#angst is my default mode

[flaminandgooo]

Me? About to write some Sam angsty feels? Because of Joaquin and his ptsd about watching people he cares about fall out of the sky? Throwing in Bucky dropping everything to come make sure he's ok and Joaquin being a cutiepie and a great friend? Yeah. Absolutely. Is it probably above my skill level? Also absolutely. But I have big SAM FEELS and I need this man hugged and kissed on the forehead and wrapped in a blanket so Imma write it anyway and you will have to witness this trainwreck with me

[elliebubblee]

Last Minute Driver (Part 2)

Part 1 in here

Pairing: Female F1 Driver x Oscar Piastri Genre: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, F1 AU, angst & fluff Warnings: Mild language, competitive tension, emotional vulnerability, high-speed flirting Summary: Thrown into the F1 world as the sport’s only female driver, she’s not here to play nice. But when fierce rivalry with Oscar Piastri starts to blur the lines between hate and something dangerously close to desire, both are forced to question: is this just competition, or something more?

Contains:Lots of banter, unexpected moments of softness ,the occasional crash (emotional and otherwise)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for all the love and support on the first part — I honestly didn’t expect that kind of reaction, and it means the world to me! 💖 If you’d like to see a Part 3 (maybe with a little more spice 👀), feel free to let me know in the comments! Your feedback keeps me writing, and I already have some ideas brewing... 😉

English isn’t my first language, so thanks for your patience with any mistakes! 💖

Your arrival in Monaco passed quicker than you expected. The city welcomed you like a spoiled little prince(ss): narrow streets, flashy cars, and that sparkling sea view—it all started showing off right away. The team car picked you up from the terminal and took you to the hotel in a short but dazzling ride. The room was spacious, bright, and its balcony overlooked the marina directly. It was real... your first Monaco weekend on the grid had begun.

Before unpacking, you went to the window. It was noisy outside, but inside, there was only silence. Not fear, not excitement... just that familiar race week tension. Just as you were about to flop onto the bed, your phone buzzed.

Oscar: Don’t tell me Monaco already stole your heart. You’re not skipping sim practice tomorrow, right? 9 AM sharp. Don’t make me come drag you out of bed.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips curled up.

You: Please. If anyone’s skipping, it’s you. I’ve seen how "motivated" you get when it’s early morning and no cameras are around.

Oscar: Rude. I’m trying to be responsible here. You said you wouldn’t bail, remember? Imola. Sim room. You, me, bad jokes, and lap times.

You: I remember. I just didn’t think you’d be this eager to lose.

Oscar: Oh, I’m counting on it. But if I do lose, you’re buying coffee after.

You: Deal.

The next morning. You’d woken up before your alarm. Not tired, just... more alert. You put on something simple, but paused a bit longer in front of the mirror. A little mascara, a natural shade on your lips. "Not dressing up—just freshening up," you told yourself. This wasn’t a race with Oscar, but it counted as a warm-up.

When you entered the sim room, Oscar was already there. Not in the seat, though—he was leaning against the wall, water bottle in hand, watching you.

"Wow," he said, scanning you head to toe. "Either it’s the Monaco air or it’s you... but one of you is definitely looking extra good this morning."

You tried not to smile. Failed. "If you came here to flirt, you’re in the wrong room, Romeo. This is sim training."

"Flirting is my default mode," he said with a mock-wink. "But fine, sim time."

You sat down together at your setups. The track wasn’t real, but the adrenaline felt the same. From the wheel vibrations to brake pressure—it was all a serious rehearsal.

"You still take right-handers a bit too aggressively," you said at one point.

"I drive with passion. Don’t critique my art," he replied.

At the end of the session, you glanced at your lap time. Oscar peeked over and smiled.

"0.05 seconds?" you squinted. "Seriously?"

"Well... you made the deal. Loser buys coffee. I’m just honoring the terms," you said, shrugging and trying to hide your grin.

Oscar tilted his head, a sly smile on his lips. "That’s sneaky. I respect it."

By the time you finished, you both felt more relaxed. It wasn’t serious, but it was useful. And most importantly, it seemed like you both enjoyed the flirty tension. As you walked out, Oscar stepped closer.

"Think you’ll be just as good on the real track tomorrow?"

"I might’ve answered, but the words 'real track' made me laugh a little."

"Say what you want," he said with a look that almost passed for a wink. "But I’ll have coffee ready. Maybe you’ll owe me one after the race, who knows?"

Back at the hotel, you wanted to crash onto the bed but remembered media day and sighed.

When you opened your wardrobe, your first thought was: "Not too bold, not too plain." A pair of high-waisted black trousers and an elegant crop top would do. Your makeup was a little more defined—some eyeshadow to bring out your gaze, a nude gloss on your lips. Hair straightened. The mirror said, "serious but stunning." Perfect.

Just as you were putting on your shoes, your phone buzzed.

Oscar: Heading to the paddock soon. Want to come with me? I’ll wait in the lobby.

You smiled.

You: Give me 5. Don’t leave without me, or I’m sending your worst sim lap to the engineers.

Oscar: Terrifying. You’ve convinced me.

When you got to the lobby, Oscar had already spotted you. He’d thrown on a light jacket over a black tee. Hair a little messy, but still perfectly laid-back.

"Look at us. Like two professionals or something," he said with a grin.

"Don’t get used to it," you said, joining him. "Tomorrow we’re back to helmets and engine noise."

"Honestly? I’m fine with both, as long as you’re still this tolerable."

"Wow," you rolled your eyes. "A compliment wrapped in an insult. Classic you."

The car ride was quiet, but Monaco never is. As you passed through the narrow streets, you were surrounded by flashy cars, cameras, and race posters.

Looking out the window, Oscar said, "This place... it’s ridiculous."

"Built to drive in. A bit too glamorous to live in," you replied.

"Do you think it’s more special to win here, or to score your first points?"

You thought for a moment. "To win. Because everyone’s watching. And they remember you."

Oscar was silent, then turned to you. "So winning makes you unforgettable, huh?"

"Absolutely. And if you win... you’re more like 'unforgettably loud' than anything."

He laughed. "Your honesty always gets me."

By the time you arrived at the paddock, the media zone was already buzzing. Team members, mics, whispers backstage... everyone trying to make their driver shine. All you had to do was play your part.

The first reporter smiled. "You had a strong start in Imola. Do you think Monaco will be more challenging, especially as a rookie on a street circuit?"

"Every track is challenging. But street circuits... they reward precision and punish ego. I know which side I’m leaning on."

Another jumped in quickly. "There’s been a lot of talk about your dynamic with Oscar Piastri. Friendly rivalry or something more?"

You narrowed your eyes, raised an eyebrow. "Let’s just say we push each other—in lap times and sarcasm."

Oscar seemed to be listening nearby. When he heard your answer, he smirked. When it was his turn, he pointed at you and said:

"She’s fast. Too fast sometimes. But don’t tell her I said that."

As you left the media area, you stuffed your phone back in your pocket with a sigh. Oscar walked up beside you, equally worn out.

"Journalists," he muttered. "They either want drama or a headline. Preferably both."

"And we just want to race," you giggled.

You were walking toward the garage when Oscar slowed down a bit.

"Hey... later tonight. Want to grab something? Just the two of us. To detox from all this press madness."

You turned to him, eyeing him sideways. "Just the two of us, huh?"

"Just coffee," he said, that familiar half-smile back on his lips. "Unless you want to make it something more..."

You shrugged. “I guess I can spare an hour for my favourite rival.”

Oscar gave a small nod. “Besides, I owe you a coffee. That sim lap? Still haunts me.”

You laughed. “0.05 seconds, Oscar. Sometimes big talk ends in tiny espressos.”

He smiled. “Text me when you’re back at the hotel. I know a place.”

“Let’s say I’m ready to be outqualified. Just to spice things up.”

You burst out laughing. “Didn’t that already happen in Imola?”

Oscar placed a hand on his chest. “Wounded. Deeply.”

Later that night, he dropped you off at your hotel. There was a quiet moment as you said goodbye.

“Hey… Tomorrow. Try not to crash into me, yeah?”

“Only if you stay out of my way.”

He winked as he walked away. You watched him go, smiling to yourself.

—

The alarm buzzed with a soft smile still lingering on your lips. After breakfast, you slipped into your team tee and shorts, tied your hair up, dabbed a little concealer under your eyes and added a bit of lip balm. Nothing more—after all, it was race day.

Down in the hotel lobby, Oscar was waiting in the corner with two coffees.

“White or black?” he asked.

“Black. Like my sense of humour.”

“Perfect. Match made in Monaco.”

As you walked together, Oscar brought up something from the sim.

“By the way… that fake-out at turn 10 yesterday? Planning to try that in FP1?”

“Depends. Planning to copy me again?”

Oscar laughed. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?”

As you neared the paddock, the engines roared louder. That familiar thrill returned—the sweet chaos of race day settling into your bones.

“Ready, partner?” Oscar asked, locking eyes with you.

You were.

The sun kissed your skin as you sipped your coffee, heading toward the gate. Oscar walked beside you, both in team gear, quiet smiles playing under the morning light.

A teenage girl suddenly rushed up, notebook in hand, eyes wide with nerves.

“Can I… can I get your autographs? Both of you? Please!”

You smiled. Oscar nodded. “Of course,” you said.

She asked for yours first, then Oscar’s. As she fumbled with her pen, she glanced between the two of you, curious.

“Are you guys, like… together?”

You froze for a split second, then laughed. “No, no. We’re just… teammates.”

Oscar’s lips twitched, but he stayed silent. The girl thanked you and ran off. You both watched her go.

You turned to him. “That was awkward.”

Oscar nodded. “Hmm. That was… inaccurate.”

Your brows shot up. “Sorry?”

But he just smiled and looked ahead. “Nothing. Just saying… you didn’t exactly deny it with much conviction.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Oscar…”

“Don’t worry,” he said, stepping slightly closer. “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

FP1 and FP2 were some of the most intense parts of the weekend. The day began with team meetings, media duties, technical briefings. Then… it was time.

Helmet on. Visor down.

FP1 was all about learning. The track still held the chill of morning, the tarmac slick, corners biting back. Oscar had the upper hand for a while, but you topped his time in the final stint, earning a quiet “Nice job” over the radio.

FP2 turned up the heat. Heavier cars. Faster pace. You could hear Oscar’s sector times crackle through the radio. Your goal wasn’t just to improve. It was to beat him.

And you did. Just barely.

As evening settled, the team packed up the garage. Exhausted, you changed out of your gear and slung your backpack over one shoulder. In the mirror, you caught your reflection—messy hair, smudged makeup, tired but proud eyes.

Back at the hotel, your phone lit up with a few notifications. You ignored them. Showered. Threw on a tee. Collapsed onto the bed.

And as your head hit the pillow, it wasn’t your lap times that played in your mind.

It was his words.

“That was… inaccurate.”

What had he meant? A joke? A hint? Just tired flirting?

Your phone buzzed. His name lit up.

Oscar Hey. You alive?

You smiled. Eyes on the ceiling, you typed:

You Barely. If I die in my sleep, tell the world I died faster than you in sector 3.

Oscar Noted. But I’d prefer if you stayed alive a bit longer. Makes it more fun to lose to you.

You hovered for a moment, wanting to ask:

“That thing you said earlier... what did you mean?”

But you didn’t.

You backspaced the whole thing.

And sent a white heart instead.

Oscar didn’t reply. But you saw he was online. And he stayed there… for a while.

—

Your alarm rang. You squinted at the screen—6:42. The sun barely up. You closed your eyes a few more seconds, still lost in your dream. Back on the track. But this time, Oscar wasn’t your rival.

He was laughing beside you.

You shook your head and sat up. Shoulders sore, legs heavy. But it was the good kind of tired.

You looked in the mirror. “Alright,” you said to yourself, toothbrush in hand. “Let’s go stir up the grid again.”

Dressed, packed, ready. You checked your phone.

No message from Oscar. No reply. But you remembered he was online. And somehow, that was enough.

Maybe that silence was his answer. Maybe… he just got it.

The hotel lobby was quiet. You grabbed your coffee from the barista with a nod and headed to your ride.

Out the window, the track’s familiar curves came into view. Your pulse quickened.

At the paddock gate, the guard recognized you and lifted the barrier.

Cool air brushed your face through the window.

The engines hadn’t started yet—but Monaco was already alive.

You stepped into the garage, greeted by familiar scents—rubber, oil, metal. Anticipation.

You made your rounds. Engineer. Media officer. The team was still waking up, shaking off the morning fog.

As you walked past the pit wall, a voice called out:

“Early bird.”

You turned. Oscar stood there, leaning casually, hair a mess, holding a coffee mug and wearing that annoyingly relaxed team shirt.

“I didn’t bring you one,” he said. “I know your order now. This one’s mine.”

You raised your brows. “Charming and selfish. Love that combo.”

As you walked past, your shoulders brushed.

“Ready?” he asked. Voice serious. But still with that glint.

“Always,” you said. “You?”

Oscar glanced toward the track. Then back at you.

“Let’s just say… I race better when I know you’re watching.”

Your heart flipped. But you kept walking.

“I always watch,” you called back. “Even when I beat you.”

His laugh followed you all the way to the garage.

“Five minutes till briefing!” someone from the pit crew shouted.

Oscar sighed. “Highlight of the day.”

“For now,” you said, stepping in.

—

Track was busier during FP3. Monaco’s narrow corners left no room for error. A millimeter could ruin everything.

After final checks with the team, you hit the track.

On your second lap, the car ahead slowed abruptly. Your lap was ruined. Nearly a collision.

You cursed quietly, trying to stay focused.

Oscar’s voice cut in through the McLaren radio, annoyed:

“Are they even watching their mirrors? She was on a flyer! That’s ridiculous.”

The team responded instantly. “Copy. We saw it. Reporting now.”

By the end of FP3, both McLarens were in the top five. The garage buzzed with cautious optimism. Engineers grinned.

Oscar pulled off his helmet, turned to you.

“You good?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for the backup.”

He smiled. “Always.”

**

There was a mild buzz in the garage as quali approached, but your inner voice was surprisingly calm. Your heart was pounding, but not from fear — it was the thrill of competition, and maybe a strange sense of security from the presence of a familiar helmet nearby. Q1, Q2 — the tempo kept building. Monaco offered no room for error, but your laps were near perfection. Q3 had started. Oscar went out first. He was fast, but on his final lap, traffic caught up with him. A slow car ahead ruined his line. A slight slide, a millisecond loss — the kind Monaco never forgives. His frustration crackled over the radio: “We were supposed to time that better.” The pit wall responded: “Copy. P3 for now.” You had waited. Clean track, warmed tires, breath held in perfect focus — you began your final lap. Pushing harder with every corner. No cars in the mirror. Just you, the wheel, and Monaco. Out of the final corner, you went full throttle. As you hit the straight, the team radio erupted: “That’s it! That’s pole! P1! Incredible lap!” Your hands were still shaking on the wheel when you returned to the pits. The engineers greeted you with shining eyes. As you took off your helmet, your gaze searched for Oscar. Before he could reach you, Antonelli stepped in, smiling. “Congrats. That was insane.” “Thanks,” you said, but your eyes were still on Oscar. He walked toward you, calm expression in place — but his eyes said something else. “Not bad,” he said, voice a little husky. “First pole, huh?” You nodded with a soft smile. “You almost had me.” He stepped closer. “Yeah. Almost.” A pause. He met your eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to chase you tomorrow.” Oscar had taken P3. Someone else had snatched P2. And as he turned and walked away, the only thing on your mind was: The race hadn’t started, but your heart had already crossed the line.

**

You were determined to spend the evening before the race alone in your room. Lights dimmed, phone on silent, TV on but volume low. The thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up. You stepped out to grab water from the hallway — and turned the corner straight into him. Oscar, in comfy sweats, holding a drink can, smiled slightly when he saw you. “Didn’t expect to see you out of your cave,” he teased gently. You raised a brow. “Needed water. Some of us hydrate properly, you know.” Oscar chuckled. “Touché.” You both paused. Even the empty hallway felt full with the two of you in it. He didn’t look away. “Big day tomorrow.” You nodded. “Yep. First pole. Pressure’s on.” Oscar shrugged. “Pressure makes diamonds.” He looked you in the eye. “You’ll shine.” That line hit you. You swallowed. “Thanks. You too. P3 isn’t bad. Good launch, good strategy… Who knows?” “Who knows indeed,” he said with his signature smirk. Then took a step back. “Anyway, I should let you rest. Don’t want you falling asleep behind the wheel tomorrow.” You smiled. “Sweet dreams, Piastri.” Oscar turned, then paused. He glanced back at you. “You too. And hey…” A moment’s hesitation. “Good luck out there. Not that you’ll need it.” As he walked away, you stood there frozen. You’d left your room for water — but the warmth Oscar left behind was more satisfying than anything you could’ve poured into a glass.

**

You didn’t wake up from sunlight seeping through the curtains. Truthfully, you hadn’t really slept at all. Thoughts spinning in your head, adrenaline running through your veins despite the weight of the day. Excitement sat right in the center of your stomach — but it didn’t scare you. It kept you alive. Wasn’t this what you lived for? Racing. Competing. Winning. You caught your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes had a glint you hadn’t seen before. This wasn’t an ordinary day. It was race day. In Monaco. Your first pole.

You were about to make something to eat when your phone buzzed. Oscar: Morning, pole sitter. Join me for breakfast? Don’t worry, I saved you a seat. Your fingers hovered over the message. Politeness? Routine? Or something more? Then your gaze fell on that last part — I saved you a seat — and you smiled. You didn’t even need to reply. You were going.

**

Hotel lobby Oscar was waiting in the hotel’s small breakfast area. It wasn’t too warm yet, but the room was dim and cozy. He wore a black T-shirt, sunglasses perched on his head, his face tired but relaxed. He looked worn out, but the second he saw you, something lit up in his expression. He locked eyes with you and gave a slight nod. “Didn’t oversleep. Impressive.” You grinned. “You said breakfast. I came. Can’t defend pole on an empty stomach.” As you took the seat across from him, Oscar raised his orange juice. “Not poisoned, I promise.” “Yet,” you said, eyeing him sideways. Your voice was calm, but the flutter inside was hard to ignore. Being alone with Oscar — especially like this — was never easy. Sweet, but never easy. And you didn’t like easy things.

You nodded. “For both of us.” You had more to say, really. But sometimes, the eyes felt safer than words. Oscar reached for a strawberry on the plate, and his voice softened a little. “Can I tell you something?” he said, leaning in slightly. “Seeing you ahead of me on the grid? Annoying. But also… motivating.” You tilted your head slightly without squinting. That familiar, challenging smile appeared on your lips. “Don’t try to pass me, Piastri. Watching from behind suits you.” Oscar chuckled, a glint in his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

Time slowed, just a little. You set your fork down, and for a moment, you thought: If there was a good luck charm hidden in this morning, maybe it was Oscar’s smile. And maybe, something as thrilling as pole position... was playing this game with him.

By the time you finished breakfast, only a few crumbs remained on your plates—but what truly lingered wasn’t silence. It was a kind of anticipation, a tension hanging in the air. Sweet, sharp, dancing on the tightrope before a race. It wasn’t just about racing—you knew it, and so did he.

Oscar stood and stretched. “Ready to play hero today?” As you stood, your eyes met. “Only if you play the villain.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Oh, I wear black for a reason.”

No one stopped you as you left the lobby together, but a few heads did turn. It was race morning in Monaco. The only female driver on the grid and Oscar Piastri, who trailed you by a hundredth of a second in the final quali run, walking side by side. Even that felt like a photograph-worthy moment.

You got into the private car that would take you both to the paddock. Outside the window, Monaco's chaotic glamour slid by—the glinting yachts, crowds lining the streets, the stacked apartments. But your mind was only on corners. Rascasse. Casino. And of course, that infamous tunnel.

Oscar sat silently beside you—not anxious, but focused. When you looked at his profile, you noticed the faint tension in his jaw. This was his race mode. And somehow, it put you into yours.

When the car pulled up to the paddock entrance, you stepped out first. The salty, slightly rubber-scented Monaco morning air filled your lungs. You were used to it. This was your battlefield.

Oscar stepped up beside you and paused. As he put on his sunglasses, he leaned in close and whispered: “See you out there, superstar.” Then he walked off toward his garage.

Despite the chaos pounding in your chest, you kept walking with calm, steady steps. This was your day. This was your track. And the woman on the front row of the grid? She was ready to make history.

You stopped the car right on the line. When you shut off the engine, your heart still hadn’t slowed down. Your hand lingered on the steering wheel. It really happened. Monaco. You’d won. With a wide grin on your face, you leaned your head back.

As you undid your seatbelts, the voices in the team radio turned into screams. The sun hit your face differently the moment you opened the door and stepped onto the track. You squinted.

And then—two arms lifted you off the ground.

Oscar had picked you up onto his shoulders.

The crowd went wild. The fans were losing it. Oscar held you up like he was carrying a champion— But that cocky grin of his? Like he maybe felt a tiny bit responsible for the win too.

Oscar (grinning): “Told you. Wildest celebration ever starts now.”

You laughed, holding onto his shoulder as your hair whipped in the wind. You waved to the crowd while cameras snapped like crazy. You raised one hand in a victory sign.

Climbing the car – celebration continues

Once he set you down, you ran to your car with all that adrenaline still burning. Using the halo for support, you climbed up and sat on the nose. Then you stood. Arms spread wide, head tilted back. Your eyes were watery—but you weren’t crying.

A wave rose from the crowd. They were chanting your name.

You (shouting toward your team): “We did it!”

Celebrating with the team

You jumped down and ran straight into your team’s arms. They wrapped around you instantly. A couple of engineers were jumping. Someone spun you around. Sparkling water bottles burst open. Your shirt was soaked, but you didn’t care. You tossed your helmet somewhere. Your hair was a mess, but you’d never looked more beautiful.

Oscar stood to the side, watching. That familiar, meaningful smile on his face. Then he walked up to you—slowly.

Oscar: “I was gonna say something clever, but… then you crossed that line and I forgot everything.”

You raised an eyebrow.

You (grinning): “Well, I did win, didn’t I?”

Oscar (leaning in): “Then I guess I owe you the rest of the wildest celebration… tonight.”

For a moment, the world quieted. Cameras turned elsewhere. It was just the two of you. You didn’t move closer, but the spark between you? It was burning hotter than the Monaco Grand Prix itself.

Podium Ceremony

You grabbed your helmet and walked to the podium. The crowd parted like a curtain. When your name was announced, you stepped up. Your face lit up. You raised the champagne bottle.

It exploded. Foam sprayed through the air. You leaned your head back as Oscar sprayed you— You got him right back. Leclerc smiled in between you two like he knew what was up.

But you only had eyes for each other.

Parc Fermé – Post-race Interview

You were still drenched in sweat, but your eyes sparkled. Microphones were shoved toward you. Flashes popped like crazy.

Reporter: “Congratulations on your first F1 win—and in Monaco, no less! How are you feeling?”

You (laughing): “Like I just rewrote a dream. The team was amazing. The car was on fire today. And Monaco? You couldn’t script this better.”

Reporter: “You’ve shown incredible composure under pressure. Especially with Oscar and Antonelli right behind—what was the battle like?”

You: “They’re both insanely talented. Oscar kept me on my toes the whole time. Honestly? I had to push like hell.”

Oscar was in the background, leaning casually. He winked. You caught it, of course.

Hotel Room – Evening

The adrenaline had just begun to fade into a soft exhaustion when you stepped out of the shower. You looked in the mirror. Not a world champion now—but a young woman about to shine again.

You dried your hair, giving it soft waves. Slipped into a satin dress—not flashy, but elegant. Enough to remind the room who the star was.

A message lit up your phone:

Oscar: “I booked us a VIP spot. Drinks are on me. Don’t be late, champ.”

Your cheeks flushed.

Monaco Nightclub – The Night Begins

The club pulsed with lights. The bass of the music thrummed in your chest. Oscar met you at the entrance. Black shirt, a button undone, hair perfectly messy. He handed you a drink.

Oscar: “To your win… and to the fact I didn’t cry about P3.”

You (toasting): “To keeping it classy, Mr. Piastri.”

First shots. Then cocktails. A few dances… then a few more. Oscar was always nearby. When your hands brushed, he didn’t pull away. Every glance lasted longer.

Oscar: “You know, you’re kinda hard to look away from tonight.”

You (leaning slightly in): “Blame the lighting.”

Oscar (smiling): “Nope. I’m blaming you.”

Later in the Night – Club

Oscar: “Guess we’re past pretending now, huh?”

You: “Seems like it.”

You danced. You laughed. When Oscar’s hand found your waist, you didn’t hesitate. Everyone was having fun—but what was building between you two? That was something else entirely.

Club Balcony – Late Night

City lights reflected on the water. Silence for a few seconds.

Oscar turned to you. He gently took your hand.

Oscar (softly): “Still thinking about the race?”

You: “Actually… no. Right now, I’m thinking about this exact moment.”

His eyes locked with yours. And then he leaned in—slowly, like this moment had been waiting forever.

Your first kiss came in the Monaco night—tasting of champagne and adrenaline.

You were a little buzzed, sure. But your heart? Wide awake. The world kept spinning—but you were only spinning in each other.

Oscar stepped closer. His hand hovered near your waist, fingers pausing in the air— As if he wanted to feel not just your skin, but your whole soul.

His gaze locked with yours. This wasn’t flirting anymore. This was real.

Oscar (barely a whisper): “If I kiss you now… you’ll never forget it.”

You tilted your head slightly. You didn’t say a word—but the answer was loud and clear. Your eyes fluttered closed. Your heart skipped a beat.

Then… his lips touched yours.

The first touch was tender, almost hesitant—like he was checking if this was real. His breath mingled with yours—citrus, night air, and something electric. His fingers finally settled on your waist—gentle, like he was wrapping you in a thought.

When your hand reached his cheek, your heart couldn’t contain itself. The kiss deepened. No longer a dance—but your lips found a rhythm all their own. Forward, back. No rush. Just fullness.

Time slowed. The club’s noise faded. City lights gleamed on your skin. But you? You were only in each other.

His fingers tangled in your hair. And in that moment, no victory, no podium had ever felt this big.

When he pulled back, your eyes were still closed. Your lips slightly parted. Your breath uneven.

Oscar (chuckling): “Told you.”

You smiled. Turned your head shyly—but your cheek was still burning.

Uber – On the Way to the Hotel

You rested your head on Oscar’s shoulder. His calm breath, his quiet presence— Everything you’d felt that night settled even deeper.

Oscar glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. He smiled. His hand landed gently on your thigh, drawing small circles with his fingers. Oscar (whispering to himself): "Tough girl… but you melt like butter."

You had already fallen asleep.

Hotel Entrance – Late Night When Oscar woke you up, his voice was soft. Oscar: "Hey, champ. We’re here."

When you opened your eyes, you still felt warm and tender. The ride up in the elevator was quiet, but this time, the silence was easy—comfortable. The lights from the lobby glowed over you. Oscar walked you to your door.

You stood there for a moment, both choosing not to speak. Then he leaned in slightly.

Oscar (with narrowed eyes): "One more for the road?"

His lips touched yours again. This kiss wasn’t as long as the first, but it was bolder. More familiar. More you two.

When he pulled back, there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes. Oscar: "Funny thing is… I haven’t thought about Norris all night." You (giggling): "You’d better not. I don’t kiss distracted boys."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. Oscar: "Let him. Tonight? Tonight was just ours."

He slowly slid his fingers off yours. Took a step back. But his eyes never left you.

Oscar: "Sleep tight, pole queen."

And then he was gone.

As you closed the door, your heart was still caught in your throat. You leaned your back against it. A smile rose right from where his lips had touched yours. Only one thought crossed your mind: “If this was a race… I won.”

[orpheuswasmine]

Hey so actually, the newest chapter for A Human Condition fueled my BILL vs Billy analysis and I actually want to CRY, now I’m nack to the board, adding on to it and making more small notes

GUYS GUYS THE MABEL HUGGINHG BILL SCENE, I HAD A VISION 😭😭 I know that face was shifted between those two cuckoos ☹️ but it was Bill who ultimately won over the moment he saw Ford. His selfishness and arrogance come first 😕

Ford bringing the Billy side out through the Candyland game is so heart-wrenching I actually wanted to collapse, they made me so happy and then when Ford realized what was going on, I just VISUALIZED Bill’s face shifting to his default, almost treading the line between BILL and Billy ☹️ and when he called out to Ford, that literally had to be Billy I refuse to believe anything else

It KILLS ME ☹️ personally, I think the only way the Bill vs Billy situation could ever be resolved is Bill accepting Billy and the full healing process continues, or Billy is just completely killed all over again. (Worst-case scenario, Bill accepts Billy but it doesn’t matter because some thing happen and Bill reverts back, the piece of Billy dying)

OH AND THE FIDDLESTAN SCENE HOLY SHIT 😭 GOSH I WAS HOPING FIDDLESTAN WOULD BE INCLUDED !!! They made me so happy this chapter, had me in tears fr… Sorry, I might be overthinking this, and maybe call this a stretch or not, but the fixing the railroad was such a perfect parallel to Bill and Ford ☹️ Except with was the oppsite, where Stan went into a defense mode and then soon softening up, quite literally the opposite to Bill 😭 Stan continues to parallel Bill but he’s if Bill changed for the better. Fiddlestan and Billford my beloved.

Both these couple weave together so beautifully and it drives me insane ☹️ to love someone who doesn’t know themselves is the most challenging form of love, but they just need to guide each other to the safety of security 😭

Fiddlestan being included guys, im actually so happy and such the perfect balance for Billford angst that’s actually going to bash into us. I fear they are going to have so much parallel to each other and I’m not ready ☹️

This was Chapter 29 got me looking like bro 😭 LIKE HOLY FART, what I give to already be good at animations because I would have absolutely tried animating so many scenes 😭 A Human Condition is so animated worthy and that would stop me from at least learning 🥹

@sapphosscribe I SHOULDVE WAITED FOR THIS CHAPTER TO BE OUT BUT IT SERIOUSLY HELP ADD ON TO EVIDENCE FOR MY ANALYSIS 😭😭 back to the drawing board everyone, i need to AT LEAST make a sketch for the scenes i want to redraw 🥹

[frenchkanna1808]

Okay so many many people have given differing translation of this line and the main ideas I have gathered is that ,"if the owner of the world changes then the world changes" which means that in my eyes the Mishima and hinako dolls are perhaps a link to someone in the group being currently in charge of the world, who would that be that would be quite complicated, but there is a ACTUAL possibility that if one of the candidates takes like the reign on this world then we could see dolls of people they knew, which could imply so many angst moments in function of routes.

(there is a possibility for now the world is in default mode which would explain the real hinako mishuku doll)

[goldyluna]

A little of pink in red

I wanted to do something different with my blorbo (in art style because angst is my default mode I think)

[achromatophoric]

https://www.tumblr.com/museaway/746766290005508096?source=share

2,3,4,7,8,9,10,14,16,17,19,22,24,25,26,28

-🤔

[Warning: This is stupid long. Yikes.]

2. Character’s POV being explored:

Oops. My Incorrect Quotes don’t really have a POV. 😅 I think at most, I’ve explicitly removed a character from the end of a couple, to emphasize the joke through only the remaining character’s dialogue.

3. Feelings about current WIP:

I’m not happy with the end, so it might just sit there for a few more days until I figure it out.

4. Unwritten story idea:

I have a very rough outline of an actual fic! Future Wenclair, post college. It’s… super dark. Just a torrid angst spiral from Enid’s POV, where she begins to unwittingly choose her work and social life over her wolf and Wednesday, with terrible consequences.

I put it together last year, before I actually started writing anything. It’s unlikely to see the light of day, because I honestly don’t have the energy, attention span, and sequential periods of uninterrupted free time to try writing anything in long format. 😢 Maybe someday!

7. Preferred writing font:

Something san serif. I’d prefer one with a bit more letter spacing, but I’m stuck with Tumblr’s default font, Favorit-Tumblr.

8. If I had to sequel one:

Probably this old one, about Wednesday and her pet blog. I have ideas about reblogs and blog reproductive cycles.

9. Elapsed time for the last one:

Today’s took maybe 10-15 minutes from start to posting. I needed something short since I wanted to do my daily post before answering this Ask. My notes only read “Hard to swallow” and it basically wrote itself. It took just as long to find the right animated gif as it did to write it out. 😅

10. Longest rest for a draft before completion:

Intentional rest? I guess this one at 5-ish days, where the gang takes turns answering the question: What’s the best thing about dead bodies? I just wasn’t feeling the gang’s banter, so put off fiddling with it until it felt interesting again.

There’s normally scant delay between writing and posting. If I’m lucky, I might have 1 or 2 completed IQs waiting to be posted. I try to post at least 2 per day and I’m terrible at not posting one the moment it’s completed, so… yup. 😒

14. Inspiration source:

Primarily the fandom! I wouldn’t be able to write these if I hadn’t first read so many Wenclair fics that parodying the characters became possible. I really do rely on the community-created tropes and personalities to act as the skeleton upon which meaty puns are anchored.

16. Favorite place to write:

In my home office during work hours, where I can go mostly undisturbed, have a super comfy Steelcase Leap to relax in, music, and a tablet at the ready.

Yes, work hours. I tend to do my job quickly and well, but nothing gets those creative juices going better than having something else you should be doing. 😅

17. Writing and editing process:

Idea? Jot it down. Keep a list. Time to write? Check ideas. Pick one that looks fun. Write it. Nothing interesting? Uh. Do one of the following:

Look through animated gifs of dogs doing derpy things for wolf Enid (tedious AF)

Search idioms based on words that Wednesday can take too literally

Wonder what would piss off Bianca > Yoko > Weems > other character (ordered by favorite)

Think up a bad joke for Enid to tell Wednesday so she gets mortifyingly aroused

Find slang for Wednesday to misinterpret

If all else fails, dive into that gutter humor 😬

Etc?

With an idea in hand, I just start writing it out straight in the Tumblr app. Totally rawwolfing it. When it’s done, I review and check for (and fail to find) errors. Sometimes I’ll run it by my SO, who isn’t a Wenclair fan, but can confirm if a joke makes sense.

After that, I tag and release the thing into the wild, so it may derp free of my fragile little skull.

19. Most interesting fic-related research topic:

The historical material composition of hanging nooses and the strength differences between traditional hemp and modern Manila hemp, which is actually made from a specific Filipino banana tree as opposed to Cannabis plants.

All that for a joke about thread count. 😗

22. Worries about public reaction and how to get past it:

It hasn’t really come up. Honestly, I’m just happy that people read my stuff and can enjoy a laugh. It helps that I haven’t received much criticism, but I’ve also worked for years in a graphic design-related field that forced me to be able to produce (often dumb) fruit even when in an inhospitable environment near barren of sincere appreciation and/or constructive criticism. 😬 Kinda like a creative extremophile.

For advice to get past it? Keep at it. Find your audience(s) if you care to and focus on them. Keep in mind what you enjoy about the hobby and nurture that sucker. Learning how to shrug off negativity takes experience, but when in doubt, take a break! It’s a hobby, and even if it may at times feel otherwise, remember that it does not define you.

24. Recharge method when not creative:

Reading Wenclair fics and listening to audiobooks. I always have a book queued up and jump between fantasy, urban fantasy, lit rpg, cozy fantasy, sci-fi, bio-terrorism thrillers, queer romance, queer horror, and queer coming-of-age. 😅

25. Hobbies other than writing:

Drawing and semi-regular D&D. There’s other stuff I haven’t had time to enjoy lately, like computer games, clay sculpting, mask making, dancing, juggling, fire spinning, etc.

26. Writing around others:

I am always around others outside of work, so I make do. It’s usually fine, unless said others are those who are prone to toddling. Trying to write around one of them is often a lost cause. 😭

28. Least favorite part of the writing process:

For me, it’s transcribing posts from Tumblr to AO3. Particularly posts with a lot of styling, like small text and Chat. Not everything copy/pastes 1-to-1 and some chapters have to be manually edited as html, which is stupendously tedious doing on the phone. And if it has an image? Uuughghghh. 😖

OMG I’m done! I’m free! FREE! FR—

[theamazingdigitalraceway]

A/N: hehehe my plan is working

REMEMBRANCE

A RACEWAY AU ROYALTEETH ONESHOT (SHADOW!CAINE)

WARNING: hurt/comfort, angst

~~~

It was the middle of the night cycle, and everyone was in their rooms except one. Kinger slid quietly across the garage floor to his kart and patted the hood. "Let's go for a drive." The kart rolled forward quietly in neutral as one of the garage bay doors opened. Kinger looked to all the other karts and Gummigoo's bike waiting for their racers. "Sorry, just me this time."

Kinger hit the close button for the bay door and slid outside. His kart rolled itself to the start line, putting itself in first position. Kinger didn't really know what had gotten into him tonight. He rarely drove for fun anymore. He was just going through the motions, day after day. He was just in survival mode.

He figured there was a part of him that missed this. Having the track to himself, he could just let loose. Really forget the world he was in and just drive. It was an escape.

Kinger sat in his kart and it roared to life. The start line activated, it's colorful display showing a countdown. Ready? Set. GO!!

Kinger floored it. His tires screamed for traction as he took off down the straightaway, accelerating at break neck speed. The world around him blurred from how fast he was going. It was out of sight. Out of mind. He was getting away. Far away.

Then the turn. He took the banked turn high, almost to the top, and came back down without so much as touching the brake. His speedometer climbed: 110...130...150...175...200...210mph. Kinger red lined his engine, pushing it to go faster, but without boosts, it wasn't happening.

The speed was exhilarating. The race rush flowed through his avatar like a much needed drink of water. He felt focused. He felt alive. He was Kinger: Champion of the Raceway! None could oppose him! He could out maneuver any racer! Achieve any goal! There was no track he couldn't master! The crowds cheered for him! The winner's circle was his! They had to make a whole new level of challenge just to accommodate his skill!

Queenie was so proud of him.

A single tear flew from his top eye, disappearing into the wind. Racing wasn't the same without her. He started to slow he was coming back to the start line. Maybe he had enough-

NYEEOOOOOOM!!

A blink-and-you-miss-it flash of silver zipped right by his kart. It caught Kinger by surprise and he overcorrected his steering, almost going into the wall. "Huh!?" He watches the streak of silver fly ahead, already at the next turn. "Seth...?" Kinger gunned it. His kart pushed itself hard with the will of Kinger's urgency to catch up with the silver star racer.

Seth glanced back multiple times as the purple kart gradually gained ground. Now the real fun could begin. There were no items to steal or branching advantageous tracks on the default. What mattered here was speed and precision. He started with his old tricks of scaring the racer into swerving out of his way.

Kinger had none of it. Seth was on a motorcycle, not a kart. Kinger wasn't intimidated and forced Seth to teleport around him. He glanced to the side, meeting Seth's glare. "Just like old times."

Seth smirked. "Took you long enough." She swerved out in front and blasted silver fire right at Kinger's kart, blinding him.

Instead of backing off, Kinger accelerated. The front bumper collided with Seth's rear tire, making him wobble. The fire ceased as Seth focused on maintaining balance. Kinger got up next to Seth and sideswiped him as he passed.

Seth's knee guard sparked from impact and he teleported again to be clear of Kinger's aggressive driving. Seth smiled so big, his top jaw could be a kite in the wind. "Haha! Yes!" He snapped and the shadows around the lit track started to shift and crawl.

Kinger had to slow to move around the shadowed obstacles moving across the track. He remembered what would happen if he touched one. The longer he was experiencing the race rush, the more that came back to him. Not only did he remember where he was, but how he got there. How long he's been here. His wife. His friends. The game he helped build.

The AI that caught his interest.

Kinger looked at his gloves hands on the steering wheel and saw arms. Honest to goodness human arms. He felt his face. Skin. Hair. A nose. His legs shifted- Wait, legs? Legs....with feet! Oh to be bipedal again! His heart pounded in his chest in time with the engine.

Seth was right behind him they raced for the finish line. Kinger's unbridled joy infected his kart, igniting the tires in purple flame. Seth has to move away and gawked at the trail of fire. This was extremely rare from a human kart. Kinger has been the only one to ever achieve it and only once before.

Purple and silver flames danced together over the finish line. Kinger just edging out the victory. Both racers screeched to a halt, the hot wind rushing over both of them as the fires died.

Kinger stood from his kart. Feeling more human than he has in an age. Seth dismounts, ready to banter with Kinger over the win but doesn't get a word out as he's lifted from the ground. Kinger presses his face to Seth teeth, sending shivers down both of them. Kinger held Seth close for a long kiss before letting him go.

Seth hovered, not letting himself get dropped unceremoniously. He held to Kinger's shoulders, watching the racer's eyes curiously. He didn't even notice the heavy shadow forming the blush on his face.

"I've missed you." Kinger finally said after catching his breath. "I've missed this. Everything....I'm sorry-"

"Don't." Seth said quietly. "I know."

Kinger presses his forehead to Seth's top jaw and sighs. "I'm holding on..."

"I know." Seth gently held the side of Kinger's face. "You're strong."

Kinger's large hands held tighter to Seth. "I wish I didn't have to be. This place...it hurts."

Seth's code twisted in a battle of empathy and ego. The cold fire within him raged hot with anger on Kinger's behalf. "I can make you forget again..."

Kinger shuddered. "I don't know if I can keep doing that. My mind, it slips more every day. I can hear the cellar calling to me."

"Don't say that!" Seth held Kinger's head with both hands. "You're never going in there! You understand me!? I don't care if I have to suppress your memory to nothing, but you are not going down there."

"I...I wish remembering didn't hurt."

Seth took a breath. "I know. The burden of knowledge is a lot to bear, and it only gets heavier with time." He thought for a moment and a subtle white light shined under his black gloves. "It's for your own good..."

Seth kissed Kinger passionately, his tongues licking at the flat surface of Kinger's mouth, but feeling good all the same. Kinger kissed back until he felt woozy. His mind fogged and he didn't fight gravity as he fell to the grass next to the track.

Seth set Kinger down and landed on the ground, watching the Champion go cross eyed and unfocused again. His code buzzed angrily. He shouldn't have to do this, but no one has ever lasted as long as Kinger. As a racer, at least.

Seth lit up a cigarette and took a long drag of the harsh silvery smoke. He didn't have lungs but it still burned. He buried his hands in his pockets and his motorcycle idled up to him. "I'm sorry..." He said under his breath as a ghostly white moth fluttered from the smoke and landed on Kinger's chest.

Seth mounted his bike and looked back one more time. His code actually ached. He shook the feeling away and drove off, teleporting to places unknown.

~

Kinger sat up with a start. Had he fallen asleep? For real? He couldn't remember the last time he did that. When did he get outside? Where- "Oh, hello." He said to the little moth fluttering around his hand. He held out his finger and it perched.

"You're pretty. I think I'll call you...Seth. That's a nice name."

[the-tmnt-ficfinder]

Ficfinder finds: Reputation Precedes

Chapter 2: The Turtles Torture A College Student

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42111954/chapters/106281588#workskin

(Will fix the link once embeds work again)

Chapter 2 Summary: this took so fucking. long. I wrote it in the turtles perspective then was like. no i don't like that. then tried to write it in another way. still didn't like it. was going to write all three of them getting their ass kicked but it would get stale. so here. take it. take it. also my presentation went well :]

The Turtles Torture A College Student: Appraisal and Ratings

(Don't know what fanfic "Appraisal and Ratings" means? Check out my explanation on my Main Masterpost! Looking for a different fanfic to read? Head on over to my Fanfic List Masterpost!)

Disclaimer: This fanfic is completed. The tumblr of this author is unknown.

The fanfic ratings are not based on quality, favoritism, or how good I think it is, but rather, how intense a subject may be. Like a movie review, or the tags on Ao3, letting the readers know what to expect.

Plot: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Plot is three out of five!! This second chapter is more of an aftermath chapter, following the POV of one of the guys that beat up April in the previous chapter. It doesn't have a lot of action, but it does have a good amount of action!!"

Suspense/Mystery: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Suspense/Mystery is four out of five!! There isn't much mystery, as we the readers, pick up pretty fast on what's happening. There is a lot of suspense however."

Angst/Hurt: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Angst/Hurt is five out of five!! What's interesting, is even though this chapter has a lot of angst, its not for the usual characters we want to see angst from. As the chapters main POV is from a side character from chapter one, the angst doesn't have as much of an impact. It is however, still fairly intense due to violence reasons."

Fluff/Comfort: 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Fluff/Comfort is zero out of five!! This chapter has no fluff, and also no comfort!! Its all just pain!! But not for the readers lol"

Emotions Conveyed: 💛💛💛💛🖤

"Emotions Conveyed is four out of five!! This chapter goes far more into the violence, which by default makes it a much more intense read. Along with that, the boys basically go evil mode, which is wildly enjoyable to read."

Drama/Tension Level: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Drama/Tension Level is five out of five!! This chapter has a ton of drama and tension in it!! As right from the get go, it features quite a bit of violence, there's a lot of tension. And of course, the main reason for said violence, is drama."

Triggers: 💛💛💛💛💛

"Triggers are five out of five!! This chapter is technically an optional chapter, which is good for some people, because its got a lot more triggers in it. Some of the main triggers to keep an eye out for are; violence, blood, torture, extreme fear, past depictions of mugging, threats, and being tied up with duct tape. Remember to read the tags, and stay safe!!"

Legibility (Reading): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Reading) is five out of five!! This chapter, like the one before, is a very easy and enjoyable read! It flows well, doesn't have any funky text, or weird breakoffs. In fact, there are no separate POV's during this chapter. Just one ^^"

Legibility (Audio): 💛💛💛💛💛

"Legibility (Audio) is five out of five! There is no funky text, nothing that would make this difficult to listen to as an audio book. Would recommend!!"

Length: 💛💛💛🖤🖤

"Length is three out of five!! Chapter 2 of Reputation Precedes takes about 21-22 minutes to listen to!!"

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

<-Previous Chapter

Reputation Precedes: Story Ratings and Chapter List

Personal thoughts on chapter below cut (Contains Spoilers)

He’s a bad person, but at the end of the day, he falls asleep satisfied. He gets laid, he eats good food, he’s sure to have a successful future lined up ahead of him with his parent’s position. Why even try? He’s twenty-four now and by the time his father was twenty-four he owned half the world or whatever other bullshit his dad likes to spew.

Just one paragraph in, and I already don't like this guy lol

Jed is laughing as he punches her. The girl is screaming. She’s getting louder- the whole video is getting louder, until it’s wailing, until it hurts Jed’s ears. He lunges forward, trying to turn the volume down with a hand not desperately covering his ear, but nothing happens. The screen isn't responding to his input at all, just looping that awful fucking video.  

Immediately I knew this was Donnie. This has Donnie written all over it. Also he has access to every camera in New York City, which checks out.

“Shut him up.” He says flatly. Another alien from behind him steps forward, clearly the same species, but a bit smaller, decked in orange. Jed doesn't let the small size of the new alien make him underestimate it. Not when Orange is walking towards him with a smile stretched too wide for their face, not when they’re twisting a chain in their hands, the metal glowing, buzzing with power. Jed can feel it humming from where he stands, feet away. It lights the room up orange, twisting, blending with the white light from the video. It’s stuck on a loop of the girl’s screams. Echoing in the small bedroom. He is slammed backward into his gaming chair, and before he can even try to sit up, he is bound so tightly he can barely breathe. Orange steps back. His hands go slack. The chains do not. 

Oh my gosh, this is so scary. As the reader, its nice to see this side of them at times. Because we already know that they're playful and fun-loving. But this right here, is their super soldier.

“Do the broken nose last,” Orange says from where he lays on Jed’s bed, flipping through his comics with his feet up in the air like a schoolgirl. Like he isn't breaking into someone’s apartment to torture them. “I don't want to get blood all over us.”

He's such a psychopath lol, I love it. While I feel like the story could have been good from the turtles POV, from Jed's POV is PERFECT!!

“Now let me see…” Purple says to himself, putting a finger to his chin in mock thoughtfulness. “Are we thinking ‘freak who beats up teenage girls in alleyways’ , or is that too wordy?”  No. No way. Are they going to- to brand him? He can't- he doesn't- 

GASP!!! VIOLENCE!!

"I won't, I won't." Angelo’ says, a little exasperated, waving his hands like he’s heard this a hundred times before. Maybe he has. He turns to Jed, and their eyes meet. For a moment, Jed could swear they light up gold. “You guys wanna see something cool?” He asks his brothers, his grin widening. He doesn't wait for an answer before the chains slink out from where they bind Jed, like twin snakes, rising up into Angelo’s hands and wrapping around and around until-. 

Oh that is massively painful. For Jed, and also for Mikey. Worse for Jed though. That'd crunch Mikey's hands, because they're under his fingers, and atop. Probably pinch as well. Jed is going to get a nasty set of welts and bruises from that.

if you liked this chapter leave a comment! and check out some of my other rise works while you're here! i have quite a few now. also jed moves back to Connecticut with his mom and goes to therapy and starts his own business. years and years after this he writes april a letter sincerely apologizing for everything he put her through, and asks her- if shes still friends with those aliens, to give them his regard.

Oh I love this little gem in the end notes!!

[mikkalia]

32. BodeTayala

32. ...to wake up my default mode is angst. im so sorry words: 464

The fires stopped burning hours ago. Only smoldering embers and the radiating heat remain. His hands are covered in ash and blood. He’s heedless of the way twisted metal and splintered wood slice through his skin as he digs through the ruins of his house. Not his home. Not anymore.

Blood roars in his ears, drowning out a distant sound he knows it coming from him but can’t really register it in full. This can’t be happening. His chest is hollowed out, an empty gaping void waiting to be filled with – grief maybe. Rage, probably. All he feels is numb instead, too cold for anything to survive despite the heat haze that’s settled around him. His eyes sting, tears won’t fall. Not yet. Not until he – not until he knows. (and he knows already. The Force is silent. The Force is cowering. It’s failed him again and again and again, and Bode is, is tired.)

He lifts a painting, the canvas curled and blackened, holes eaten away by fire, the gilded frame flaking off in his grasp, and he freezes mid-motion, a broken whine escaping him. He drops it and, with shaking hands, carefully lifts his wife’s body into his lap, cradling her tenderly as the hole in his chest starts to finally fill – Disbelief. Denial. Bode smooths a hand over her hair. Her beautiful hair singed, burnt short.

“Tayala,” he whispers, voice cracking and hoarse, thick with tears that aren’t falling. “Tayala, please.”

This can’t be happening. This is a dream. A nightmare. Any moment he’ll feel soft lips on his, a gentle coax from this nightmare to the waking world, and he’ll open his eyes to Tayala leaning over him, loving and concerned, her fingers in his hair, their breaths intermingling.

Any moment now.

A moment passes.

And then another.

Nothing changes.

A sob finally wrangles free. And it breaks him, making him curl over her as his shoulders shake and a litany of pleas spill from his lips. Please wake up. Please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you, don’t make me do this without you. He kisses her. A fleeting thing. A hopeful thing. A delusion. Her lips taste like blood and ash. Like salt, from her tears long dried, from his tears finally falling with this confirmation he doesn’t want. Bode kisses her again, and again. Wake up. Wake up. Please. Pleasepleaseplease wake up.

Tayala’s head lolls, her expression serene. No, her expression blank. Serene is for the sleeping. Peace is for the dead. Bode heaves her up more securely into his arms and burrows his face against her chest, chasing a heartbeat that’s not there, rocking her as grief finally fills him up, leaving room for rage to follow, and his wails fill the smokey air.

[kinopio-writes]

Fandoms I Write For

BNHA

Dandy’s World, Dungeon Meshi

Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss

Minecraft: Story Mode, Mouthwashing

Stardew Valley

The Amazing Digital Circus, The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

What I Will Write

Second and third POVs (default is second POV)

Canon x Reader (default is gender neutral. If you want them to be fem or masc, tell me so. There might not be a difference depending on the ask)

Headcanons (will write up to three characters, but I’ll appreciate it a ton if you just ask for one since I found out that I write quicker when that’s the case. Not always, though)

Scenarios

How (character) would react to…

Fluff

Angst

Hurt/Comfort

Romantic

Platonic

Familial

What I Won’t Write

First POV

Oneshots (they take too long to write and it’s exhausting. There may be times when I write them. But I decide if I should or not. There are more details on the FAQ post)

AUs (unless the AU is interesting enough)

Crossovers

OCs

Character x Character

Character-based Readers (you can just tell me what trait you want from that character, like— “Have Reader have (character)’s (something)” and I’ll do just that)

Polyamory (except for canon relationships)

Yandere

Songfics

Full-on smut (might do suggestive headcanons and scenarios)

Anything that makes me uncomfortable (I can’t exactly name everything, but I’ll try to immediately respond to the request and let you know)

How to Request

I only take requests via inbox

Don’t be too specific. By that I mean don’t describe a scenario too in detail (it doesn’t leave much room for me to write it in my own way) and don’t describe the Reader too much that it leans into OC (physical appearance especially). It’s just those two, I think

Don’t be too vague. Just don’t request “(character) x reader, please” and leave it at that. I need some kind of prompt

Stuff like “reader with wings” or “reader with a tail” might be dry since I can’t really write much other than “oh, (character) thinks it’s cool”. So it would be appreciated if you give me personality traits rather than physical ones. You can still request them, though

Be nice. Don’t pressure me into doing your request, and be civil in the asks

Be patient. I write quite slowly, so don’t think I’m ignoring your request. I will answer it. Eventually

———

Characters I Write For

How I Write

Masterlists (in progress)

FAQ

———

Selective tags:

#kinopiowrites

→ used for my writings

#kinopioguides

→ used for masterlists or posts like these

#kinopioanswers

→ used for answering asks (not including requests)

#kinopiostates

→ honestly don’t know (maybe updates on rules or other things that aren’t stated on this post? Have only been paired with #kinopioanswers so far)

———

Sorry if this was hard to navigate.

Will update the wills and won’ts, and other stuff as time goes by.

Last updated: December 30, 2024

[dragonsdendoodles]

Any and all of your ocs

Idk anything about them but they look really cool so I wanna learn about them!!

Speedrunning fun facts about all my main OCs because I’ve got four stories’ worth of them (plus a few others) and that’s a lot to go into actual detailed shit about every single one of them

These might be weird I’m sorry I’m literally writing the first thing that comes to mind and most of them are gonna be stupid

No Stone Unturned

Kylee initially had an emo hairstyle because I couldn’t figure out how to draw curly hair

Andromeda wrote her own magic system and has an IRL notebook dedicated to that magic system

Jay is the only character I have that I have ever drawn in his current state naked and fully uncensored (mostly for projected gender dysphoria reasons)

Lucy was the first character to be added to the initial cast when I decided the earliest draft of NSU needed a rewrite

Winter was involved in Jay’s fun fact but I’m 19 years old and too much of a coward to draw dicks

Kaitlin has half a page of my sketchbook dedicated to my inability to decide on a good hairstyle for her

Carson uses all pronouns and actively makes fun of you if you just default to “he” and nothing else

Mason used to be clinically insane but then I looked at that and said “if I make my main villain the villain because he’s insane that’s probably ableist” and that’s on self-awareness

No Stone Unturned: Fauna’s Epilogue (co-written by my friend Parker)

Fauna is Andromeda’s niece and the daughter of the two oldest human OCs I have. She is the closest any of the original gang will ever come to having children of their own

Neo is probably the only straight man I have ever written

Crystal injects herself with actual adrenaline to learn to control harpy mode. Jay, another harpy, is incredibly fucking pissed at himself for not figuring this out when eventually this works

Maddie is Winter’s niece from his dad’s second family (technically the first but we’re not doing Winter angst right now)

Leah’s a Twitch streamer

Adalaide’s mom has a crush on one of Fauna’s dads and refuses to let this go to the point he got a restraining order

Logan is a catboy. Canonically.

Aster had an on-and-off fling with Neo for a couple years that didn’t go anywhere because Neo doesn’t actually like men

Colton was inspired by JD from Heathers

The Jewels in His Crown

Pallas was not named after the actual Greek character, but after the version of that character in Joan Holub and Suzanne Williams’ The Goddess Girls

Kayda can turn into a big silver dragon. Yes that does mean what you think it means and yes Pallas is into it

Henry did all of the things he does for the story, including being abandoned and betrayed by his twin sister, at the ripe old age of thirteen

Joan was initially based on someone I know in real life who I had a massive falling out with that hadn’t been resolved when I wrote her

Lucimene was named by my boyfriend, whose favorite character in No Stone Unturned is Lucy

Aurora is here because I wanted Lucimene to be a lesbian

James has had multiple names and I still don’t know if I like his current one. Initially it was Patroclus

Muddy was initially an idea for a Dungeons and Dragons character

Luke was named after Luke Skywalker, because he also has a sister

Lorelei was named after my evident misspelling of Lorelai Gilmore from Gilmore Girls

Elementary (co-written by @pollux888)

Vincent figure skates and skateboards

Jackson’s name was initially going to be Apollo

Lily was based on one of my exes who yelled at me for being a trans gay man only to come out as a trans lesbian six months later

Gallace was initially based on Glaceon but currently shares a name with my Gallade in both Pokémon Go and Pokémon Legends Arceus

Alex’s hair as a Mii in Tomodachi Life is neon pink

Leo has a very similar powerset to Leo Valdez but was not named after him if you can believe it

Enoch was named after Enoch O’Connor from Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

Michael was named after Michael Mell from Be More Chill

Miscellaneous

Limbo was my first ever fursona

Omega was named by my mother who does not know what a/b/o is (to my knowledge) because “he’s the last velociraptor”

Petal and Omega are were both initially a closed species that I didn’t know was closed and had a mental breakdown learning this fact because when I was thirteen I thought the cops were going to arrest me for copyright infringement

Ocean is a manokit because I wanted them to be a shark but a furry game I cannot for the life of me remember the name of had manokits and I thought they were cooler

Requiem was created when I changed my username to dragonryder21 and decided I probably needed a dragon fursona to go with it

Lux taught my mother what neopronouns were

Currentcall (Warrior Cats) was renamed from Riverpelt/Riverstar to Currentpelt to Currentcall all by fanmade games on Scratch

Sombra (Minecraft) was named after King Sombra from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Greenjay (MPHFPC) doesn’t currently have a first name

My currently nameless MLP sona has always been a pegasus for as long as I can remember. I just like pegasi I guess

[reveseke]

Writing boundaries + inbox etiquette

Okay, so I'm fine writing a lot of things but there are certain things I do draw a line at for personal comfort.

Masterlist shortcut. Request Checkpoint shortcut.

I'm fine with writing

horror, whump, comfort, fluff, angst, etc. Found family and other tropes, just ask.

I can write both dysphoria comfort & period comfort stuff,

Addiction,

Spirals (both in general and darker content),

Mental health specific things,

Character death (both main, side, and reader death.), Etc

I'm fine writing darker content to an extent, which in this case specifically includes (noncon) drugging, murder, stalking, gore, violence, etc etc.

But I will /not/ write about

rape,

minor abuse,

Pregnancy centric (personal comfort),

generally domestic abuse,

And hate crime centering topics.

Here's the general list of fandoms I write for; Criminal minds, marvel (avengers, spiderverse, x-men, Big hero 6, etc.), Voltron, Cobra Kai, Ninjago, Lego monkie kid, HTTYD franchise, Z nation, DC (justice league, flash, legends of tomorrow, Batman & the fam.) And My bloody valentine.

And I only write for male, transmasc/man/boy, masc, gender neutral, non-binary, and genderqueer readers. I write nln, mlm, mln, nlm.

I do not write for female readers and I do not write wlw, wln, nlw, mlw works.

Regarding requests;

> please add a plot idea, scenario, etc on the request.

> Add the preferred gender of the reader you're making a request for, otherwise I will write it as gender neutral.

> you can ask for specific things eg, blurb, headcanons, oneshot, etc. Otherwise I usually will default to either writing headcanons or oneshots depending on my energy, blurbs are done when writing with low energy.

> please be patient :)

You can always ask if a certain thing that has not been mentioned is something I'll write for; from tropes to genres, characters, and fandoms.

You can add physical descriptions, aesthetics, etc to the character to be incorporated into the content.

I will deny any request that makes me uncomfortable, I won't delete it but I will post it out as a denied one. You can check my request checkpoint post to see if I've added your request there, it means I have in fact accepted it and I'm planning on writing it.

My inbox etiquette is really simple; don't use fonts or colored text and I will explain why and give you the examples on the bottom <3

Okay, so the reason I ask you not to use these fonts/colored text is the simple fact that I am low vision and I struggle with eyestrain.

> My phone's default text is set to be bigger than the default which makes reading the Quote, Bigger & Biggest fonts so much harder.

> I can barely read Lucille at all to begin with, and chat & colored text is eyestrainy in general to us.

> Colored text is also eyestrainy because a lot of the colors are not good on dark mode background for me. The colors also give me a headache due to them being so hard on my eyes (even the white from time to time, but I can't do anything about that.)

Intended, bulleted, numbered lists are fine by default. Please avoid using the Italicized text and bolded text options /excessively/, as in the whole block of text is either in bold or italicized while being a few good paragraphs long.

That is all I ask. Thank you.

Visual examples;

Bigger; Example

Biggest; Example

Quote; Example

Chat; Example

Lucille; Example

Small text; Example

Uh, color text example I guess. E

[marierg]

Of Light and Darkness: The Rising Darkness pt. 5

Rated: Mature (yeah check the warnings folks)

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi X Reader

WARNINGS!: DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING IF YOU ARE NOT IN A GOOD MENTAL PLACE! Death/ Dying, survivors guilt, depression, Suicidal thoughts/ ideations, PTS flare up, angst, talk of medical procedures and autonomy (previous denial alluded too), stress reactions, cursing, and Cannon typical violence. Uh yeah not light reading...

But also hurt/comfort, fluff, kissing, marriage proposals... so not all bad!

A/N: I take no credit for the movie dialogue that is all the work of the wonderful Mr. Lucas!!!! THIS IS A LOVING WORK OF FANFICTION!!! With that said I did take more than a few liberties but I tried to pull from the film/ books and meld it into a cohesive piece. Much love to all the prequels and the folks there in!

With all said I will take this opportunity to say that it will be a minute till the next part! I have to figure out how I want this to follow the series and frankly this part just wiped me out. Hope y'all enjoy!

Picture Credit: Deviant Art and pinterest;

Words: 9000ish... yeah it was worse before i edited. ENJOY!

“Droid get over here with that...”

“I need more bandages!”

“No you will not kriffing take my patient until I'm done with them! I don't care what your CO said, your CO can bite me!”

It was the chorus of an all to familiar ture that you awoke to, smelling blood and bacta and battlefield. Laying in a triage area surrounded by troopers and Jedi alike, cots or the red dirt floor shaking with the ever nearing hits of artillery. Every inch of your body aching as you swung your legs down, the ground began to spin. Yes, you knew this waltz well, but dear Force how you wished the dance would stop.

“Ma'am can we take this bed?”

Glancing up at the medic in his polished armor you observed the trooper on the litter. He bled from the socket where his eye should have been, long painful gashes in the wake of shrapnel. Making a give over motion you assisted the transfer, urging the injured man to lay back as the medic administered a sedative. Defaulting to work mode you began to assess the man. “The wound needs cleaning and fresh bandages then send him straight through to the surgeon.”

“We can't ma'am, surgery was hit. This is it till we can get the ships off the ground again.” The medic tilted his helmet at you in silent resignation.

“Dear merciful Force.” Pain, so much pain and death. “Whose in charge of this mess?”

The trooper points to the loudest of the beings working among the wounded. Braids covered in dust and mud, face weary but focused as she barked orders over the din. “You will return them to this triage and those troopers will receive care! I don't give a flying KARK you fucking droid, they've earned every opportunity we can give them!”

In all of her time as a rescue specialist, even after all the missions Tyra had never seen anything like this. It reminded her of the stories her grandfather told of the war on her home world. The small Jedi who assigned her the task had motioned with his staff and simply replied...

“For the Valkar search the field of battle, and the brave shall they return.”

Her squad had been at it for hours even after the small Jedi had returned with Kaboomie, Speedster and you. Tyra would have liked to see all three of you onto the nearest ship, but with the limited space available choices had been made. She saw to your care personally with some assistance from a Mirialan named Barris. Tyra would give the girl this, she was a good healer. Heck the kid had done her best with every critical case till she'd passed out from the effort and had to be laid down too.

Looking at the next set of incoming wounded Tyra prayed to every one of her Gods for strength. Not that they often listened to her cries.

“Glitch!” Making your way over you waived to the young woman. She was no longer that student you had taught, years in the field giving her a commanding edge. Then again she had always been more an adult than youngling, “Tyra!”

“Boss!”

The women embraced, relief marking both their faces. You were the first to pull back giving her a tired smile, “Report?”

“Same shit, different day. Thank the All Father I won't sing your tale tonight. Scared the hell out of us,” She tried to get you to sit but you waived the effort off. Figures that if the Boss is awake she's back to work. “We barely have transport up and going and even that's sketchy, never seen Deek so steamed. No tower, barely reliable comms, control of the ground is non existent. Top that off no surgery.”

“So I was told. Do we still have supplies?” At Glitch's nod you glanced around. There were two grounded troop transport ships that were heavily damaged near by. While those birds would never fly again they could still serve, “Do those still have power?”

“Yeah, why?”

You'd made do with far less before and these men needed a surgeon. “Get that equipment into the ships, we have work to do.”

Obi Wan had seen Anakin and the Senator to the transport off planet and then rejoined Master Koon at the forward operations. Masters Yoda and Windu were somewhere on the battlefield, but after the droids had barraged the operations center, communications broke down. Light turned to dusk before order was restored. Always in the back of his mind you were there, the image of your unconscious form on the bed as he had left. Were you awake now, had you been sent to a ship already?

“Sir, we've received multiple transmissions of men trapped in the catacombs below the foundry. What are your orders?”

Obi Wan looked to the Clone commander, CC-2224 as he had Identified himself, grim expression falling across his features. Those men would require special extrication, especially if there was structural damage. It would cost time and men that their dwindling forces may not be able to afford. On the other hand it would cost his soul not to at least try. These men had risked life and limb to save him and the other Jedi, honor dictated that he must endeavor to return their brothers to them. Glancing at the Commander's helmet Obi Wan gave a nod, “Gather a team and what equipment you can Commander, I will accompany you.”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

The man beneath the helmet closed his eyes in relief. His trainers had prepared Cody for many scenarios. Retrieval and rescue, negotiations, incursion drops, but never how to bury so many his brothers. Never how to deal with the guilt of sending them to their assured death. What they had taught them was to trust in their chain of command, so that is what Cody would do.

“Vessia raise that retractor... Yeah there! Ok, suction,” After a while the bodies began to blur together. Collapsed lungs, skull fractures, missing limbs... you didn't feel like a doctor, you felt like a butcher. “Alright there's the bleed. Clamp off, sew, then seal him up until we can get a transport.”

Most of what you were performing was considered stabilization procedures until the troopers could be seen on the hospital ship in orbit. As the only fully trained Doctor you had to hop from table to table when there was a question of need. It was a motley crew, former students some of whom you hadn't seen in years. Vessia who was in her intern year after Medical School was beside you, hands once uncertain now efficient and skilled. The Senators daughter had changed much, finding her purpose in healing. Maru, who was currently running the blood donation chair, had left the RRC active branch preferring to work on the admin side of things. Yet here he was alongside you all. You could feel his old terrors coming to the surface again, but he remained stalwartly working. The strongest of bonds were ever forged in the fire of combat, at least that's what Master Melri had often said.

Then there was the Padawan who had been left in your charge. Barris Offee didn't have the same training you'd had at that age, but she was a hard little worker and adapted quickly. She stood at the table to your back while Vessia handled procedures at the other. The normally peaceful Mirialan was now face to face with a healers worst nightmare and you felt horribly for her. Having to remind Barris again and again that she must refrain from any more Force healing and to focus on clinical work set a knot in your gut. It was a simple equation though, she could use her abilities to heal a few while injuring herself or help the many that would surely follow the first. The girl's frustration was ever palpable, but in the end had deferred to your command.

“Master L/n, I require your assistance.” Barris had never felt so helpless in her life. It was as if all the light of the Force had gone out, leaving only the cold of death that now surrounded this place. This man on her table was barely breathing, but surely... “What about him.”

Glancing down at the trooper you could see he was beyond even your ability to save. Multiple blaster shots including the one that had penetrated his helmet, it was a ghastly sight. And yet he struggled still for breath, his brothers looking at the two Jedi with hope in their eyes. You wished there was something you could do for this young trooper to save his life, but all you could offer was a peaceful passing. “I'm sorry Barris...”

“NO! You gotta try damn it! He's still alive!”

One of the mud stained commandos screamed, ripping off his helmet as others tried to console him. The crying man cursed, yelling how they couldn't let his brother die. Not his last batch mate. Storming right up, he barked in your face demanding you save his brother. It was in that moment that you saw Barris cry, silent sorrow rolling down her cheeks. Damn this day, Damn Dooku, but above all damn yourself for failing them all.

“I cannot save him. I would if it were possible, but I cant. I am so sorry.”

“Can't or won't!?” He screamed again, but in truth there was a part of Fi that knew. “Why... Why Why WHY!!!”

“I'm sorry... more than you know.” Turning to the young Padawan you pulled her close, whispering. “Barris. I must ask a difficult task of you.”

The girl wiped her eyes quickly, “Yes?”

Looking from her to the bed and then the other downed craft across the narrow dirt you sighed. As with so many things today it was the only comfort you could offer these poor men. “Take the stretcher and place this trooper in the curtained part of the recovery. Let them say good bye.”

Barris stood stock still, as though doused in ice. “What are you saying?”

“He won't last much longer Healer Offee. All we can do is ease one brother's pain and grant the other dignity in their death.” You could see the light slowly dwindling out of her eyes and hated yourself even more. Giving her a nod you turned to the newest patient on your table and started to glove up again. “Give them however long they need.”

Barris wanted nothing more than to run from this place, but that was not the Jedi way. They were keepers of the peace, guardians of the light even when they could not feel it's presence. Wiping away her tears she took hold of the litter and began to guide it. The Commando's brother took the other side, face scrunched in anger. Bringing a chair and a blanket, Barris covered the injured man as the other sat watch. “What's his name?”

“RC-...”

Barris shook her head, “No, I mean what do you call him?”

Fi hadn't expected the Jedi to ask that, it was a very personal and private thing. Most clones' names were known only to their batch mates or their training sergeant maybe. Looking into the young woman's dark eyes though he felt comforted that someone else would do such a kindness as to call them by their chosen name. To treat him and the others as men. “We called him Sen.”

“Hello Sen, I thought you might be cool. My name is Barris,” smoothing the blanket over the man she could already feel his breathing becoming staggered. Biting her lip she began to murmur, “Thank you Sen for saving us, for saving me.”

Fi watched the young woman as she tucked his brother in like a cadet, gently and with great care. She seemed as lost as any of them, hell nobody should be in this place. Taking his brother's hand, Fi gave it a squeeze, “It's what we were made for ma'am.”

“Barris.” She replied quietly.

Swallowing hard, he looked into her sad eyes. “Fi.”

Sunlight rose on the second day, not that Obi Wan could tell really. Deep in the dark of the catacombs he and the troopers searched. Hall by hall, digging into the places where transmissions had dissipated to faint cries and banging. They had come across some of the lost Jedi from the missing assault team as well as tracking down the missing clones. He recalled how you would feel agitated on many a mission needing the balm of action. It was the waiting that tortured him and the other men the worst now. Waiting for an attack, waiting to find even one being alive, waiting for this all to end.

“Sir! Up ahead,” Cody called as he desperately ripped into the rock. The slight glow from a HUD light breaking the darkness of the rockfall. “Hold on trooper, we're here!”

“Commander be careful,” Obi Wan spoke too late watching as more unstable rock started to avalanche onto the man. Racing over with the others everyone started to frantically dig both men out.

“Damn Stupid osik'ri... get himself killed!” Alpha 22, or Deuce, wanted to wring the commanders neck. But as they uncovered the officer, he thought better of it. Lifting the Commander's helmet, Deuce found Cody was struggling to breathe. The rock fall damaged the air intake, the bucket all but dead weight now. “Oiya! Take it easy Vod'ika... There ya go.”

“The...(cough) commando...”

Deuces nodded and continued digging as the medics took the injured Commander to the side. The Jedi, Kenobi, joined in. Digging until they uncovered the still lit helmet, slowly extracting the rest of the man. Shaking his head sadly Deuces thought the worst, until the Jedi gave a rough rub on a pressure point and the Commando drew a gasping breath. “Medic! Medic Up! Hey you keep karking breathing, don't you fucking die!”

“Easy he may have a head injury,” Obi Wan helped to ease the injured commando onto the stretcher. “Commander go with them to the aid...”

“But Sir, we need to...”

“CC-2224 you deaf or being insubordinate? Get your shebs to the evac, MOVE!” Deuces barked, “and get a new bucket while you're at it.”

Cody sheepishly tucked the damaged one under his arm, pausing as Kenobi tapped his shoulder, “Sir?”

“If you should see Master L/n at the aid station, please let her know where we are.” Obi Wan said it before he could decide against it. He wasn't even sure if you were still on the ground, but if you were he knew how worried you must be. “Thank you Commander.”

“Yes Sir.” Cody's curiosity was peaked, but gave a nod not wanting to inquire further. The Jedi had a funny look as he had spoken, but who was Cody to question it. He was a soldier, what did he understand past that?

“All father help us... hey get those new suture packs and IV fluids over here!” Tyra watched as the latest batch of wounded were off loaded. She hated that there was so little to be done, only start fluids and get them to the hospital ship for a dunk in a tank. Shaking her head Tyra lamented also seeing the young Jedi healer in a different form of pain as she tried to comfort the injured. Worst of all she hated seeing you half propped on a stool as you continued to do surgery along with her and Vessia, soldiering on because you refused to leave them in this mess alone when you should be up on that ship like the rest of the wounded.

This was madness at it's finest and Tyra could all too easily now empathize with her former mentor who had been so harsh in their lessons. Muttering to herself she readied to stitch up another incoming trooper, “Forgive me Bern, you were right... Hey Trooper what's your name?”

“Ma'am, CC-2224.” Cody saw the displeased look on the short female's face and offered over his name. “Is there a Jedi called L/n here, I have a message for them.”

“Yeah,” You hollered over the din, carefully pealing off the many layers of extra thick armor from the patient on your table. Turning to the medics you became brusk, “You need to strip them before they get here, I want trauma naked and injuries exposed! Pass it along.”

“I have a message,” Cody tried to stand but the pink haired medic who was cleaning the wound on his head shoved him back down.

“Tell her from here. Hold still or this will scar worse than it's already gonna,” Glitch smirked at her patient, giving him a wink. “Don't worry handsome, the ones who matter won't mind a bit.”

“Don't tease the poor man Glitch. What's the message?”

Cody had to peer at the Jedi from the corner of his vision, “Master Kenobi wanted you to know he was in the catacombs with our platoon. He wanted you to know...”

Your heart swelled and a brief smile crossed your face. You hadn't know for hours where Obi Wan had gotten too, if he was alright. It was a relief, one weight lifted from your shoulders. Closing your eyes in silent thanks you nodded to the man on Glitch's table. “Thank you Commander, I appreciate the update.”

Cody was a little perplexed at your reaction, until he heard the medic stitching his temple chuckle. Raising an eyebrow, the young woman she smiled at him.

“You just made her day, you know that.” Tyra smirked, lowering her voice so only the man could hear. “Boss won't always say much, but it's a great kindness you've done. And for that...”

The small woman bent down as she finished the last stitch, pressing her lips gently on his forehead. Cody froze as she kissed him, it was sweet and stars knew he hadn't imagined his first kiss to be like this.

“...you deserve a reward. Now you best go get another bucket cause this one is toast.” Glitch grinned at the blushing soldier on her gurney. As he began to walk towards supply she yelled to him, “Hey 2224?”

Cody turned back at the edge of the craft, “Ma'am?”

Tyra sauntered over to grip the top of his chest plate. The man was weary, looking perhaps a bit lost amongst the din. With a chuckle she pulled him down and gave him a real kiss. Nothing fancy, just a touch of sweetness on a bitter day. “You be safe out there soldier. And don't go messing up that sewing, huh.”

“Yes ma'am.” He smirked at the little thing as she swayed her hips back to the surgery. He wasn't sure if it was the kiss or the rush of being alive, but in that moment Cody felt he could take on the whole damn planet. Strutting towards supply the Commander felt ten feet tall.

“Glitch stop teasing the men and get back to work,” You couldn't help a slight smirk. Unprofessional as it was, you were pleased by the smile the man had as he left. In the present moment though the patient on your table had severe crush injuries and would need to be evacuated with the next load of wounded. Starting two intravenous lines you took in his injuries, both legs would need surgery and extensive rehabilitation. He was alive though and that was a miracle in and of itself. “Hey, what's your name?”

“A'den,” He tried to keep his eyes open.

You smiled down at him, “Well A'den we're going to get you well again. For now though I'm going to give you something for the pain, is that alright with you?”

He had never been asked before, never given the option. It confused him that this medic wasn't simply doing what was necessary, instead giving him the choice. “Ma'am?”

“It's ok if you don't want too,” You could tell he was uncomfortable in more ways than one, so you tried a different approach. “How about a little something to take the edge off, it won't make you disoriented like a sedative.”

“Whatever you think's best ma'am.”

“Good, lean back. Now I'm gonna have you moved to the staging area and soon you'll be on the ship.” You could see the moment the medication started to work, the man's body relaxing ever so slightly. He was so covered in dust that you had to wipe it away to get a better look. Even careful as you were he was skittish, like a newborn colt. Finally satisfied with your exam and that he would remain stable, you had A'den transferred to staging. Over and over it was like that through the night.

At dawn you saw the Council and other remaining Jedi start to trickle back into the staging area. They, like the troopers, asking if you had seen someone. An apprentice, a master, a batch mate; it made no difference Jedi or clone, all were searching. The lists were posted by the recovery craft; Alive, wounded, missing and dead. You could tell the answer by the sounds or lack there of after people looked. But every so often you would hear something that eased the pain just a little, you heard the happy cries of a reunion. It was few and far between but it was something to hold to.

You were on one of the two final transports out, lifting off as the last troop transport did. It was like a bad case of deja vu, Deek in the cockpit with you, Barris, and Glitch in the back. You felt old, especially looking at the two younger responders.

“Hey kid, how you holding up?”

Barris looked to the girl called Glitch, dazed and uncertain. “I'm sorry?”

“She want's to know if you're doing alright,” You pipped in from across the cabin, “Are you?”

“A Jedi...”

“Barris,” reaching across to take her hand the girl paused. How long ago had it been that you sat on that side of the jump seat? Had you ever been that wide eyed or young? It seemed now that you had always been this tired and old. But you knew that once, long ago you had been just as this young one here needing guidance. “It's ok to say it. I wish I had the power to save everyone, but I can't... we never can. You gave it your best and that's all anyone can ask or do. It's alright to mourn the losses, not just celebrate the victories.”

Glitch pursed her lips before speaking, “You showed them kindness and compassion whether you could save them or not. Ain't a finer thing you can do than that. It's ok to be human little space wizard, hell makes you one of us.”

“Master L/n?” Barris' voice cracked as the last of her reserve evaporated. She was like a water pitcher that had run dry, nothing left to give and hollow feeling. “How... how do you let it go? The men we lost, the Jedi?”

“In some ways I don't. I remember what the experience taught me and train harder, so that their sacrifice meant something. I wish I could say that this is the last time, that you won't lose someone again, but I can't.” Shadows darkened your face as the ship made it's approach to the docking bay. Giving Barris a kind look, you graveled out the last words. “It's in learning to walk with those ghosts that defines how we move forward.”

Mace waited as the last of the ships arrived from the surface, sentinel till all returned. The battle had been arduous, the aftermath unbearable. So many good Jedi lost, the galaxy in turmoil, and all because of Dooku. He shouldn't have let his bias paint his view of the man because he had once been a colleague. Now the Separatists had a powerful ally and the future of the Republic rested on the shoulders of the Order. Mace knew, felt the shifting in the lines of fate that this was only the beginning of the journey. That the path ahead would be just as painful, bloody, and long.

“Master Windu, have you seen Barris?” Luminara came to stand beside the Council head.

Turning slightly he nodded greetings to his fellow Jedi, “I believe she is with Y/n.”

“Safe hands then.” Luminara sighed in relief, what she wouldn't give to reverse time and ordered her apprentice to stay on Couriscant. What was done was done though, now all of them would have to deal with this terrifying new world. “I suppose we are the lucky ones.”

Watching as the craft door opened he considered the statement. Were they the lucky ones or were the ones who had passed and spared what was to come more fortunate? Mace observed as you escorted the young Padawan. He didn't miss as Master Undulii's breath caught at the sight of her apprentice, wan and weary. At least this Master still had her apprentice, not many today could claim that. “Luck has nothing to do with it. We trained them well.”

Barris walked slowly towards her Master, you and Glitch on either side. You knew all too well that hollow look in her dark eyes. The girl was past done and needed a long rest, more so she needed to stay somewhere the hell away from any action. It had been a baptism of fire and in many ways it reminded you of what had happened to Maru. But unlike the Bothan there was nowhere for this Padawan to hide from the conflict, no transfer to admin. Master Undulii, normally so serene in appearance, now stood with slumped shoulders and only the veneer of calm. Glancing at the more senior Master you knew she understood that this mission had broken the girl.

“Barris,” She paused feeling a ripple in the girls signature, tear streaks marring her face. Embracing her Luminara held tight, like when she had been a frightened youngling. “There now, you are safe.”

“Get some rest, you did very well today. Couldn't have run that aid station without you Barris.” You handed an injector to Master Undulii, a sedative. She took it with a grim nod of thanks. Glitch gave an affectionate pat on your Master's shoulder and left to clean up at the slop sink. Master Windu looked as tired as you felt. “Master...”

Mace pulled you into a hug, “I'm so thankful that you've returned safely.”

The dam within you began to crack, the air rushing from your lungs with a great sigh. Regret, sorrow, guilt all swirling and engulfing you whole. You were unable to draw breath for what felt an eternity, tremors in you hands that indicated a larger storm brewing. Master Windu pulled back giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze, ever patient and guiding. Over and over all you could say was, “I'm sorry.”

“This was not your fault Y/n. You and Obi Wan did well. Your Apprentice did his duty and all of you are alive.” He was proud of you all. The three of you had conquered near insurmountable odds to simply survive this slaughterhouse. Mace could only hope that same fortune would continue to carry you through this conflict to come. Yet under the surface he sensed damage, the fissures within your psyche emanating pain. “I do think you could do with some rest though.”

“Pffft.... Right.” Taking a few steadying breaths you stuffed your feelings away for later as you had often done. It did not serve to have a breakdown in front of the head of the council, even if they had been your Master. Wiping away any stray moisture you felt as the fatigue hit, scrubbing your hands across your face. “Kark I could use some Kaf.”

“I believe that the mess hall can assist you,” Mace chuckled and shaking his head, “And there is someone on C deck who would be glad to know you're back.”

Even exhausted you knew better than to let your guard down, “Is Anakin out of recovery already? He should still be...”

Half bemused Mace muttered, “I'm certain that the boy would appreciate seeing you as well.”

Master Windu gave yet another piercing look, you continued to act unaffected. Best not to contemplate the possibilities on days like this. “Has Anakin really been giving you that big a headache?”

“We both know I'm not referring to Skywalker.” While Mace had to admire your extreme level of discretion, he had long known of your relationship with Kenobi. Part of him had made peace with your involvement given the dedication both Jedi continued to show the order; never succumbing to the temptation of possession. You two had been thick as thieves since apprenticeship, even for as many times as he had attempted to separate you with missions and training. After so long Mace had simply come to trust that you would do the right thing. He did however tire over feigning ignorance. “Please make sure that he's actually resting, as should you.”

Schooling your face and giving a practiced calm expression, you bowed. “May the Force be with you Master.”

Dooku had been troubled throughout the flight to Coruscant. He was nearly bested by the Jedi and their unexpected rescue by the clones, but then again he had managed to escape and accomplish his mission. He had not counted on the new army as a factor in his plans this early, it would have been an easier war to manage if the Council had been obliterated. None the less many key pieces had still fallen nicely into place and it would take the Order time to recover their losses

As he saw the glimmer of the city planet his mind fell back to your words. “Qui Gon died defending the galaxy from the evil that you embraced! Had he lived he would stand against you now!”

He was not an evil man. Dooku did as he saw necessary to bring order, but he was not cruel. Yes it was necessary to cull the opposing forces to make a victory swift, but it was not a choice he made lightly. The Jedi's compassion is what limited their vision, far too entrenched in their ways to effect real change. Sometimes one must break the chins that bound one to the old and outdated system, the one which found the Jedi central too. Landing in the abandoned works the Count stood and prepared to disembark.

Sidious watched as his latest apprentice disembarked the ramp of his craft. While not entirely pleased with the fallen Jedi's efforts, he proved a useful tool. With practiced ease Sidious gestured warmly to the elder man, “Welcome home Lord Tyranus.”

“The Force is with us Master,” The Count bowed in greeting joining Sidious as they walked into the complex. “I bear good news, the war has begun.”

“Well done, your skills are no match for the Jedi.” Palpatine chuckled in this throat, “And what of the young upstarts, have they been adequately dealt with?”

“They survived the encounter,” Dooku grimaced as your words rang in his head again, “Next time I shall...”

Palpatine waived off the Count's words, “Spare me. Soon enough they will be eliminated and together we shall control the galaxy. For the people, for the future.”

And what future shall that be, forged in the crucible of war, the Count wondered? Dooku knew well to keep his doubts shielded though, the Sith was a cunning being and not to be trusted. But it was better to reign in Hell than to serve in heaven. “For a brighter tomorrow shall our labors travail.”

Anakin woke in a darkened room, warm and quiet. It took more than a few moments for the fog to clear his brain. Raising his right arm he felt the cold shock of metal and not his fingers. Fingers that flexed and moved but...

“Ani? Are you awake?”

Turning towards the soft voice Anakin couldn't speak for a moment, simply staring. There were no words yet to express both his joy and sorrow. Joy at seeing Padme waiting beside him, her sweet face curved by a genuine smile because he lived. And yet how uncomfortable she must be cramped in this small sparse space. Anakin never wanted to see her deprived of comfort, not for him.

“Are you in pain? I can get the nurse,” Padme watched as Anakin shook his head, still very distracted by the new metal limb. She took his left hand in her own, “It's just temporary till you get a better fitting, they said you were very lucky. Y/n and Obi Wan came to check on you, they were both so worried.”

“Not worried enough to stay.”

“That's not fair Anakin.” Padme gave him a hurt look, “They were both worried sick. The doctor even said Y/n was badgering him from the aid station every hour for an update. Obi Wan stayed here until Master Yoda made him go rest.”

Anakin flushed in embarrassment at rightly being chastised. “I should know my Masters better by now, it was stupid of me to doubt them.”

“You've been through so much,” taking a cool cloth, Padme dabbed it across his brow. Putting the cloth aside she laced her fingers with his again. “How do you feel.”

“Like I had my arm cut off.” Anakin snarked. Then he saw how her face fell and felt all the dumber for it. He felt foolish for a great many things. Shaking his head on a silent curse, Anakin's temper flared, “I couldn't stop Dooku...”

“No one could, it's not your fault.”

“I'm sorry Padme, I should have protected you better.” The image of her laying limp in the sand flashing through his mind again. Regret lacing his voice, Anakin reached up to cup Padme's bruised cheek. Even past his faults as a Jedi, would she want him now that he was this defeated broken thing. A fool of a man who couldn't even protect his woman properly. Would she still love him with all his faults? “I would have liked to have held you with both hands...”

Padme's voice cracked as she took the cool metal prosthetic and pressed it to her other cheek, “You still can.”

“You don't have to stay,” He whispered, not meeting her eyes. People made rash statements all the time under stress, he knew that. Anakin was trying to give Padme a gracious way out of this, trying to do the right thing even if it killed him. Because in the end he loved her and what could he offer her beyond that? “I'm sure that you probably have more important things...”

“How dare you say that,” Padme's face scrunched, hurt to her bones that he had even said it. Her Ani ought to know her better, “I'm not leaving you Anakin and there is nothing more important to me right now than you. So never say that to me again.”

“Forgive me?” A small smile curled one side of his mouth. His heart surged and Anakin began to gently pull Padme into the bed. He needed to feel her safe in his arms, needed to show her the affection that she so deserved. His brave angel deserved every star in the galaxy.

“The bed's too small.” Padme grumbled but acquiesced, exhaustion causing her to ignore better judgment. Laying in Anakins arms, being held so gently, she felt safer than she had in weeks. She wanted to stay a little upset with him, but it was so very hard when she could feel his care in every touch. Still her voice carried a hint of exasperation, “Honestly Anakin sometimes I wonder what you think of me.”

“That you're the most beautiful woman in the Galaxy. That you've stolen my heart,” He didn't dare press further just yet, stars but he wanted to as he gazed longingly at her lips. Anakin wanted to hold Padme close for the rest of time, to kiss her till there was no question how much he loved her. He would worship the ground that she walked on no matter where that ground was. As he floated the blankets up to cover them, Anakin caressed Padme's face. Tracing from her eyebrow, the apple of her cheek. “There now, don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Me? You're the one who,” Padme paused mid sentence face falling as she began to cry. She had almost gotten the two of them killed rushing in, it had been reckless. The litany of admonishments at her actions rolling through her mind, she was a Senator and should know better! Agony and frustration shook her whole body, but Anakin only held tighter.

“Shh, it's ok. You're safe angel.” Anakin could feel her turmoil, wishing he could make her forget the past few days and their terrors. And yet if not for the past few days he would not be holding her now. No he could not erase it, but he would ease it. Gazing at her he put the full weight of his heart into the words, “I love you Padme, so much.”

“Anakin,” She hiccuped between sobs, words getting caught. She wanted to tell him she loved him too, that she regretted her earlier lie. Gazing into his eyes Padme saw the light of his understanding. He knew without her saying a word. Still her tears would not cease; for him, for his mother, for the dead, for the galaxy. “I'm sorry... I'm so frightened Ani.”

“Don't be afraid.” Restraint finally breaking, Anakin kissed her. First her lips then every single tear from her face, laying one last soft press to Padme's forehead. If his angel needed him to be strong for the both of them, then that is what he would do. Raising his hand instinctively to brush at her cheek he paused a hairs breath away remembering the metal. Instead he lowered it to move up and down her back carefully, still too afraid that he would do harm.

Tucking Padme's head below his chin Anakin began humming a tune, one that he heard often at Maffa's bar. Carefully soothing his new hand on her back as his flesh one cradled her head, a few of the lyrics falling loose. As her breathing settled and she relaxed in his hold Anakin murmured, “I'll always protect you, love you... Will you marry me?”

Padme had been drifting to sleep in the safe harbor of his embrace, lulled into a sense of safety. And maybe she would have overthought the question had she not been so exhausted, but not now. Emotions too raw, everything happening so fast, and she wanted what he offered so easily. He hadn't changed since the day she had met him ten years ago, still a kind and giving heart. “Yes, I'll marry you Anakin.”

“Then sleep angel,” Anakin practically beamed with joy, “You've made me so happy Padme.”

He swore she would not cry again, whatever he had to do she would always smile. He would be better, faster, the best Jedi in the Order. And after he brought peace to the galaxy and the war was over he would leave to be with her. It was a simple plan, but it was a start. He promised himself and her that they'd make it to their tomorrow, because love wasn't something to fear.

At least that's what he'd been told.

“Another?”

“Keep it coming,” You muttered, passing the cup back to Glitch to pour you another beer. Bumming a puff on Deek's cigar you slowly let the smoke waft out around you. Numbing your mind was not a solution to the problem, but you didn't want to deal with it at present either.

Deek threw an arm around your shoulders, “That shit'll give you cancer kid.”

“and yet you survive old man.”

He gave your head a hard noogie. “Smartass!”

You had gone to check in on Anakin and found Padme watching over him. Truth be told the affectionate look on the young woman's face was more than enough to put you at ease. There was a happiness when the two were together, one that you prayed never left. And so you had slogged down to the C deck in search of your own happiness.

Obi Wan had been fast asleep, looking the rougher for wear. You had indulged, just a moment, sitting on the bed and stroking his hair. The soft auburn strands feathering against your skin was soothing and a smile had risen as your Obi had turned gently into the touch. Stars knew he had earned a rest and that you should get some yourself. Instead you had pressed a soft kiss to his head and tucked an extra blanket around him before heading to the mess hall, avoiding the nightmares that you knew were waiting.

Should have figured that the RIC's would sneak a keg on board, wouldn't be the first or last. So you sat at the table playing Sabac and decompressed as best you could. There were other Jedi in the cantina and you had managed to wave a few over to join the group, stars knew they needed a reprieve as much as the others here. They would drift by for a time, visit, and then leave to meditate. Master Undulii had also drifted by, mostly to express her thanks to you and Glitch. She did not wish to stay initially, but Glitch had handed the Jedi a Kaf and patted the seat between the two of you. The Mirilan had taken the unconventional beings in stride.

“These are all students of yours?”

Giving a nod you sipped at your beer, it was piss water cheap but the best you'd ever had. “Yes, most of this bunch went through the academy class with Anakin.”

“I see and these classes are open to anyone?” Luminara hadn't encouraged her apprentice to further her medical training past what was necessary in the Halls of Healing. Now she considered just how under prepared that had left the girl, how helpless she may have felt. Barris would not soon recover from this experience that was certain and perhaps time away in an academic setting would do her well.

You could see the wheels turning, needing just a little nudge, “I'd be happy to have you sit in on a class sometime.”

“Boss, why do I have a feeling that this lovely lady could probably teach the class?” Glitch snarked while simultaneously keeping an eye on the pack of troopers at the end of the room. She recognized 2224, no it was Cody he said, and couldn't help grinning when he'd blush after realizing that he got caught looking her way. But she also knew that involvement would be a bad idea so she was relegated to teasing him. Hearing your grumblings Glitch poked at you again, earning a smile from the other Jedi, “Probably run circles around you in the aid station too.”

“Ha ha Yalvaberg, though you're not wrong.” Slapping down your cards you folded your hand, glancing in your peripherals at Master Undulii. “Open offer for anyone at the Temple, Barris included.”

“Speaking of little bitty, where'd she get too?” Glitch took two more cards, watching the group of troopers head out of the hall. Just as well she thought.

Luminara was perplexed, “Little bitty?”

“Barris,” Glitch clarified, “Good things in small packages.”

Luminara quirked a brow until you explained that it was high praise indeed to have earned a nickname. Setting down her mug she smiled at the young people here. There was a closeness to this group, a bond made of grit and pain that gave them a strength. It touched her that Barris was now counted among them, “She is resting, I think I will go check on her though. You have my thanks again and I look forward to seeing you in the classroom.”

You watched as the more senior Master rose, graceful as ever, and floated from the room like a cloud on the wind. Finishing your own beverage you bid the others goodnight and left too, not before an extended hug from Deek though. There was much said in that hug, things that didn't need words but were bone deep and true. That you were both glad to be alive, that you were both relieved that the mission was done. That you both prayed it was the last close call.

Even as hard as you tried to quiet your mind, the racing thoughts wouldn't cease. The guilt and pain, all like a great mountain on you. Wandering the halls of the ship you found your way to the recovery wing. Most of the troopers you had worked on made it through secondary surgery, including A'den who gave you a waive leading you to stop and speak with him for a bit. It was a reward that little squeeze of his big hand, the smile he gave. None of that was why you did it, but kark it felt nice. There was an officer who was also checking on the men, his commanding presence standing out from the others. There was no conversation between you, simply a nod of greeting and both going about your way.

Further down the line were the injured Jedi. And while they were indeed alive, many were far from well. Several apprentices trembled in their beds or looked on blankly. The few Masters whom were present to shepard them weren't in much better shape. The Masters whose eyes reflected the gutting of loss everyone here felt. They would all require a great deal of psychological help after an event like this, needed experts in that field and not simply the healers at the Temple. It would be a discussion with the Council, but for another day. Turning to leave you came face to chest with an old acquaintance. “I'm so sorry, I didn't see...”

“L/n,” The voice growled low.

Your stomach dropped. There was Master Adeva, Togorian glare ever fixed. This was neither the time nor the place for a disagreement, “I was just leaving, good evening Master Adeva.”

Carefully trying move around him, you were far too tired to reign in your emotions, only making it a few steps when he began to growl.

“Is it all worth it?” Adeva grumbled the thought out loud. The older being saw how your posture slumped at his words, not thinking how you had interpreted the statement.

Deuce was speaking with a couple of recently promoted sergeants when he heard the trouble. His face turned stony watching the two Jedi. Who the hells did this beast think he was, speaking to the little medic like that? Your response to the feline though, it ripped him like a blaster bolt.

“No,” tears streamed as the hopeless answer left your lips. Glancing over your shoulder to him you whispered. “I should have died and saved you the effort.”

One of the injured troopers came alongside Deuce looking just as pissed, but the Alpha waited to see what the Togorian would do. Both Clones were unarmed, but stood ready to protect. This one had fought for his brothers lives, for that alone she had his respect. He whispered to the other clone, “Find the Jedi Kenobi, now!”

“You would say that, after all the trouble to save you?” Adeva turned his head studying the small woman. You did not seem yourself. Not sharp tongued or quick witted, almost like it pained you to even move.

“Yeah, well I didn't deserve it anyway. Said it yourself I'm weak, an embarrassment to my Master, an abomination. That I should have died long ago...” you rambled out. How you ached for rest, your ribs hollow with nothing left to give or fight with. A sardonic little hum escaped you, “Sorry to disappoint you and survive again when so many more deserving beings should have.”

The Togorian was stunned, though he should not be surprised. After all he had spoken the vile, hateful words that you now repeated, had encouraged his Padawan to do the same. His ears flattened as his voice filled with shame, “L/n...”

“I'll make it easy, save you the trouble for next time...” It was a choice everyday, to live or to give it up. Most days you could be strong, others you needed to bolster your strength just to slog through. Not today though, today you just wanted the bliss of silent oblivion. If your brain were in a more sound state it would recognize that this was not right, but all you could feel was pain and death and failure. Holding up your saber you pressed it into his paw like hand with the end at your chest. Voice quivering you bore your gaze into his, “Go ahead.”

“What?” Tightening his grip on the hilt he saw you eyes close relief. It was such an antitheses to whom he had now come to understand you to be. It was wrong, this whole situation was wrong and Adeva found himself regretting having contributed to your longing for death. Slowly, carefully he placed your saber on the medical cart nearest. Your eyes were angry with him even as tears began to fall. “No, I will not do that.”

“It's like a damned cosmic joke...” Laughing in pain as your head fell in resignation. “I am a wraith that even death has turned it's back on.”

“Master L/n... you misunderstand me.” Dipping his head, Adeva tried to meet your eyes. He no longer wished to fight with you. No, that was the past and it was time to act as a Jedi should. “We caused you such pain for so long. We were wrong. I was wrong... about everything.”

You shook your head in confusion.

“You saved my Padawan, Hashi wouldn't have made it out of the arena had you not intervened.”

“I -” your words were cut short by a growl.

“You and Kenobi were captured, tortured, and still confronted Dooku.” Adeva saw you clench and fiddle with your hands. “And all I can reason is that you must think this mission, this galaxy, worthy to suffer so.”

“Someone has to protect it.” Your voice was small, barely a scratching of words. “I did my duty.”

“No, you did more.” It was in that moment that Adeva knew just how much pain his words had caused over the years, how much you had endured. How wrong and twisted he had been and for what? Pride and tradition meant little if one could not act honorably towards their fellow beings. Your eyes were dark as they gazed back at him, “I was so very wrong about you and though I can never deserve it... please forgive me.”

It was an odd feeling, whiplashed from one extreme to the other. A being who had tormented you so long, whom you in many ways considered an adversary, asking pardon for the wrong he had done. You wanted to stay angry, to yell and scream, to let every boiling emotion set loose; but to what end really? You might be short tempered, perhaps brash and overly passionate, but you were not cruel. To release such fury upon even this being... no you would never cause pain willingly.

There were also all the hopeless gazes looking to you from the beds, wondering if this was all there was to their future? How could the Jedi continue if they only fought among themselves, unable to forgive their brothers and sisters. Wondering eyes asking if this was how their order would fall from the light into the abyss of shadow. No, even if darkness filled the stars above, you refused to be the one to snuff out their hope for a better tomorrow. This would not be the day that you crumbled, this would not be the day you let the light perish from this place. As hard as it was, you chose in that moment to live and fight one day more.

“I forgive you.”

“This way Sir.”

“Oh wee one...” Obi Wan had been pulled from his bed by one of the troopers. All he had been told was that you were in trouble and it was all he needed to hear. The fact that he could only mildly feel your presence in the Force raised alarm bells.

“There Sir, look.”

Glancing ahead you rounded the corner with an escort of your own. Alpha 22 was flanking your side, a concerned look on his face. Obi Wan watched as you simply seemed to exist, as though a spirit trapped in the land of the living. There was no sign of your usual spark of liveliness and it sent a shiver down his back. The imposing trooper at your side simply guided you forward, firmly but with care. As the two men glanced at each other there was a silent understanding.

“Keep a close eye on this one, she's... in need of rest.” Deuce glanced down at the woman, deeply troubled by what he'd seen. He'd seen some of his Vod'e over the years who had cracked before graduation or from the treatment of their trainers. He well recognized that look in your eyes. Tilting his head Deuce softened his tone again, “You take care now Baar'ur'ika, want to see you at formation when we land.”

“I'll take her from here,” Obi Wan whispered as his arm came around your shoulders. It was a long walk back, every step of the journey made like you were shuffling through duracrete. He felt the raging torrent rippling from your signature even as your face remained placidly flat. Studying you carefully he knew there was something truly wrong. You hadn't changed, robes in need of incineration rather than cleaning. Worse yet you were silent, not uttering a word to him only holding his hand tightly like a lifeline. As he closed and locked the door Obi Wan gently cupped your face, “Wee one?”

Blinking at him you gazed wide eyed, but unseeing. Your mind was stuck on what had happened in the med bay, the terrible things you said. How could you have let that blackness out, how could you expose the others to your dark mind? When Obi Wan tried to grasp your arms you backed away shrinking into yourself, not wanting to hurt him too. You'd only contaminate him, you had to keep him safe. The thoughts raged again, the horrible images that Dooku had put in your mind rising like the tide. Was it torture or a vision, would they all die just like you had seen?

“Love?” Obi Wan watched as you started to shake and cry, hands flying to clutch your head. He fought to grab you then, bringing you with him to the floor as you screamed into his chest. Blood curdling agony escaping with every breath, eyes wild in fear. You fought his hold not seeing him, but instead some spectral horror. It took pushing his own calm upon your signature to placate the worst of it; he kept soothing your hair as he whispered through his own growing dread. “It's alright now, we're safe... we're all safe. Please Y/n come back, don't leave me now... please come back to me.”

You could feel the distant glimmer of his signature, that small flicker of light in the swirling dark, “Obi?”

“I'm here love. Tell me how to help, what did the devil do to you?” Kissing your forehead his face scrunched in concentration. You whole body shook frantically as your face blanched, but he was determined and pressed through the connection, “Y/n let me in.”

“No! You can't... not safe...” You were so frightened of hurting him, fighting with what little you had in you to push back.

“I'm not letting you suffer, not another minute. Now let me in.” Obi Wan lurched bodily as the first images came through, crying out in pain. Pushing further through the dark web, he grasped onto your signature more fully. You had both survived the arena and he wouldn't loose you now. It was as if Dooku had set a hurricane loose in your mind of all the dark fears you hid away even from him. Trying with all his might Obi Wan began to untangle the dark web in which you were caught, forcing more peaceful thoughts over the storm.

Things he knew calmed you, things that brought you joy. Images of forests and small animals you'd seen on missions, of nights at the diner, the memory of that first kiss under the stars. He felt as your body began to slacken in his hold, going limp as your cries softened to sniffles. Whispering against your head as he continued to soothe, “Stay with me in the light, don't leave. I'll do anything, but please stay darling.”

“I'm trying, it's so hard,” Your voice a whimper, “I'm so tired Obi.”

“Then let me take care of you, as you've done for me.” Obi Wan lifted your face from where it was buried in his chest, eyes bloodshot. They were still the most beautiful eyes he knew. “That's it darling, just hold tightly and all will be well.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise, just hold on.” Carefully Obi Wan carried you to the fresher. Hands steady and gentle as he cleaned the dirt away, holding you as your tears rinsed down the drain with the suds. He was loving in every way as he dried and helped you into fresh robes, laying with you on the bed. It hurt him to see you in such pain, what he would give to take it from you. “Any better sweetling?”

Curling into his body the errand tears still rolled down your cheek. “I'm sorry Obi...”

“Shh none of that wee woman, nothing to be sorry for at all.” You huffed and burrowed into his chest further on a little cry. Obi Wan sighed, slowly soothing a hand at your back. You always managed to find your way before, yet you lay so broken here in his arms. Perhaps all that was required was to remind you of whom you were, “You're so strong Y/n, knew from the first minute I saw you.”

Looking up through wet lashes you hummed curiously.

“It's true, really. You looked ready to fight anyone that would say a word about your Master at her service and then...” He hummed wistfully, “You glanced over and smiled at me.”

“I did?” You mumbled, trying to remember if what your Obi Boy said was true, honestly couldn't recall much of that day really. You hadn't even known Obi Wan then, but you do recall him and Qui Gon being present.

“Indeed you did. Only the strongest beings remain so kind even in the midst of such pain.” He'd only just returned to the order himself, feeling out of place and alone. Obi Wan had dutifully gone to the services, accompanying Master Qui Gon as he bid a friend farewell. Still he felt out of place, under scrutiny even in the midst of mourning. Obi Wan had glanced back at you, watching as he felt the ripples of your palpable sorrow and wondered how you stood so gracefully. Then you had glanced over during the funeral as though sensing his eyes lingering and smiled at him. You had seen him, another lost soul and smiled. He fell for you then and you had ever been a part of him. “Still the strongest person I know.”

“I'm not,” Your arms squeezed him tighter, voice choking on the words. “I wish that were true but... Obi I'm so tired of it. All the missions, all the rules, all the fighting and pain. I don't want to do it anymore...” Soft little sobs escaped despite your best efforts.

He knew, had for so very long. The Temple had always been a gilded cage and honestly even he had come to hate it at times. What would it be like to simply walk with you, unafraid of being seen or judged. What would it be like to have a home away from all of this, only you two? As much as it would pain him, Obi Wan was prepared to make that sacrifice, if that was what you needed of him. Then he felt your soft touch on his jaw and glanced down into your watery eyes.

“...But I'll stay for you... and Anakin. You're my family, I go where you go.” Kissing softly at the top of his chest you started to drift into the depths of your exhaustion. “I love you.”

“And I you, so very much.” His voice broke like waves upon the shore, “I promise you Y/n...”

Shaking your head on a hum you brought his face to meet with yours, lips gently embracing. Salty tears marred the tender joining, maybe that was the best the day could offer. Perhaps that was all there would be is stolen moments and little victories, but it was more than most. You weren't ambitious enough to think past now, living in this moment and nowhere else. No promises of anything but the next sweet kiss from your man. That was the only thing you trusted right now.

Obi Wan could feel just how tenuous your hold was, the way your signature flickered. Like embers in a banked fire, as easily rekindled as it was to be dashed out. So he pressed just a little more, deepening the kiss and tracing your features softly. Fingertips ghosting the line of your jaw till he could comb his fingers into your soft hair. There was more grays streaking through, not from age but from all that life had brought. Laugh lines and freckles that came with time, and not a one would he trade. The two of you had raised Anakin, survived so many missions and mishaps, earning every worry line and sign of age together. On a soft grin Obi Wan began to whisper, a secret just between you. “What would you do Y/n... if we did leave?”

“What?”

“If we left the Order, what would you want to do?” He stroked his thumb at your temple, humming his own contemplation. “I think I'd be a teacher.”

Watching the corners of his eyes crinkle made you believe, even for a minute, it might be possible. That after all of this you might be able to have what you wanted. It was a dangerous feeling, this hope, and not something that would happen until this matter with Dooku was settled. Your Master still needed your help, you couldn't abandon him or the rest of the Jedi now. But here, with your Obi Wan it was safe enough to dream. “I think... just a little clinic. Little younglings with colds and sore throats, school check ups...”

Obi Wan pursed his lips in thought, “We could have a massif.”

“You're more of a tooka person,” you mumbled.

Closing his eyes, Obi Wan murmured, “We could have more than pets... if you'd want.”

“Seems you've thought about this,”voice thick at the thought of what he described. You had secretly wondered the same from time to time, “A little boy maybe...”

“A little family somewhere quiet. Nowhere to go or missions to complete,” he chuckled, “We'd be bored to tears.”

“Boredom sounds good.” a bitter grin etched across your face, “But I have a feeling we won't be bored for quite some time my love.”

“No, I suspect you're right about that. I'm sorry we couldn't stop it Y/n...”

Pulling Obi Wan into another kiss you shook your head, “Not tonight... leave it till morning please?”

Obi Wan soothed you through the night terrors and held you tightly when his own came on. Yesterday the war began, but here in their bunk there was peace.

Even if only for tonight.

tags: @obislittleone @the-rain-on-kamino @a-rose-of-amber @aquaamethyst96 @stanny-uwu @nurseytypechick @just-dreaming-marvel @in-a-mellow-tone @acatalystrising @pickleprickle @iambored24601 @purplepandora666 @misscamptl @wannabakewithsomebody @obiknights @moostresskenobi @the-going-merry @ginger-swag-rapunzelre @iabrokengirl @lovelyxlily @annasun13 @foxperifoto @supernaturallover2002 @imherefordeanandbones

[e-m-p-error]

for the mutimuse questionnaire 1,3,5,7,13,14

yet another multimuse questionnaire

Do you like connecting some muses together or are they all independent from the other?

Answered that here!

Is there any any themes, tropes, or cliches that you like giving to muses?

UGH MAN GIVE ME A GOOD SOULMATE AU. Or an Omegaverse AU. I love writing those tropes as passive parts of people's lives. I also always always love mutual pining and stupidity because of it. Um. I'm a sucker for a good Workplace AU, and I love writing smut with feelings and introspection. The 2k raunchy kinky fuck-nasty gay porn is a metaphor for character growth, genuine love, and acceptance.

Any muses you had to revise or any you think you need to?

OH MAN SO. When I first started the blog, I wrote Val and Vick completely different. They already went through revisions, and I'm slowly working more on Valentino's backstory so things will be changing for him.

I currently am also revising my Adam to fix him up to be where I want him before I work on more threads and the like with him.

I am thinking about reworking my Lilith some but I haven't decided what I want to do with her for now. Mimzy is getting a canon rewrite Niffty is getting additions but is mostly staying the same. Her tag will remain with one f for bookkeeping purposes.

Are there certain muses you like using for certain types of prompts (fluff, serious, angst, ect).

Answered that here!

Which of your muses you think is best for me to interact with?

I MEAN I AM BIASED. I will always, always say Valentino. But also that depends on what you want. If you want a softer Vox, Vick is good for that. If you want Hard Mode Vox, Clem (my Vox) is really good for that. He's very Dead Dove, while Vick is much different, he's more a victim.

Niffty is fun but crazy, Alastor is a lot of fun, too. Trina is my wife (my old Velvette who is the default on this blog). I love writing Barbie. I could go on.

Which of your muses is the easiest to get along with? Which one are the hardest?

Vick, Charlie, and Emily. They try to see the good in even the worst people and are always friendly and outgoing.

Valentino, Angel Dust, and Cash. Cash will straight-up attack other men just for being male. Angel needs his trust to be earned and that is not an easy feat. Valentino is hard to please, fickle, and capricious. He does not like being disappointed or disrespected.

[symphonicsoul]

dash games - about the mun

name — Kira

pronouns — He/They

preferred comms — Disco / DMing is fine

name of muse —

Main Muse: White Cloud / Shiroi Kumo (Valkoinen Pilvi) Side Muses: Canons: Cid, Miles, Akai Kiri / Madoushi (Punainen Usva),Earl Tyrant, Herba, Fungus, Oscha, Lisa Misterican OCs: Lord Aurinko, Lady Kuu, Nousi Aamunkoitto, Tähtien Valo, Ilta Palo, Sitriini Sinfonia, Hopea Sumu, Violetti Sydän, Revon Tulet, Sininen Taivas, Safiirn Hehku

experience in RP — I've been RPing since I was 12, so we're at 23 years now (almost 24)

best experiences — developing Misterica has been very special to me. I've never gone this deep in world building and these are my very first OCs, so they mean the world to me. I've never had OCs or interest in making them before this. The series doesn't give us about Misterica or the Cloud Boy in general, so I've basically built Misterica from the ground up with the few table scraps they gave us. It's very special to me.

pet peeves / dealbreakers — forced shipping, guilt tripping, a poor handling of dark topics, meta gaming, god moding, blatantly ignoring / not tagging for triggers.

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — Kumo will tell you FLUFF every day of the week. He would much rather be held and hugged and snuggled. I loves to cuddle and take naps but he is very easy to hit with the darker topics and angst. Kumo's past is dark and heavy. The man has a lot going on and it's easy to go the dark route with him. Even more so because of his relationship with Death. As for smut, we don't really do that over here. Comedy is always appreciated too though.

plot or memes — both please! I always love seeing things in my inbox - anon, personal or otherwise. (yes personals are allowed to ask Kumo and Co whatever they like). I love to plot things out and make things work and connect together but I can start that process by winging it with a meme. A meme is a fun and easy starting point for a plot to develop so I love both.

long or short replies — naturally I tend to fall to novella by default because that's just how I am and Kumo is a TALKER. Kumo almost always has a lot to say even if he's not saying it out loud. I can do short replies though and sometimes they fit the flow better or I don't have the brain power to write something long.

best time to write — admittedly I tend to write a lot of my replies on break at work, so around 7am est / 11 am est. I do most of my writing on Sun or Mon as those are my days off but during the week 12:30p -> 6pm ish (I work at 4am so I sleep early)

are you like your muse — I can be in some places and in some places I'm not. Kumo is far more tolerant than I am and he is always so prim and proper when I am NOT. He likes physical affection way more than I do too.

tagged by: @drinkitfrommymouthsuou tagging: @voidedgear @piousolus @musesofthesun and anyone reading this

[firewoodfigs]

don’t get me wrong spy x family is incredibly heartwarming but my default mode when i look at a piece of media is “wow this could really use some angst” ✨✨✨

again with the erratic “train updates” (aka updates I write on the train to work or back home) but I’ve been working on a really big project (I estimate this long fic to be at least 100k words long lol) and I’m really excited to share it with yall!! my favourite tag so far is “lovers to strangers to enemies to friends to coparents to lovers” 🥰🫶🏻 in the spirit of consistency I’m hoping to at least write about ~5 chapters during nanowrimo so I can have a semblance of an updating schedule, but let me know your thoughts on (i) longer vs shorter chapters (the good old days of writing 12k word chapters…) and (ii) crumbs 🩵🩵✨✨