

the cashier's smile just gets bigger, like a cat hunting down a canary. steve's never felt like a canary before but can't deny that it's an exciting feeling.

"well, on a good day i wouldn't. but i'm bored and you didn't buy a single thing so technically, yes. you're stealing, pretty boy."

steve fights the urge to roll his eyes and put his hands on his hips, so instead he crosses them over his chest, cologne wafting up from the movement and reminding him that he doesn't have time for this no matter how cute the cashier may be.

he makes his way over to the counter, grabs a pack of gum and slams it on the counter. without breaking eye contact with eddie, as his nametag suggests, he throws him a salty smile of his own and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket.

eddie's eyes are a deep brown with a glimmer of something behind them and his hands are covered in rings making his fingers look long and strong. the jeans he has on are ripped on one of the the thighs, showing a hint of a tattoo to match the ones crawling up his arms. steve's no stranger to thinking men are attractive but this guy? he's on a new level. his heart thumps painfully in his chest when eddie's grin grows larger as he watches steve give him a once over. it thumps even harder when eddie gives him a once over of his own.

the clock above the register shows that he's officially 20 minutes late to picking up... laura? lisa?

no, linda. damnit.

eddie looks down at the gum and then back up at steve, quirking up an eyebrow. "i hardly think this monetarily equates to a bottle of cologne but-"

"oh come on!" steve huffs. eddie laughs and it's clear and bright, ringing off the cinderblock walls louder than the annoying jingle that's still playing. whatever fight steve may have had left in him drains away at the sound and suddenly he isn't thinking about the clock anymore. he feels his shoulders fall down to a more relaxed state, feels himself shift his weight on his feet to look more natural than ready to run at a moments notice.

"just kidding, man." eddie rings up the gum quickly and hands it back to steve. "sorry, you looked like you were in a rush. i shouldn't have created a scene just because i'm bored."

steve chuckles. "i'm already supremely late for my date so what's another five minutes. especially if it gets me..." he looks at the gum packet to look at what he even picked up in the first place. "... spearmint freshen-up gum."

"well there you go," eddie says, grin smaller than before, "a perfect thing to get for a date. everyone likes their date to be minty fresh for that first kiss."

it strikes somewhere in steve that he isn't expecting. the beemer is still out in the parking lot running so he didn't have to waste time, his watch on his wrist feels heavy, the scent of obsession overpowering. but he can't make himself move. he wants to stay and talk to eddie, wants to learn about what makes him tick.

"can i borrow your phone?" steve asks. eddie's eyebrows furrow but he reaches for the store phone and places the console on top of the counter.

"for what?"

steve look through his wallet, finding the piece of paper with linda's number on it. holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he dials in her number and holds his pointer finger up at eddie, signaling that he'll need a second. steve then brings the finger to his lips and shushes with his cheek pulling up in a smirk. eddie's eyes zero in on the motion and it feels like steve's gone from being the canary back to the cat.

"linda? hey it's steve."

he watches as eddie mouths steve back at him and then nods to himself when he gets the confirmation that it is indeed his name. steve throws him a wink for good measure.

"i know i'm late and i'm really really sorry to cancel last minute but-. oh. yeah, sure. have a good time. okay bye li-."

on the other end of the line, linda slams down the phone without waiting for steve to finish talking and it makes him wince with how loud it is in his ear. he gives eddie a sheepish smile, all toothy and guilt-ridden, and gently puts the receiver back down.

"what was that?" eddie asks with a disbelieving look on his face. steve shrugs.

"she got tired of waiting so she already had another guy lined up to come pick her up."

eddie sucks in air through his teeth and mimes getting shot in the heart. it has steve laughing as he falls over on the counter, hair covering his face. he turns his head to peer up at steve through the curtain of curls, the one brown eye that's visible twinkling in the harsh overhead light.

"was it true love? are you just absolutely heartbroken?"

steve thinks about it for less than a second. watches how eddie curls back up one vertebrae at a time before placing his elbows on the counter and leaning over. watches how eddie's eyes flit between his own and his lips. watches how he focuses on the latter for a little while too long.

"why would i be heartbroken," steve starts. he's being too forward, too brash, but with eddie looking at him that way, he knows he can be. "when you'll probably be on break soon and can make it up to me? you know, for making me even more late and all."

eddie's grin grows wide again. "oh really?"

steve shrugs once more with a playful look of consideration on his face, resting on his elbows to match eddie on the counter. "yes, really. this is your payback for being bored and taking it out on me."

it's later when eddie's on break and steve hasn't left the drugstore in over an hour and they're sitting in his car with bowie playing through the speakers that eddie looks up at him with a look steve knows well.

"you do smell really good, y'know." his voice is softer than steve's heard it all day.

"so are you glad i came in to steal cologne?" steve leans closer over the center console to get into eddie's personal space. there's a hand curling over his bicep and pulling him even closer, their faces only centimeters apart.

"i guess i'll let it slide this time, thief."

and when they kiss for the first time, it tastes like the freshen-up gum they both had been nonstop chewing ever since steve paid for it.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 136

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier was the one who said no to riding a horse. Jaskier willingly walks alongside Geralt and Roach. Because Jaskier is afraid of riding horses. Don't get him wrong! He loves horses! Just not being on them as they run 48 kilometers per hour. When Jaskier sprains his ankle walking, however, Geralt decides enough is enough and it's time to teach him how to ride and help him face his fear. Jaskier sits in front of Geralt on top of Roach as Geralt teaches him how to ride, and every time Jaskier gets too nervous, Geralt will hear his heartbeat tick up, and he'll hug him, or praise him, and Jaskier will calm again. Jaskier's been getting better. To the point that Geralt can now just walk alongside Roach and Jaskier, hand resting on Jaskier's leg or back. Geralt decides to surprise Jaskier with his own horse! Geralt finds something sturdy and gentle, but also pretty, knowing his bard will love to comb and braid the horse, and will want to show it off. It's a white horse, which certainly won't stay white on the road, but then again, Jaskier will most likely delight in cleaning the horse and admiring it's sheen when it's washed. Geralt presents Jaskier with his horse, and Jaskier is overjoyed. Sobbing with happiness, hugging and kissing the horse, and Geralt has never been more in love with his bard. The first time Jaskier rides his own horse, they go at a very gentle slow pace, as the horse seems unsure about being ridden. Jaskier cajoles and consoles it through it all, and soon enough they're riding at steady paces, both Jaskier and his horse now feeling safe and brave enough to go at a normal pace, sometimes even a bit faster. Geralt is happy. Until one day, big white wings materialize on the sides of Jaskier's horse, and the damn thing takes off with Jaskier still on it. Shit.

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[marzipanandminutiae]

I don't go here but uh

me: oh no so all the Black Widows had ovary-removing hysterectomies? are they on HRT, since they need to be conventionally attractive, conventionally feminine women and there's a risk of hormone changes compromising that? they also have increased danger of bone density loss, mood swings, pelvic organ prolapse, sexual dysfunction...you're going to get into that right? because I fully believe that a secret Soviet assassin factory would do involuntary, unnecessary hysterectomies, but they'd also want their Sexy Assassins at peak Sexy Assassin performance. and even the women who've gotten out probably don't want to deal with those symptoms if they come up. so are we going to see Natasha taking estrogen, or...?

Marvel: no, they just can't :( have babies :( and by the way they sometimes think they're monsters because of that :( but that's all a hysterectomy does and we would know because we are very smart cis men!!!!

[gurneyhallecks]

oh to be tyler owens' passenger princess