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sinsofsummers · 10 months

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cool about it

3.4k | boston!joel miller x f!reader

summary: it’s that day again. you don’t know why joel’s so withdrawn, but you help him manage it in the best way you know how. based on 'cool about it' by boygenius. warnings: angst angst angst, angsty smut (sorry), 18+, mdni, implied age gap (joel 50s, reader late 20s) grumpy & sad joel, drug use, alcohol use, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, shoulder kisses, pet names & slight praise, body worship kind of, feelings but also joel is bad at feelings, established...situationship. thing. pining (but don't tell them that). romance?? how dare you accuse them of such treachery note: i am so sorry...this is pure unbridled self-indulgence. pls forgive me. also this is set in boston qz, reader and joel have a similar relationship to the one he has with tess, but she doesn't exist in this au (i'm so sorry). also i am kind of so proud of this one

It's been years since you met him, since you've begun to crack his otherwise hard exterior, helping him shed every icy layer to reveal the tired, aging man beneath it all. You've both gone to unbelievable lengths to protect one another against any trouble, or enemy, or plague, that has cast itself in your way. Each night concludes with your limbs tangled together, hands tucked safely within each other's reach. A promise, so quiet it's hardly binding—I've got you.

You've never defined exactly what it means when he calls you sweet pea, or when his lips drop a chaste kiss to your forehead in the morning, or when his hand lingers on your elbow a little longer than normal in the QZ. It never needed to mean anything, so the two of you never spoke about it. You belong to him; he belongs to you.

And yet, every year, on the exact same morning, Joel Miller wakes up a stranger to you. His eyes return to the icy dark depths that you met him with, and his hands find purchase in his pockets rather than absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. Every year, without fail, he retreats to his past, a place he won't ever let you see, despite your every wish.

i came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask

A few years after you met him, you had tried asking him to explain, to let you into his head. It wasn't an attempt at intimacy, or a vulnerability that resembled anything that you hadn't seen from him before, but he'd done nothing more than shake his head.

"M'fine," he'd said. The entire day, every time you asked, no matter how softly, his answer remained unchanged. "Don't feel much like talkin'."

So instead of talking, you'd resorted to letting him come back to you on his own time, in his own way. With rough hands pushing you down to lay on your back, his eyes far away even as he brought you to the edges of bittersweet ecstasy. His kisses were always softer, more distracted. But it was the only communication you ever got out of him on those days.

When he rolled over at night, his hands curled into loose fists, you let him be. He never refused your touch, but you knew enough to recognize when it wouldn't come as any comfort to him. Not on those nights. Never on those nights.

The closest you'd get to falling asleep in his arms on those nights was with a hand placed purposefully between your chest and his back, just close enough that he might lean into it, should he shift in his sleep. And in those soft brushes of skin against cloth lay a million questions.

Forgive me, you'd begged inwardly one night. Forgive me for not understanding, and I'll forgive you for not sharing.

When the sun rose on a new morning, he was always back to the man you were used to, that you had grown dependent on. When his hands reached for you, and when his mouth painted swirls on your chest, you knew that it was out of want for you, not to distract himself from the ghosts of his own past.

He always praised your body's reaction to him, and you always relished in the way that his hips rocked against yours, stretching you out for him—tongue, fingers, his hard intrusion—on those mornings after.

You'd left it at that, for a year or two.

once i took your medication to know what it's like

He'd been resorting to more intense solutions when you decided to do it. When that day came as it always did, you watched as he drowned out the hours with whiskey and pills. You never knew where his supply came from or who was responsible for getting him his drug of choice; you could only sit idly by and watch his features droop from the effects of the dangerous combination, shuffling to your shared bed before he'd pass out until the sun rose on the next morning.

It only took three instances of this before you'd resolved to go through the day exactly as he would, as if it might help you understand. Perhaps it wasn't anything you were meant to understand, but you'd grown weary of seeing him motionless for hours on end. Usually, you never said anything. You didn't really believe he would take enough to cause any real damage; you were blindly faithful in his will to live.

"Joel," you'd said one year. That was all. One syllable, so familiar, and yet it bled with enough warning in your tone that he paused. Don't.

Glass raised, the rim already pressed to his lips—the lips of which you knew every crack and curve—pills already dissolving on his tongue, he'd paused. His eyes never looked at you, though. He sat there, frozen but for the whiskey sloshing gently in the glass before he resumed, swallowing the dark liquid in one go. With hardly a glance in your direction, he'd collapsed to the bed.

You didn't know exactly why you did it, or why it had been that year that you'd become fed up, but you couldn't ignore the fear that struck your chest when you saw him hit the mattress. Before you knew it, you'd swallowed the pills, scowling at the burn of whiskey down your throat.

It had never been your choice of liquor, but you braved the sting in your foolish hopes that it might tell you something about the gray-haired man in your bed. Like drinking his whiskey might envelope you in his arms and whisper his secrets to you.

Laying down beside him, you'd curled up to his side. He was already deep in his drugged slumber; he wouldn't be conscious enough to move from your touch. With a hand on his chest, poised over his heart to reassure yourself that he still had one, you closed your eyes and succumbed to the heavy press of sleep.

When he woke, saw your own empty glass and pill bottle left open on the table, he shook you until you startled awake. Eyes bleary, the effects of the drugs wearing off, you caught him staring down at you, his nose brushing your cheek and his lips a hair's breadth from touching yours.

"Don't ever fuckin' do that again, sweet pea," he snarled, but his words held no malice. You tried to ignore how big his eyes were, pupils blown wide.

You'd wanted to snap at him, to tell him the same thing, but you heard the desperate begging in his voice. The unspoken please. So rather than causing a scene, you'd nodded slowly and let your fingers brush the hem of his shirt. "Okay," you'd whispered. "I won't. Never again, Joel," you repeated, a mantra as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.

Sliding his arms under your body and pulling you to him, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, both of your eyelids. He finally bent to your lips, chasing the taste of you and finding only his own mistakes on your tongue.

The day had passed. He had survived. With the gentle lull of his hips slotting against your own, he had breathed shakily into your mouth as your hands wandered along his skin. Like clockwork, Joel Miller had returned to you, if only for a short while.

i ask you how you're doing, and i let you lie

One day, the pills ran out. The whiskey didn't do anything on its own, so Joel was stuck to find something else to distract him. Whether you were the one that flushed his pills or found who was supplying him, you'd never admit. It was much too close to a confession of something than either of you were comfortable with, so you'd stayed quiet. Helped him find a new vice.

These days, you've lost count of how many years you've seen him withdraw into himself, a shell of the man you know. You've stopped trying to follow where his mind goes when the sun rises on that early autumn day, and he's never made the attempt to explain. For just one day a year, the two of you are silent except for a few mumbled words. Your hands rarely touch on those days, always a few centimeters from each other as he sits at the table.

A reminder. That you're there, that he's there, and that the day will pass. It always does.

His new vice becomes you before long, and you can manage that. He's never particularly rough on those days, anyway; he just needs your body to distract his mind. It takes him a bit to sink into the comfort of your curves, but you always help him get there. Until he's twitching under your hands and letting his eyes flutter closed as you expertly undo his jeans.

You never make him fuck you when he's like this, but you're happy to oblige when he slips a hand between your thighs, reaching for your core and always finding it ready for him. If it pleases him, you let him take whatever he needs.

With whispered moans that make your chest constrict and rough fingers pressing bruises to your hips that he'll kiss away the next morning, he gets through the day.

Today, you know it's not one of those mornings. He's already been awake for a while when you open your eyes, based on his tense posture as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, which means his back is to you, withholding his face from yours.

Of course, you don't need to look at him to know what his face will look like. His chin is tucked toward his chest, and his eyes will be closed, hands clenched together as if in prayer. But you know better than to think of Joel Miller as a spiritual man. Whatever faith he might have had all those years ago has withered into scraps. His only faith is in your constant presence in his bed each night.

You sit up slowly, and the sound of rustling sheets makes him twitch his head to the side, the sight of his jaw ticking the only acknowledgement of you being there. With slow movements, you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his hips but never close enough to touch. He's gotten better at allowing for a few more moments of contact, and you think this means he's making progress.

How could you ever be sure, though? When he still won't reveal the pain of today?

"Did you wake up to see the sunrise?" you ask gently, leaning forward and bracing your hands in front of you, waiting. His response will determine how you'll distract him for the coming hours.

As usual, Joel doesn't say anything, but his back reclines an inch. It's all you need.

"I'll bet it was real pretty," you continue, trying to keep your voice soft. This is one of your many routines; you lift your hands and press them to his back, just enough for him to feel your fingertips. You don't know if he listens to anything you say, or if he even cares. This part is just for you. This is how you get through these days.

You lean just a bit further, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. Your hands slide around his middle and your stomach flips selfishly at the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your featherlight touch. Reaching down for his lap, you rest your palm against his jeans, feeling him twitch against your hand. There he is.

Maybe it's sad, maybe it's fucked up, but fuck what anyone else would say. This is what he needs, the only thing that helps him stay out of his nightmarish memories, whatever they may be. You'll never ask him to show that side of himself, not anymore.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you deftly work the button on his jeans, pushing the zipper down and reaching into his waistband until his half-hard cock comes free. It rests heavy in your hand, and you're comforted by the weight of it. His shoulders are too broad for you to see it, but you're not bothered by this. With another kiss, this one landing on the soft skin of his neck, you give him a languid stroke.

Joel's chest rises and falls as he breathes, and you can feel his arousal stirring as he grows firmer in your grip. His hands begin to unclench, but his fingers remain flat on his tights, never touching you outside of where your legs are hooked to his, your chest flush with his back.

The room is silent except for his breathing, every second getting more shallow. You can feel the tension in his back release a little, and you let your thumb rub a slow circle over the slit on his tip, precum just starting to leak onto your hand.

You stay like this for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around his stomach and your other hand on his cock, tugging slow enough not to overwhelm him, and fast enough to keep him pulsing in your hand.

Only when his hips buck involuntarily do you let go, moving from your place behind him to the floor. Your knees hit the wood hard, but you ignore the pain as your hands slide up his thighs.

His own hands remain still on his jeans, and he lets you interlock your fingers with his own. A small mercy. Today might not be as bad as the years before, and you dip your head to lick a stripe from base to tip before closing your mouth around the head of his cock.

Joel's fingers twitch in your grasp, and you squeeze back, hardly noticeable. Just enough to act as thanks. Thank you for letting me do this. For you.

You never look up, afraid of what his eyes will betray when your mouth is around him. You know this is only a distraction, a slow respite from his thoughts. So you ignore the impatient pulse between your thighs and take him as deep as he'll go, your hopes lifting when you hear his shaky sighs.

One of his hands released yours and lands on your head, smoothing your hair as his hips fight to keep still. Your head bobs up and down, your spit mixing with his precum to leave a shining mess on his shaft.

He pats your head softly, the wet sounds of your mouth on him the only noise in the room. But then he's opening his mouth, and he's combing his fingers through your hair, and he's mumbling, "thank you, sweet pea," just quiet enough that you think you're imagining it.

Maybe you did. He doesn't say it again, and you don't look up to see how wrecked he looks. You're content to remain on your knees the entire day if it means he can relax, let go of whatever's haunting him.

But then he's pulling your head back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. Hands under your arms, he tugs you to stand in front of him. This time you do let yourself look at him, but his eyes don't lift to meet yours. He tugs your shorts and panties from your body, and once you step out of them he splays his hands on the backs of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

His head is still tipped toward where your bodies rest against each other, rocking your pelvis against the length of his cock with a shuddering sigh. But you don't mind the view; you sit just a few inches taller than him in this position, so you can brace yourself against his shoulders, your chin resting against the top of his head.

He reaches down to rub a few quick circles on your clit, and you let him move your hips when he's ready, lodging his cock at your entrance. You're dripping, you have been this entire time, but you'd shoved down the heady desire that had punched its way through your body until he was ready. Now, with his hand guiding his tip into your sopping cunt, you let out a breath. There he is, a voice in your head repeats.

He pushes your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy swallowing every inch of him, the sounds of your moans colliding at the feeling. "So good to me," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sternum and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Perfect."

You know that he doesn't think he deserves your praise, but you give it to him anyway. "That's it," you hum, squirming with his cock buried to the hilt. It's all you can do not to lift your hips and drag yourself up and down his length. "Take what you need, Joel."

He never lasts long when he can feel your walls squeezing his cock for all it's worth, your body betraying you when your mind just wants to remain warm and wet and ready for him all day long, until he's ready to be done with you. But with one look at you, his dark eyes finally connecting to yours, he blinks. "Thank you, sweat pea," he murmurs again.

You lift your thumb to his forehead and you trace the lines on his weathered skin, watching as your touch releases the tension from his face. All that's left is his desire, his need for you, however distracted it may be.

Joel lets himself enjoy this, as he rocks his hips into yours, the head of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you until you're shaking in his hands, forehead tipped against his as you let your moans fill the space between the two of you. He lifts your hips, pulling you nearly all the way off of him until he shoves you back down, the delicious squelch of your pussy on his cock wrenching a knee-buckling groan from his lips. "Where?" he asks, as he does every time.

You don't need to tell him, but you do. "Fill me up, Joel," you coo, a shot of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. "Come with me, I'm right here with you."

"That's it, darlin'," is all he groans before he's wrapping his arms around your back, tugging your chest to him in a tight embrace. His face disappears into the space between your breasts and you feel his entire body quiver with yours as you reach your peak. Warmth floods your core as he spills his release into you, your walls fluttering with the intensity of your orgasm. You pull him to you, returning his near-painful embrace.

You're as close as lovers, as close to one another as you can physically get, but it'll never be enough.

The high after he comes inside you is fleeting. Only a few minutes pass before the line inevitably returns to his brow and his frown deepens after he softens. He doesn't lift you off of him, though, so you soak up the feeling while you can.

"Better?" you whisper, eyes locked on his.

He nods slowly after a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. "Always," he mumbles gently, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your mouth to the first knuckle, letting you taste salt and old sweat and your nectar on his skin.

You know better than to believe him, but you don't argue. Not today, never today. So you lift the corners of your lips in a sad smile and pretend that it doesn't feel like water rising in your lungs every time this day comes.

but we don't have to talk about it

i can walk you home and practice method acting

i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning

tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing

even though we know it isn't true

Joel will never tell you what's on his mind. Never today. September 26th won't ever mean anything to you, so why would he bother? For him, it's everything and nothing all at once. Brown curls and sparkling young eyes and blood crusted on his arms and the unforgettable weight of death in his arms.

Another year older, he sighs, his heart clenching in grief. Another year older, and another year further from everything he's lost.

tysm for reading, here's a box of tissues. :') i love u all

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melpherno · 1 month

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Hihi!! Can I request some Lovebrush headcanons please?

How would MLs deal with a little painter who’s usually always bright and happy but is suddenly withdrawn and quiet. (The horrors)

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡

All the boys x reader .

A/N: thank you for the ask, anon! This was kinda fun to imagine.

Note: the reader is referred to as "the little painter".

• Alkaid is a perceptive fellow, it doesn't take him long to notice the difference in the little painter's behaviour. He might as well catch it as soon as he sees the painter's smile droop a little; he also tends to notice how her smile feels more forced, or more ingenuine, or perhaps slightly out of place.

• He reacts coolly on the surface. He is concerned, yes, but he shows it via his actions. He'd tactfully ask her questions about her day, or how she was feeling – trying to get an idea of what was bothering her before giving her advice or trying to help her alleviate this issue flashing a kind smile.

• He suggests the little painter take a break. He either takes her out on walks or a quick trip around the island. He's going to go on a bike ride with her or go bungee jumping, maybe try out a new restaurant, or even watch a new movie together – or perhaps they could stargaze together, that would be the best. After all, he's happy if she is happy with him.

• Ayn is going to pretend like he didn't see that, while he definitely did. He takes in how the little painter simply smiled and waved at him when entering the practice room, sharing a few pleasantries before she quietly sat down on a chair, listening to him play the piano in utter silence. He does appreciate the silence, but this... This is concerning.

• He won't directly ask her in person, but he will send her a message after a few hours when she will probably be resting at home. He won't panic or anything, but he will be very concerned – spamming her with messages. And if he just notices her being online, ignoring his messages, then he will spam a little more. Just a little...

• He will suggest the little painter come over and listen to him playing the piano. And if she is unable to come over at the moment, then he'll happily record himself playing the piano and send it to her via text. Also, he might suggest playing games together; that'll be fun.

• When Clarence starts caring for the little painter, he becomes the second most perceptive person after Alkaid. He picks up the little painter's mood when she walks into the Student Council Office and greets him with a wry smile. She seems rather tired this morning, has she been staying up late again? Has she been working too hard? Has she gone out of her usual routine again? His brain would be rattling with all these questions, raking around to find an answer and come up with a practical solution to them as well.

• He finds the perfect opportunity to ask the little painter about what has been bothering her as of late and then reassures her that he'll help her out with whatever she wants. He'd always keep a calm and collected mind, never panicking.

• He suggests the little painter make lists of her issues and start working on them one by one. Efficient and methodical as always, Clarence provides the little painter with a new schedule to tackle her hobbies, classes, and other activities with ease. Also, he reminds her to take care of herself and take breaks when needed; he also sneaks in a little "date" day in the schedule, expecting the little painter to go all flustered if she ever notices that.

• Being the guardian of the little painter, Cael is the most knowledgeable about her mood and how she's feeling. He notices the little painter's mood being down sooner than anyone else.

• He always keeps a calm mind and asks her what's bothering her, lending an ear to her and listening to her troubles – giving her advice now and then.

• He discusses the issue with the little painter and decides how to make her happy. Oh, the little painter wishes to go on a trip to relax? Sure; he'd plan out an itinerary for her. Or perhaps the little painter wants to be left alone to her thoughts? Sure; he can do that, but he will still keep an eye on her, doting on her until her energy is rejuvenated. Oh, does the little painter want to spend time with Cael? Sure, he'd be more than happy to spend the afternoon accompanying her. (He might even cuddle the little painter if she ever manages to persuade him perfectly)

• He'd be excited at first; greeting the little painter happily when he gets to see her. But then he notices how the little painter responds with less energy than usual – then he concludes that something is wrong.

• He immediately asks the painter what's wrong. He seems slightly panicky on the process as well, waiting for the little painter's response.

• He'd plan a trip for the little painter, or take her out on a little date. He'd do anything to make the little painter smile: buy new art supplies, buy new merchandise or whatever she wants – he'd be more generous and loving than ever; because he'd give away everything just to see his sweet little painter smile and regain her energetic nature again.

#♡. mel's archive // elegant brushstrokes.#lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #lbc x reader #headcanons #lbc headcanons #lovebrush chronicles headcanons #alkaid mcgrath #clarence clayden #ayn alwyn #lars rorschach #cael anselm

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stoned-eren · 1 year

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taking care of eren

a/n: exploring the idea of being a nurse that's taking care of eren <333 i just love the idea !!

t/w: none i think? - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

eren would by far be extremely difficult, if not the most difficult patient to care for. probably tried to escape a couple times

he would be withdrawn, not answering your questions on how he's feeling or if he's in any pain at all. it would be like talking to an actual wall. don't expect him to be cheery or responsive to your questions.

but knowing that he's gone through literal hell, makes you continue to keep trying.

everyday, you make sure that's he's provided for and that he's comfortable (at least from what you can tell).

you always try to make some small talk with him, asking him how his day has been or how the weather is. eventually, you weave a response out of him. "it's been... good." or "yeah. sunny today." small talk, but you figure he just needs time to come out of his shell.

you've noticed he watches you when you talk with other patients. he eyes you intently, standing in the corner of the room, just observing. you can feel his gaze on your skin.

eren starts asking for your assistance more and more as the days go by. just small things. asking you to sneak him another piece of bread or bringing him another blanket. you find yourself in his presence a good amount of the day.

he's still... quiet, but he seems more comfortable. more relaxed. there's even days where he shoots you a small smile.

he asks you to change his bandages very often. it makes you nervous, since you have to get so close to him. you do this with every other patient, but with eren it just feels different. you can feel his eyes resting on you while you intricately apply a new bandage. you can't look into his eyes. they're too pretty.

you noticed when the patients had time outside that eren sat alone. at first, you left him to do his own thing, you figured that he just wanted some solitude. you were a little hesitant, but you eventually decided to approach him and offer him some of your lunch. he seemed unphased by your presence but you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on his face.

there was a day where you were one of the only nurses on the shift, a late night shift. you were doing rounds of the patients, checking up on them to make sure they were sleeping/content. when you went to check on eren, you noticed he was still awake. he asked you, like he usually does, to change his bandages.

you told him it was rather late, couldn't this wait until the morning? but he was persistent. you figured it wouldn't take too long so you complied.

as you were taking off eren's old bandages, he asked you a rather odd question.

"why don't you ever look at me when you do this?"

you were a little puzzled by the question, a bit panicked as well. "hm? well, i have to focus, is all."

eren's hand gently trailed up your wrist, then to your hand where you were holding his bandages. you felt yourself unable to move, a little flustered.

"look at me. please." eren breathed.

your eyes locked with his. eren's eyes were pools of pure adoration, the beautiful green hues mixing with infatuation. he looked so... gentle. so sweet and cute and gentle. you felt your heart melt at the sight of him.

he cupped your cheek with his hand which made you promptly drop his old bandages. he smiled at you fondly, and leaned in to peck you on the lips.

it was a small kiss, but enough to feel how warm and inviting he was. he was so gentle.

he planted one kiss, then two, then three, then another, and another, and another, until it felt like he was stealing your breath. he kissed you so greedily, like you belonged to him. you felt at home with his love.

you knew a nurse would eventually come looking for you. before eren continued any further, you gently reminded him that you had to go. eren grimaced for a second, but gave you one more kiss before letting you continue your work. you shyly finished wrapping his bandages as you looked at him occasionally, giggling to yourself.

#HEEHEE I LOVE HIM #eren jeager #eren yeager #eren jager #eren #eren attack on titan #attack on titan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #eren x reader #eren x yn #eren x y/n #writing.exe

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bekaroth-reads · 2 years

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Hey! I’m new to your blog, but i was wondering what you think wesker would be like as a husband throughout the years, maybe starting a year or two before the mansion. Thank you if you see this and have a wonderfull day or night!

[Listen, if there’s one thing we don’t half ass here, it’s the Albert Wesker content. So, I did a short list for every version of him that I could think of :) ]

[On another related note, it hurts my soul that there has been nothing but radio silence for Albert for about nine slutty, slutty years. The closest we’ve gotten were the cameo voice clips in Umbrella Corps. ,a gun named after him in seven, and HUNK talking to him in 2 remake in which we don’t even hear his voice. Capcom PLEASE!]

1990’s Wesker before the mansion incident

He would be a bit distant to be honest

All in when he is with you though

But he doesn’t want people from STARS and more importantly Umbrella to know about you

He knows that there’s too much danger for you to know anything bout his lifestyle or anyone from his life to know about you

This will translate with him loving being around you but, “having to work late” many nights as he wanted to be sure that there was no chance that you get involved

He knows that there’s even more of a chance of something happening to you as he is in the works of betraying Umbrella, STARS, and Birkin

So, basically there’s three different groups that would gladly hunt both of you down for sport (truth be told, he’s more concerned about Annette than he is about William)

Because of that your support, no matter how unknowing, is appreciated in his time of subterfuge

It feels like it’s just he and you against the world

Has a bit more of an ornery streak than most people think he would, but doesn’t know how to really express it

He has to kind of learn that he is no longer at the Umbrella Training program or a special ops police force and that at home most people don’t practically brutalize each other for a joke

In his defense, he doesn’t mean to

He just doesn’t realize his own strength

Goes to playfully hip check you and accidentally send you flying across the room

1990’s Wesker after the mansion incident

He would be a lot more emotionally distant than he was before

Getting back in touch with you and getting you out of Raccoon City would be his first priority

He knows there’s going to be a lot of bad things going down there soon

Partially because he’s going to cause some of them

Though he would be sure that you were with him again, he would be very quiet and withdrawn

He’s going through a LOT what with the reanimating and what not

That’s part of his reasons for trying to keep some distance from you as he’s not very sure what he is now and how he might start acting

He’s headed enough Umbrella projects that he knows that even though he feels fine at the moment, the there’s noting stopping his biology from freaking out somewhere in the next few weeks or so

To be honest, he would rather have you somewhere really far away from him rather than right here

But, seeing as Vladimir is searching for him and anyone that he could use to get to him, you have to stay right here

His playful side will be gone for a good while, and he’ll be a bit testy

But he’ll still want you around, not matter how much he might accidentally make it seem otherwise

Late 90’s Wesker (c. Code Veronica)

He’s much more at peace with who he is now

In fact, he rather enjoys all his new powers

And he loves to show them off to you too

While it might be good to see that he is back to his old self, there’s also something that’s a bit concerning that’s starting to emerge

It’s not enough that he didn’t die, or horribly mutate for that matter

He seems to be drunk on power and wants more

And while you were often assured that he wouldn’t be taking things overboard( rather more overboard than they have already gone) he suddenly told you that he was going to be away for a few months

Seeing as he was working for another sketchy bio company and in the process of starting his own operation by this point, free time isn’t really something that he has a lot of

So the only reason that he would ever need to go somewhere himself was if he planned on getting modified in some way again

He would call you any time that he could while he was away and make sure that you were still at the safe house that he had set up for you and that no one had tried to bother you

He has his playful streak back, but this time he’s a little rough on purpose

Thinks it’s funny when you stumble from something he does

But would never actually try to hurt you for real

He does go a bit back into his dower introspection when he comes back after those few months he talked about and half of his face burnt

Early 2000’s Wesker

Here’s the thing, you would either hardly see him or you would see too much of him

There will be times where he might be gone for a week to a month at a time as he is a very busy bio-terrorist during this time

He’s not only higher up in that organization now, but he’s also putting the finishing touches on dismantling Umbrella and taking all of the BOW data for his own purposes, and make sure that Ada Wong was on her way to Spain

But, when he does get to be with you again, he is going to be very possessive

The two of you will basically be connected at the hip, and there won’t be a single moment spent apart

At this point, it doesn’t matter if you ask him to stop adding more superhuman stuff because he has himself convinced that he needs it for both of you

He’s already starting to get the idea of world domination rather than just carving himself a little niche in the seedy places of the world

His other reason that he tells you and himself, whether or not it’s really true is he needs to be stronger so he can protect you better

He’s got himself caught in a loop where he gets more powerful, so people are more likely to go after him, so he gets more powerful, so people are even more inclined to go after him, and so on, and so forth

Whatever the case, your husband is starting to seem less and less human as time has gone on

Maybe there was something more going on with him than he thought initially

Not to mention he has mentioned more than once that it might be a good idea for you to get the same superhuman enhancers that he has

All because he wants the best for you, of course

2009 Wesker

There’s no denying at this point that this is most certainly not the man you married all those years ago

This guy is insane

A gentle insane to you, as what little sanity he has tells him that you are important to him

His new self translates that as you are the only other person in this world aside from him that in better than everyone else

The suggestions that you become super human turn into insistences

Now, it’s not like he’s going to sneak Ouroboros into your system while you’re asleep or something

But there’s a clear understanding that it will happen eventually, more likely sooner rather than later

Is super possessive of you by this point

He will have you with him all the time, and just lock you in a different room if he thinks things are getting too dangerous

By this point he literally thinks that he is a god, so there’s no need to doubt his ability to protect you no matter what

Speaking of which, he thinks he’s a god, so he knows what’s best for everyone, and that includes you

Again, he tells himself and you that it’s all for your good and that his moon goal here is still to protect you, even when it might not seem like it

Here’s the thing, if you aren’t for all of his, “total world saturation,” business and don’t want to be turned into a sticky, tentacle monster of some sort, then you’re only hope is going to be that Chris and Shiva get you away from him soon

If you are with him on everything, and you luck out and don’t have a visceral and violent reaction to the Ouroboros, then I hope you like volcanoes :)

Wesker c. 2013

He would be similar to how he was back in ‘09, but a bit more subdued

There’s nothing that will get someone to take it down a peg better than getting thrown into a volcano

He would be even more possessive and would quite literally make you disappear from the entire would except for him

This is partially because he can’t have anyone know that he’s still alive, but also because he knows that if he was out of the picture and someone knew that you were involved with him in any capacity then you would be hounded and watched for the rest of your life

So, as soon as he has the chance, he would fake your death and spirit you away to somewhere that only he knew about

Going with him being possessive, he would be even more paranoid than he was before, and would make sure that he was the only person that you saw, not only because he didn’t want anyone knowing that either of you were still alive, but also because he literally wants the be everything to you

Would be almost sickeningly sweet to you, to the point where it’s unnerving rather than nice

And it’s incredibly noticeable because of how vicious he is with literally everyone else

At this point he’s more monster than man, the various viruses and parasite mutations basically piloting his body, and running off of his base emotions

That’s why he’s so hell bent on gaining power, and in turn so possessive of you

All that gnawed up brain of his can process now is the fact that you were somehow important to him, and the thing pretending to be him tries to pantomime what it thinks husbands are supposed to do, which is not quite real enough or in Wesker’s original personality so it’s very uncanny valley

Like sometimes if you ask him something or maybe do something that mess under his skin, clawing at his brain doesn’t quite understand, he’ll basically dissociate for a moment while his internal spaghetti monster does a google search in his old memories to see what the correct reaction is

Even then there have been times where it pulls up the wrong one

And you will be seeing a LOT of him too

Now that he’s the one running everything, and that he’s being secretive and won’t be going out and doing much things himself, there will be plenty of times where he can just keep track of things from a few computers where ever the two of you are currently living

While he would still want you to get all of the progenitor virus related stuff that he has to keep you with him potentially forever, he’s not as pushy with it, as the turn of events in Africa a few years back are making him rethink his strategy on things, including that

Overall, a pretty lonely, yet fairly comfortable life other than the fact that your husband is one of the most wanted men in the world, and sometimes acts like he’s straight from an episode of the Twilight Zone with how uncanny he can be

#albert wesker x reader #wesker x reader

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soloorganaas · 2 years

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic - insult

This is a little more of a drabble than a microfic but the idea wouldn’t leave my head

Sirius had his arm round Remus as they sat drinking afternoon cups of tea in the kitchen. They’d spent the evening before alone in the library, researching together, which had slowly devolved into the late-night library exploits they’d revelled in at Hogwarts. Their careless, laughing intimacy had carried over into the next day, exchanging flirtatious looks and tantalising touches.

Remus had his hand on Sirius’s knee under the table, and Sirius leaned in to whisper in his ear, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Moony.”

Remus did nothing but shoot him a smirk, all dark promising eyes and a taunting quirk of his eyebrow.

Molly looked up, frowning, from where she was reading the Daily Prophet at the other end of the table.

“You should keep that kind of behaviour away from the children,” she said tersely, pursing her lips as she folded up the newspaper.

Sirius turned round to her, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“And what kind of behaviour is that?”

“They shouldn’t be subject to anything… inappropriate,” was her reply. She pressed her lips angrily together like she wanted to say something else, but instead walked out of the kitchen.

Sirius watched her go for a moment, then turned back to Remus, scoffing.

“God she’s insufferable,” he said. Remus was silent. Sirius got up to rinse his mug, then announced he was going to check on Buckbeak.

Sirius forgot Molly’s words as soon as he left the kitchen. His brain simply didn’t hold onto anything that wasn’t the existential threat facing them now, or painful memories from the past he’d rather forget. He noticed Remus had returned to a much more quiet and tersely withdrawn state, and his brief bubble of joy burst, as it always did. It wasn’t until they were all having lunch together the next day, when Remus gently pushed Sirius’s hand on him aside and continued the conversation at the table as if nothing had happened, that he remembered Molly’s insult.

“You’re upset,” he said matter of factly when they were alone again.

Remus glanced over at him, frowning. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’ve been in a bad mood since that incident with Molly yesterday.” Sirius stared at him resolutely. “She upset you, didn’t she.”

“Sirius, it’s fine,” Remus said more exasperatedly, tossing the muggle newspapers he’d been scouring onto the sofa. “Believe me, I am perfectly used to those kinds of comments.”

His resigned, defeatist attitude set off a spark of anger in Sirius. Why did he always accept these things? Why did he insist on apologising for himself and staying quiet lest he cause other people problems?

“It’s not fine, Remus,” Sirius snapped.

“Sirius, can you - I need to work,” Remus said in aggravation, and turned back to his newspapers.

Sirius rolled his eyes, and collapsed back on the sofa, where he was reading an old motorcycle manual he’d found buried under his bedroom floorboards.

They were having a meeting with a few members of the Order the next evening when someone brought up the approaching full moon.

“Yes, I, er,” Remus began. “Snape has kindly agreed to keep making me the wolfsbane potion, and I’ll be spending the night somewhere remote so as not to disturb anyone.”

“I’m going with him,” Sirius said instantly, upon hearing this completely new information he was sure Remus had deliberately avoided telling him.

“Sirius, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Kingsley. “The search for you has been intensifying recently with the new attacks. I’m doing my best to redirect them, but - ”

“I’m quite confident the Ministry won’t be hiding out in the Yorkshire Moors, but your concern is noted,” Sirius replied.

“Sirius, it’s a ridiculous risk,” Molly said. “Remus will be fine, won’t you?”

Remus was silent, as he hovered on the edge of speech, torn between confronting the Order or undermining Sirius.

“Molly, you’ve never seen a werewolf transformation, but I have, and it’s bloody awful,” Sirius snapped.

“Yes, but - ”

“No. No buts. I’m going with him. He’s my partner and I want to be with him for this. Just as you would for Arthur, I’m sure.”

The entire room fell into stunned silence, but Sirius didn’t care. He looked only at Remus, anxious that he understood. Remus turned to look back at him, giving him the smallest of smiles, but with such mournful gratitude in his eyes Sirius’s heart nearly broke in two. Sirius squeezed his arm instinctively, and Remus leaned slightly into him.

Sirius suddenly remembered where they were, and turned back to the room, challenging anyone to disagree.

“Well, I suppose we can all understand that,” Arthur said in a conciliatory tone. “Remus, is there anything else we can do to help?”

#post-azkaban sirius doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone says #unless it’s about harry james or remus #then he will commit murder #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #otp: i'm mental about you #hp

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theonemarvelousness · 1 year

Text

Burn in Hellfire

A day later, lying in an infirmary bed at Noble Bell College, there has still not been a sight of Rollo. No body. No blood. It is more than likely the fanatical student lives, rather than perished in his fall. While the City of Flowers is on high alert in searching for the culprit to what is becoming an International affair, the dragon finds he cares little.

Sebek sent to bed, and Silver off to fetch him tea. Really, he wanted a little more peace and quiet. As one that is oft used to being alone, or at least withdrawn to himself… the constant attention had gone to too much. Students checking on him, members of school staff, and the occasional reporter slipping in has the fae exhausted. Not merely from recovery, but the sheer amount of extra interaction than he experiences in a typical day.

Green eyes close, attempting sleep again despite the smell of antiseptic burning his sinuses in the worst manner possible.

Slumber finds Malleus, sooner, rather than later.

---

The smell of antiseptic is gone.

Stone, water, and burning wood.

Eyes open, but cloth blocks his sight.

The thrum of his magic is there, but he finds he cannot pull at its tendrils. There’s the feeling of some metallic substance around his throat—he is cut from his power. A dangerous, rare tool.

Rollo’s voice sounds in the darkness, “--you’re awake. A little early, I’m not quite done. Not that it matters, you’re perfectly restrained. There’s very few ways to capture a fae—one is to cut off their magic, and the other…”

The sound of clinking metal. Malleus starts to move when he feels the snap of iron around his wrist. A hiss of pain, as his ankles are bound next. He feels like a doll, as the pain sears through his being. Forget the throbbing wounds at his side from the blade, the iron shackles against his skin hurt more. Moving only makes them rattle—he’s trapped.

“Iron.”

A snarl rips from his lips; one of pain.

“Like music.” He murmurs, almost… reverent.

He feels a hand push through his hair, pushing his bangs back, to reveal the mark on his forehead. “A pity, Malleus. You could have been mine instead.”

The hand slides, to cup his cheek. “It’s too late. I have to burn you, if not, Twisted Wonderland will never know peace. Your kind will continue to taint and ruin this world. But fear not—you will never be forgotten by the annuals of history. Malleus Draconia will be known to the ages until all is dust. The most important, the fae that fell, to pave the path of salvation.”

The mad ramblings of one long gone mad.

Malleus bites his own tongue, to still the pain as best he can.

“A pity, that such damnable creatures are so beautiful, and none as lovely as you.”

He jerks his head to the side the moment he feels warm lips press against his own. In just as quick of a movement, his head turns back, spitting.

There’s a laugh. “Fire, even without flame! Of course you’d fight your fate to the very end. I admire the fire that still burns, but alas, I must extinguish it. May you find forgiveness and peace in the next life, Malleus Draconia.”

The blow knocks him unconscious.

---

It is the burning that wakes the fae. The burning of his wrists, his ankles—not merely the feeling of his magic thrumming uselessly under his skin.

The slight movement, and he hears the sound of iron chains. The burning—iron shackles around him, binding him. Around his waist, a rope sits, tied tight. By feel of wood against his skin, it means he’s tied to a wooden pole.

The world comes into focus. The view beautiful, the City of Flowers and Noble Bell College spread out before his sight. He has seen it several times before: atop with the gargoyles and bells. The night air cool, the stars above him bright.

The smell of smoke greets his nostrils, he lifts his head, but all he sees is metal above him, and fire underneath it… a cauldron?

The smell of melted iron burns.

Ah.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t witness your cleansing, Draconia.” Rollo’s voice cuts again, from behind.

There’s no need to respond, to give the fanatic his satisfaction.

Looking down, he sees the wood at his feet. It’s more for the symbolism, he suspects.

The fire lights.

“Dragons do not burn.” But the iron will heat, and do more harm to his flesh. Yet, he knows that the molten iron the other plans to pour upon him will be his end.

“But iron burns.” He replies, a laugh ripping from his lips. “And the world will soon follow! To cleanse such damned creatures, to purify Twisted Wonderland! Do you not feel honored, Malleus? Do you not feel the swell of joy as you will come to usher in a new era?!”

The whirring noise does not quite drown Rollo out, as a craft circles, shining a bright light upon them.

“ROLLO FRANME! THIS IS THE MAGICAL POLITE OF THE CITY OF FLOWERS! SURRENDER PEACEFULLY!”

“MOVE, AND MY WILL SHALL BE DONE, HEATHENS! YOU CLEARLY KNOW NOT WHAT I DO! NOT THE JUSTICE I BRING TO OUR WORLD! THE PEACE THAT WE SHALL ALL SEE, IT STARTS WITH HIM!”

There are other crafts in the sky. So many eyes are upon them.

The iron around his ankles heat, flames lick at the white cloth he wears. Slowly curling it up to cinders, to ash.

A spell flies, and molten iron spills at his feet. The dragon hisses at the pain of the drops that splash upon his skin.

It hurts, oh, it hurts. Yet he steels himself, Malleus knows to not give the Child of Man this satisfaction in his agony.

There are so many talking. The roaring flame. Rollo’s deranged words.

“Stop! You’re going to harm the victim!”

“We can’t afford the news to see!”

“—we are here live--”

“—currently, the situation is--”

“—this is dire--”

“—what will this mean for--”

“—what can anyone do--”

The world is watching.

The fae prince's head turns from side to side, though his horns prevent much movement. As calm as he can muster to see what is around. Many crafts shine lights upon them, they’re blinding and bright. The sounds of machinery, the feel of so much magic, the chatter of so many people—overwhelming.

“—NOW WITNESS. I WILL BRING AN END TO THE TYRANNY OF THE FAE! FOR ALL OF US IN TWISTED WONDERLAND!”

He hears the shuffle of footsteps back. The rope he holds growing taunt. The large cauldron starts to tip forward, slowly with Rollo’s effort. Sounds of straining, but, he’s still accomplishing his goal.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

“CAULDRON!”

“LAUGH WITH ME!”

Spells and magic ring out. Malleus hears the cauldron pour, and horrible, painful screaming. Molten iron splashes, mostly to his arms bound behind him—but just more flecks and spots. There’s a hiss of pain, and he sees it spread at his feet, but it merely catches more of the wood aflame.

The fire extinguishes, the screaming stops—the iron hardens with more spells.

Two vehicles crash into the stone, the students of NRC pour out of one, the police the other.

The students rush for him, Sebek first reaching. But by now he can barely hear a thing with the chaos going on around him.

His two knights are in tears. Hands and magic remove the shackles. He feels the collar come off his throat. Next, the rope—but even with the thrum of his magic returned, he still careens forward into several arms. The dragon's body burns.

Wetness of potions apply to his skin, conversations go one in fervor. The commenting onlookers continue to speak. The noise is too much, it’s endless.

He’s finally hefted into arms—Sebek.

“The iron--” The half-fae will burn.

“I WOULD BURN A THOUSAND YEARS IN MOLTEN IRON FOR YOU, LORD MALLEUS!” He declares.

“I know.”

Even if these Bells never rang again, Malleus will still remember them burned within his mind.

#Malleus Draconia #Rollo Franme #Rollo Flamme #Rollo twst #twst Rollo #Noble Bell College #twst writings #twst writing #twst fic #twst fanfic #tw death #THIS TIME WE'RE REALLY DONE I PROMISE #I AM DOWN AND OUT FOR THIS FIC SET #I MIGHT WRITE MORE ALTERNATE STUFF LATER BUT FOR NOW #Please leave comments I want to read them

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sarasapen · 2 years

Text

Next To You

AN: When I first posted Little One, I had absolutely no intention to continue writing or creating a series out of it. That being said, here is the first official Plot Heavy fic, set before the events of the very first Little One post. And yes, there will be more :)

Warnings: Clone Wars mentions, getting close to some ROTS plot points, it’s more angst-heavy than anything else, so proceed with caution, this does not need to be read to understand the other parts of the Little One series!

Summary: Shortly after her trials, Obi-Wan comes to a rather horrible realisation regarding his Padawan. Well... former Padawan, now.

Word count: 9.9k

I really liked the song ‘Next To You’ by SYML when writing this.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

They were seated on the new sofas in Obi-Wan’s new, private apartment, an hour to sundown. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it just yet, not that he’d ever voice out his complaints if he had any. The apartment itself was actually quite lovely, roomy enough that he could have his bookshelves and still have enough space to entertain company, but it was… empty.

The shelves no longer displayed forgotten earring studs or stray hair ties in front of half-read books placed askew atop his meticulously organised rows. The coffee table in front of him didn’t have your favourite cup two inches away from its coaster. The rug wasn’t bent just slightly upwards from where you would wiggle your toes under. The sofa hadn’t been shifted from where you’d always bump into the armrest, and then apologise with a pat but never straighten.

But here they were, seated on the new sofas in Obi-Wan’s new, private apartment. An invitation to try some new tea that Padmé had sent him had gone answered by Anakin and declined by you. You were “not feeling very well”. You apparently hadn’t been feeling well for the past two weeks.

“Perhaps she’s finally gotten sick of you,” Anakin teases, but all traces of humour disappear from his face when Obi-Wan doesn’t even offer a raised brow in return, let alone anything lighthearted.

“It- that was a joke,” The younger of the two clarifies, wanting to make it known that he in no way meant his previous words.

“And yet there might be some truth in it,” Obi-Wan responds quietly, eyes trained on the drab landscape outside the window. It cuts him, and cuts him deep to think even for a fleeting moment that you might no longer enjoy his company.

“She has been rather…quiet, lately. Withdrawn,” Obi-Wan continues steadily, although he feels anything but confident in that moment. “She can barely look me in the eye when we talk, and that’s only if I manage to catch her before she runs away.”

“She has been shielding herself in the Force a lot, now that you mention it,” Anakin supplies, brows furrowing together. How easily changeable, his demeanour was, when it came down to someone he loved. “You always said that she hated doing it.”

“She did,” Obi-Wan confirms. You did. You felt as though your energy was confined into a tiny little box, and doing it too much or too often was a cause of major annoyance and irritation for you. It was the driving factor behind you learning to regulate your feelings remarkably well, so that you didn’t have to hide them. It worried Obi-Wan to no end that perhaps you were going through something that had you not even wanting to risk a slight exposure of your true emotions.

Obi-Wan lifts his cup to his lips. It’s good tea, this new flavour, he thinks distantly you would’ve liked this one, probably a lot, and he would have readily given you the entire box of teabags if you had shown up.

“Have you tried talking to her?” Anakin probes, but immediately shuts down at the look his former Master gives him. Of course he had tried talking to you, Obi-Wan wouldn’t be here, talking about this to him in extreme confidence, unless he had exhausted all other routes that he could’ve thought of himself.

“Every time I ask, she insists that she’s perfectly fine.”

“With that reassuring smile of hers,” Anakin murmurs knowingly.

“With that damned smile of hers,” Obi-Wan responds, downing half of his tea in one go.

“You remember what I was like after my trials,” Anakin continues, lifting a shoulder. Obi-Wan did remember. It was a common enough experience amongst newly knighted Jedi, the sense of confusion and loneliness. To help with the disorientation, the Order usually sent the newly knighted Jedi on a mission, a simple one, but enough to give them a little ego boost and get them properly on their feet.

That’s what they did with you; immediately after your trials you were sent on a diplomatic mission to Corellia. The details of the mission Obi-Wan had not been privy to- not for its confidential nature, but rather for it being so miniscule that the majority of the Council weren’t aware of the finer details either. After all, Jedi Masters could hardly concern themselves with learning the ins and outs of everything that passed through the doors of the Temple; they’d never get any work done otherwise. Regardless, Obi-Wan had been- perhaps foolishly, he thinks to himself- expecting you to tell him all about it. He has enough fingers and some to spare if he counted the number of words you had spoken to him since then.

“Or maybe Dooku said something that got her a little shaken up.”

What.

Flashes of an old mentor and trusted friend. Flashes of a previous conversation; one that had cemented Dooku’s position as a Sith. Flashes of betrayal, a proposal that stood against so much of what Obi-Wan stood for.

“Dooku?” Obi-Wan responds slowly, turning his gaze back onto his former Padawan. “What do you mean, Dooku?”

Anakin falters then, there’s a brief moment of uncertainty that taints his signature, but he’s quick enough to put his shield up that if it was anyone but Obi-Wan, they probably wouldn’t have recognised it. In any other situation, Obi-Wan would have even felt a little pride at how well Anakin did. But you wouldn’t have done it like that.

“Dooku was on Corellia the same time she was. She said she saw him, but didn’t say anything else.” Silence. And then, “I thought she would’ve mentioned it to you.”

“She didn’t,” Obi-Wan confirms, trying not to get irrationally jealous and hurt that you talked to Anakin about the mission and not him.

“She probably didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Anakin tries to soothe. Obi-Wan appreciates him for it, for his attempts to make the situation appear better than it was. Because after all, it had just happened once, right?

Nevermind that Dooku was, well, Dooku. And no matter that any involvement with a former high-ranking member of the Jedi Order, now turned Sith, would be a detail that any Jedi would deem worthy enough of a mention to the Council. Oh, and disregarding the fact that Dooku had ties to you, through Obi-Wan, as Obi-Wan had ties to Yoda through Qui-Gon and Dooku. It was, admittedly, a bit of a stretch. After all, it wasn’t as though Obi-Wan and Master Yoda were particularly friendly. Although perhaps it wasn’t the best comparison; Obi-Wan respected Master Yoda immensely, and looked up to him as a mentor and a leader, as most of the Order did. You and Dooku, on the other hand… why, you had met on no more than a few occasions, none of them long enough to form what Obi-Wan would consider to be a concerning bond of any kind.

Oh, where was his head? He was overthinking it. So you met Dooku once when Obi-Wan hadn’t been there. You were a capable adult; young, yes, but a Knight now. And once is just chance.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

There are murmurs.

Obi-Wan hates murmurs. Well, hate is a strong word. He dislikes them very strongly. He… he prefers if murmurs didn’t occur in the Temple. Yes- that’s it.

Murmurs are a waste of time, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. And more often than not they were so very far from the truth. Small talk and stupid conversations about nothing were completely fine and normal, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, but oh, did he so dislike gossip.

These murmurs however are worse than any he has had the absolute displeasure of being privy to. There are murmurs, murmurs of a known Sith Lord being on a planet at the same time as a newly-anointed Jedi Knight, and said Knight had not reported this to the Council. Once is just chance, Obi-Wan tells himself.

Then he’s sitting at the Council and you’re standing in the middle of the floor, features a perfect mix of absolute coolness and polite respect. If he weren’t so worried for you, Obi-Wan would’ve been proud of how well you were doing. You don’t glance his way, not even once.

“On Corellia, Count Dooku was, at the same time as you, hm?”

“He was.”

“With your own eyes, see him, you did?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

“You didn’t think it was worth reporting to the Council?” Obi-Wan finds himself stepping in. He burns his gaze into your eyes, getting more antsy by the second. The words to report to me left hanging in the air, unsaid, but understood by the both of you perfectly.

You turn to face him, and to anyone else it would appear that you meet his gaze. But it’s clear to Obi-Wan that you’ve focused on a spot on the wall behind him- You don’t look at him.

“I exercised my judgement, Master, and came to the fairly reasonable conclusion that Dooku buying a crate of Corellian wine was hardly anything to concern the council over.”

“Agree with young Knight, I do,” Master Yoda chimes cheekily. “An advantage to us would be, Dooku getting drunk.”

There are a few chuckles. Windu cracks a smile. You manage a shyly polite one.

But again, you don’t raise your eyes to Obi-Wan’s. Why?

Once is chance, he tells himself.

That’s all. Mere chance.

“Aware, were you, of Dooku’s presence on Corellia last week?”

Hold on.

“I did not run into Dooku on Corellia last week, no.”

Hold on.

“The Count did not try to contact you?”

No, stop, hold on just a sec-

“No, Master. He didn’t initiate anything.”

Obi-Wan feels his mouth getting dry, his stomach turning uneasily as he scrutinises the features of his Padawan- his former Padawan’s face. You were on Corellia again? And Dooku was there, again?

He is forced to bury his train of thought when you’re dismissed, leaving the Council to deal with far more important matters. You leave with a polite bow and without so much as a single glance his way.

Once is chance, twice is coincidence.

That’s all it was. Coincidence.

After all, why would Dooku have any interest in you?

Why, indeed.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

When he finally does manage to talk to you, Obi-Wan’s done something that he’s debated long and hard over.

Showing up at your door uninvited was possibly one of the rudest things Obi-Wan could have done, one of the most inconsiderate of your feelings- save, perhaps, yelling your name across the Temple loud enough so that everyone would hear, and you’d be forced to confront him. The first option, of course, saved you from any public mortification, and ensured you were in what Obi-Wan hoped would be a safe space for you.

For an added you can’t be mad at me factor, Obi-Wan made sure to, one, not arrive too early lest he wake you up, because Maker knows he would be embarking on an already doomed mission. And two, who could say no to a box of their favourite biscuits in the morning?

When you open your door, it takes everything for Obi-Wan’s polite smile not to slip completely off his face.

You look- not that he’d ever say this to you, of course- like shit. You look pale and there are ghastly circles under your eyes, and speaking of your eyes, they’re lifeless and unseeing, and the only emotion Obi-Wan detects in them is the brief spout of panic when you register who he is.

“M-Master,” You greet, bowing politely.

“Knight,” Obi-Wan greets, hoping to convey a sense of playful teasing in the title. It strikes him even deeper just then that he won’t ever call you Padawan again.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” You murmur, running a hand nervously through your hair to try to pat it into submission.

“I suppose that’s what provides the surprise element of surprise visits,” Obi-Wan continues smoothly, acting oblivious to your obviously uncomfortable state. Acting oblivious also helps ignore the nagging thought at the back of his mind that screams out to discover just what has happened that you’re in so much discomfort around him.

There’s a pause as you try to figure out what to say to him. You don’t want to invite him in, clearly, but it’s not like you can turn him away either.

“I brought a housewarming gift,” Holding up the box of biscuits, he gives you another smile, pretty much making your decision for you.

“Thank you. Do you- do you want to come in?” You open your door wider, and he sees you jerk your wrist slightly in what he assumes is an attempt to hide whatever mess you could. “I apologise for the mess.”

“Nonsense,” Obi-Wan tuts good-naturedly. “You act as though we have not spent over a decade in the same living space.”

You flush a little at that out of sheepish embarrassment, letting Obi-Wan glide past you into your apartment. It’s a little more bare than his, there’s still a box of old reports that Madame Jocasta made copies of for you once you checked a copy out more than twice. (It started after you had checked out the same report for the seventh time in half a year. Not that it stopped you from visiting the library every other day, but Madame Jocasta was always more than eager to aid with whatever old journals you were pouring through. She seemed to have a soft spot for you, and Obi-Wan knew better than to complain that his padawan spent most of her hours in the library.)

There’s a few bits and bobs here and there, yet Obi-Wan would be lying if he said the apartment resembled anything homey. The room didn’t look lived in, just occupied, as if you hadn’t spent any time making it a place you’d like to stay in. It was as though the very walls of the room not only reflected but amplified your blatant discomfort.

“Tea?” You offer weakly, gesturing for him to take a seat on the nice little settee that is so completely unlike you.

“Tea would be lovely,” Obi-Wan smiles, sitting down and trying to look around in a pleasantly curious sort of way, so that you didn’t think he was watching you. Because he wasn’t. Watching you.

A moment later, you’re setting down a tray of tea, along with a mound of sugar in a little bowl that Obi-Wan knows you won’t touch. If you wanted to add sugar, you would have done so before sitting in front of him. You never liked stirring the contents of your cup in another’s company, you got weird over the possibility of the spoon hitting the sides of the cup and making noise. It’s one of the seemingly insignificant details Obi-Wan just knows about you, the knowledge engraved into his very soul.

Obi-Wan opens the box of biscuits and sets it enticingly on the middle of the coffee table while you pour the tea, and when his eyes meet yours, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite so out of place before. He takes the saucer and cup handed to him, and he pretends to be busy with blowing over the surface to cool the tea down a little. It’s only as he raises the cup to his lips does Obi-Wan remember that he hadn’t added any sugar, and to do so now would be incredibly awkward. It doesn’t help that you’re watching him through your eyelashes, trying to gauge his reaction.

“It’s perfect,” He lies, taking another sip so as to drive his point home. You place your own cup back on its saucer, legs tucked primly beneath yourself. “You don’t have any pressing issues to attend to, today, do you?”

“No, no, I… I’m free today,” You murmur, keeping your eyes on your cup.

“Good, good,” Obi-Wan cringes at how stilted he sounds, and tries shooting you another warm smile that you do not see. There’s a pause as he flickers his gaze between his tea and the sugar.

“How are you?” It hadn’t meant to come out as heavily and full of concern as it did, but Obi-Wan supposes there’s hardly any need to conceal his worry now that it’s out in the open. You glance up, eyes wide for a split second as if you hadn’t been expecting that question.

“I’m alright.” Liar.

“That’s good to hear.” You had never been able to lie to him, he thinks.

“How were your missions to Corellia?” Obi-Wan continues casually. He leans forward and picks up the box of biscuits, holding it out for you to take one. He then sets it back down and takes one for himself, trying desperately not to show how calculated each of his movements were.

“It was a courtesy call. To represent the Council’s goodwill,” You raise your eyes to his and shrug a shoulder, tired smile on your lips. “Nothing terribly exciting.”

“No?” Obi-Wan murmurs, sensing a good segue into a little teasing that would, hopefully, ease your clear anxiety over the topic. “Was the Senator’s son not there? The one with the crush on you?”

You fumble with your biscuit a little out of embarrassment, shooting him a look of desperate annoyance. He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his bitter tea, waving his hand as if to tell you to go on.

“No,” You respond pointedly, rolling your eyes and muttering a quiet “Thank the Force,” under your breath.

“Is Corellian not your type?” Obi-Wan continues, beginning to make himself amused as well.

“Hilarious,” Pointing your biscuit at him, you narrow your eyes. “You should become a comedian.”

“And have the Coruscanti crowd as an audience? I’d make no profit. Besides, those in the Temple boast far better company.”

Then he sees it. Something he said, he isn’t sure what, but something suddenly changed your mood; your smile completely drops off your face and you’re sitting stiffly yet again. He had meant that last line as a compliment to you but you’re scarcely daring to breathe, and Obi-Wan hastily backpedals his thoughts to comb through what he had said.

What did he say? What did he say?

It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have the time to sit there and stare dumbly at you, he must press on. He’s tried beating around the bush, now he supposes he might as well just get on with it.

“So Count Dooku enjoys Corellian wine, hm?”

He tries to sound off-hand.

He sees from the way your face falls even more and your shoulders slump in utter exhaustion that you know it’s anything but.

“Is this an interrogation?” You ask tiredly, setting your saucer down on the table. Your gaze finally returns to him, and Obi-Wan feels duly chastised by the look in your eyes alone.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan hastily tries to make assurances. “I’m simply inquiring about the unique nature of your mission-“

“Well then, let me satisfy your inquiries,” You cut him off, standing as your voice turns cold.

“I was sent to Corellia two and a half weeks ago on a courtesy call as a representative of the Jedi Order and by extension, the Galactic Republic,” You pick up the tray of tea, pointedly returning it back to the island next to the sink of your kitchen. “The journey lasted half a day, and when I arrived, I was greeted by Senator Dulani. From there, I was escorted to the Great Hall of Corellia.”

“Knight-“

“You needn’t worry, Master, I haven’t quite finished with my report.” You say as you empty the contents of the teapot into the sink. Obi-Wan sets his own cup down and stands, his own patience wearing thin not out of anger, but for fear. “There was a dinner, and later a meeting, with Senator Dulani and other members of the Corellian senate present. The minutes of the meeting were recorded and I have a copy that was submitted to the Council upon my first report, if you’d like to look through it.”

Obi-Wan calls your name as he makes his way towards you, desperate now in his desire to beg for your forgiveness, to drop down onto his knees and plead for you to pardon whatever wrong he had committed that had been pushing you so far away from him.

“It was after that meeting that Senator Dulani invited me to a little festival that was occurring in the main city. We only went for a few hours- that too, is in the report, for your reference- where we stumbled into Count Dooku-“

“Stop.” Obi-Wan grips you by the elbow and turns you around to face him, leaving you trapped between him and the counter. You glare up at him, tears beginning to prick behind your eyes as he raises a hand up to touch your cheek. The violence at which you flinch away from his touch certainly does not go unnoticed by him.

Obi-Wan blinks.

“-He was, as I had mentioned in the council meeting, buying wine,” You grit out, trying to ignore the way tears were no longer gathering in your eyes, but falling freely.

“Little one-“ Obi-Wan whispers softly, eyebrows drawing together as his gaze flits all over your face.

“Did I answer your inquiries, or do you have any more?” You snap, pulling your arm out of his grasp and pressing back against the counter as if to get away from him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, trying once again to anchor you back with his hands resting on your arms. “What’s gotten you so upset?”

It backfires spectacularly, resulting in you altogether sidestepping him and retreating away.

“It seems that I have a previous engagement that I had overlooked,” With your back to him, you seem to take a moment to calm yourself before meeting his gaze headon. “Thank you for your company, Master Kenobi. I’m sure you have more important things to attend to.”

A precisely diplomatic way of telling him to fuck off, if he’s ever heard one.

And, oh, Obi-Wan doesn’t want to leave, he truly doesn’t, but what else can he say to you? How much more can he encroach into your personal space, how much more can he force you to have this conversation with him, when he doesn’t know what to ask and you refuse to give him any leads?

It was his nature to fight, he was a blue saber. It came so easily to him, no matter how he suppressed it. And he would continue to fight for you, Obi-Wan decided resolutely. But not here, not now; not when he needed to show you that he respected your wishes-regardless of whatever they may be.

You asked him to leave.

So he left.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

It’s remarkably strange how time passes. Swamped with missions and treaties and Council duties, a month passes before Obi-Wan has a chance to breathe again. His tin of Naboo tea has barely been touched; the most obvious indicator of how much of his wakefulness he spent in his quarters.

Obi-Wan is extremely guilty to admit that, between being bombarded with an ever-growing workload, he hardly had the time to spare you much thought. Out of sight out of mind, perhaps.

That doesn’t explain the restlessness in his bones, however.

He misses you.

It’s been just about two full moon cycles since he’s had a proper conversation with you, and the silence of his apartment is more than Obi-Wan can bear. Perhaps his busy schedule served as a distraction, to give you both time before you faced each other again.

Or maybe…

There’s a nagging voice at the back of his head. You and your Padawan are close, Master Kenobi. Your time under his tutelage had come to an end. You had no obligations towards him now. He had no right to ask you to be more than coworkers. The desire to keep you close- all it was was a desire.

One he should do away with.

As if the Force understood, his comm buzzed with a new mission report. Obi-Wan takes a glance at it and grimaces, pouring his far-too-hot-to-drink tea down the sink. Now he supposed he could claim he had begun to make a dent in the tea tin.

But as Obi-Wan’s eyes roved over the multitude of words, he recalled his previous praise of the Force’s all-knowingness. It seemed that he would be spending the next two weeks- at the least- with you by his side. More accurately, he would be at your side as you acted as a mediator for trade alliance discussions in both Mandalore and Corellia.

The travelling itself would take two weeks, and knowing the characters of the courts in question led Obi-Wan to suspect that these discussions would not be easily won; a safe bet would be an additional week or two.

And although a month by your side was all that he had been dreaming of since you had parted ways, now with his prize in front of him, Obi-Wan is filled with an overwhelming feeling of dread.

What was he supposed to do?

Was he supposed to bring up your previous conversation? Was he, as a Master with a place in the Council, supposed to chastise your lapse into overwhelming emotion, despite him being the one that pushed you to that point? Or was he supposed to remain silent, let you deal with your own problems now that you were no longer his Padawan? No longer his responsibility, no longer his-

You do not greet him at the docking pad when he approaches. If not for the way your shoulders tensed, Obi-Wan might have thought you oblivious to his presence. He greets you, determined to put an end to the silence. He tries for small talk, but all he gets is clipped, detached answers. He hopes, perhaps foolishly, that being in the same ship would force some sort of conversation.

You seem equally moved to avoid him as he is in trying to speak to you.

The second you step onto Mandalorian soil, it is as though a flip has switched. You greet the Duchess with all the charm and grace anyone could ask for, knowing precisely what to say and when to say it. It is no wonder the Duchess barely spared Obi-Wan a second glance, as enthralled as they all were by you. Not that he would have noticed, with the way he refuses to let you out of his gaze.

You handle the first round of discussions beautifully, and Obi-Wan scarcely needs to speak unless he was specifically called upon by a senator.

“I have to say,” Satine murmurs to him on the way out of the meeting room that evening. “Your former Padawan is certainly doing your Order justice. You should be proud.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan replies immediately, earnestly, gaze shifting to the side to seek you out, missing the knowing look Satine gives him.

“You won’t mind if I steal her away from you for dinner, would you?” She hums, pausing the conversation to exchange pleasantries with Senator Dulani. “I’ve grown rather tired of the opinions of those in this court. Perhaps she would provide some fresh perspective.”

Immediately Obi-Wan’s heart sinks, and it’s just then that he realises that he had been counting on being placed next to you during the meal. Satine notices, of course she does, damn her, and laughs.

“Master Kenobi, you needn’t pout,” She moves away with the hint of a smile still lingering on her face, hand ghosting over your arm as she leads you back to where Obi-Wan was standing.

“We were just speaking about you, my dear,” Satine is telling you, and you respond with a quiet “Oh?”

“All good things,” Satine reassures you, placing her arm delicately in the crook of Obi-Wan’s elbow, now steering you both towards the dining hall.

“I had wanted your opinion on the recent compulsory military act that was passed on Bar’leth.”

“The Jedi refrain from having political opinions, Your Grace,” You respond automatically, and the corners of Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up.

“Humour me,” Satine flicks her hand almost dismissively at Obi-Wan, gesturing to his seat beside yours. He rolls his eyes, moving to first pull out her seat and then yours.

“I…” You glance at Obi-Wan, immediately looking away as you struggle to decide on an answer.

And despite it all, despite every word of your argument? if he could even call it that- being engraved into his mind, despite the way you were trying desperately to avoid his gaze, despite the score of other people seated around you, Obi-Wan shifts his hand out to hold yours under the table.

The result is instantaneous, the way the tension all but disappears from your shoulders as he gently flips your hand palm side up so that he could interlock his fingers with yours. And you’re letting him, stars above despite it all, you’re letting him rub little circles into your skin as he holds your hand firmly.

“I think it is a necessity,” You finally settle on, exhaling slowly when Obi-Wan squeezes your hand.

“They claim to be a peaceful planet,” the Duchess continues.

“One cannot claim to be peaceful unless they are capable of great violence,” You refute, surprising not only Obi-Wan and the Duchess but yourself as well.

“No?”

“No. Otherwise they would just be harmless.”

“Strength invites challenge, does it not?” The Duchess muses, taking a sip from her drink.

“Certainly. But without strength, Bar’leth would not even be a civilization we could discuss, Your Grace.”

“Hm,” Satine responds, glancing at Obi-Wan. “So you think violence is necessary for civilizations to thrive?”

“I think it is an unsavoury reality of the galaxy we live in,” You respond, choosing your words carefully.

And if the Duchess had a response to that, Obi-Wan did not hear it, for he was too busy re-memorising the lines on the palm of your hand. A clever move on his part, for moments later the entrées were served, and both of you had to abandon the other’s hand in favour of salad forks.

Dinner with the senate of Mandalore was, well, dinner. And with each second dragging on longer than the last, Obi-Wan isn’t quite sure how to describe the relief he feels when Satine drains the last of her wine, setting the glass down with a clink that rings with finality.

Obi-Wan offers you his hand, and you take it, allowing him to guide you out of the hall. When the doors shut behind you, the silence of the halls of the Sundari Palace overwhelm you. Hesitating, Obi-Wan tucks your hand into the crook of his arm, taking a tentative step and bracing himself for the inevitable feeling of you pulling your hand away.

But it doesn’t come, and Obi-Wan takes a second step, and then a third, and then you’ve both walked the length of the hallway before Obi-Wan dares to breathe again. He walks you to your room, pausing outside your door to brush a stray strand of hair away from your bright eyes. A beat of silence passes between the two of you, and all Obi-Wan can do is look at you.

And then you drop your gaze and murmur a quiet goodnight, then Obi-Wan is left looking at the door.

So that’s how you spend the next few days.

With no words passed between the two of you save for the basest necessities, with hands seeking each other out under dining tables, with silent walks back to your room filled with nothing more than an aching want.

“I’ll always be here,” Obi-Wan says on the fourth night, finding himself overcome with startling desperation. Your door is nearly fully closed when you pause, only your hand visible from where it’s closed around the edge.

“Should you ever need me, for anything,” Obi-Wan continues, taking this opportunity and sprinting with it, not knowing when he’d get a chance like this again. “If it’s aid with a mission, or should you need a confidante- stars, even if all you need is a tin of biscuits…”

Taking a slow breath, Obi-Wan reaches his hand out and rests it above yours on the doorway. He isn’t prepared for the way your hand flinches away from him, and the door is gently shut (to avoid injuring him).

“Nothing has changed,” Obi-Wan rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door, voice a mere whisper. “Nothing has to change.”

And perhaps, if he hadn’t been so caught up in his quiet repetitions of “I’m right here,” then maybe, just maybe, he would’ve realised that you too were leaning against the door, ear pressed to the wood, listening to every one of his whispers.

Right there beside him.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

It starts off, as most things do, seemingly innocent.

The message from you to an unknown recipient,

I want to meet you.

Of course you do,-

And Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow at the use of your name, your first name, a sure sign of intimacy if nothing else. He can count on one hand the number of people that call you by your first name.

A lover, perhaps?

No, no, surely not… but perhaps?

But he shouldn’t… he shouldn’t betray your trust by reading the messages on your tablet, lover or not. And then he sees his name.

I take it Obi-Wan is still in the dark?

In the dark? In the dark about what?

That should be of no concern to you, is your next response, and Obi-Wan swallows.

I apologise, my dear.

My dear? My dear? Obi-Wan places the tablet on the armrest beside him lest he snaps it in half.

And a message unread by you from your mystery penpal follows the apology, with a date, time, and place on Corellia.

Obi-Wan doesn’t think twice about deleting that particular message, and tries to bury the rising guilt he feels the next time he sees your face.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

There’s absolutely no reason whatsoever that Obi-Wan insists on departing for Corellia a day before you, leaving you to “Wrap things up” in Mandalore. He pretends to ignore the look you give him, what with half the Mandalorian representatives already en route to Corellia, but you do not argue.

There is simply no need for it, the discussions are not scheduled to take place for a while yet, and as far as you’re concerned, you have nowhere else to be.

You’re certainly not going to be meeting your possible lover-

Alright, perhaps there was a reason Obi-Wan had insisted on departing first. One could hardly fault him for wanting to ensure that whomever you were dallying with kept your honour in mind. Not that Obi-Wan wished to imagine you having…dalliances with anyone, but he would protect you, from scandal, heartbreak, or otherwise.

Besides, this lover of yours could hardly be suitable to hold your affections, with how little they seemed to care about the lack of your response to their proposition.

Obi-Wan arrives on Corellia precisely four hours before the supposed meeting time, and after two hours spent exchanging pleasantries with the Corellian dignitaries, followed by a rather long “quick” tour of the grounds he would be residing in, Obi-Wan gets in a shuttle and makes his way into the very heart of the city.

It is only when he is standing in front of the supposed attraction that you were meant to have your rendezvous does Obi-Wan revise his previous statement about how this lover of yours did not seem to be suitable. No, standing in front of a large… wheel, of some sort, (a new attraction, as he is told by the man at the counter), attached to glass compartments, Obi-Wan comes to the conclusion that your beau is an absolute madman.

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan steels himself before stepping into one of the compartments, trying not to be taken aback by the realisation that the wheel was in fact turning, albeit slowly. He is drawn away from his thoughts rather abruptly, however, when he hears the sound of someone stepping in, followed immediately by the closing of the compartment door.

“Oh.” Comes the voice, disappointment evident. Obi-Wan closes his eyes and tries not to shatter his teeth with how hard they’re clenched. “Kenobi.”

“Dooku.”

Welllllll. Didn’t Obi-Wan feel rather silly.

“Your former Padawan did not join you?”

“No.”

“What a shame.”

The ground slowly but surely inches away, and Obi-Wan comes to another horrible realisation of the fact that he was now confined in this space with Dooku.

It was fine. This was fine. He was fine.

All Obi-Wan had to do was take some deep, calming breaths, enjoy the cool air around him, and remain calm. He’d be fine. He had no need to interact with Dooku at all. He was fine.

“How is she?” Dooku breaks the silence as soon as Obi-Wan finishes his pep talk. The timing of it is wildly inconvenient, or, on the flip side of the coin, perfectly timed; as if Dooku knew precisely when to strike. Obi-Wan turns his head to stare blankly at the man. There’s a beat of silence before Dooku clarifies the subject of the conversation. “My great-grandpadawan.”

“Don’t you speak of her,” Obi-Wan snaps before he can help himself, repulsed by the familiar term Dooku used, and he turns his gaze away to try to hide the little shame in failing to keep his cool. Dooku raises an eyebrow.

“Touched a nerve, have I? I had thought there was something off with her when we met here the first time, and the second time too, but it had been a while since our last reunion, so I wasn’t sure. Thank you, for the confirmation.”

Alarm bells are ringing in Obi-Wan’s head, loud and obnoxious and glaring. Dooku had noticed something off about you before Obi-Wan had- and the second time too- Dooku wanted to know about you, for possibly nefarious reasons that were currently unknown- and the second time too- Dooku had been disappointed that it was Obi-Wan, instead of you- and the second time too- Obi-Wan swallows and avoids the elder man’s gaze. Thrice is a pattern.

“Don’t pretend you care about her well-being.”

“She holds a lot of promise,” Rebuts Dooku sagely, almost as if he’s the one offended that Obi-Wan holds such an impression of him. “It’s a shame the Jedi Order seems to be so keen in disappointing her so. A shared trait amongst our line, although you seem to be the exception.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snapping his head to the once so revered man, Obi-Wan tries to send a wave of calm over the rapidly spiking rage bubbling up inside him. It’s ugly and hot and red, but Obi-Wan is more preoccupied with refuting Dooku than keeping his cool.

“My late Padawan disagreed with the Council on many things,” Dooku continues, watching Obi-Wan critically. Obi-Wan feels a sudden familiarity of being a youngling in his crèche, scrutinised by Masters as he performs the task set out in front of him. A circus monkey, Obi-Wan thinks. He’s toyed with her and now he’s making me his little circus monkey. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t stop himself-

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

“Yes, you would be,” Dooku continues pleasantly, and Obi-Wan realises he just aced the test he was trying to fail.

“Your first Padawan does too. Although your second Padawan seems to be a lot more open to considering…” Dooku drags the word out, his hand almost daintily flicking off a piece of lint on his sleeve before he leans back against the wall with an overwhelming amount of elegance that few others could match. “Other options.”

“And by that I presume you mean the Dark Side?” Obi-Wan scoffs, now half-amused. He imagines you wearing all black, eyes golden and a red saber in your hand. It’s ridiculous. He almost snorts. Entertainment, indeed.

“Things aren't simply Black or White, Kenobi,” Dooku snaps, having finally grown tired of Obi-Wan’s resistance to his ploy. “For someone with a reputation of being so quick-witted, you really can be quite daft at times.”

“My former Padawan would never consider joining the Sith,” Obi-Wan responds coolly, reassured by the confidence of the sheer depth at which he knew your character- something Dooku could and would never match.

And just like that, there’s a sudden twist in the air as Dooku smiles slowly. Obi-Wan regards him carefully, watching the look of ah, finally, flit across Dooku’s face, and Obi-Wan’s heart drops into his stomach. He hates that this was what Dooku had been baiting him into saying.

Later on, much later on, Obi-Wan would reach the conclusion that Dooku had manipulated the entire conversation, that regardless of whatever Obi-Wan was trying to say or do, it would get twisted and bent to fit Dooku’s agenda. He would recognise it as such because it was a tactic he himself had used countless other times; there was a reason he was considered a great Negotiator. In other words, Obi-Wan was very nearly bested in a game he so often played himself.

“No, she would not.” Dooku agrees with such a startling belief and conviction, as if he knew you, that it makes Obi-Wan a little sick to his stomach. “Leaving the Order however, is very much on her mind.”

“She has never once considered disobeying the Order,” Obi-Wan gets onto his feet, turning his back to Dooku to try to put some distance, any distance between them.

“You really don’t know her at all, do you?” Dooku hums, half amused, half exasperated.

“I have known her for years.”

“And yet you’re utterly blind to the most obvious things about her,” Dooku tuts. He looks disapprovingly at Obi-Wan, annoyed that he has to spell it out. “She won’t disobey the Order, no. But she would leave it. I thought that you of all people would know that she doesn’t follow things she doesn’t believe in.”

Dooku is right. Obi-Wan knows he is. And yet-

“You stand there and claim to know more of my former Padawan- the child that I selected and raised, the Padawan that I spent years traversing within the confines of her mind, the Padawan I know more intimately than any other being- you, who have barely crossed paths with her a mere three times, you claim to know her better than I?”

“Intimately.” Dooku repeats, eyes narrowing and mouth curling into something sinisterly amused. “I must say, it's an interesting word choice. Yes, please, do go on, tell me how intimately you know this girl of yours.”

“Quit being foul, Dooku,” Obi-Wan snaps, glaring at the smirking man.

“Oh, but you understood what I implied, Master Kenobi. Surely you don’t think of her as your beloved Padawan anymore? What’s the endearment you use? Ah yes, little one-“

“Enough with your games-“

“Tell me, grandpadawan of mine, now that she’s grown, do you not imagine what’s been hiding under those robes all this time?” Dooku’s eyes drift over him, as if his next words were a simple throw away. “Or, well, not all this time.”

And damn that last statement.

Rubbing salt into hidden wounds was something Dooku was surprisingly good at. He always managed to know exactly which of Obi-Wan’s buttons to push.

Not all this time.

As if Obi-Wan needed another disgusting reminder of how horrific his affections towards you were. Because it couldn’t have been enough that he fell head over heels for a girl that he simply just couldn’t love, or that she’d never return his affections. No, he had to love a girl practically half his age, a girl he knew when she was all but a child and a girl he had a hand in raising. A girl he was supposed to protect from vile creatures that dared to look at her in the way he did and yet he-

“Believe it or not, Kenobi, I’m not here to discuss the spectacular display of failure that is your pitiful love life. I’m saying this to help.”

“Are you?” Obi-Wan snaps, trying to swallow the bile rising in his throat. Dooku levels him with not quite a glare, it’s much too dignified. He has a way of glaring at you without moving a muscle on his face, Qui-Gon had quipped once, years ago now.

“Kenobi, if I wanted the girl to leave the Order, why would I be telling you her plans?” Dooku extends his arm as if to illustrate his point, fingers unfurling leisurely. “No, her place is to remain put.”

“To remain in the Order?”

“…If that’s how you choose to see it.” Dooku lifts a shoulder. “A more accurate phrasing would be to remain close to you. It would allow her to stay close to your other Padawan. The pair of them are two halves of a whole. They will be the catalyst that ends it all. Yet another thing I’m surprised you can’t see.”

“They work well together.” Obi-Wan grits out. You don’t know, he wants to scream. You don’t know, he wanted to yell at the man he once respected- still respected. His Master’s Master, an old friend and confidant, someone Obi-Wan once cared for.

You don’t know the sheer violence it took for them to become this gentle.

“You hold judgement against me,” Dooku says, settling back against his corner of the compartment. Obi-Wan inhales slowly, exhaling with great measure as he shuts his eyes. In, out. In, out. In-

“I taught him that,” Dooku speaks again, quieter now. Obi-Wan does not need to ask him to clarify what he means. He taught Qui-Gon this particular way of meditation; what is dubbed ‘battle meditation’ in highly stressful situations. Qui-Gon, obviously, taught him. Just as he taught Anakin, and you.

“There is a war brewing, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan gives no response, settling for keeping his eyes closed and letting the seconds tick by. It is not so soon after that the movements of the compartment shift slightly, and it begins its descent, lowering slowly towards the ground, bit by bit. The approach is inevitable, he knows there is nothing he can do to stop it.

There was a war brewing, lost between the shadows where the sinister remained hidden. Obi-Wan knew it. Dooku knew it. The Order knew it. The bomb had been set, now it was just a matter if waiting for the inevitable tragedy.

“I… I do care for her well-being Kenobi,” Dooky speaks again, rising to his feet. After a moment, Obi-Wan does the same, if only to be able to get off this infernal ride. “With her wit, she puts even the conversations I held with my former Padawan to shame.”

To that he has no response either, so he watches Dooku step off, before he himself exits and walks away.

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

For the brief moment after you step into your shared accommodations, Obi-Wan remembers precisely nothing of Dooku, his focus concentrated solely on the brilliant smile on your face.

And then he remembers.

“You spoke with Dooku on your second trip to Corellia,” He says, more of a statement than a question. You pause from where you’re lowering your bag onto the table, steady hands unzipping and removing a book before you take the nearest seat.

“Yes,” Comes your reply.

“Then you lied to the council,” Obi-Wan continues, hating the way you open your book calmly as if the conversation was of no consequence to you.

“I did no such thing.”

“You said you didn’t run into- it was planned?”

“…Yes.”

“You also said he didn’t contact you.”

Your gaze flickers up for a split second, and Obi-Wan feels his unease growing steadily.

“You contacted him?”

“We did not discuss any matters that the Council would have been concerned over-“ You murmur coolly.

“And what of me? You mean to tell me the two of you did not discuss anything that I might concern myself over?”

It's a cheap shot, and Obi-Wan knows it from the pained look that graces your features. You shut your book and place it gingerly on the table before looking up at him..

“I… I needed to do this myself.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan says heavily. He can’t blame you. If it’s what he thinks it’s about then he certainly can’t blame you for wanting to talk to someone outside the Order. But by Maker, that didn’t make it hurt any less. “And is it fair to conclude that the this in question is you considering leaving the Order?”

“What? How- wh- how can you possibly-“ Understanding dawns on your features. “Dooku spoke to you.”

“Why is it that you wish to leave?” Obi-Wan demands, unable to keep his voice from rising.

“I should’ve known,” You whisper to yourself, tugging uncomfortably at your hair. “He wanted me to stay in the Order, I should’ve known-“

“Why now? Why all of a sudden?”

“It’s not just now! I’ve wanted to leave for years-“ You cut yourself off, and Obi-Wan takes a second to process what you said.

“…What?”

“Forget it.” You stand, moving to brush past him.

“No, how long?”

“Master, I-“

“For how long have you wanted to leave-” me?

“I’m sorry.” You sound meek, ashamed, and he swallows.

“No- don’t apologise,” he soothes, reaching a hand out. The last thing he wants to make you feel further alienated, to give you a nudge in the wrong direction that’ll lead to you walking out the Temple and never returning. “Just… how long have you been struggling with this?”

“Five years. Give or take a few months.”

He sucks in a breath. Five years. Five years.

So this wasn’t just…

“Once you leave, you can’t come back.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

Okay, ouch.

But it wasn't an impulse. Obi-Wan isn’t sure if he’s relieved it isn't some scheme planted in your mind by Dooku, or to be sick at the best years of his life were the same years you spent wanting everything to change.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, gently guiding you to sit back down as he lowers down onto a knee in front of you.

You smile, a bitter, twisted smile, looking at him through tears. “I did not want to disappoint you.”

“Why do you wish to leave?” Obi-Wan prompts, taking your hands in his.

“The Order… it does not do enough.”

“We do the best we can-”

“On the whims of politicians who wish to further their own positions of power!” You argue, frustrated.

“Even- even these negotiations,” You gesture to the room you’re in. “They’re not helping people that really need to be helped.”

Obi-Wan inhales slowly, considering your words.

“I cannot, in good conscience, call myself a keeper of the peace when there are so many suffering.”

“Who are these people you speak of?” He asks, not mocking, not out of ignorance, but out of the genuine desire to understand.

“The poor, in the lower levels of Corellia that have to resort to awful things to feed their families-”

“There are legislations in place to help those that need it-”

“-slaves on Tatooine-”

“Tatooine is located in the Outer Rim. The Republic has no jurisdiction there.”

“The Jedi are not meant to be a part of the Republic!” You exclaim, your energy bursting from you and cracking the table leg in front of you. “We are meant to help people, and I can’t do that if I’m sitting here trying to ensure the dim-witted senator from Corellia does not offend the stubborn ruler of Mandalore!”

Obi-Wan sighs. Careful. He stands, walks to the other side of the room, runs his hand over his face. He turns, regards you thoughtfully. Careful now, do not lose her.

“How would leaving help?”

“I would not be confined within so many rules, for one.”

“Without these rules, it will be all that much easier to give in to temptation,” Obi-Wan reasons. For a brief moment, he thinks he has got you, that the way your voice calmed and the way you seem sure of what you’re about to say means that he’s gotten through. It doesn’t take him a full second for him to realise it is quite the opposite.

“This has nothing to do with your teachings, Master. You have trained me, and taught me with more patience than I deserved , and I will forever be grateful to you,” Your gaze is ever so thankful when you look at him, and he knows that your mind has been made up. He reaches for you, strokes a thumb across your cheek. He doubts he will get the opportunity to hold you this close again.

“Stay.”

“I can’t,” You sound so pained that he wants to throw up. “I’ve tried, and I’ve tried, but I can’t, Master.”

You stand, straighten your robes, and turn for the door. He says your name softly, but you do not hear it.

“I can do more good away from the Order than if I stayed in it. I know it.”

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how you could have been going through so much till you were driven to considering leaving. He didn’t understand how you could have thought that you couldn’t tell him, that he’d look at you differently or think less of you. He didn’t understand how you could be willing to leave everything behind-

He did understand.

Obi-Wan was blatantly lying to himself, perhaps for a moment for self-pity. He was lying to himself because he understood perfectly. It wasn’t as though he had never considered leaving the Order himself. The life of a Jedi was by no means one that was easy.

Several times, during his Padawan training, he thought of leaving all he knew behind. Maybe travel the galaxy. Find his family on Stewjon, if he had any. Maybe he’d settle down on a nice planet, have a life and family of his own. For a brief period he entertained, with a tinge of melancholy, staying with Satine on Mandalore. But even all those years ago, Obi-Wan was a practical man. And she, a practical woman. Love didn’t always mean things had to work out, or that they were meant to be.

There was once he came dangerously close to leaving. Planned it, in fact. His bags were packed and his books and trinkets tucked away. A few letters, written to friends in the order, were tucked under his pillow back in his room on Coruscant. Another letter addressed to Qui-Gon, placed on the table in his room. After the negotiations with the Trade Federation about the blockade over Naboo, he would lead a life away from the Order that he had tried so hard to abide by.

The universe has a funny way of working however, and within the span of no more than a week, Obi-Wan’s life priorities had shifted inordinately.

So, yes, Obi-Wan understands, more than he’s willing to admit.

But above understanding, he’s… scared.

Not about you leaving, while that hurts, the notion of you leaving the Order isn’t what truly strikes him. It’s the thought of you leaving him, and beyond that, it’s the way that he’s already started planning how to leave the Order with you.

You didn’t ask him to leave. He didn’t offer. He’s operating under the assumption that you’ll be completely alright with him staying by your side, even though he has no confirmation that it is indeed the case.

But he’d leave the Order if you said the word. If you said any sort of variation of “I don’t want to leave you,” he’d throw it all behind and whisk you away to a pretty little planet and start a new life with you. One with plants and a view- something you’d like.

It doesn’t matter that it won’t be the life he wants, he’s already accepted that you don’t feel the same way about him that he does you. But he’d be there for you, as a friend, as a mentor, as a companion. He’d be there as long as you needed, for whatever you needed.

(That’s sort of the beautiful thing about love, and unrequited love especially. It doesn’t make you weak, no, it makes you strong, and brave. The power of unrequited love is wholly beyond any comparison. To love the person, you don’t have a need for the person themselves. It’s impossible to love someone beyond loving them so completely that their happiness is enough to sustain you. You can’t lose in a love like that, especially if you never had anything to begin with.)

He’d love you. Completely, and fully, and without fear. He’d love you, and be completely content with your little smiles and the kisses you’d press to his cheek. He’d love you if you’d let him, and he would do it at a distance if you’d rather he didn’t. It doesn’t matter to him, not truly.

Obi-Wan would have to speak to Anakin about it, first and foremost. He wouldn’t just leave without a goodbye, and he certainly wouldn’t let Anakin hear it from anyone else. It would hurt, the goodbye, but Anakin would be alright without him.

With a wry smile, Obi-Wan thinks of how much he’d have to say to his former Padawan, the great man that he now was. About how proud he was of him, how honoured to have been a part of his life. He thinks of Ahsoka, somewhere out there traversing the galaxy, never one to stay too long in one spot if she could help it. He thinks of his friends, of his life, of everything he’s ever known.

He sees you, walking steadily away from him, hand closing around the handle of the door.

“If you truly believe that leaving the Order will make you happy…” Obi-Wan trails off, words dying in his throat. You’re still standing stiffly by the door, and all he can do is stare at the back of your head.

Obi-Wan clears his throat and tries again.

“If that is truly what you desire,I ask that you allow me to accompany you. If not,” Desire, desire, selfish desire, a small voice in the back of his head sings. And, well, let it never be said that he did not at least try. “When you leave, I shall ask for nothing more than your friendship, if that is all you wish to give.”

It’s rather ironic, really, that Obi-Wan has spent so much of his life asking for nothing, hiding his emotions away for the sake of the Jedi, and the Code, when it is in fact his moments of vulnerable honesty that endears him to his Padawans.

There is no other explanation for why his former Padawan saw it fit to turn around and hug him, tears in her eyes and sobs building up in her throat.

Of course, Obi-Wan does not question her being in his apartment the next weekend when he invites his Padawans over for tea, nor does he question it when she goes on a mission the next month, nor does he question it when half a year has passed and she’s grumbling about needing a new lightsaber. He does not question it when she pours herself into research and is appointed a position in the Order that is not easily filled.

He does not question it when she knocks on his door the night before his first official departure as a General of the Republic, and finds her way into his bed, face pressed into his neck.

“What do you need?” He asks.

And she answers, “You.”

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

the end

.. .-..---...-.-.-----..-

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan x reader #reader #reader insert #star wars #star wars prequels #Clone Wars #unrequited love #but not really #obi wan is in love but doesn’t realise it #well #he kinda does #angst #arguments #miscommunication #but then they communicate #Anakin Skywalker #fluff

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chaoslynx · 1 year

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Aww the fanart with asheiji and kids... <3 It gave me an idea for a fic: Ash and Eiji's child(ren) notice that something isn't going right in one of their friends' life. Obviously they're too young and naive to realize that their friend is being abused at home. But Ash sees, and knows... Merry XMas and Happy New Year!

About an AshEiji [child], I'd like the name Layla for a daughter. Aslan (or Arslan/Arsalan, which is a Turkish name and not Hebrew like Yoshida thought) is the hero of a popular Persian epic. And Layla is from a famous Arab piece, Layla and Majnun, the middle-eastern version of Romeo and Juliet.

Ash has noticed that Layla's been a little ... off, for a while.

She's always bene a little introspective for her age, and generally just a good kid. Gets that from being raised by Eiji, Ash guesses. No way someone raised by someone that good could end up with a cruel bone in their body, even if Ash is the other parent. At least, that's what Ash has to keep telling himself to try to get the idea that Layla won't end up like him.

But she's been even more withdrawn lately, like she's thinking about something beyond her years.

Ash doesn't like it.

It's not quite familiar in a way that's especially concerning to him, but it's uncomfortable enough to see that he's worried. And she's been brushing him off when he asks, but he's determined to get through to her. Layla is his daughter, after all, as weird of a situation as that is for him to realize sometimes.

"Hey kiddo," he says one day, when she gets home from elementary. "You okay if we do an ice cream check in?" It's a keyword of sorts between the three of them—Eiji included—that started just due to Layla's love of ice cream. It became an easy way to talk to her about anything serious or seemingly scary. Spoonful of sugar type of situation. The ice cream makes everything a little more palatable.

But Layla frowns, now, and hugs her knees to her chest. "I dunno," she admits.

"We don't have to, but I do think it would be helpful to talk some things out, yeah? Something's on your mind."

She pouts.

"Am I wrong?" Ash says, not pushing too hard, but just a small challenge.

"Dummy," Layla mumbles. "How'd you know?"

"Hey, language," Ash says, halfhearted. Like he hasn't said worse in front of her. "Come on, let's get some ice cream and talk stuff out."

Once they're settled in with their bowls, Ash waits for Layla to speak first. She already knows that he's wanting a conversation here, since he essentially used the parent equivalent of the safe word they gave her to get her out of any situation without others picking up on it. He's inviting her to say anything and everything on her mind, but he's going to let her do it on her terms.

"... It's my friend at school," Layla says after a few bites.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ash reminds her softly. "What's going on with your friend?"

"He's just"—Layla makes a face—"I dunno."

Ash feels a flare of anger for a moment. "Is he bullying you?"

But Layla quickly shakes her head, barely sparing this kid from the wrath of Ash Lynx. "No, more like I'm worried he might be getting bullied. Or ... something." She frowns down into her bowl, and Ash can feel his entire demeanor shift.

Ash goes almost deadly quiet for a moment, thinking of how to approach this. He can't make assumptions too quickly, but he does know that they've taught Layla enough of how to speak up for herself and what healthy friendships should look like that she's probably right if she thinks that something's wrong.

Taking a slow breath, Ash reminds himself that he needs to not scare Layla here as well. He doesn't want her to worry any more than she already is—she's such a good kid, but it isn't her responsibility to be looking after her classmates. If she's right about this—or, rather, if Ash is right about what he thinks Layla might be saying—then the adults in her classmate's life have failed him.

Ash knows what that's like.

"... What's got you worried?" Ash asks gently. "Maybe I can help him, or we can figure out someone who can."

Layla thoughtfully scoops another spoonful of ice cream. "Well," she starts, "he seems to get hurt a lot at home."

Ash's temper flares for a moment, and it takes everything in him to remember that Layla's probably talking about the normal bumps and bruises that happen with the accidents of childhood.

Except, apparently, enough of them to worry her.

"What kind of hurt?" Ash asks.

Layla drops her spoon and runs her hands up her arms. "Like here," she explains. She taps her wrists with the opposite hands. "And here."

"Like bruises?"

Nodding, Layla says, "Like when I fell down."

Ash winces thinking of it even now—Layla fell out of her bunk bed once a few months ago. She wasn't badly injured, but she did have some really bad bruising.

"And he always seems scared in P.E.," Layla continues. "I don't know what's wrong, but ... something, I think."

Ash winces, thinking of his own experiences with sports at that age. There could be any number of reasons why a kid might not be fond of physical education, but ... it's definitely not a good sign.

Ash swallows. "Thank you for trusting me with all of this, sweetie. I'm going to see what we can do, okay? We'll make sure he's okay."

" 'Kay!" Layla says immediately. She trusts Ash so strongly that all the worry she's been showing recently seems to melt out of her. She kicks her legs back and forth, enjoying her ice cream.

... Well, Ash has a new goal. Ethical routes first: he'll bring it to the school's attention first, and then follow up with a social worker and the ChildHelp hotline.

And, if all else fails, there's still a little bit of Ash Lynx left in him these days. He's gotten his hands dirty before, and he's not afraid to do it again. Not if it means he can help someone like who he used to be.

#banana fish #ash lynx #prompt fill #kidfic #MERRY XMAS???? how long was this in my inbox omfg #i'm so sorry this literally took 20min to write why didn't i do it sooner oh my gosh #sorry it's only a drabble and not a full fic -- i love this idea but i'm not sure i'm the correct writer to fully explore it right now hehe #ALSO at the other anon ... yeah why the heck did yoshida say/think that it was a hebrew prayer word for dawn ...#it's literally just turkish for lion #yoshida lying to a whole ass fandom like 'oh you didn't know aslan means dawn? yeah it's hebrew. yeah totally'#uhhh um i haven't done a prompt fill in a while. idr my tags #answers #anon #close enough

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ashtrologys · 1 year

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Here is the Echo alphabet!! :))

It's a little late because I've been busy but its done now - It's SFW too

(If you think there are any spelling mistakes I will put a disclaimer here that I'm British lmao)

A is for Adventure: something they haven’t done but have always wanted to

Although Echo would much rather endlessly help out with the Resistance and save clones, one of his life goals had been to go swimming. Now he was more or less incapable due to his cybernetic parts, but it didn't stop him from imagining the feeling from time to time. The only time he did get close was slipping on the way back to the ship in escape of the crabs

B is for Butterflies: How they act when they’re nervous

Echo would be very withdrawn and quiet. It mostly stems from what happened on Skako Minor, and you'd found that he was a lot more nervous after that. But you'd find your ways around those nervous feelings and adapt to make sure when you're around him he doesn't have to feel so nervous and unsafe. You do your best to help his nervous habits

C is for Crush: what is it like when they have a crush? How do they know/act?

Awkward glances and stares across the room/ship. He can't admit his emotions properly due to the fear of you not liking him back, so he marvels at you from afar. When he is around you he gets clumsy and sheepish, which made it pretty easy for you to pinpoint he must like you

D is for Date: describe an ideal date for them

He'd prefer something a lot more quiet and something that felt more intimate. Probably a walk on Pabu beach due to the lack of people during the times the sunsets. It'd just be him and you, and he'd bring his own picnic too, although he forgets to put the sandwiches in a box, so when he opened the basket the sandwiches were mushed up

E is for Essential: what is one thing they could NEVER go without

More of a headcanon, but I'd like to think he has Fives' helmet stored somewhere where he can always see it and just think about all his brothers. He makes sure it's in the Marauder if they're on missions, and in their room back on Kamino (before it was destroyed)

F is for Favorite: a favorite anything- food, place, smell, book, etc.

He's grown keen of the smell around the Batch. It's a throwback to "The smell's getting worse' and he's just slowly gotten used to it like Hunter said. You wish you could say the same thing about yourself, you're still slowly adapting to him but Echo helps you out through it. Also convinced his favourite place would be Pabu, just so he can rest and escape the pressures of everything around him

G is for Giggle: how they laugh/what makes them laugh

He laughs at bad jokes. Its not an outright laugh, it's more of a soft chuckle he does occasionally when he finds something funny. Which is why you have a long list of terrible jokes you crack in terrible situations just to hear the chuckle. He can't help it. He'd laugh at something like: What do you call a fly with no wings? A walk

H is for Holding Hands: Do they like holding hands? Are their hands warm or cold? Pinky promises?

Mainly cold because of his cybernetic body, and you can only hold one hand. However you don't mind the cold, you always warm up his hand and make his day. He's taken aback whenever you come along and just scoop his hand up in yours, but he finds your touch comforting

I is for Inside Joke: something they do that everyone thinks is funny but they don’t understand

Echo. His name literally. Its funny to you when he repeats things and gets all confused when he wonders why you're laughing. Like the time he admitted he liked you: but then five minutes later came back saying it again, forgetting he had told you earlier on

J is for Jinx: Are they Superstitious?

Very superstitious. He's made it this far, with surviving the Citadel miraculously and saving all the other wacky and weird missions he'd been assigned whilst with the batch

K is for Kiss: how do they kiss?

Quick and soft. He doesn't want to waste your time and he's scared he'll overdo it if he drags it on longer. You don't think that, but you partake in the quick and soft kisses too just to make sure he feels comfortable. He would love to try and become more confident with longer one's though

L is for Love Languge: what is their love language? How do they give and how would they like to receive love?

Soft and compassionate compliments. He always comes up with different nicknames or adds a loving word at the very end of his sentences when addressing you. You think it's cute. You like to joke and be cute around him, and he loves that you do that. He's trying to get used to a more joky side of himself

M is for Meant to be: how/when they know someone is “the one”

I don't think he'll know for certain because he's worried he could be wrong, but if he thinks someone may stick in his life for a bit he's not too afraid to approach them and engage in conversation. He'd done the same thing with you, and he's overjoyed he did

N is for Nickname: a nickname they would have or their favorite thing to be called

Definitely not Killjoy - coming for Cid for that comment.

I think Echo would love to be called dear or love. Its basic but he loves the basics and traditions

O is for Organization: are they clean or messy?

I feel like he'd be much more clean, however he's messy sometimes too. He'll keep tabs on everyone and make sure they're doing their part and making sure they're doing their cleaning, but then he'll realise he's super behind on his own. Then the puppy eyes ensue as he begs you to help him with his cleaning and you just can't say no

P is for Pet Peeve: What’s something they absolutely CAN’T stand?

Not exactly a pet peeve, but he cannot handle the silence and there needs to be some sort of noise otherwise he'll feel like he's isolated at Skako Minor again. A lot of the times you have to softly talk to him to make sure he falls asleep, and then you can go to sleep too. It fills you with peace and mind that he'll sleep, and it also helps him sleep

Q is for Quiet: What do they do for peace of mind

He likes to talk about his brothers from Domino. He'll tell you stories about how Hevy slipped during training, how Droidbait got absolutely wrecked by the droids and so on. Talking gives him peace of mind. He just wants to let things go

R is for Rainy Day: Do they like rain? What about storms? How would they spend a rainy day?

He hates rain. Mainly because of the whole prosthetic thing but also because of the constant raining on Kamino. He couldn't remember it much though. On stormy days you'd find him and Omega snuggled together, him reading her a book or telling her about clone commands, reciting them from his head like he'd done with his brothers. When Omega would jump because of lightning or thunder Echo would be there to give her a slight squeeze as if to say he's there to protect her

S is for Soft: Describe their softest feature

His softest feature is his hand. Although it's cold, it's also really soft to the touch. You have no idea how he does it but that's why you love holding his hand so much

T is for Telephone: are they a talker or a texter? How often do they use their phone?

He uses comms a lot, so his main method of contact is talking. He's also just used to that because that's what they did during the clone wars. He avoids using the comm often, but most of the time when he does use it hes either warning everyone, or making sure you're safe

U is for Unique: a random quirk they have

Mentioned it before, but the way he repeats things. Its super cute and he's not aware of it unless someone complains. And it's how he got his name so it's very unique

V is for Valentine: Are they the type to celebrate or not?

He would celebrate, I just think you'd be the main initiator. He just needs a little push, because he's still pretty shy. You don't mind it though, you love to dee his confidence grow

W is for Wholesome: something extremely pure about them that makes you just *uwu*

His smile. He has the purest smile and it makes you smile, but also fills you with butterflies because of how soft it is. He doesn't smile much, but when he does you savour every moment

X is for Xenia: How they would entertain a guest/show hospitality

He'd very welcoming but on edge. If it were a stranger he'd watch from afar before approaching. The last thing he wants is to make friends and they turn out to be evil. When he does realise they're okay he ends up chatting with them non-stop about things, just random things

Y is for Youth: A fond childhood memory they have

Most likely a time when he was growing up with his brothers in Domino Squad. He doesn't have a specific one but he enjoyed most of the time with his squad

Z is for Zzz: Sleep habits. Do they cuddle in their sleep? Talk? What do they dream about?

When he sleeps he takes off his prosthetics before just to avoid hurting you. You're the main cuddler, and in the mornings you help him get them back on. He does try his best to cuddle with you. He has his fair share of nightmares caused by things such as the Citadel, but all you need to do is give him a reassuring cuddle and he's back to dreaming

#bad batch #disney #star wars #tbb echo #echo clone wars #the bad batch #bb echo #alphabet

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nasirofmanderlys · 1 year

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♛ → THE NORTH present(s) NASIR MARWAN MANDERLY, the RULING LORD OF WHITE HARBOR/MASTER OF LAWS. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the THIRTY-TWO year old MALE who was FLEXIBLE & OPEN-MINDED before they saw the first of the flames, is now WITHDRAWN & RELUSIVE after seeing the last. through the ash, now they struggle to find the sliver of scales of a tail within the ocean current, the glistening rings of a sun upon a trident and the smell of dust being blown off ancient volumes ( fc. alfred enoch)

wanted connections: his wife who he has married minimum six months ago, who is from ashemark, the sister of lord eren marbrand. he also has a brother and two sisters.

nasir has recently becoming ruling lord of white harbor following the death of his father, whilst all were in dorne. late lord hashim was the ruler of white harbor when the late dragon king found himself butchered within white harbor’s walls. his mother, lady manal, continues to live.

he has been master of laws under king theon stark since the north became independent however, and has been in this role longer than the role of lord of white harbor.

he is of the old way, considering the manderlys once lived in the reach and were exiled by the peakes. he is seen as the protector of the faith of the seven within the north, and takes this duty incredibly seriously. his religious views are more open-minded and lenient, as he does not necessarily believe his northern-folk are damned to seven hells, for they were god-fearing.

he is not breaking off from oldtown. if there is corruption, it is the responsibility of the other levels within the faith of the seven, rather than the high septon himself. he also does not agree with getting rid of maesters and replacing them with wisdoms, or even just changing the name.

quiet, reserved bean!!! one can often find him near owen’s loud laughter, or brandon’s casual confidence, nasir will be sat there having a quiet discussion and dislikes attention upon himself.

he is very confident in his beliefs and what he is passionate about however: he is able to talk about it comfortably and with ease, and that often includes the wellbeing and the realm.

surprisingly, he loves wrestling and has no issue with getting in the mud in that circumstance. it is strange, what he’s comfortable and not comfortable with - one never truly knows until they see him give his response.

voice of logic, sometimes he can be seen to rely too much upon it and this can make him seem a bit impersonal. he doesn’t mean it, you’ll often finding brandon or adam looking at him like ‘dude’ and he’s like ‘ah, okay, let me reword that’

random beef: rhydian mormont (thinks he is an idiot,) domeric stone, the boltons full stop, eren marbrand, tirius rowan

#introduction.#here he is! ♥

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bittykimmy13 · 2 years

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6,18,22: Cliff John & Sylv (:

6: how they deal with grief

Sylvia-- She becomes very quiet and withdrawn. She doesn’t have the motivation to do much other than spiral in her grieving thoughts :( As she begins to ease out of it, I can see her being very mindful about checking up on anyone else in her circle who has been affected by the same grief.

Jon-- Almost in the same vein as Sylvia, except while he's withdrawn, he'll fixate hard on something to work on rather than address the root of his feelings right away. His backstory (which will be explored more in the Shot rewrite) has opened him up to structured coping mechanisms :’)

Cliff-- MOSTLY HE JUST

:(( BUT ALSO target practice is one way he tries to take his mind off things. If he’s pushed too much to talk about his feelings, he’ll definitely snap and want to get a lot of space from whoever is questioning him.

~~~

18: how they sleep

Both Jon and Cliff are light sleepers because of their hunting experience. If there's danger, they're ready to react. They're also used to sleeping odd hours, so grogginess and alertness sort of comes and goes depending on whether they're between hunts or in the middle of one. Sylv is still adjusting to their insanity lmao

As far as sleeping arrangements, Sylv snuggles up with Jon, either on his chest or pillow or hands, while Cliff contemplates his life choices 🥰 HOWEVER, Cliff’s shoulder and pockets are definitely prime napping spots for Sylvia when she needs to recuperate!

~~~

22: what they're like on two hours of sleep

Jon and Cliff can probably keep it together pretty well, since it's likely something that happens regularly. I can see Jon handling it much better though, able to still be personable while Cliff's resting face makes him look ready to gut the next person within reach.

Sylv's no stranger to late night frolics and getting a couple hours of sleep, but lack of sleep after a stressful and traumatic hunt doesn't leave her in the most sunshiny mood :') She’ll be a whiny baby and get pissy about little things, like the sun is to bright or the shirt pocket is too scratchy 😠

~~~

OC questions list!

Characters belong to me and @marydublinauthor 🥰

#ty for the questions!!#kimspeak #jon #cliff #sylvia #shot in the dark

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isaac-morey · 3 months

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Character Name: Isaac Morey

Title/occupation: Lord

Magick Status: Gifted - Chromokinesis (Out)

Biography:

(tw: mentions of abusive relationship)

Isaac Morey was something of an extra, in terms of the necessities of the family name. With two elder brothers he knew it wouldn't likely ever land on him to carry their title. So he devoted himself to other things, ones others at home indulged but ultimately knew were hardly much use. After all, why did it matter that a nobleman knew how to do unimportant tasks like cooking or tidying up? Those were only hobbies, something to keep young Isaac entertained since he held no interest in a military career. His curiosity was steered towards his education, although that too wasn't too favorable when he was caught teaching the servants' children how to write their names.

Harmless, head in the clouds, charmingly optimistic Isaac; the family adored him but really was use did he have? Off to be a professor, perhaps, or something of the sort, they assumed.

Of course this was before Mads left, and Dian did as best he could as head of the house. And Isaac began to see he needed to make something of himself.

He matched his first Season, even though he did attend a bit late in years. Nobody was surprised; most assumed it would come easy to him and perhaps husband would suit him well, give him time to indulge his hobbies and still contribute to the standings of the family.

His match was excellent, in fact; the Baroness Maxine Hartsel could not have been more desired as a partner. The engagement was swift, it seemed a perfect, if not a bit typical, turn of events.

But it wasn't. Isaac…changed over the course of his engagement. Withdrawn, quiet, he took more and more to himself, frequented the tavern first as a distraction and then because the owner listened to things he was hesitant to voice to his family. They were looking for him to marry, after all.

But the more Nick listened the more Isaac spoke. About his worries, about the arguments carefully hidden, his own uneasiness in the upcoming marriage.

Marrying without love was hardly unusual, but Isaac quickly discovered the Baroness marrying below her station had a different reason behind it; she was incredibly cruel, demanding, and other suitors had seen through it well before engagement. He, however, had not.

His family didn't approve of his choice to end it, not until he confessed the reasoning being the threat to his own safety. His relief in their agreement rather than press for the marriage to continue regardless a welcome breath, even if the guilt of the rumors reflecting badly on the family followed just as quickly.

The decision to marry Nick that same year came with less support, understandably; but what was there to do about it? He tried to shoulder most of the blame until the scandal settled a bit but knowing he had come so close to disaster it felt foolish not listen to where his heart was really leading him, and has tried to simply continue from there.

Of course now with Mads attending the Season Isaac isn't certain if his presence will be a help or a hindrance, but he wants desperately to be there for his brother, for his family, knowing they could have turned their back fully on him in the past but didn't. Knowing they still hold little issue him raising Avery both in their world so that his son can be educated and with Nick at the tavern his own little family calls home; one day Avery will at least have a choice in the life he decides to lead.

Isaac, however, is still somewhere between it all; wanting to support his brother through this important time but feeling, in his heart, that he just can't have much faith in the society that is so cold to anyone below their ranks.

Which, he supposes, these days includes him as well.

#tw abusive relationship #srrp #srrp bio

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stewardofningishzida · 4 months

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Stephen Strange Meta-Fic Sequel - Chapter 21: A Covert Ring

Let’s just say that this chapter features Lokis. MCU and mythologically-accurate. Knowing the stuff they can get into, well…You’ll see.~

TRIGGER WARNING: Depression, bad language, kidnapping, scary situations

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Chapter 21: A Covert Ring

*Trix has been hunkering down in the library more often recently, working on cataloging the new books since she and Wong were finally able to get through all of them. She’s been a bit more withdrawn lately. This is why Loki is on a mission to track her down.*

Loki: You’ve been quiet lately and haven’t even reached out psychically the past week. Surely you’re not losing interest in talking to me? *He sits down in front of Trix at the table and she startles.*

Trix (panicked): Of course not! You’re one of the people I’m closest to, it’s just been a hard week… *She gets quiet again.*

Loki: Ah yes, I heard about Steward’s adventure. She has her relic now, and so does Prettywitch, but what about you? *He’s genuinely curious.*

Trix: I- *She hesitates.* I don’t know if I even want to find my relic at this point. I’m perfectly fine here with the books, keeping things running, laying low.

Loki (frowning): Surely you can’t mean that?

Trix (trying to stay calm): I bet not every sorcerer has a relic of their own. Certain people are meant for certain things. Prettywitch and Steward are absolutely amazing and can do a lot so it doesn’t surprise me that they have their relics. Steward had to deal with a lot to get hers and I think she’s still a bit rattled. I’m fine just helping from the sidelines and being pulled out when necessary.

*She purposefully turns back to the books she’s sorting while Loki frowns. This isn’t good, he thinks. She had finally been regaining some confidence back and it seems she has coaxed herself back into her shell.*

Loki (gently pulling me away from the books): What I think you need is some sunlight and some time away from Kamar-Taj. You’re trapping yourself in your own head. Where are the others?

Trix (not looking at him): PrettyWitch and Steward are learning about their relics and have been off doing that. Wong and Stephen have been arguing the past week. We aren’t allowed to leave right now.

Loki (annoyed): So you’re confined here while your friends have unlocked that essential part of them and how they can contribute to magic and you’re perfectly fine with that?

*He’s struck a chord and Trix glares at him.*

Trix: Steward is still terrified of the staff because she had to die to get it. I’m not going to get involved in the fight between Wong and Stephen because I have had enough of my family fighting in my lifetime and me staying silent to keep the peace to start now. I know I can handle waiting it out and what needs to happen will happen eventually.

Loki (gently, knowing he pushed too far): You’re too passive, darling. This isn’t a jail cell and I’m not going to let you serve an imaginary sentence because you are too afraid to push the boundaries to help yourself. Come on. *He grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet before leading her out of the library.*

Trix (worried and loud-whispering): Loki- you’re going to get us in trouble.

Loki (grinning back): That’s why we’re not going to portal from the library.

*Trix and Loki reach a rather abandoned side courtyard where Loki pulls out a sling ring and offers it to her.*

Loki: I’m not saying you have to go on a quest or go searching for danger. You can even just go home for a bit but you need to get out of here before you lose yourself. You’re scared of a lot of things but that’s the one thing you’re the most terrified of and I can see it happening.

*This causes Trix to pause. After a moment, she hesitantly reaches out and takes the sling ring and puts it on. Loki smiles at her.*

Trix (cautiously): One short trip.

Loki: Understood.

Trix: And we’re just going to my hometown for a few hours.

Loki (obliging): Always was curious about it. Lead on.

*He gestures to the open space and Trix quickly glances around to make sure none of the others are around before she creates the portal and they step through. It feels like a breath of fresh air to Trix as the portal closes behind them. Kamar-Taj has been such a tense place lately that finally being free of that energy is having an immediate effect on her. Loki smiles.*

Loki: Where to first?

Trix: Downtown first? I can show you my house before we leave?

Loki: Excellent.

*They wander to the decently sized downtown of Washington. It has a number of shops and things to do like crafting workshops and other things. A typical downtown for a smaller sized city. Trix and Loki wander through various places and when they’re at one of Trix’s favorite local stores, they wander off in different directions to look at various things.*

*Unbeknownst to Trix, another being has been observing them from a distance. They’ve been camped out in the neighborhood due to the intensity of the interdimensional rifts generated in the area. When Trix and 616-Loki emerged from their portal, this being noticed right away and proceeded to track them. Now that 616-Loki and Trix have wandered apart, they make their move, subtly shapeshifting themselves into 616-Loki’s physical form and then casually sidling over to her.*

“616-Loki”: So, seeing anything that catches your eye?

Trix (looking through some art prints): Honestly? If it was the ‘before-times’ would say yes but nothing is really calling out to me now. *She turns to him and shrugs.*

“616-Loki”: I see. Well, are you detecting anything beyond the new levels of abnormal?

Trix (pauses): Hmmm…just you and I. *She pauses again.* Do you have a clone out? The people here are already freaked out enough, don’t be torturing them with your twin act. *She grins and bumps shoulders with him.*

*He shrugs.*

“616-Loki”: Just scouting around. Nothing more. *He glances at a nearby tattoo parlor.* Hmmm…Intriguing. What are the more common forms of body art in your world? Mind if I take a look with you?

*Trix glances over at the tattoo parlor, noting it must have popped up in the time they were gone.*

Trix: Typically tattoos are the most common. They have an inking gun that is basically a pen with a bunch of needles that injects the ink quicker than you might be used to seeing. I’m a bit queasy with needles personally, but we can go take a look if you’re interested.

*The two leave the shop and start heading over to the tattoo parlor. Meanwhile, 616-Loki is still wandering the store when he realizes he can’t see Trix anymore. A wave of dread washes over him when he realizes he’s alone.*

616-Loki (groaning): Oh no…

*Meanwhile, Trix and “616-Loki” have entered the tattoo parlor.*

“616-Loki”: Intriguing…*He glances at the designs in the parlor.* Well, in the interest of facing your fears, which design would you consider, if any? I’m not saying get one, but I’m curious.

*Trix glances around at the designs and notes that there’s a significant amount of Norse designs, especially with runes. They also seem incredibly accurate too…a small hint of caution begins to form in her mind when she realizes that even for a tattoo parlor they don’t get this specialized.*

Trix: Hmmm, I’ve considered a few things over the years to be honest. I once tried to create a sigil for myself of a flame that I was tempted to get tattooed. Another one was a quote from one of my favorite movies that said “Remember who you are.” Since I do need the reminder. Though now I would likely do something pertaining to my roles now. *She flips through some of the sample designs in the binder on the table.*

*While Trix is occupied looking at the sample designs, “616-Loki” subtly makes a few gestures, sealing them into the parlor so she can’t portal out.*

“616-Loki”: Very interesting. So, a “Lion King” fan, eh? *He’s playing off his secret actions smoothly.*

*Trix glances over at “Loki” for a moment and frowns but plays it off.*

Trix (hesitantly): Yeah…it came out two weeks after I was born so it felt right. What tattoo would you choose? Not that you need it because of the shapeshifting of course… *Something isn’t right here and Trix is trying not to reveal how on edge she’s becoming.*

*”616-Loki” shrugs.*

“616-Loki”: Not sure. I don’t have much patience for it. Now tell me, how much have you learned from your lessons lately? *He watches her calmly, subtly trying to redirect her attention and figure out how much she really knows.*

Trix (nonchalantly): You know how Stephen is. He’s been pushing me a lot more lately after the masteries. You would think with him being my master, he’d lay off a bit more now that I passed the tests but he is a stickler…

“616-Loki”: I see…*He knows that she’s getting suspicious.*

*There’s a loud bang from the window and Trix turns to see another Loki outside, looking distressed and shouting but he can’t be heard. She immediately turns to the ‘Loki’ she’s inside with and shifts into a defensive position.*

*“616-Loki” snaps his fingers and the blinds on the windows shut quickly. Then, there is a shimmer as his form becomes distorted and shifts into an androgynous-looking redhead with a wiry frame and a wide grin.*

333-Loki: I suppose I should drop the guise seeing as the jig is up. Now, you will tell me about the realm you have inhabited over the past year as well as its respective magic. *They aren’t asking.*

Trix (deadpan): I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out if you’re up to date with pop culture. Dormammu would have been a dead giveaway if you truly knew what you were looking for. *She smirks*

333-Loki: Now, dear, we both know that media is not wholly accurate. I want the details. Its differences. What was right and what is wrong. Movies and comics always embellish their tales. So, I ask once more…What do you know from the other realm?

Trix: I know that it was very easy to detain your counterpart’s soul through witchcraft. The eldritch magics are also quite effective seeing as you were likely around watching when Stephen saved this realm from being consumed. I’m a bit of a jack of all trades between the different forms of magic over there. Otherwise a lot of those movies are accurate…for the most part. Anything else you want to know, Loki? *Trix smiles sweetly at him. She’s trying to stall while not trying to show that she’s looking for a way out. It’s looking more and more like she’s going to need to fight her way out.*

333-Loki (amused): Good girl. Now, for the entertainment portion of our conversation. *They grin even wider as they shift their position. She feels someone behind her.*

*Trix tries not to startle but throws up a crystal shield around herself as she may know her Loki, but she also knows just how dangerous a Loki can be.*

*The floor drops out from beneath her.*

*Meanwhile, 616-Loki is pacing outside of the tattoo parlor as he tries to make his way in. Various attempts haven’t worked so far but he’s getting incredibly anxious.*

616-Loki (growling): Norns, I really hate myself. This one in particular at the moment. *He tries another attempt but it fails as well. As his anger builds, he begins to channel more and more power. He hasn’t felt this kind of rage since New York and he unconsciously shifts to his armor. He makes another attempt.*

*Back in the parlor, Trix is a bit disoriented as she appears in a different room. Clearly this is where her universe’s version of Loki has set up camp so it’s unlikely to be easy. She takes a moment to shift her clothes from her casual attire to her master’s robes and catches herself on the ground.*

Trix (rolling her eyes): What do you want from me? I’m not going to tell you everything I know, I know what you’re like. *She conjures a spiritual weapon that she finally learned from the ghost library. It appears to be a type of broadsword.* I know Loki more than you think.

*She feels herself invert, turning inside-out and then outside-in as her body is turned around. 333-Loki is now walking on the floor while she’s hanging on the ceiling, the gravity inverted.*

333-Loki: Perhaps YOUR Loki, but I think that you and I may have something to learn about one another. *They watch her conjuring the weapon, already learning her technique from observation.*

*She struggles as her body contorts but refuses to back down. She won’t make the first move, refusing to give him more but she won’t be unarmed.*

Trix: I know enough about you as well. Was a follower for a bit before the universe broke, it’s why I took my name. I was always admiring your stubbornness and cleverness and wanted to emulate that. So I do know a bit. *She is still trying to find a way out but honestly knows that she’s completely at his mercy. Trix still doesn’t back down.*

*616-Loki is getting angrier and angrier as he continues to fail, an echo of his time at the TVA passes through his mind that Loki’s are always destined to fail. He just has to hope that will not be the case today, for Trix’s sake. As he attacks the door once more, the whole building rattles. It only encourages him to try harder.*

333-Loki (unamused): I see the other me wants in. Perhaps I should move us somewhere quieter…

Trix: You can try, but he’s always going to find me. Even across universes, he can always track me down.

333-Loki: Perhaps, but it buys me a little more time to learn more. *They snap their fingers and the entire tattoo parlor vanishes, teleporting elsewhere.*

*616-Loki snarls as the parlor disappears. Unfortunately, it looks like he’s going to need to recruit some backup otherwise he’s going to end up murdering someone today.*

*Back in the parlor, Trix focuses on what this particular Loki is saying.*

Trix: Why do you need to know about me so badly? Why me? The others have been here multiple times and for longer.

333-Loki (rolling their eyes): Please. The other two are FAR less cooperative. Even then, I have no invested interest in YOU, persay. *They curl their lip.*

*Trix frowns as every avenue she’s trying to find isn’t panning out. She doesn’t dare try the runes like they did for Agatha since that would only work against her. Instead, she tries to magically reach out to her Loki and his magic.*

*616-Loki has transported himself back to Kamar-Taj with his sling ring and in full battle regalia, he searches for Stephen and Wong. He’s drawing stares as he passes through, but they know him well enough now to not be immediately on guard.*

*Stephen is currently looking through some instructor manuals that Wong summoned. They’re trying to come up with a logical solution to their dilemma without fighting more. Wong is blowing off some steam in the courtyard, training against some other masters.*

*616-Loki, thankfully, comes across Wong first.*

616-Loki (grim): We need to get Stephen. Trix has been taken by my counterpart from her universe.

Wong (suspicious): How? *He stops his training and goes over to 616-Loki immediately.*

616-Loki (annoyed, mainly at himself): We may have snuck out to visit her hometown since she was retreating into herself so badly. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t smother her inner fire from how depressed she was becoming. Unfortunately, it looks like my counterpart has been watching the multiversal portal and set up a base in their town. They escaped with her before I could free her. She seemed to be holding her own but this other me…he had immense power. Moreso than he should have had.

Wong (exasperated): Of all of the foolish ways to-*He huffs* Fine. *He takes 616-Loki to Stephen.*

*Stephen looks up from his books and notices the urgency.*

Stephen (concerned, but also frustrated): What is it this time?

616-Loki (getting frustrated he keeps having to explain): Trix was captured by my counterpart in her universe. I tried to retrieve her but I needed to retreat to summon backup. It looked like they were more interested in figuring her out than killing her.

Stephen (angry at Loki, but getting up to help): For Vishanti’s sake! I will aid in her rescue, of course. Why in the Nine Realms did you even think about taking her to their universe when there were plenty of safer sites?!

616-Loki (angrily): Because if I didn’t let her out of this place, the greatest danger to her would have been herself. I was trying to help her by taking her somewhere familiar that could spark some good memories. I don’t need you lecturing me about how she’s in danger, I already know. *He is seething, but more at himself than anyone else.*

*Stephen looks like he practically wants to roar at 616-Loki, but shakes his head in an angry huff, knowing this fighting won’t do any good.*

Stephen (growling): We’ll have words about this later…

*He opens a portal to Earth-333.*

*Meanwhile, Trix is trying to do something that she and 616-Loki had hypothesized but hadn’t tried out. She reaches out to that soul plain and finds her connection with 616-Loki and grabs at his magic. It practically melts into her and she suddenly feels energy surging through her. Relying on the instinct in 616-Loki’s magic, she summons a set of daggers and manages to free herself from her bindings. She stares at 333-Loki before suddenly the room is filled with clones of her.*

*Stephen, Wong, and 616-Loki all sense a huge concentration of magical energy localized in an area of Svalbard. Deciding to cut to the chase, Wong opens a portal for them to travel there quickly. They see a tattoo parlor standing in the middle of a barren field. An odd sight to behold. Stephen and Wong rush over and scan the place, detecting the magic radiating from the structure.*

*Meanwhile, inside the parlor, 333-Loki is surprised for once. They backpedal slightly, noticing the huge power boost.*

All of the Trix’s: You want to know my magic? Well let’s figure it out together, shall we? *They all grin and rush 333-Loki*

*333-Loki melts through the floor and suddenly their foot emerges from the ceiling in an attempt to stomp on the clones.*

*Outside of the parlor, Wong and Stephen are already at work, uttering counterspells to weaken and break the wards.*

*The army of Trix gathers together and collectively extends the daggers into swords and raise them so 333-Loki is stepping on a living tack, protecting herself from being crushed.*

*333-Loki howls in pain, hopping up and down. This shakes the entire parlor. Suddenly, gravity goes crazy again and random objects, including some of the Trix’s, begin to generate their own fields, falling against each other and various random directions. The walls begin to melt upward and the floor grows into a dome. Everything is distorting.*

Trix (growling): No. *She slams her hands down and the room begins to distort again, this time to her wishes. The floor restores itself and the melting walls begin to collect around 333-Loki. She also instinctively begins to try and draw magic from the parlor itself.*

*The building’s defenses weaken further. Now, to finish off the wards and enter.*

*In the meantime, a Conjurer’s Cone opens up next to Trix and sucks her in, proceeding to teleport her chaotically throughout the building in an attempt to disorient her. The parlor has many more rooms than one would think, given the size of the exterior.*

*Her clones have finally disappeared and Trix is grasping wildly as she tries to regain her sense of direction. However, there’s something else that catches her attention. Like a moth to a flame, Trix ignores the chaos around her as she reaches out and grabs a ring as it floats by. It radiates a warmth and comfort as she holds it in her hand. She immediately puts it on her ring finger for safekeeping and gets to work on getting out of this situation. She creates her own Conjurer’s Cone to launch herself out of the God’s portals and towards 333-Loki once more, dagger back in hand.*

*As the chaos erupts, the wards go down, Wong and Stephen bursting in through the door. They see the scene unfolding before them and are surprised to see Trix holding her own against the rogue deity…and winning.*

616-Loki (amazed): That’s why I feel so weak. I thought it was my counterpart, but she’s using my magic.

*333-Loki, successfully startled by the sudden turn of events, conjures a shield just in time for Trix to bury her dagger deeply into it. They smirk, their eyes drifting to her hand and seeing the ring.*

333-Loki (noticing the group staring at them): …I suppose now is a good time to call this a draw. Keep the ring. You’ve earned it.

*They snap their fingers and vanish, along with the parlor, leaving Trix standing there awkwardly in front of 616-Loki and the two sorcerers.*

Trix (giggling from too much energy): Hi! I found my relic! *She raises her left hand, showing off the ring. She is absolutely high off of magic and adrenaline at the moment and looks completely windswept.*

Wong (calm, but direct): Loki, take back your power before any harm comes to her. Now.

616-Loki (worried): Of course. *He steps up to me and smiles down.* Hello darling, let me help you with that. *He pulls her into a bear hug.*

*Trix has a drunk grin on her face as she hugs 616-Loki, giving him the opportunity to pull back his magic. It leaves her unconscious in his arms as the magical and physical exhaustion kicks in.*

*He adjusts her in his arms so she’s in a bridal carry.*

616-Loki (still a bit in awe): I had no idea she could do that. I mean, we talked about potential, but we never tried it just in case something went wrong.

*Stephen runs over to check on Trix, scanning and doing everything he can to see if there’s anything injured in her both physically and otherwise. He lets out a sigh of relief when nothing seems to be wrong.*

Stephen (low tone): …I need a word with all of you as soon as we get back and she wakes up…*He’s a mixture of angry, worried, and remorseful.*

*616-Loki nods solemnly.*

*They take Trix back to Kamar-Taj and set her on a bed in the infirmary just so she has a safe place to wake up.*

*It takes about twenty minutes, but Trix blearily wakes up to see Stephen, Wong, and Loki all sitting around her. When she realizes where she is, she closes her eyes again.*

Trix (resigned): This is why I’m horrible at sneaking out places and usually don’t try.

Wong (scolding lightly): Plus, it was a very foolish thing to do.

Stephen: We’re not gonna ground you, Trix, but we do need to talk about everything that’s been going on.

*Trix opens one eye and sort of melts into the bed, instantly emotionally curling back into herself once more and she instinctively makes herself smaller.*

Loki (grabbing her hand): Hey now, don’t do that. It was my fault for convincing you to go with me. I’m sorry I got you into this mess in the first place.

Stephen: We understand that you feel trapped and none of us intended for this place to become a prison. So, Wong and I decided that you three are allowed to freely roam this universe and run missions here until we have a better solution for sorting out your world.

Wong: However, in light of recent events, Loki is no longer permitted to take you anywhere without obtaining permission first.

*Trix glances at Loki who shrugs.*

Loki: Someone needs to face consequences and it was absolutely not your fault, but it was mine. We aren’t being kept from one another.

*Trix still isn’t talking but is slowly relaxing again as they explain.*

Stephen: I know that things have been tense here. So…I’m also working on trying to get better at communication and what Wong calls “civil discourse”. *He gives Wong a slightly annoyed look. Wong is neutral as per usual.*

Wong: He knows that he has a long way to go, but is willing to put the extra work in for your sakes.

Trix (quietly): Thank you. And in the spirit of you trying to communicate, I guess I should try to as well. *She looks over at Stephen.* It’s incredibly easy for me to fall into a very bad mental state if certain things start happening. Between the lockdown and you and Wong fighting, it really felt like when I was trapped before and things got bad. Very bad. An intervention was involved and luckily things got better. But I just kinda…shut down and don’t really say anything because I don’t want to make things worse. So, I apologize for not saying anything and causing Loki to intervene which started this mess. It’s not fair to you guys that we keep almost giving you heart attacks.

Stephen: …Thank you. We’re sorry for arguing amongst ourselves so much that we neglected our duties towards helping you three get better. Now, let’s try to be more open with one another from now on, all right?

Trix (smiling softly): Agreed. *She looks down at her hand and finally spots the relic. Trix stares at it curiously.*

Wong: …I take it that you’ve bonded with that ring?

Trix: I think so? After I took in Loki’s magic, things get a little hazy in my memory. It’s like if we were both fighting him, I get flashes of what happened. How did the fight end?

Wong: That is typical of a sorcerer who takes in the power of a god whose goals align with their own.

Stephen: You successfully held your ground. *He has his characteristic curled lip, indicating a subtle note of pride.*

Trix (surprised): You mean, I fought a god and actually won?

Loki (proudly): You did not have a scratch on you.

Wong: It was a formidable act of sorcery on your part.

Trix (still in shock): I…I wouldn’t believe you if it wasn’t for these weird flashes of memory. I don’t even like seeing blood, was I really using daggers?! *She’s both excited and shocked.*

Stephen (bluntly): You were…Now don’t get too carried away. Seeing as you did sneak out, although you aren’t grounded, there still has to be some consequence. You’re on dish duty in the kitchen for a week. No arguments there.

Trix (still excited): No problem from me since the weird magic food is gone. *She turns to Loki* What else do you think I could do since we know it works?

Loki (amused): Anything I can do most likely. Though we shouldn’t try it too much, godling. It could easily get overwhelming and your sense of self could be smothered by my own. We don’t need another version of me running around when you’re something that is much more valuable. *He’s still a bit shaken from what could have happened.*

Wong: If you’re feeling up to it, we will study your new ring. *He’s doing his best to make his peace with Trix after all of the fighting he did on his part.*

Trix: I would love that. It doesn’t feel like it is meant to be used for fighting, it’s too calm for that. Maybe it’s for something else? 333-Loki was determined to figure out what I knew: from the different types of magic here to what I personally knew. He knows all of us well and is apparently very familiar with all of the lore featuring this universe and wanted to know what was real and what wasn’t. *She looks between the three*

Wong: Most likely attempting to bolster his own skillset. To what means, it is uncertain.

Stephen: In the spirit of ensuring we don’t neglect you three with our own mess, I’ll check on Steward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Meanwhile, the Staff is resting in the corner of my room and I’ve been avoiding so much as looking at it. I’m trying to live my life as though the previous incident never happened. Though it’s not going well. I keep getting visions of lost spirits and the Staff keeps on sprouting random vines, clearly trying to get my attention. Since I adopted Harir, I’ve been spoiling him rotten regardless of the situation because taking care of another living thing is therapeutic.*

Ancient One: Ignoring one’s problems is a way to make sure they stay around for longer. *She is floating in a lotus position, merely observing Steward.*

Me (quietly): I know…It’s just that every time I consider it, my heart starts racing again.

Ancient One (curious): Have you considered talking to Stephen about this? He has experience in what you are now facing.

Me: He’s busy. I’ve been giving him and Wong space while practicing my spellwork and doing the maintenance they assigned me to. That way, I’m still progressing in other ways without them having to worry about me.

Ancient One: You and I both know he is never too busy for you. If anything, I feel as if having a chance to help you learn from your relic would be a welcome distraction from the latest heart attack that you girls seem to cause. *She smirks serenely.*

Me: Ah. The Trix thing. Right… *I huff slightly.* I’m just glad she made it out okay.

Ancient One: As am I. I believe that she would not have had the chance if she had not gone through her experience with Agatha. Perhaps you will find that this is your Agatha, however you won’t know unless you test the waters. *She gestures down at Harir.* Would you be terrified of Harir if you focus on the fact that he is from the same make as the staff?

Me (taken aback): I…hadn’t thought about him that way. To me, he was always just a snake who was steeped in magic and accompanied me through the temple. Since he seemed to like me, I took him with me. I don’t begrudge him for what happened because he was trying to help me.

Ancient One: Just as the Staff wishes to help you in your mission. It is not due to the staff that you have this new role, it is due to the pledge you made. It merely wishes to assist its new master.

*I think about this for a moment.*

Me: You make a good point. It’s just difficult to finish processing everything. I simply wanted to help people. I didn’t expect THAT to be the way I go about it.

Ancient One: True. *She ponders for a moment.* I felt the same way when I first started channeling energy from the dark dimension. Yet, though people may be scared of things that we find as our everyday, it is part of the whole that helps us help other people. You are uniquely qualified to help those who would normally be trapped for eternity. They will certainly be happy for your help.

Me: I suppose it’s not too bad. It doesn’t have that many strings attached, in retrospect. I was already helping spirits. This is just helping them using better equipment.

Ancient One: In fact, I believe he blessed you with more than you have yet realized. *She smiles.*

Me: Stephen did say that my astral connection has become more…flexible. Hm. Let me try something…*I look at her and reach over to touch her without projecting just to see if it works.*

*The Ancient One takes Steward’s hand with both of hers.*

Ancient One (wryly): It’s been quite a while since I have held someone’s hand. I thank you for the privilege. *She’s genuinely happy.*

*My eyes widen.*

Me (quietly): It DID work…*I’m slightly awkward, but happy.* Erm…You’re welcome.

*The Ancient One chuckles as she lets Steward’s hand go. She knows that the medium doesn’t do touch as well as others.*

Ancient One: So that’s another positive aspect other than Harir and helping people. What other things can you remember that he mentioned?

Me: Apparently, my soul is now infused with traces of divine ichor. Not sure what that can do, but if I can physically touch spirits now, who knows? With the new connections, they think I might be able to transcend planes of existence.

Ancient One (patiently): Perhaps the veil will part for you both ways, I am not certain. This universe is unfamiliar with the type of gods your universe possesses. I would recommend waiting for Stephen and Wong before trying so they don’t find your body and think the worst.

Me: Right…I’ll go talk to them. *I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before picking up the Staff. It seems pleased that I’ve taken it up again. I’m still slightly unnerved by it, but privately opt to do my best.* Thank you, Ancient One. *I give her a bow to show my gratitude and respect.*

*She bows back with a smile.*

Ancient One: It is always a pleasure to help you reach your potential, Steward. I believe you chose your name well and it’s only just coming to fruition. *With that, she drifts away.*

Me (gently offering my hand to Harir): Okay, you can come along if you want, Harir.

*The snake slithers onto my hand and up my arm to curl around it like a bracelet. His head peeks slightly out of my sleeve. I stand up and leave my quarters to find Stephen. The sorcerer in question has finished his talk with Trix and is looking for me on the grounds since I tend to roam around a lot in my free time. He didn’t know that I was hiding in my quarters before. I opt to hang around under a ginko tree, knowing he has to pass by here to walk back into the complex. After around 20 minutes, he’s on his way back and sees me standing there quietly, leaning on the Staff.*

Me: You doing okay, Stephen?

Stephen: Actually, I was about to ask you the same question. Wong and I were so occupied with the other issues that we haven’t been there for you three. You’ve been very quiet and scarce over the past week. Are you okay?

Me: Admittedly, not great…It’s been a lot.

Stephen: Want to talk about it?

Me: I did a bit with The Ancient One, but I’m open to more advice. If it isn’t too upsetting, how did you make peace with your deaths? I’ve only done it once, but it still scares me.

*He hesitates for a moment, a mix of emotions crossing his face all at once. Then, he takes a deep breath and steadies himself.*

Stephen: Let’s sit down first so we can be more comfortable.

*He conjures some comfortable cushions to sit under the tree with. That way, it’s a more relaxing atmosphere. We’re both quiet for a moment before he begins to speak.*

Stephen: To be honest, I was putting all of my faith in the time loop that I created. However when it DID happen, in the space between the sections of the loop, it was rather quick most times. It was unnerving, but also calm in a way. Coming back was always the most painful part.

*I listen intently.*

Stephen: You never truly get used to dying, but because you know how limited our time is in this plane of existence, you learn to appreciate the capacity you have for doing and cherishing the good in this world. It can be a bit melancholic at times, but the quality time you get to spend with your loved ones evens it out. *He looks at me, studying my face for a moment before his eyes drift over to the Staff.* Have you studied your relic at all?

Me (slightly ashamed): I haven’t. After dying to get it, I became rather apprehensive about it. It took a decent amount of coaxing from The Ancient One to convince me to bring it along with me this afternoon.

Stephen (understanding): I don’t blame you. Would it help if we worked on studying it together?

Me: I’d like that, yes.

*He reaches over and gently squeezes my shoulder comfortingly.*

Stephen: Then consider it done.

*I give him an appreciative nod.*

Stephen: Let’s head to the library. Trix should be there with Wong right now. We can start by doing some research. Since quite a bit of our mythologies overlap, there may be some information here.

Me: All right. Let’s do it, then.

*In an effort to get used to using the Staff, I brace myself against it to help myself get up from the cushion. It doesn’t hurt as much that way. I’m relieved. Stephen sends the cushions away and we make our way to the library to join Trix and Wong.*

Me (looking at Trix as we enter): You all right, Trix? Any info on that ring?

Trix (shrugging her shoulders): I’m okay, just a bit exhausted. No information here unfortunately. Just some hunches based on how our universe’s Loki acted and why he might want a relic. *She looks over at Wong.*

Wong: This one is not particularly interested in global or universe-level conquest. They seem to act on the slightest whim and only seek challenges that they know that they stand a chance at winning.

Trix (grinning): Makes me feel even better that he ran from me then. *She turns back to Steward and Stephen.* So far based on some meditation it seems to be happiest in the library. 333-Loki absolutely captured me so he could study my magic and find out about the magic here so he’s an absolute nerd, not that I can judge. So, the ring is probably related to knowledge at least. *Suddenly, she frowns and looks down at the ring.*

Wong: Hm? What do you detect?

*We all look over curiously.*

Trix (curious): It wants to show me something, I think. *She closes her eyes and lifts her left hand, meditating so she can ask the ring to show her what it wants. After a few moments, Trix begins to walk forwards blindly as she lets the relic guide her around the library, hand outstretched as the ring lightly tugs her along.*

*Wong watches Trix and we follow her along towards the back of the library. It looks like she’s headed to the masters’ section, but then she turns into a small room with shelves of damaged tomes, tools, and repair materials.*

*Her eyes are still closed as she reaches for a book on the shelf, not fumbling at all she grabs it and sets it on the workstation in front of her.*

Trix (murmuring): Show me.

*At her command, the book suddenly opens revealing torn-out pages and the most damaged sections of the book. Trix’s hair almost begins to stand on end as she raises her left hand and opens her eyes. They are glowing a bright familiar green as she channels the relic’s power. She reaches forward and almost seems to pluck an invisible string in front of her and the damaged book somehow begins to grow back its pages with everything intact. It looks brand new once more with nothing missing. As the green light fades from her eyes, Trix’s hair drops again and she staggers, catching herself on the work table.*

Me (concerned): You good?

Trix (slightly dazed): Yeah! Just still tired from before and coming out of meditation like that got me woozy!

Wong: This level of repair work without the Time Stone? Fascinating. *He looks it over, silently marveling at what Trix has done using her relic.*

Stephen: Maybe this is because they never had or destroyed their version of Infinity Stones…If they even have any. *His mind is already churning with potential theories.*

*Trix hums to herself for a moment.*

Trix: The Band of Papyri. That’s the only thing it actually ‘said’ to me if you could say that it ‘spoke’. The rest were all nudges and feelings.

Wong: We shall continue to test this out. Please keep us posted on any updates.

Trix (smirking): As if you won’t be around whenever I’m in here now with the band.

*Wong is silently amused by her calling him out. At least after everything for the past week, the tense atmosphere is finally fading. Some of the old warmth from before is coming back.*

Trix: I do think I want to keep the band’s abilities within our inner circle of people though. It could go horribly if people started unearthing rituals or spells that should stay buried if they managed to get ahold of it. It’s subtle enough.

Me: Mum’s the word. I think I’ve a decent testimonial about dangerous artifacts already. *I smirk, finally making a morbid joke. The humor is at least a sign that I’m starting to heal.*

*Trix smiles back at her.*

Trix: You’re doing a bit better now, though, right?

Me (reassuring): Getting there. It does seem like we’re both trying to “make nice” at this point. *I give the Staff a respectful glance.*

Trix: Well that’s a start!

Me: OH! I forgot to say…There IS one new development on my end. Apparently, if I concentrate, I can physically touch spirits without having to project now. The Ancient One was nice enough to let me test it out.

Trix (shocked): That’s amazing!

Stephen (impressed): That IS an interesting update.

Wong: Indeed. Just be careful. If you can touch them, then they can do the same to you. Remember to protect yourself.

Me: I will.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Meanwhile at Karmar-Taj, Prettywitch is busy bouncing a ball of pure energy against the wall using a shield for practice, doing her best to ignore her pen. She wants to try it out, but is nervous of what might happen without Stephen here to assist her.*

Clea: That’s not how you use a shield.

Prettywitch: *She screams and turns to Clea.* Oh, Clea. *She breathes a deep sigh.* You scared the shit out of me.

Clea: *She shrugs.* It’s not my fault you scare easily.

*Prettywitch pouts.*

Clea: *She walks over to the girl.* You haven’t touched the pen since we’ve returned, have you?

Prettywitch: No. I’m worried about what might happen without Stephen here. So I figured I’d get in some shield practice till he gets back.

Clea: By yourself?

Prettywitch: I couldn’t find anyone to practice with.

Clea: I’ll practice with you.

Prettywitch: Really!?

Clea: *She nods.* In fact, I can even teach a few tricks I know, if you’d like.

*Prettywitch gets starry-eyed and hugs the mystic maiden, making her cheeks turn beet-red.*

Prettywitch: Oh! Thank you, Clea! I don’t know how I can repay you!

Clea: *Still blushing.* You don’t have to pay me anything.

Prettywitch: I know, but I want to. How about I introduce you to some music you and Stephen can listen to when you guys are alone or if you need a pick-me up.

Clea (thinking): It would be nice having some music to set the mood…Alright, you have a deal.

Prettywitch: Awesome! Now I have one question for you…*She pulls out her phone.* Has Stephen introduced you to New Jack Swing!?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*It’s been a few days and Trix and Wong have been hard to pry out of the library, too busy trying out experiments on the various broken books in the repair shop with the door closed so no one knows what they’re truly up to other than some green light glowing from underneath the door. They’re working on some of the experiments with the Band now.

Trix (curiously): Hey Wong, what are some of the oldest books you have in the library. They’re bound to have some damage, right?

Wong: They do. Come.

*He gestures and directs her even deeper into the library than she has ever been before. At times, Trix can still get lost in the sea of shelves. The library of Kamar-Taj contains many hidden depths. Wong seems to know the entire place like the back of his hand, though. After several twists and turns, they come to a locked room. Wong chants a brief, but complex incantation and there’s a soft click before the door swings open. The room inside is clearly temperature and humidity-controlled with soft lighting to avoid further damaging the multitude of tablets, scrolls, tomes, and sheets of various fabrics within. They are all clearly ancient, some hardly recognizable as reading material. All of them have varying degrees of damage. There’s a strange sort of energy buzzing throughout this chamber.*

Trix (in awe): Wow… how old even are these? *She slightly panics* Do we need to decontaminate?

Wong (smirking): What do you think the energy field surrounding us is doing?

Trix (realizing): Oh. Oh! That’s amazing! I’m surprised that this kind of energy field isn’t used in the infirmary as well but considering how ancient the library itself must be versus the rest of Kamar-Taj… *She cuts herself off from rambling and blushes*

*Wong shrugs*

Wong: These kinds of spells are highly specialized. *He looks at her for a moment before speaking again.* Which volume catches your eye?

*Trix blinks in surprise for a moment before looking around the room again, this time focusing on the various items specifically. She drops into a sort of semi-trance as she tries to focus on everything as she slowly walks around the room, careful not to touch anything. Finally, she stops in front of a very very old book that, if she can make it out correctly, has all three of the sanctum sigils on the spine.*

Trix (pointing at it): This one.

Wong: A good choice. Especially given your approaching duties. *He smirks.*

Trix: Really? I can tell it’s about the sanctums, but have you been able to find out what it says about them in it?

Wong: Beyond the chapters dealing with their establishment and the enchantments placed upon them, no. It does cite the protective qualities of the Sanctums to defend against mystical threats to Earth. However, the rest of the book has long since been destroyed by the myriad of apocalypses and disasters. There are very few existing fragments left with some scattered words here and there, but I and my predecessors were never able to make them out.

Trix (grinning): Until now… *She frowns* I know we’ve been testing the Band’s power and the older a book is, the more power it takes. I know it’s tempting to find out what this book contained but will you keep me from going too far?

Wong (in a slight warning, but reassuring): This book predates even The Ancient One by countless eons. Technically, by any other logic, it should not even exist in this form. Given its shrouded past and modern-esque state despite existing before the invention of paper, we strongly suspect that it may have originated from another universe. Perhaps from a civilization whose timeline has long since faded into oblivion seeing as nobody has ever crossed over to reclaim it. From the many past librarians’ memories, all of them have reported that this book was already damaged. It has always been damaged and has been preserved in this state for thousands of years. I will watch you, but should any adverse effects take hold, I WILL stop you.

*Trix nods.*

Trix: Good. *She looks around again at the room.* I know that it’s better to keep the book in here but I’m also hesitant to use the relic in here as well.

Wong: Very well, but we will not go beyond the masters’ section. It is more secure.

*Before they can take the book along, there is a wave of disturbance washing over the complex. They can hear a faint crashing noise outside.*

*Trix glances over at Wong.*

Trix (warily): I somehow doubt that was just an apprentice accident.

Wong (flatly): It was not. Gear up. I will contact the others.

*Trix nods and summons her master's robes onto herself. She carefully exits the heavily warded room before beginning to sprint towards where the disturbance seems to be.*

***To be continued***

#doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange #doctor strange meta fic #doctor stephen strange #multi author #dr stephen strange #stephen strange #marvel #wong #the ancient one #loki #loki laufeyson

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