#For those unfamiliar with this I feel like it’s important to clarify there was never some betrayal twist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

no-droids · 4 years

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Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

“But… But I was supposed to—”

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

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

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

This is humiliating.

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

Of course. Master.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure I—”

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

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

“Why is the girl here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obi-Wan stops dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

You’re furious.

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

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

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

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

Regardless of what he may believe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he turns around and leaves.

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

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

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh. Oh, no, this is dangerous.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You jerk back comically. “She said that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why? Why aren’t you protesting more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly. “Uh. I guess. Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally. Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave. “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars. He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

#obi-wan kenobi x you #Obi-wan Kenobi X Reader #obi-wan X reader #obi-wan x you #fanfic #self insert #no-droids

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missmentelle · 4 years

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How do I know if I'm burnt out and what are signs of being burnt out? In relation to both university and work?

Unfortunately, burnout is a very common problem among both university students and people in high-stress jobs. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, “burnout” is effectively where people reach a breaking point after being in a high-stress occupation (like a demanding academic program or a high-pressure career) for too long. Being “burnt out” is not an official diagnosis, and you won’t find it in the ICD-11 or the DSM-V. But it’s something that an increasing number of people are experiencing every year.

Not everyone is at equal risk of experiencing burnout - many students and workers never really deal with this. Factors that put you at high risk of burnout include:

Having poor work-life balance. If you spend huge portions of your time working - working through weekends, doing tons of overtime, working late, not taking vacation, working through lunch - you are at high risk of burnout. Humans need rest, relaxation, hobbies and time with friends, and when you sacrifice those things for work, it will eventually take a toll.

Having very little control over your day-to-day tasks. No one has perfect control over their daily work tasks - not even the self-employed - but having some element of control is important. If you have a say in things like when to schedule meetings, when to book client appointments and which task you are going to work on when, you have a lower risk of burnout than someone whose tasks tend to just be dictated to them.

Having perfectionist traits or holding yourself to very high standards. People who experience burnout tend to be overachievers. They constantly try to go above and beyond because they put immense pressure on themselves to do their best work at all times. If you’re the kind of person who beats yourself up over getting an A- instead of an A and makes a point to be the last one out of the office every day, you are at risk of burnout.

Having a dysfunctional work or school environment. Is your workplace plagued with bullies and office gossip? Do your lab members take pleasure in ripping each other’s research and writing to shreds, without really being constructive about it? Does your boss take their bad moods out on the rest of the office, even when you haven’t done anything wrong? A dysfunctional workplace creates burned-out employees.

Having unclear instructions or directions. It is extremely difficult to be in a work environment where you are expected to do be productive, but you aren’t given clear expectations, a clear list of tasks or instructions for how those tasks should actually be performed. It leaves you constantly feeling like your work isn’t good enough and isn’t done properly, without actually giving you a route to improve; you often end up working twice as hard to get half as much done, which is a recipe for burnout.

Working in a helping profession. Nurses, social workers, therapists, paramedics, psychologists, caregivers and caseworkers have some of the highest burnout rates of any profession. These jobs often combine long hours and low pay with incredibly stressful work environments, and burnout is a huge problem.

Burnout is more than just feeling tired or bored of what you do. It’s a state of complete and total exhaustion. Putting more energy into your job isn’t possible when you reach that point - you have nothing left to give. “Burnout” isn’t an official diagnosis, but it is a fitting description - trying to push through burnout is like trying to re-light a candle that has already burned all the way down to the bottom. It’s just not going to happen.

Some signs that you’ve reached the point of burnout include:

Your performance is suffering. You can’t keep going full steam ahead when you’re running on fumes. When you’re burnt out, your work performance will one of the first things that starts to slip - you may find that you are missing deadlines, forgetting things, half-assing tasks and making careless mistakes.

You constantly feel drained. Burnout is a perpetual state of exhaustion. You’ll start to feel like you just don’t have the energy to do everything that you’re supposed to do. You’ll find that you feel tired all the time, regardless of your sleeping habits, and that just forcing yourself to do the bare minimum leaves you feeling totally depleted and unable to do much else.

You feel disconnected and cynical toward your work. Even if you once enjoyed your work or felt passionate about it, when you’re burnt out, you become disillusioned with what you do. You may find that you’re cynical about your work, or just so apathetic that you can’t bring yourself to care about it anymore, even when you accomplish things that once mattered to you.

You can’t concentrate. Burnout can make it difficult - if not impossible - for even the most dedicated person to focus on their tasks. You might find that you spend a lot of time just sitting in front of your computer, unable to even start tasks because you can’t focus well enough to begin something.

You have become irritable and short-tempered. People who are burnt out have a tendency to become impatient with the people around them. When you’re running on empty, you have no energy left for social interactions. You might find that you’re snapping at coworkers or getting visibly frustrated with clients if you work in a helping profession.

You feel anxious. Burnout is often accompanied by feelings of indistinct dread that you just can’t seem to shake. The fear and anxiety is often tied to work, and can be completely overwhelming.

You can’t sleep. Ironically, people with burnout often have a hard time sleeping. Their minds race all night, and they find that they cannot settle down or get comfortable enough to drift off. If you can sleep, you may find that you are only able to sleep in short bursts and cannot sleep through a full night.

Your eating habits have changed. Some people experiencing burnout find that they lose their appetites. Others find that they begin to comfort themselves with food. Significant changes in appetite and food intake can signal a serious problem.

You feel physically ill. Being under high amounts of stress for long periods of time can destroy your health - you might find that you have a lot of symptoms with no direct physical cause, like headaches, stomach pain, nausea and body aches. You might also find that you get sick more often and get more infections as the stress wears down your immune system.

You feel like you have to drag yourself through the day. Even if you once enjoyed your job or your school, you might start to feel like even showing up is a huge chore, and dread having to go in. You might find that it takes all of your energy to even make it through the front door each day.

The good news is that burnout is not a permanent state; there are things you can do to recover. However, recovering from burnout is not necessarily easy - this is not something you can quick-fix with a self-help book, and you may need to make significant lifestyle changes. Some things you can do to fix or prevent burnout include:

Set firm boundaries. If possible, stop taking work home. Stop signing up for extra shifts and overtime every time it’s available. Don’t volunteer to organize every single office party and baby shower. Stop answering work emails after 5pm. Don’t check your email on the weekends. Don’t respond to emails on vacation. Set firm boundaries between “work time” and “me time” - especially if you work from home, where it’s easier for work and life to bleed together.

Use every minute of your paid time off. A lot of people just don’t use up all their PTO every year because they’re worried they’re letting the company down by taking vacation. Stop that. If you have vacation days, use them. Use your sick time too - if you don’t get sick that often, use them as mental health days. If you’re a student, ask professors for extensions when you’re sick - more and more professors are getting on board with cutting students some slack for life events.

Unplug from productivity culture. Our culture has a pathological obsession with productivity, and it’s killing us. We consume books and blogs and podcasts about how to squeeze as much productivity out of ourselves as possible. It has to stop. Unsubscribe from this kind of content. You don’t need to put more pressure on yourself to optimize and monetize every second of your day - it’s not healthy.

Seek support. Talk to a therapist, a doctor or a friend. Get professional help or just find people you can vent to. Try to form friendships with some of your coworkers or fellow students, especially if you work in the helping professions - they know better than anyone what you are going through.

Prioritize your physical health. When you neglect your physical health, you are more likely to burn out - you run out of fuel faster when you have less in the tank to begin with. Prioritize eating healthy meals and getting all the nutrients you need. Make a habit of exercising. Practice good sleep hygiene and try to improve your sleep.

Talk to your supervisor, advisor or boss. Are there things about your specific work or school environment that could be improved for you? Could you be transferred to a new team? Do your roles and responsibilities need to be clarified so you know exactly what is expected of you? Do you need additional training to do your job well? Are you dealing with harassment that could be reported to HR? See what can be fixed.

Consider a change. Sometimes you just need a change of pace after a while. Many social workers, for instance, eventually leave the profession - a lot of people simply have a lifetime limit on how long they can do that kind of work before they need to switch to something that doesn’t involve human horror every day. If burnout is a consistent problem, it might be time to think about taking a leave of absence, changing to a different role, or switching careers altogether.

Hope this answers your question! MM

#Anonymous #AnsweredByMM

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years

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Comte’s One More Wedding Event (full release)that should have just came out in Japanese Version. Could you translate it or summarize it, please? Thank you for your time.

I can't believe you want to give me this kind of power, but if you insist 😂💛

That being said, because my translation skills are rough at best, I'll be summarizing and selecting specific parts to discuss if I feel a need to quote directly.

If you don't want spoilers for Comte ES, run!

Y'all. Y'ALL. REEEEEEEEE I LOVE HIM. NOBODY LOOK AT ME I'VE BEEN CRYING ON AND OFF FOR DAYS

ANYWAY

So this particular event begins with MC bringing Comte a letter as he thanks her. One glance at the return address tells him that it's a pureblood gathering invitation, and upon opening it he's right. He shrugs it off and says he'll reply to it later, setting it aside.

MC, perceptive as ever, asks if he's declining the invitation. Comte explains the nature of the party and how only purebloods are allowed to end. Furthermore, the gathering takes place on their first wedding anniversary--and he would much prefer to spend the day with her.

Comte: “MC, any gorgeous evening party–no matter how beautiful–means nothing to me without my wife at my side. The place I belong is with you.”

MC: “Er…”

His gold eyes are steady and unwavering as he looks at me, and my heart skips a beat.

Comte: “Anywho I have no intention of attending this party, as it also overlaps with the date of our anniversary. Our first wedding anniversary is an important day, and I want to spend it with my beloved wife.”

Comte smiles winningly, all while staring straight at me.

MC, however, finds herself conflicted. Given how little she knows about purebloods, she wishes she could attend the party to better understand him and the community he's a part of. She admits this, to Comte's great surprise, but feels bad about it because she doesn't mean to ask something impossible of him. (One of the requirements of the party is that you have to be a pureblood vampire to be invited. ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK) Comte clarifies that--because she's his wife--she's welcome to attend alongside him. He offers to take her with him if that's what she wants.

MC: “Are you really sure it’s okay for me to go, though?”

Comte: “Certainly. But I would never force you if you were uncomfortable, of course.”

MC: “No, I don’t hate the idea!”

Comte: “But I’d understand if being surrounded by purebloods would be rather nerve-wracking for you…And so many of them have a superiority complex a mile wide; they’re a prideful bunch. While it may not be all of us, there are enough that it might be stifling for you to be around them.”

Comte: “In light of all that, are you certain you still wish to go?”

[I know he’s just doing his best to prepare me for what I might face at a party like this--he doesn’t want me going in with the wrong idea. It’s very likely he had intended to decline the invitation to spare me the discomfort, and the burden of making a choice that would affect/limit him too. The concern in his features makes me melt.]

The part I love most about this scene is that this is just the beginning of so many attempts on his part to prepare her realistically, but also support her decision. As much as he wants to go with her he's never going to put her in the position of deciding for the both of them. He knows there's a great deal of pressure to face among such a forbidding/traditional society, and if she needs more time to prepare for that--he wants to give her the space to get used to something so unfamiliar. In truth, I don't see him ever asking her to go if she didn't want to--even if it stung to have that part of him rejected...

MC considers for a moment, but she's resolved to understand him and his people better. She explains as much, and Comte brightens at the confession.

MC: “I’m sorry if it’s a bit much to ask of you, but thank you…!”

Comte: “I should be the one thanking you, now I look forward to the gathering.”

MC: “You’re…looking forward to it?”

When I tilt my head quizzically, le Comte draws me close with a faint smile on his lips.

Comte: “I’m excited to introduce you as my wife.” (SCREAMS AND CRIES)

This gets INSANELY cute because he gathers her close to him and she just gets very bashful about it. She apologizes--saying she knows she should be more used to it given they've already been married a year now, but his response is so sweet: “Why apologize? I’ve always thought my wife is the cutest.”

They both think back to their wedding ceremony at the mention of how long they've been together, and MC's eyes find the flower pins she gifted him on top of his hourglass (which fking one he has like 300).

Some background for anyone unaware: when Comte and MC got married, MC gifted him these flower pins--they were flowers that were preserved (in metal I think? idk exactly how it works they just look metallic in his outfit art). She explains that they're an attempt to symbolize her love for him, in that she intends to remain unchanging in her feelings forever. I find it's also an apt metaphor for MC herself; it's not unlike her agreement to become a vampire to stay with him.

MC: “You’ve been taking good care of the flowers I gave you.”

Right next to the hourglass lie the preserved flowers I gave him. They gleam in the light with ease, clearly polished and looked after–not a speck of dust on them.

Comte: “With those you swore your love to me. Isn’t it only natural that I’d take good care of them?” (LISTEN COMTE YOU AND I BOTH KNOW THE REALITY OF THE MALE SPECIES QUIT PLAYIN)

After that scene there's a timeskip to the night of the party--and after everyone celebrates their anniversary in the mansion all day--they hop in a carriage. MC is a little lost in thought, preparing herself for what's to come. When he asks if she's nervous she fully admits to it, but with a caveat. She's nervous because she doesn't know what to expect and she's concerned about committing a social faux pas, but she's not afraid or anxious.

Before I came to this time I had absolutely no concept of what an elaborate dinner party looked like–and besides which, this time it’s going to be a room full of purebloods. I’m nervous, sure, because I’ve never done this before--but it’s not quite anxiety or fear.

MC: “As long as you’re beside me, I’m invincible–anytime, anywhere.”

I can navigate anything: unfamiliar social circles, even an entirely new era of time. Because Comte is always so steady and reliable, always there for me, my anxiety ebbs and I can shine–be the very best I can be.

Comte: “MC…”

Comte looks absolutely moved by what I have to say, directing a gentle, tender look at me.

Comte reiterates his previous warning, that they might be weirdos and/or rude because they're stuck in their ways. He knows their discriminatory nature is wrong, but he believes in her ability to overcome those things--and fully intends to support her. He also lets her know what to expect in terms of the schedule: mostly mingling, and dancing is reserved for the very end of the party only.

Gatsby hour begins and MC marvels at the enormous venue sparsely populated by people dressed to the nines (I can only imagine how Comte dressed her up for this event in light of that LMFAO). Comte tells her he's going to get some drinks, and MC agrees to wait for him. In a classic lowkey queen move, she retreats against a nearby wall to take in her surroundings. She feels a certain intensity to be surrounded by people who look so young and beautiful, and yet carry the experience of lifetimes within them. She also notes the slightest permeating scent of blood in the air, assuming most of the people in attendance are drinking Rouge in their wine glasses.

When Comte returns to her, he offers her a glass of red wine, and she takes it with a smile.

MEAN GIRLS TIME!!!!!

So these two ladies approach le Comte yelling about how long it's been since they've seen him, and about the rumors that he got married. Without missing a beat he confirms it's true, and introduces MC to them as his wife. MC offers a greeting and a curtsy, but the women openly spurn her because she's not a vampire lmao. ("Who put you on the planet" energy, essentially). I still can't tell if they were acting like insane mother-in-laws on Comte's behalf, or out of jealousy--or weirdly both.

All casual dismissal, the women sashay away from us, dresses swishing.

[It seems like I really won’t be accepted as Comte’s life partner so long as I remain human…]

Comte: “…I’m sorry. I’m afraid that is the usual attitude of pureblood vampires. Not all of us are like that, but they still made you feel uncomfortable ;;;;”

MC: “That’s not something to apologize for. I’m happy to attend such a lovely party as your wife.”

I don’t want to ruin the occasion for him, so I beam at him.

Comte: “MC…” His lips descend close to my ear, pressing the lightest kiss against it.

Comte: “Thank you, MC…I’m happy, too.”

While Comte is full of uwus and love for his wife, she notes he stops there--likely because it's a public venue. (And I'd wager respectability politics, given a lot of old school people tend to say horrible things at the slightest sign of PDA lol. It would give them all the more reason to be nasty to MC.) MC notes that no matter how small the gesture or how often he extends his affection, it always sets her heart racing (what a damn mood) and they both gear up to greet everyone else. They're both like ganbatte!!! at each other and it's really cute, haha.

[No matter how many times he does things like this, I’m always caught off guard. I imagine we’ll be this way forever…]

Comte: “Here we go, the party’s only just begun. Let’s get to it and enjoy ourselves. No need to hesitate, it’s our wedding anniversary after all–this is a time for you to smile.”

MC: “Haha, thank you very much! Then I’ll definitely enjoy it to the fullest!”

We continue to greet and chat with other purebloods, the night goes on while I sample some of their food–

At some point MC separates from Comte to use the restroom. When she exits to rejoin the crowd, she hears the voices of those two women that openly rejected her earlier. They basically talk about how Comte and MC will never last or have a meaningful relationship, and that Comte is wasting his time not breeding more master race pureblood babies for the community's future. (Not remotely surprised Leonardo does not like them at this juncture lmao)

While MC was well aware she'd face some level of disdain, she admits that it still hurts to hear--and doesn't want Comte to see her upset. So she walks out to a nearby balcony to look at the stars and cool off before returning to his side.

Comte: “MC.”

MC: “Eh…? Comte, when did you get here?”

Comte: “You hadn’t returned for a while, so I went looking for you.”

MC: “Ah, I’m sorry to worry you. The stars were so lovely I couldn’t help but linger a bit to enjoy the sight of them.”

When I try to hide my gloomy feelings, he stares at me.

Comte: “You seem upset all of a sudden. Did something happen? Did someone…say something to you, by any chance?”

MC: “Ah, I can’t hide from you it seems. I guess I am a little upset.”

Comte: “…”

Comte: “MC, do you regret marrying me?”

MC: “!”

MC: “That’s not the case at all. No matter what finds us in the future, I’ll never regret having married you. I’m glad I met you, Abel–that will never change…”

When I tell him my heartfelt feelings, he gently wraps his arms around me.

Comte: “…Me too, MC.” The voice that murmurs at my ear is filled with such ardor that my heart melts.

Comte: “It might have been too much to ask of you to come here. But no matter how difficult the truth may be, it’s an undeniable fact that I’m a pureblood.”

Comte: “I was so happy that you wanted to know more about me–to know me better–that I was spoiled by your words. And yet, as a result of that indulgence, I hurt you…”

MC: “…No. That’s not it. Abel, I’m not familiar with vampires. But this last year, I was with a pureblood who’s kinder than anyone else I know.”

I have no innate fear or dislike of purebloods–because the person I love more than anyone else in the world is a pureblood vampire.

MC: “That’s why I’m not afraid, or dreading any of this.” It might seem outlandish, but his presence was like magic; it was enough to give me the strength to have courage and find kindness for the people around me.

MC: “No matter who stands in my way in the future, I will do my best to be recognized as your partner someday. Didn't I tell you before? I'm invincible anytime, anywhere, as long as you're there with me!”

Upon hearing her resolve to stay with him, he feels the need to renew his vow to her too--telling her that he'll always love her as well, and that his feelings have only grown since then. One important bit to note in his confession is that he fully admits he had a hard time coming to term with what he was, he's only a little more accepting of being a pureblood because her existence redefines what an eternity means to him. He explains that, while no end of time used to be an upsetting and hollow concept to him, the fact that his long life will be spent cultivating his love for her gives him the strength to face his reality.

They kiss and MC acknowledges that life--no matter how long--always has its ups and downs. Sometimes there will be rough times, like when those Mean Girls women were actively nasty and unfair to her. And sometimes there will be joyous times, like how Comte just repeated his vow to her so sweetly. But more than anything, it's important to live in the present moment as fully as possible, and she deepens her kiss with Comte accordingly.

After what I assume to be an excellent make out, they return to the venue and rejoin the group of vampires. Now then, because it's Comte and Comte refuses to take any shit he reveals his ace in the hand. Premeditated and all cunning expectation, the show begins:

After reaffirming our feelings for the other, we return to the hall. When we wandered around to greet people today, there were also vampires who were kind to me. For those that remain perturbed by my presence, they continue to sneer at me as though I were an eyesore.

[I don’t care. Comte’s by my side…]

Comte: “…That’s right, MC. There was one thing I forgot to mention.”

MC: “Huh?”

Comte: “A short while ago, you said something about doing your best to earn their approval. I wouldn’t even worry about it, you’re perfect just as you are. Everyone here just doesn’t have the slightest inkling as to your charms yet. For those with the ability to see, feel free to show them as many times as you like.”

MC: “Comte…”

At that very moment, a waltz begins to flow into the hall.

Comte: “Oh, is it time to dance already? MC, shall we?” (Oh Is It TiMe To DaNcE aLrEaDy, damn clown)

MC: “Yes.”

In time with the melody, we begin to waltz together. When I'd first arrived to this era, the steps and the dance itself were unfamiliar to me. Now when I dance with Comte it’s nearly effortless–natural as breathing.

[Comte has taken me to so many evening parties at this point. Thanks to his impeccable leading any uncertainty in my step is elegantly disguised.]

Comte: “MC.”

As we danced, he called my name--crooned it softly.

Comte: “…Have you noticed? Everyone is watching us.”

At the sound of this new information, I look around.

[Oh, it’s true–everyone really is looking at us…]

And it’s not like before, tinged with displeasure and contempt. It’s like they can’t look away from us now, dazzled and intrigued.

MC: “Makes sense–you’ve always been a very graceful dancer, Comte, it’s impossible not to find it captivating.”

Comte: “No. Without you as my partner, I can’t enjoy it nearly as much as I do now.”

He grins as he says so, the sentiment reflected in his buoyant step. Beautiful, noble…and above all, lively. Even though I’m always by his side, I remain endlessly captivated by that smile and movement.

Comte: “We are more in tune with each other than every other pair here, don’t you think?”

MC: “Haha, that’s right!”

I think le Comte is lovely no matter who he’s dancing with, but I’m sure I’m the one who gets along with him best–I think so, because his golden eyes reflect no one else but me.

[No matter what anyone says…I won’t give up this position to anyone else.]

When the song is over, and the dance is finished, the hall is filled with the raucous sound of applause and cheering. All these people are looking at us and their eyes are shining.

[I wonder…if maybe our feelings for each other were transmitted more clearly after that dance? The mere thought of it makes me feel ticklish and delighted.]

After their lovely display, the Mean Girls ladies approach MC to apologize as everybody is leaving for the night. MC accepts their apologies and says she wants to find a way to get along with them moving forward, though they're still pretty reluctant (probably only apologized to save face).

Differences in lifestyle and family tradition...I think there are many reasons why they can’t accept me. I don’t think it’s easy to understand the breadth of the gap between us; I’m sure I’ll need more time to be able to bridge those differences.

[I don’t know the way of life or struggle of the pureblood people yet. But…I want to understand.]

Even if we are endlessly different, I don’t want to give up on finding some sort of compromise. Next to me, le Comte smiles silently. For the foreseeable future--as long as it may take--I want to prove that I can make this person happy.

I deadass can't stop laughing at the fact of Comte standing next to MC all :)))))) (y'all he is emitting BOSS M U S I C)

After that, Comte and MC also head into their carriage and head home:

Comte: “MC, thank you.”

Le Comte remarks on the way home in the carriage.

MC: “…? I haven’t done anything worth thanks.”

Comte: “For today, for coming with me. And--up until now and from now on--for being by my side. I wanted to thank you again.”

He leans over from where he sits next to me and entwines our fingers together.

MC: “…Abel?”

Comte: “…Today is not just the day of the party, but our wedding anniversary too, right? From here on out, it’s time for only us two to be together.”

This is essentially where the premium story ends, and then it moves into the epilogue. I'll give some tidbits from the epilogue, just because it was so endlessly gratifying. Other than them having the smash of the century, it's mostly Comte going overstimulation feral service top. But there are so many really romantic moments during the shameless fking ;-;

The more he kisses me, the more my need for him spirals out of control. As if to entice him I twist my tongue with his deeper and deeper.

Comte: “MC…”

He exhales my name on a single heated syllable, and I can tell by the way he’s looking at me precisely what it is he wants.

Comte: “MC, what do you want to do…? I want to make you happy tonight. Do you want me to be kind? Or take you with reckless abandon?”

MC: “Abel…please do as you like. That’s what would make me happiest. :>”

Comte: “…I see. So you want to be made a mess of, is what you mean.”

MC: “Mn, aah–”

When his hands trace my sides seductively, my sensitive body reacts on it’s own.

Comte: “…You’re really cute, MC. Tonight, I’ll remind you the joy of being mine again.”

---

Comte: “Always so sensitive. Just the slightest touch, and you cry out with such a sweet voice…”

MC: “Well, it is your fault…”

[Because if Abel touches me like that…He spoils me and leaves me in an endless sea of pleasure, building up to that crest–fading–and building up again…because he loves me so dearly.]

Comte: “My fault, is it?…I like the sound of that.”

With a bewitching smile, he makes short work of his tie and button down. Even the most casual gestures like this are done with such grace that it becomes sensual. I’m drawn to the sight of him revealing more and more of his skin, thinking he’s far too much of a tease.

Comte: “…If you look at me with such desirous, greedy eyes, I’m going to lose control myself, MC.”

----

MC: “I…all I do is take from you…” I’m embarrassed because I’m so inexperienced that all I do is drown in the pleasure he gives me.

Comte: “…If you really think so, then you’re too unaware.”

MC: “Mn–ah, hah…”

Comte: “I’m the one who can’t stop wanting you…MC.”

When he leans over to murmur in my ear, his voice is suffused with desire–breathing shallow. From the gap between his lips, I can see the fangs which have never broken my skin…

MC: “Abel…do you want to bite me?”

If the answer is yes, then I’d be delighted. A vampire’s hunger for blood is often tied to romantic feeling. If he wants to suck my blood, then that’s all the more evidence that he loves me.

Comte: “That’s right. I want to sink my fangs into your soft skin…To taste your blood, to know your body and soul--I want to make every part of you mine.”

MC: “Mn…”

He drops a kiss to my throat, tickled by his tongue as he licks there–as if to taste me.

Comte: “But…”

Only I am reflected in his eyes.

Comte: “The only thing I want more than biting you is to take good care of you. I don’t want to impulsively take anything from you.”

MC: “Abel…”

....

Comte: “Someday…I will make you into a vampire. But, right now, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”

The heat of him coupled by that serious look...my heart is swept away.

Comte: “So…can you bear with my hesitation for just a little while longer?”

MC: “Yes…forever. I’ll always be yours.” I replied, wrapping my arms around his back. He squinted, as if he were staring at something dazzling.

Comte: “I’m always hesitating, but…MC. I will absolutely never let you go. I swear my love to you forever, my dear wife.”

----

The last part of the epilogue is confusing because I'm not sure if it's intended to be an actual dream or Comte just messing with her, but here goes:

[Morning already…?]

At the sensation of sunlight, I open my eyes.

MC: “Eh!?”

Comte: “Are you up, MC? The defenseless face you make when you’re asleep is adorable, but when you open your eyes and look at me that’s also lovely.”

He was lying in bed, unlike last night, wearing the same outfit he had on for our wedding.

[Ah, I’m most likely dreaming.] When I realize it, I get a ticklish feeling in my chest and can’t help the smile that finds my face.

MC: “Haha…”

Comte: “MC? What’s wrong?”

MC: “No, I was just thinking you really will always be by my side. I’m glad to see you in my dreams like this…I’m happy.”

Comte: “…Haha, that’s right. I’m happy too. But…it’s not always a dream right?”

MC: “Er…”

His voice easily makes my heart flutter, like sweet sake.

Comte: “Would you like to see if it’s a dream? …Once again, with your body.”

My heart thunders under his sultry gaze, covetous gold eyes beckoning me closer. (COME HITHER FUCK)

MC: “Yes, Abel. As many times as you like…take me.”

I know dream-like, impossibly happy days will continue as long as I stay by his side–

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is so much going on here that I don't even know how to encompass all my feelings other than to say MARRIED COUPLE G O A L S. AAAAAAAAA I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE'S SUCH A DOTING HUSBAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PUT A RING ON ME S I R

I really love the endless reciprocity coming from MC, lmao. She very openly wants to respond to his efforts, wants to make him happy too, is just as desirous in their coupling. I also love how much personality and spunk she has??? I was fucking d y i n g when she was like:

MC: "Aren't the stars so nice." Comte: "Adorable that you'd try to out-fake the king faker. What really happened." MC: "Damn it."

It's been a long time since I've gotten this much serotonin from a story m a nnnnnn

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp jpn spoilers #can't believe mc defeated pureblood regina george #what a time to be alive folks #god this event is going to give me cavities #im so fucking softe #the way he just loves and supports her in such a steadfast and lowkey way #though i will admit it was a little hilarious watching this event because i was so like 'lmao is that the best you got'#i grew up with rich suburban white girls what do i care im too busy eating shrimp #GOD and the fangy part #swear to god every single time he gets fangy i just ascend #fingers crossed his fifth bday event will be him turning her IM BEGGING CRYBIRD #thanks for this request!!! hope this all makes sense #always welcome <3 #at this point i have to wonder if there is a different writer for some of comte's stories bc yeesh #h e l p comte is too powerful...#rambles #not incorrect quotes #yall when he asks if mc regrets marrying him i swear to god my heart just stopped in my chest #BABY NO?????? MY GOD?????? YOU ARE LITERALLY MY DREAM HUSBAND?????? STOP???????

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spine-buster · 3 years

Text

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | two

A/N: Thank you guys for all the positive feedback on Part One! I’m so happy you guys are enjoying the series thus far.

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

* * * * *

Brock Boeser was intoxicated by the feel of Grace’s lips. It was all he could think about and all he could feel every time he was alone and closed his eyes. Well, that was a lie – that wasn’t all he felt. Sometimes he could feel the weight of Grace’s body on his lap, like when they would make out like teenagers on each other’s couches after hanging out or before hanging out or during hanging out – any time, really. Sometimes he could feel her long hair sprawled across his chest from when they lay in bed together. Sometimes he could hear her giggle or see her smile or hear her voice being the kindest, most polite and gentle person on planet Earth to everyone and anyone she’d meet.

For what it was worth, Grace Gillespie was intoxicated by the feel of Brock’s body. It was all she could think about every time she was alone, and she found herself dreaming about the next time she’d be able to feel it. His strong arms with his toned biceps; his abs, defined by a work schedule and sport that took up most of his time; his thick thighs…but what she loved most had to be his back. It was weird for her to say, but it was. It was the definition – she could see every muscle. She could trace every bump with her fingertips and make him shiver. The entirety, all of him, was just so…beautiful.

It was Grace who had inadvertently given it away, so to speak – them seeing each other – when she uploaded a story of herself at the Canucks season opener. The rumours started in no time. The story was screen-recorded and posted on every blog imaginable because Brock Boeser was, well, Brock Boeser. He was hot, and nice, and sweet, and every girl in Vancouver with even just a passing interest in hockey wanted to hook up with him. It was also compounded by the fact that in the 90s the Gillespie’s put in a bid to own the Canucks. Grace just tuned it all out. Brock Boeser Dating a Billionaire’s Daughter! Those who loved alliteration must have loved the headlines. In any case, there were more important things to worry about, and more important things to dedicate her time to.

Grace was at work when she got a call from Brock. That meant the team flight had landed and he was probably still at the airport or had just gotten into his apartment. She liked how her heart skipped a beat whenever he called. “D’you want to meet some of my friends?”

That question took her for a loop. “Who?”

“My friend Elias, but we call him Petey.”

“You mean Elias Pettersson?” she clarified.

“Yeah,” he giggled slightly. “He’s been fancying himself a chef lately. He lives with his best friend Svea. He wants us over for dinner.”

“Is he making Swedish food?”

“Don’t know. I’ll confirm with him. But is that a yes?”

“Well, if he’s cooking…”

***

“You told her what?”

“Petey—”

“Boes, I can’t fucking cook!” Elias exclaimed once it dawned on him what Brock had just done. “Why would you invite her here?!”

“I wasn’t thinking—”

“Clearly not!”

“What’s all the commotion?” Svea asked as she emerged from “her side” of the apartment, hearing the screaming between the two men. It wasn’t exactly new, to hear Brock and Elias screaming at each other, but it was usually over video games. This sounded like something different.

“Brock just invited his new girlfriend over to our place for dinner,” Elias huffed.

Svea furrowed her brows. “What’s wrong with that? We’ve been wanting to meet her for a long time, Elias.”

“Brock said I’d be cooking,” Elias deadpanned.

Svea turned to Brock with an emotionless look on her face. “Are you dumb?!” she exclaimed.

“Sveeeeeeaaaaaaaa,” Brock pleaded, his hands clasped together, about to get on his hands and knees in front of her.

“You need to fix this Svea. I can’t – I can’t – I can barely even boil an egg! What made you think I’d be able to cook a dinner to impress a girl I’m not even trying to impress?!” Elias demanded.

“Shut it, the both of you,” Svea said sternly, raising her hands slightly. “When is she coming here?”

“Saturday night, after our game against Toronto.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m going to make sausage stroganoff. You better bring me a good bottle of wine,” she glared at Brock, “and you better go to the Swedish bakery to get the good Swedish sausage,” she directed towards Elias.

Brock fell down to his knees. “Thank you Svea. Thank you thank you thank you.”

“Yeah yeah,” she waved them off. “Now if you’re going to play video games, keep your voices down. I’m studying.”

When he heard her shut the door to the den, Brock looked at Elias. “When are you gonna marry her?”

Elias huffed. “She’s my best friend, Brock.”

***

“So they’re best friends from Sweden,” Grace wanted to make sure she got everything right before she met Elias Pettersson and Svea Nilsson for the first time. “But you’re saying they’re in love with one another and don’t know it?”

“Exactly,” Brock nodded his head. “You’ll see it within, like, a minute of meeting them. They’re just…I don’t know, dumb.”

Grace giggled slightly as Brock pressed the number for Elias’s floor in the elevator. The doors shut and soon they were speeding up. “Does anyone else on your team know about us?”

“Some of the guys I’m closer with do,” Brock said. “Troy, Thatcher, Marky…they all know about you. Do your friends know about me?”

Grace snorted. “I told them about you after that first night at Starbucks.”

Brock laughed, leaning down to give her a quick kiss. “That eager, eh?”

“When you know, you know,” Grace said. “You know, don’t you?”

Brock nodded. “I know.”

That was the beauty of what they had going. They just fell in to everything. There was Starbucks, then there was exchanging of their numbers, then there were texts back and forth, and phone conversations, and the rush of everything else. It was quick but it was organic. Nothing was rushed. They were going at the pace they wanted to go. There wasn’t even a heart-to-heart sit down or discussion about “where they stand relationship-wise” or “Am I into this more than you?”. It was just…understood. They knew. They were exclusive. Neither was seeing anybody else. Neither wanted to see anybody else. It was what Grace knew a healthy relationship should blossom into. It was what Brock knew he wanted from another person.

Elias opened the door to the apartment, greeting Grace sweetly before walking them in to the kitchen and dining room, where the table had already been set – no doubt done by Svea, too. Grace noticed that Svea, the roommate, was the one cooking instead of Elias, and she was absolutely mortified. She made sure to make her way into the kitchen once Brock punched Elias in the gut about something.

“Hi I’m Svea,” Svea introduced herself sweetly as she was whisking a sauce in a deep saucepan. She had on an apron and everything. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’m sorry that I look like a mess right now.”

“I’m so sorry – Brock said Elias was cooking tonight because he fancied himself a chef – I didn’t want to put any pressure on you—”

“Oh no no no! Don’t worry!” Svea waved her off. “God, are you kidding? I wouldn’t want Elias to make you anything. He might give you food poisoning.”

Grace giggled. “So what’s on the menu tonight, anyway?”

“Sausage stronganoff,” Svea replied. “It’s a Swedish dish. Elias’s favourite, actually. I thought I should make you Swedish food. You’re not vegetarian, are you?”

“No,” Grace said, smiling from ear to ear. “Sounds delicious.”

***

“They’re definitely in love,” Grace said once she and Brock walked out of the front doors of Elias’s condo building. Brock turned towards her dramatically, his eyebrows raised, about to throw his arms up in the air. “It’s so obvious. So obvious.”

“I told you!” he exclaimed.

“Why aren’t they dating yet?” she asked.

“Beats the shit out of me,” Brock said, shaking his head. “But they’re meant to be together. It’ll happen eventually. I just don’t want to wait until I’m, like, forty to see it.”

Grace smiled, and there was a moment of silence between the two as they walked along the street. “Can I ask you a question? About things happening eventually?”

“Sure…”

“D’you want to meet my dad?”

The words hung in the air as Brock considered the magnitude of what Grace was asking him. “You want me to meet your dad?”

Grace nodded. “I think he’ll really like you,” she began. “And my dad always, always wants to meet my boyfriends.”

“So you’ve had loads of other boyfriends?” he quipped.

Grace went to punch him in the gut, much like Elias did just hours earlier, but Brock dodged her easily and ended up grabbing her hand instead. “Of course I’ll meet your dad,” he said, softer this time, as he stepped into her personal space and wrapped his other arm around her body. “I’d love to.”

“Listen, I know I don’t have to warn you about what you’re gonna see when you get into the house, but—”

“Shhhh…” Brock cooed, bringing a finger up to her lips before leaning down to kiss her. “When you want me there?”

“How does Sunday Night Football sound?”

***

Brock had never seen such a beautiful modern mansion so big in his life. He’d trekked up to North Vancouver, to the address Grace gave him, and came face to face with a mansion overlooking the water. It was stunning. Fit for a billionaire, Brock thought. He wondered if Grace grew up in this house or if it was new. It looked new. And judging by its style –a bungalow – it was fit for someone who needed access to everything they needed on the same floor. Someone living with Parkinson’s, of course.

He rang the doorbell. After about a minute, the door opened and an unfamiliar face greeted him. “You must be Brock?” the woman asked, the door still only half-open.

“Yes ma’am.”

She opened the door fully. “I’m Angeline. I’m one of Mr. Gillespie’s caregivers,” she informed him, stepping aside so he could step into the massive foyer. Brock could hear the TV on in the distance and the clinking of some dishes in a faraway kitchen. “You’ll also meet Dana and Michelle, Mr. Gillespie’s others. He’s been expecting you. He’s been very excited to meet you.”

Brock slipped off his shoes, making sure not to drop the bottle of wine he brought (for reasons unknown; it wasn’t like Hamish could drink – it was just that him mom taught him never to show up to someone’s house empty-handed). “Oh, really?” he asked.

Angeline nodded her head. “He hasn’t been quiet about it since Grace said it to him. Plus, he’s a big Canucks fan. Let me bring you to him.”

Brock followed Angeline through the house until they got to the family room. It was massive, like everything else in the house, with lots of space. When he walked in, he saw Grace and Hamish. Their backs were to him, so he was able to observe them before they saw him. Grace was sitting right beside him in his chair, holding his hand as they paid attention to the football game just about to start on the screen. Grace was making some comment about the teams. Brock could see Hamish turn his head slowly to look at his daughter and nod. Everything about the set-up – Grace, Hamish, their positions, what was on TV, everything – reminded him of he and his dad. Even the handholding. Brock didn’t think he even held his dad’s hand as much when he was a kid out in public than he had the last few months – few years, really. Duke was really into the handholding. Brock could never, would never deny him.

Brock was soon snapped out of his trance by the sound of footsteps. One of the other caregivers walked right past him holding a plate of puréed food, bringing it to Grace. It was only then that Brock noticed the TV dinner table beside her. “She likes to feed him whenever she’s here,” Angeline said, noticing Brock’s staring. “If you need any help you can always call. We will be somewhere in the house,” she said before walking away.

Brock took a deep breath and walked towards Grace and Hamish. Upon hearing his footsteps, Grace looked his way. The smile on her face widened ten times over when she saw it was him. “Hi Brock,” she said softly, getting up from her seat quickly to greet him. She kissed him quickly behind her father’s back (quite literally) before moving and settling back into her chair. “Dad, Brock is here to meet you.”

Brock stepped into Hamish’s line of vision. So that he wouldn’t have to strain his neck to look up, Brock bent down on his knees. “Hi Hamish,” he held out his hand for a handshake. Slowly, Hamish’s hand came up to shake it. “It’s very nice to meet you. Grace has told me so much about you.”

“It’s…nice to…meet you…too,” he said, his words coming out slowly but surely. “You…like football?”

Brock smiled. “I love football.”

“Minnesota?”

“Minnesota.”

A smile crept onto Hamish’s face. “Good.”

***

Hamish wanted ice cream, so Grace got up and went to the kitchen, leaving him with Brock as they watched the football game together. Minnesota was winning, which made her dad pretty happy. And despite everything, she could tell he liked Brock. She knew he would – everybody liked Brock, he was the sweetest – but it made her happy knowing that he liked him. There were some ex-boyfriends of hers that he didn’t like. Some ex-boyfriends he straight-up disapproved of. Hamish had strong opinions and vocalized them always, and the Parkinson’s didn’t stop that. He didn’t create a three-billion-dollar company by being quiet.

When she finished putting the ice cream in the bowl, she began to head back to the family room. Dana stopped her momentarily to tell her that her dad’s bed was ready, whenever he was tired and needed to change into his pajamas. Grace thanked her, and before she could even step foot into the family room, she heard Brock’s voice. “Back straight, Mr. Gillespie. And let me get the straw.”

She stopped in her tracks so neither could see her. She watched from the side as Brock took the glass of water her dad had been drinking with dinner and brought it up to his lips, steadying the straw so it faced him. “Take your time, Mr. Gillespie. It’s alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Gillespie. I’m used to this. I’m not sure if Grace told you but my dad has Parkinson’s as well,” Brock said.

Hamish seemingly forgot about the water and straw. “He does?”

“Yes sir. And I help take care of him too, in the off-season. Just like Grace helps take care of you.”

Hamish brought a hand up slowly and placed it on Brock’s arm that was resting on the arm rest. “Does your father…ever speak…of his body…betraying him?”

Grace watched as Brock took a deep breath in. “All the time,” he nodded. “Ever since he got diagnosed.”

Hamish nodded slowly. “You and Grace…” he began, “taking care…of your parents. You’ll…you’ll look after one another.”

Brock nodded again, more assertively this time. “We will,” he said, bringing the water and straw closer to Hamish. He pursed his lips to start drinking, and Brock brought his other hand up to steady Hamish’s head and make sure it was as upright as possible. Hamish’s hand didn’t leave Brock’s forearm.

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miraculous-ninjabird · 3 years

Text

@ezlikessharks and I did another collab and this is my half of it!

You can find his half here

And the fic on AO3 here

Title: Communication

Rating: G there is 1 swear word but that’s it

Words: 1511

Kai+Nya+Lloyd sibling fluff

Lloyd isn’t really sure what he’s watching. Nya and Kai are sitting across from each other, and they seem to be communicating. Though it’s not any kind of communication that Lloyd is familiar with. There is lots of head tilting and subtle hand gestures. In addition to that, they are firing back and forth in a language that he was also unfamiliar with. If Lloyd didn’t know any better, he would have said they were using the Old Tongue. Except that was impossible because nobody spoke the Old Tongue anymore. Kai makes an aggressive gesture, and Nya throws her hands in the air.

“You take that back!” She huffs. Kai laughs.

“No way! I meant what I said. Totally true.”

Nya shoves her chair back and storms out of the room. When she pushes her way past Lloyd, he can hear her muttering about ‘good for nothing older brothers’. The whole time Kai is still cackling.

….What in the First Master’s name had he just witnessed?

Over the next week or so, Lloyd keeps one eye on the two of them. It turns out what he had witnessed wasn’t just a one off occurrence. Nya and Kai seemed to have a whole language worked out. He noticed that they actually seemed to use it the most on missions or during combat. That explained why they always seemed to be so in sync. All it took was a tilt of the head and a precise movement of the hand from Nya, and Kai was off. Or a single unfamiliar word combined with a sweeping wave has Nya leaping to Kai’s aid, working together like they are one person. The whole thing was very impressive. Lloyd couldn’t help but feel left out.

Why didn’t he know about this secret language? Wasn’t he part of their family too? That’s what Kai and Nya always told him anyways. So why did he feel like he was being excluded? Was he supposed to ask about it? Or was it something he was just supposed to figure out on his own? Or maybe it was so special to them they didn’t want to share it?

What to do, What to do? On one hand, he wanted to know what it was all about. Really, really badly. On the other hand, Lloyd didn’t want to intrude on something potentially private. He tended to steer clear of anything that could cause conflict between him and his siblings. The dynamic wasn’t new by any stretch of the imagination, but he still feared being too nosey could drive them away. That was the opposite of what he wanted.

Another two weeks pass, and Lloyd’s curiosity eventually wins out. At least partially. He runs a finger along the titles lining the shelves in Wu’s library, looking for something specific. It takes a while, but he does eventually find the book he is looking for. Plucking it from the shelf, he smiles. This should have some of the answers he’s looking for. With the intent to retreat to his room and study it, he tucks it under his arm. Just as he steps out the library door, Kai comes charging down the hall at full speed. Nya is hot on his tail.

“Out of my way!” Kai shrieks, attempting to skid to a halt. It’s no use. His socks get no traction on the polished wood floors and he slams right into Lloyd at full speed. The two of them go crashing to the ground in a heap. Lloyd’s book goes sailing right into Nya’s waiting grasp. Which would have been impressive except for the fact that Nya is also unable to stop in time and ends up tripping over the two of them. She lands heavily on his back and Lloyd lets out a gasp as all the air goes rushing out of his lungs.

“You know? We really should have better reflexes considering we’re all supposed to be ninja,” Kai mumbles.

“I caught the book. That has to count for at least something,” Nya counters.

“Yeah, but you’re still here on the floor so any points you earned from that are automatically deducted,”

“No way! That’s not how that works at all. Lloyd! Tell Kai I’m right!

“How about instead of that, you stop arguing and Get Off,” Lloyd grunts, struggling to catch his breath.

“Shit. Right.” Kai scrambles to his feet. He offers Lloyd a hand, which he gladly takes as soon as Nya lifts her weight off him.

“We didn’t think anybody would be over here. Sorry.” Nya grins sheepishly.

“I’m sure I can come up with a way for you to make it up to me,” Lloyd assures, dusting himself off. “Can I have my book back?”

“Oh, sure! What’s it for anyways?” Nya asks, handing it back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read anything that wasn’t a picture book.”

“First, that's offensive. They’re comic books. Not picture books. And second, I do too read book-books! It’s not my fault you never pay attention. This one is about the Old Tongue. I wanted to learn more about it” Lloyd puffs, trying to hide his embarrassment at getting ‘caught’. He’d just been curious to see if that was the language they were using. He wasn’t planning on telling them about his research. His siblings don’t seem to notice his internal struggle.

“The Old Tongue?” Kai perks up. “If you want to learn about that, Nya and I can help. We both speak it and I can guarantee learning from one of us will be way more interesting than whatever that book has to say.”

“Wait, you mean to tell me you actually know how to speak it?”

“Fluently,” Nya confirms. The book slips out of his hand, clattering to the floor. That was not what he was expecting to hear. Just because that was his theory didn’t mean he thought it would be true.

“Where in hell did you learn how to speak that?” He reaches down to collect the book. “I thought it was a dead language?”

“It’s not as dead as you might think. It’s not common, per say, but we grew up around enough people who spoke it that we both know it,” Nya explains. “In fact, it’s the first language I ever remember using.”

“When we were younger, we would use it to talk without others knowing what we were saying. But it was common enough the two of us ended up developing another, separate little system based on it instead.” Kai adds. Lloyd feigns surprise. This was his chance to ask about their secret language!

“You made up a secret sibling language?”

“Yeah! Would you like to learn?”

Lloyd’s heart soars, excitement coursing through his veins. Of course he wanted to learn!

“Yes!” He blurts a little too quickly. Kai raises a single eyebrow and heat rushes to his face. “I actually noticed something about a month ago. I wanted to ask you about it but it felt weird. I thought maybe it was private or something and I didn’t want to offend you or something. So I was going to try and watch you to figure it out on my own...that’s what the book was for.”

“Wow Lloyd. Way to make things sound weird” Nya teases gently.

“In all seriousness though, you should have said something.” Kai drops an arm over Lloyd’s shoulder. “It never really occurred to me to show you. Nothing against you. We don’t have an issue teaching you, right Nya?”

“Nope. Kai here doesn’t think much, obviously, but I’ve been planning to show you for awhile now. We’ve been busy and there hasn’t been a good time. That's all.”

“Excuse me?” Kai gasps. Lloyd giggles at his indigent expression.

“You can’t be offended when it’s true.” he points out. Nya smiles smugly

“Ganging up on me? So unfair. You’re both such ungrateful brats.” They all stare at each other for a moment, before bursting into laughter.

“Alright then! Are you ready for this?” Nya asks once they get themselves under control.

“Totally,” Lloyd nods, trying to keep his excitement under control.

“Sweet! We can start right now. Let’s go back to my room,” Kai begins leading them back through the monastery. As he does, he starts explaining. “The language itself is only a very small part of it. Hand signals are the important part. So I’ll show you some of those first…”

Kai’s explanation was confusing at best, and Nya often had to jump in and clarify. By the time an hour had passed, Lloyd was no closer to understanding than he had been at the beginning. Turns out things were even more complicated than he had originally thought. Learning was going to take some time.

Despite the setbacks, he can’t help the stupid grin that stays stuck on his face for the rest of the day. Quality time with his siblings was always something he looked forward to, and he was going to appreciate every moment of it. This was going to be fun.

#ninjago #kai smith #nya smith #lloyd garmadon #the smith siblings #malcolm’s writing #Ez is so fun to work with!!#I had a great time on this

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montystarotchild · 3 years

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💌 Life Path Readings (1-9)💌

Happy New Years everyone! I hope it was beautiful for each and every one of you all. I wanted to start the year off with an in depth reading addressing our Life Path numbers and the journey that we will be taking this year depending on each of them. All of the lessons of life have an over-arching theme of archetypes that look similar to others but become more distinct for each individual. We all have a story that only we can tell. This reading will help you to clarify, deep down, what you may already know and to act as a reminder whenever you need it along your path. I will be linking below the site you can use to calculate and read more about your own life path number. I hope you enjoy and cheers to a prosperous New Year!

Calculate your Life Path here: https://creativenumerology.com/life-path-number/

✨Life Path 1✨

This year you are being asked to step onto the path that’s marked ‘yes’! Your archetype for this year is The Bridge. The bridge is where we cross into the unknown on purpose. We do this in order to experience something that wasn’t on our side of the bridge originally. As a life path 1, your purpose is to learn all about the self. We are all meant to know ourselves but you specifically will initiate your passions based on what you discover about yourself. There are things within you that haven’t been recognized in a long while. This is the year where you will be tapping more into your instinctual wildness. You will be listening to your own inner voice as a master guide to lead you where you need to be. This voice is connected directly to Source and will never steer you wrong. While some may see you as self-centered, you actually work very well with others when it is needed. But as a life path 1 it is important to find a healthy balance of giving and receiving energy while interacting and working with others. It’s also important to acknowledge your attachments to things that keep you from acting upon your dreams. You should only have room for the things that match you energetically and for people who strive as you strive. This is where you can create with others very smoothly and lead effectively. The journey this year may look a lot like last year. It’s kind of like walking the same path everyday in the daylight and then having to walk it again in the dead of night. You can sense each step and it feels familiar but there is no sight to confirm what you feel. That is your intuition and you must trust each step. If your fear of potential or need for validation is keeping you from experiencing life and stagnant, it is time to release. No one can tell you where to go next, you must intuit this for yourself. Some of you may be singers, dancers or performers in general (spoken word poetry, live art, etc.) and this may be your main way of expressing yourself. It is time to believe in your talents and purpose. If you feel as if it is hard for you to accept your wins this year without an audience, speak with your ancestors. They are your biggest cheerleaders and are always rooting you on! Remember, “if a problem is not accepted as a problem, a solution may never be found.” Address those negative thoughts and free your soul.

✨Life Path 2✨

As a Life Path 2, you have been sent here to be the Judge. When we think of judges we think of harshness and punishment but that is the energy of the physical world, not the higher realms. You are here to bring balance, peace and serenity. As a child this could have been a magical gift that you were always tested to use. As an adult, the use of our discernment is essential to our daily decisions but as a child we are still learning these talents and how they work. You may have been put in many situations as a child where you were to be the mediator. Especially between parents but this could be between siblings, friends or even close family members. You may have always been seen as a sounding board for others. I’m seeing that this wasn’t always the easiest for you. You may not have had the time or space in order to learn about this gift because others were always demanding things of you. Now is the time. If you feel as if last year your goals did not materialize as fast as you wanted this message is especially for you. Patience. If we do not wait it out we can never know the results. This may have been something that kept you from moving forward with any creative ideas, for fear that they wouldn’t come about. This could have conditioned you to think small and leave “dreaming big” for others to do, even though your intuition is telling you that you too can live a great and abundant life and it’s not something you have to wait to be handed. The pains of the past have already happened and there is no need for you to bring them with you along your journey. Even if you aren’t completely aware of your unconscious actions, you may still feel hints of the past replaying in your present. This doesn’t have to be. You can let go of all that is no longer supporting your growth. As you are healing from childhood trauma I see that you will be swept away in a new study. You could be learning more about meditation and intuition and finding books that talk about both. As you absorb this information you share it with those around you that you care for deeply. I find it ironic that the number 2 talks about connections but every single card in your spread only has one person depicted. This is a reminder for you to not lose yourself in others. There can be no true connection without independence. I also see that the moments that you are able to sneak to yourself (the shower, taking a bath or even taking a toke 🍃) may seem wild at first if it isn’t something you are usually able to do but can be very therapeutic for you. Also, if you are looking into different ways to manifest, look into water magic. It might not be as intimidating as you think!

✨Life Path 3✨

What a beautiful reading! This will be a monumental year for you to truly tap into the depth of your own feelings. 2020 may have been a very “reactive” year for some of you. You may have found yourself reacting to situations strongly and emotionally without truly understanding why. If you found yourself starting shadow work towards the end of the year then clarity may be coming to you now. But for others, this may still be a confusing time and that is more than ok. When we first wake up for the day or from a nap it takes us a moment to gather ourselves right? Well imagine that you have been asleep this entire time, be gentle in the waking process of your spiritual consciousness. Because life has seemed so mysterious and “impossible” to crack you may feel as if you have missed a lot of the signs that could’ve kept you from engaging in situations you should’ve avoided. It is time to release replaying those moments because they have led you to today. And to unpack this emotionally may still seem like a daunting task for you. Most people refuse to face the unknown, will stay stagnant rather than move further into the future. Not you though. You have no problem exploring the unknown because interesting people and places lie within the fog. One thing that you may carry with you is a mask. You may enjoy changing your “appearance” in order to fit the room. You doubt that the real you would be accepted into the rooms where you really want to be. This year you are walking away from that mindset. You know that a true artist digs into the depths of their soul in order to create the things that change the world. It’s all about emotional fulfillment this year. Last year we learned that if it doesn’t move us it can’t come along this passionate journey of life. You are here to connect others with your words and the images you create out of them. There will be many opportunities for collaboration this year if you open yourself up to that energy. But before you can revel in that creative energy you must come face to face with yourself. There is a need to balance your emotional scales, which are so important when you are working with other people. If you don’t know where to start, your Ancestors are here to help you with anything you need, you simply need to ask. “Spirit, how can I uncover my hidden feelings/emotions today?” This is an opportunity for the floodgates to burst open within you. It may not feel like the easiest transition, and of course it won’t all happen at once, but this is where you find your creative spark. Because it is imperative that one come before the other, if not, you may show a level of cockiness to others that can be an emotional response that you aren’t fully aware of. Another way you can practice opening up to yourself more emotionally is by journaling. Write your most intimate thoughts and feelings down. When you can read them freely without judgements maybe practice your hand at a bit of poetry? It may really help with discovering the amount of depth you truly hold.

✨Life Path 4✨

This is going to be a powerful year for you 4’s. Things will seem unfamiliar but that is because things will be changing right before your eyes. Being born with a Life Path 4, you crave stability, structure and knowing. When others speak of change you may close off, feeling as if everything is exactly where it’s meant to be in your life, even if it’s not. This year you are coming from out underneath the covers and addressing what has probably been there all along. If you have found resistance in yourself when it comes to making a decision to act upon a thought, this message is especially for you. You are needing to step out of the mindset of control. You want to make the right decisions while receiving the right outcome but that isn’t what this year is about. Why limit yourself to what you believe is right when there could be many other different options that are equally as fitting, if not more? This is where you find your true feelings, in the midst of the storm. Think about something you really want to do this year. If no one else was around to decide for you, would you still be confident in the next steps you took towards that goal? Confidence is your key to success. Your belief in yourself will be the deciding factor on how 2021 will play out for you. I can tell you now, the more action you take (with less calculations of the end results) will take you to places you couldn’t have imagined! And you couldn’t have imagined because you still wanted that one way to work out more. That’s ok! If someone tells you they don’t struggle with controlling the outcome of life then they are lying. We all do. But for you, as soon as you release this need, new pathways begin to open up. I am seeing that many of you have been manifesting new networking connections, careers or financial opportunities. This can and will be successful! Your sole purpose as a Life Path 4 is to enjoy the work that you do. If this is not your current state or you are unemployed this only leaves the trajectory of onwards and upwards! There may be a mentor coming in for you this year. It can either be a masculine figure or they have masculine qualities, it could even be your father. They are going to assist in you connecting with the spark of life. There may be many other kindred connections coming about either through this new person or thereafter but I am seeing that you are surrounded by nurturing and compassion. This person(s) may teach you through lessons they have already learned, which will help guide you even more. You can relate to what they tell you and it may even help to uncover some of these hidden emotions behind your controlling. Either way, the connections in your life will be aiding you in these unfamiliar times, ensuring that you continue to nurture yourself. Do not lose hope, just because you can’t see the miracles doesn’t mean your wish isn’t being fulfilled!

✨Life Path 5✨

This year you are awakening the Healer within. As a healer (not just in the traditional sense) you understand that just like life, healing isn’t linear. You know that there can be many different paths to a common goal when it comes to healing. This may have taken you a while to understand or there are parts of this theory that you are still learning but either way, you are aware. You have really been working with the spiritual realm in order to manifest in the physical world and this has done you well. You continuously come face to face with your magic and everything that you are capable of. A part of this manifestation may be like minded folks who not only cheer for you but have their own ambitions you can cheer on as well. This year mutuals will be able to fully support and share in all of the magic that you are creating in your life. As new opportunities and financial gifts enter your life those who are around you who haven’t tapped into their own potential may not understand how you got so lucky. You may have others trying to intrude upon your sacred space trying to find out how it is that you do what you do and do it so well. You can be a very flexible person at times understanding that certain etiquette wasn’t granted to everyone but this year is a year of boundaries. If you feel as if certain boundaries are weaker for other people just because of who they are it is ok to reinforce with love. Being so adaptable allows you to shift your perspective whenever it is wanted or needed. With the proper boundaries in place you will receive confirmation on those who you can feel comfortable celebrating your wins with. This year will be a huge year for confirmations for you. You may even ask a question out loud and have it answered by Spirit that very same second. Especially if you see signs in 3’s, this is a divine message important for you to take notice of. As your true circle either grows with the right ones or, shrinks down to a tolerable and accurate number of supportive mutuals, take space for the pain it took for you to grow through this change. Separation isn’t always as easy as we think it would be even if we know we need it. With 2021 being the year of 5 (2+0+2+1 = 5) you have the double influence of change this year. This will be an important year for you to make a habit of constantly checking in with yourself. With so much change going on around you, your emotional self must maintain some kind of grounding. (333, 111)

✨Life Path 6✨

You are tapping into some ethereal magic this year 6’s! Last year you may have spent a good amount of time working with your spiritual self so this comes as no surprise. Your creative spark has been ignited in the presence of Spirit. You are honing your skills and mastering your talents. This may have been energy that you easily fell into in order to push aside an emotional response trying to get your attention. Your studies may have taken your observations inwardly where you discovered that you were accepting a lot more than necessary. Taking on emotional responsibilities that you are either hesitant to walk away from or are unaware of or ignoring your need to. This is also a very spiritual spread, highlighting clairvoyance and heightened senses. As you elevate energetically you may also tune into others’ emotions and energies accidentally. As you are exploring your spirit be sure that you are listening to your intuition as to what belongs to you and what belongs to someone else. Releasing the emotions and energies of other people will help you to clearly see who you are and all of your potential. Revealing your true self. Look into spiritual baths/showers and the process of cleansing your aura to help with releasing. A lot of you could be channeling your creative entrepreneurial spirit, wanting to heal the world and its inhabitants. Your ambition for this passion and your pure light continues to push you forward but you aren’t certain towards what just yet. If you are feeling strongly that there is more to the story when it comes to your dreams and manifestations, look deeper. You may be receiving signs from Spirit that you are dreaming too small, that there can be more. I am seeing that that doesn’t have to be an issue any longer. You could be coming into contact with a form of divination that helps you to continue to reveal your destiny. Either through Astrology, charm readings, tarot, life progression readings etc. You will be manifesting and reaching your goals of self-realization through this as well. This is the most important part of your message 6, when your manifestations begin to appear, do not question if they belong to you. That is the point of working on your intuition, so you don’t have to question, you just know. This is going to trigger a great change within you but you must not fight it. This destiny is yours.

✨Life Path 7✨

This year you are recognizing the pain current in your life and the boundaries you set up as protection at first but ended up being a source of limitations. Based on the life path 7, being as unique as you are, you have felt isolated for most of your life. Meaning just because you are in a room full of people doesn’t mean that you are showing up fully as yourself. There are layers to you that most cannot penetrate. Keeping people at a distance ensures that they don’t have an opportunity to learn you and then reject your most vulnerable parts. While this has been a comfort for you for so long you are receiving more and more confirmation as to how this is no longer serving you. Remember, when messages show up in 3’s it is divine. You are a seeker of knowledge but most knowledge can’t be consumed or discussed with others if you are afraid to let people into the sacred space of your mind. There is someone new coming in this year or this interaction has already happened, trust me you’ll know. This could be a quick interaction with a complete stranger or someone who is still fairly new to you. They are here to expand your point of view. This person’s open mindedness will inspire and intrigue you to open your own horizons a bit more. You could have a flash of ideas or inspiration that invites in a moment of reflection and nurturing care for yourself. Within this process your discernment looks similar to the ways of your new friend. Your healing will bring you a new level of mental clarity where you can clearly recognize your “boxes” more accurately and bravely step out of these confines. This won’t happen randomly of course. Spirit is aligning an opportunity for you to witness and experience a moment of awe. You may be exposed to a work of art, a composition of music or something that you view as a masterpiece. Are you interested in making something like that or something of your own? This is your moment to try! You never know what could come of it and you don’t even have to share it. Through this work or just in general you are finding your balance. Your body will be calling out for rest at the end of all of this and it is your duty to listen. No matter how good passion feels we must never give into burnout. If you believe in the possibility, it’s time to tune into both your feminine and masculine energy to truly understand what your body needs and when it needs it. We are all made of these merging energies where we learn to stand in our authority with an openness to vulnerability. Do not be afraid 7’s, this is all a part of the puzzle of you and there’s no way you can do it wrong.

✨Life Path 8✨

This year you are uncovering more to your own story 8’s. You may have spent 2020 doing extensive shadow work but you recognize that it never truly ends and there is always more to heal. Hence the infinity sign (∞) represented in your number. Based off of the childhood of people with the life path 8, you may have a tendency to lean into burnout culture. This may be because of being raised in an ‘all or nothing’ atmosphere. You may have been challenged frequently to do “better” as a child and that now manifests in all that you want to accomplish today. As an 8 life path you have a lot of goals set and all leaning towards financial security. But a large part of your shadow work this year is learning when to rest. Rest doesn’t have to mean always sleeping but taking intentional moments in your day just to exist. This is the year where you learn yourself and what you need intuitively. Some lessons are harder to extract from our psyche but you are tired of always being ‘on’. Your intuition is being called towards independence and freedom. You are being guided into the astral planes where earthly limitations do not exist. Here you will gain more spiritual knowledge and find your truth. You won’t have to do anything special to reach this new experience. Your soul has it’s very own connection to the Source of life. All you have to do is be. This year you are also learning the lesson of “this and that”. What this means is that something can be “this” but it can also be “that”. You may have had a decent childhood (this) but there is still trauma that you have to address and begin to try to heal from (that). This year is all about honesty. As a result of this patience with your soul work you display this same patience in all that you manifest. Where you may have been anxious or impatient for the results of previous manifestations, this year your dreams’ growth reflects your own personal growth. As you are reawakening beware of your speech towards others, especially those who you feel may have held you back. Intentionally or not. You have a way with words and can use them as a weapon if not cautious. Instead, taking your fast wit and humor inwardly and examining yourself through a less critical viewpoint will assure that no one is harmed in your inquiry. No matter how strongly you feel about others and their expectations of you, you must release your need to react. There is a difference between standing in your authority and not allowing others to sway or bully you vs reacting off of something that may have truly hurt you in the moment. Your deeper connection with Spirit will show you exactly what is important to fight for. It’s not for the last word but for all of your hopes and wishes. They are all coming true, it’s just time to stay aligned, no matter what.

✨Life Path 9✨

This year you are taking a deep look at yourself 9’s. I am going to start off by saying that this process is going to take some strength in patience because no healing is linear. We usually like to see the fruits of our labor the day we’ve put the seed in the ground but there’s an entire watering process that we are missing. You are the seed #9. You may have noticed something recently. You are unsatisfied or unhappy with your surroundings. You may have a hard time finding simple things in your room. Or there’s never any silverware clean when you need to eat. And laundry? Forget about it. If there is disorder within your home, your sanctuary, might there be some emotional cleaning that needs to transpire first? It is true that doing daily physical activities are much harder to do when there are unsettled thoughts and feelings trapped within the body with no release. Before anything can be addressed maybe taking a walk will free your mind up for some “heavy lifting” thinking. Or if you can’t get outside and haven’t yet, take a nice shower in order to connect with the water element. There is something that you have been back and forth about within your mind. Something that you want to take a leap of faith on. Sometimes we view ourselves as these small beings that life happens to. And other times our mind drifts to the idea that there is more, that you are more and are here to experience more. Which is true! But when we are so focused on what we want and our purpose for being here, the more, we tend to laser focus. We want this outcome so badly and we will cover every step to ensure that we get it. And when we do we must keep going. This year you may be finding that this doesn’t actually manifest your desires any faster. If anything you may find yourself wishing on stars that have already lost their luster. There is someone coming in to set some realizations straight for you. It could be them sharing their purpose or just a wise word that could really help you in your situation. Of course all ways be careful with strangers sharing their own thoughts but take what parts of the message ring true to your heart. Are there areas of your heart that are closed off from hearing something healing? Beneficial? Why? Do you view compassion as a weakness or a strength? This is only the beginning of your deep introspection 9’s. There are many layers to your emotions that you are just beginning to open up to. Take each life lesson brought to you with a different level of emotional maturity. Allow yourself to fall into the vulnerability of all that is you. This will bring in a breath of fresh air and clarity for you. Your thoughts will be diverse and you will be decisive. And if you are able to find a safe moment outside try something for me, open your arms out wide, tilt your head back, take a deep breath in and scream “THANK YOU” to the stars above. How did that feel?

If you enjoyed this reading please like/reblog! As this is a general reading, tipping isn’t required but always appreciated. 💖

https://cash.app/$aftonelizabethh

#positive message #oracle cards #divination #free readings #tarot services #tarotcommunity #tarot #tarot reading #life path #life path number #2021 tarot reading #2021 #montystarotchild

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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Ashes Chapter 8: Hollywood

Pairing: Liu Kang x Reader

Finally, some air to breathe that isn't from Liu Kang. Maybe a little peace before some angst? But only maybe.

A/N: Had some fun writing Cole Young. Angst everywhere though. Sorry I don't have much to say today. Bad day. Hope you are all doing great though. Sending good vibes all around. Smooches.

First Chapter << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

When you’d got tired of the beach you’d gone to the hotel where Liu had told you that the others had been staying while they dealt with Johnny Cage, a B-Movie action star with an ego the size of a washed-up A-list star from twenty years ago.

You’d said goodnight and the next morning you showered and readied yourself for the day. This place was nicer than the motel you’d shared and you had some privacy.

Johnny Cage wasn’t easy to get a hold of, which had been a huge part of the problem. Apparently, they’d had to dance around agents and security and had gotten themselves thrown off of a movie set. Somehow, they had managed to convince him to meet with you the next morning and have an actual conversation about why you were there. You guessed that wasn’t going to go well after all you’d learned.

It also meant that you had some free time, a thing you had grown to hate over the years. Without Kung Lao you were left to your own devices and it almost never went well. Now you had a thousand more horrible things to think about.

You’d stopped Liu that morning after you’d decided you would play tourist. You and Kung Lao had always joked about going to Hollywood and you remembered a few of the places he’d said he’d wanted to see. With your sudden passion for taking photographs, you thought it would appropriate. But Liu was in a mood again and you weren’t about to ask him why.

You’d woken up feeling relatively okay that morning and weren’t about to change that.

If Liu needed to be alone to get out of his mood, then you would let him. Every time he’d been in a mood like that, you had wound up yelling at each other and you were not emotionally prepared to handle his frustration. You were both too volatile.

So, you went sight-seeing. The Hollywood sign had been far less remarkable than you’d expected but you took pictures anyway. The La Brea Tarpits had been nice but you wished you hadn’t been alone. You’d tried to think of how Kung Lao would have reacted but it only served to make you sad. You supposed that alone was your new state of being and you’d have to get used to it. There had been a time where alone was all you’d known, and you had been more than comfortable with it.

It would take a long time to get back to that if you ever managed to. You took to imagining that maybe you would show these pictures to Kung Lao someday. You knew that wasn’t possible, but he would have wanted to see them and hear all about your adventures. That was heartbreaking in and of itself, but it did give you a new purpose as you traveled throughout Hollywood. It wasn’t often that you got to play tourist in new places. you had always talked about going there together just to see the Chinese Theater and the Walk of Fame. He’d wanted to take a picture with Bruce Lee’s star.

Then you sat and people watched on Hollywood Boulevard, wondering what their lives must be like. Some were obvious tourists. You liked to think that their visiting the Walk of Fame was a fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Others were on their way to work or just living their lives, not bothering with the star-studded walkway as though it were nothing more than a gateway from where they were to where they were going. None of them were wrong but it was nice to focus on the lives of others rather than the mess that was yours.

You browsed through the photos that you’d taken that morning. You’d asked a stranger to take a picture of you next to Bruce Lee’s star and smiled at the photograph. Kung Lao would have loved that.

You’d both been fans of old martial arts films and no one was more iconic than Bruce Lee.

After dating for a few months, you and Kung Lao had taken to sneaking out to the closest towns and renting rooms in motels and inns just so you could watch those movies together. You’d continued that tradition throughout the entirety of your relationship up until the last six months. Things had gotten sticky and confusing then. You’d both been busy and had fought more than usual. You’d been thinking about suggesting a weekend away after you’d gotten back from your trip so that you could touch base and figure things out.

So much for that.

You should have suggested it earlier.

The past was the past, you reminded yourself.

You couldn’t let it get to you no matter how it felt like a dagger twisting in your chest each time you thought about what you should have done. Rubbing your sore and tired eyes, you put the phone into your bag and closed your eyes, listening to the monotony of humanity passing by.

In one of those hotels was where you and Kung Lao had your first time. You’d been watching Enter the Dragon, discussing the importance of the role, and your experiences first seeing the movie in your childhood. You still remembered how his lips felt- soft and sticky, sweet and fermented with the flavor of the plum wine you’d been sharing.

You’d ignored the movie and made out instead, like giddy teenagers. You’d been the one to push him further. Kung Lao had asked you if you were certain which had been sweet. It had broken the floodgates.

He had certainly tried before then- many times. He’d never been subtle about it and he’d never pushed you beyond your limit though he did try to push his luck. When you told him no, he always listened and had never once made you feel guilty about it. You had been grateful for his patience then. Holding your head in your hands you sighed.

Even your fondest memories of him were tainted with sadness. You wondered if there would ever only be fondness and no sorrow attached to thoughts of him. Realistically you knew that there would be but for now it felt improbable. The photos you’d taken that day brought you a little peace. It had been kind of cathartic to do something in Kung Lao’s honor rather than fixating on the only piece of him you had left while drenched in guilt for a thousand different reasons.

Sleeping with his best friend was at the very top of that list.

At least you hadn’t done it while you’d been dating. What a tiny, tiny sad silver lining that was on your sad, shitty story.

“Y/N? Is that you?” An unfamiliar voice called your name so you sat alert. That was upsetting. To be called out by a voice you had never heard in the middle of your contemplation. A tall, well-built, handsome man approached you. He had a kind smile and what you could only describe as 90s protagonist hair. “This must be weird. Sorry. I’m Cole Young.” He held his hand out to introduce himself and you shook it but were cautious. As if sensing that you didn’t trust him, he pulled down the collar of his shirt to show you the dragon marking on his chest. That was proof enough.

“Sorry, you startled me. I was lost in my own little world.” You offered for him to take the seat across from you at the table you’d been occupying at a little bistro. You’d bought food but had given it away. Your appetite hadn’t been the best the past few days. Thinking about Kung Lao or Liu Kang for extended periods did away with any hunger you had. “It’s nice to meet you finally. I will be honest and say I haven’t heard much about you. I don’t think many personal stories were swapped with the company I keep. I did hear, however, that you are a nice enough man.”

“That’s the best I can hope for. I didn’t hear much about you either. Raiden showed me what you looked like and I knew you and Liu were supposed to arrive soon.” He took the seat you offered and for a time you swapped pleasantries. He was nice, as advertised, but you hadn’t been expecting socialization so you felt awkward. “What brings you to this part of town, Y/N?” He asked when things fell silent. You’d expected him to say that it had been nice to meet you and go on his way. Instead, he insisted upon more small talk. He seemed bored.

“Doing some sightseeing. Taking some pictures for a friend.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to justify your motives but you’d been instantly defensive. Liu Kang had made you defensive about everything. Kung Lao would have called you out on it and you smiled at the memory. “What about you?”

“Sightseeing with the family. Allison and Emily are doing some window shopping. I spotted you and was tired of shopping so I figured I’d say hi.” He laughed. Presumably, Allison and Emily were his wife and child. He hadn’t clarified but you’d been told he had family. “Thanks for the escape.” That explained why he’d seemed bored.

“Anytime.” Silence again. You were terrible at conversation right now. You felt outside of yourself. You weren’t ready to talk casually about nothing. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re as lovely as everyone said you were. Well, Raiden didn’t use those words exactly but I’ve been around him long enough to understand what he meant.”

“He has a way about him, Raiden.” Cole chuckled, leaning back in his chair. The breeze felt nice and the silence less awkward. “Is the friend you’re taking pictures for Kung Lao?”

You stiffened up and were sure that your expression was suddenly unpleasant. It was too late to hide your gut reaction- tongue over your bottom teeth, lips turned in a frown, eyes closed in frustration. Not an attractive look and definitely not one that would disguise how off guard you’d been taken by the question and how inappropriately personal it was.

He’d known Kung Lao too. The scar on his arm was from his hat. You’d been told in detail much of Kung Lao’s last few days thanks to Raiden.

“Too personal??” Cole winced apologetically.

“It’s okay.”

“He seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy this.”

“He was. And yes, I was taking pictures for him. He would have wanted to see it.” He would have wanted to be there with you was what you meant, but you were sure Cole got that. He seemed like a smart enough guy. He nodded and silence fell again.

“I’m sorry.” He was avoiding your eyes this time.

“For what?”

“I feel responsible. He was protecting me. He was safe. Gone. He came back to protect me.” Cole had proven to you quickly that he was, in fact, a good man.

“No, Cole.” You scooted to the end of your seat. “Kung Lao made a choice to protect you. He wouldn’t want you to take the blame for what happened.”

“Liu Kang said the same thing.”

“I’m not surprised.” Exhaustion washed over you like a cold wave, tingling down your spine. Grief weighed heavily on your shoulders.

“How are you holding up? With all of this?” Cole gestured to nothing in particular. “It’s not easy to get back to normal after this. Even for me.”

“You seem like a nice guy, Cole, but I don’t know you and this is a very intimate conversation you’ve started.” You began to let him down gently. You weren’t comfortable talking about this with people you’d known for years so you definitely weren’t comfortable talking to a complete stranger about it.

“I get it. I just… wanted to check in.”

“I’m okay.” You assured him and when he didn’t seem to believe you, you smiled and continued. “I’ll be honest and vague. I’ll tell you what I tell everyone who asks me about it. It doesn’t get easier. I carry it better some days than others. People keep telling me that time brings distance but I’m not there yet. Despite that, I’m okay. Really.”

“I’m sorry.” He really did seem like a nice guy. “It’s hard to lose someone you care about.”

“It is.” You weren’t going to talk about it with him. You didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. You were tired of thinking about it. You thought about it constantly. “Can you fill me in on what’s going on with this actor?” A change of subject had to help.

“Oh, yeah.” Cole rolled his eyes and you laughed in surprise. “The only reason he’s even agreed to meet with us is because Sonya pinned one of his bodyguards when he tried to have us removed. He had a very brief conversation with us that was mostly inappropriate comments at Sonya’s expense. When I tried to explain to him what the dragon mark meant he said something about being a weird pitch for a movie. Still, he’s agreed to meet with us again so that’s something.” Cole sighed as though this had been a long and frustrating process. “I’m hoping that Liu can be more convincing. His arcana is impressive and might get him listening.”

“He’s good at that.” You considered that he hadn’t been over the last week. “I can help if need be. I can make a pretty dramatic first impression if I need to.”

“No one told me about your arcana.” Cole rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. This was a much more comfortable and relaxed conversation. Far less awkward, thankfully. “I asked Liu this morning when I ran into him but he was touchy when I brought it up.”

“Not surprised by that.”

“Yeah?” Cole’s curiosity was funny. You were reminded of a few of your monk friends back at Raiden’s Temple. When you’d first arrived there had been nothing but gossip. He was just making polite conversation, but it was still a little funny.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“What’s your arcana, then?”

“It’s easier to show you. Everyone gets the wrong impression when I tell them. And to show you? I need privacy.” You gestured down the block. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. Allison’s going to call me when they’re done.” Cole stood. You left a tip with the server and then walked with Cole down the street and into an alleyway between shops. You were still at risk of being seen but you would be careful. No one would believe what they saw anyway. “So?”

“Now I just need you to promise not to panic.” You laughed and backed a little bit away from him so you were facing toward the street and could keep an eye out for passersby.

“Why would I panic?”

You decided it was better to just show him than explain. It rarely made sense without showing it off anyway. You stepped back and studied Cole which elicited an eyebrow raise from him. Then you gestured with your index finger from the ground up. You created an ink copy of Cole. He stepped back from it in surprise so you made the clone mimic his movements.

These clones were easy enough to create but, in the beginning, it had been mostly on accident of either Kung Lao or Liu Kang since that was who you had spent the most time with. One of your first fights with Kung Lao had been about how your arcana always became Liu Kang when you panicked. There hadn’t ever been any resolution to it. The mimicked ‘drawings’ as you referred to them behaved in ways that you were familiar with but not knowing Cole, you studied him and copied his current motions.

The drawings drained you faster than creating inanimate objects would which was why you didn’t do it very often. But this trick was easy enough to give Cole an idea of what you could do. He looked to you for affirmation and you nodded. He then readied his stance for a fight so you mimicked him. Then he laughed and jumped from foot to foot and pointed at the ink version of him doing the same. “You can just do that? With anyone?”

“Among other things. This is the trick that freaks people out the most though.”

“So, your arcana is what? Cloning?

“Ink.” You corrected and with a snap of your fingers the drawing was gone and instead you used your forefinger to write his name in Chinese in the air. “It was Liu’s ideas to use it for mimicry. Kung Lao suggested weapons. Both have been pretty useful but keeping up the… for lack of a better word, puppets, is much more work. Liu would make things out of flame and I would mimic it with my ink until one day I accidentally mimicked him.”

“Accidentally?”

“Yeah. I’d gotten so familiar with him during training that instead of the fire, the ink became Liu Kang. After that we focused on drawing more specific things.” You drew a jian with a simple slap of your palms together. The weapons and shadows had once dripped with ink. You’d been using them for years now and so they didn’t look like ink anymore. They looked more like black crystal. “I’m pretty good at it these days.”

“I’d say.” Cole laughed and then pulled his phone from his pocket as if he’d gotten a message. “Well, if Liu can’t convince this guy to take us seriously then you can have him kick his own ass.”

“Guess I’m going to have to watch one of his movies so I can be familiar with him.” Maybe you’d do that tonight at the hotel.

“Hey, Ally and Emily want to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to join us? You’re welcome to.” Cole gestured back out to the street and you followed him. Your instinct was to say no. To go back to your hotel room and isolate yourself but that was your sadness talking. This was an opportunity. A choice. You could go back to your room and wallow in your misery or you could join Cole and his family and get to know them a bit better.

Distance yourself a little from the misery.

“I’d like that.” You decided and Cole smiled brightly.

“Good!” You followed Cole down the street to meet up with his wife and daughter. Every bit of your brain was objecting to the fact that you’d agreed but you knew it was the right thing to do. Kung Lao would have never let you wallow the way that you were. He would have dragged you out of bed and either tried to fix what was bothering you or distract you. There was nothing Kung Lao or anyone could do to fix this but if you at least tried to get out of your head then you might just help yourself.

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harry-writings · 4 years

Text

The Edge of Tonight

- The one where Y/n reaches her breaking point and ruins Harry’s special night

TW: drug use of a family member, mentions of overdose

Masterlist

Tonight is really important.

Harry has a mandatory meeting that addresses his next leading role in an upcoming action film. This is his biggest acting opportunity since his role in Dunkirk—his career only seeming to get better with each audition and he couldn’t wait to discuss the next character he has to take on.

Everyone is there—between his managers, the directors, and all the other actors involved in the making, tonight is a really big deal. Harry hasn’t been this excited since his last movie, and to be honest, he never thought he’d end up being a part of something like this again.

He’s amazed at it all, really. There’s a certain type of hustle he’s already found himself getting comfortable with, despite his overwhelming introverted-ness. The cast and crew—everybody, really—is really welcoming, and to know that this will be his life for the next year gets him even more excited.

At the main table—where everybody talks individually to get a proper grasp on the characters—he makes rounds with as many people he can; asking questions and getting all the clarification he needs in regards to the film. And even though everything he’s doing is work related, there really isn’t anywhere he’d rather be at the moment.

He’s two hours in—half of his questions still unanswered and the director has yet to discuss the majority of the making. They’re walking to take their seats for the mass presentation—where they go over their film location, get their scripts, all the nitty gritty that comes with being an actor—when Harry’s phone starts to ring.

Normally, considering the situation that he’s in, he’d ignore the call and wait until his meeting was over to get in contact with whomever was in need to reach him. But as he stares down at the unknown number on his screen, something doesn’t feel right. His stomach tightens and he doesn’t necessarily know why. It’s just a goddamn phone call made at the wrong time.

And he really wants to ignore it—really should ignore it—but he can’t dismiss the mysterious feeling inside of him as it vibrates, for now the second time in his hand.

He sighs, looking around for somewhere much more private. He quickly walks away from where the crowd his heading, finding a secluded section near the bathrooms while he makes sure to answer the call.

He barely has any time to say anything before he hears her.

“Harry, please don’t hate me.”

Y/n’s voice sure as hell was the last thing he expected to hear on the other line as it evidently speaks through tears and worry. To hear her in that way makes his heart drop to the pit of his stomach and his palms sweat against the phone, the thought of the unfamiliar number somehow slipping from his mind as it’s now raided by concern.

He thinks of the worst possible scenario she could be in for her to be calling in such a state. Despite her saying “please don’t hate me” hints at the fact whatever position she is was her fault, he can’t help but to panic at the mere thought that she’s in danger and he’s not close enough to save her in time.

“Darling, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Y/n wishes he didn’t sound so concerned for her because when it comes down to it, she doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt Harry always gives her. Everything that’s happened, the whole reason why she’s here, is because of something she had done. It was necessarily her fault, but it was her stupid decision that brought her into this mess, and she doesn’t want to take advantage of his heart.

Especially not now, not during one of the most important nights of his career. She can’t take advantage of what he always gives her because he’d never forgive her, no matter how much she really truly needs him right now.

“I’m at the police station I—" She stomps her feet on the ground because she knows what she’s in for now that she confessed her whereabouts. She’s more than upset with herself, too, because she knows that she’s being a burden on a night so detrimental to his career. “I fucked up, Harry. I’m so sorry.“

He really doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t really know if he can react. Neither of them have ever been put in a position like this—he almost thinks this whole thing is a figment of his imagination—his brain trying to bring down his spirits because this role is just too good to be true, just too, too good, and his body can’t handle it.

And there’s just no way. The only thoughts swirling in his brain are what could she possibly have done? What did she do to end up there, all alone, with nobody to help her?

His hand is rubbing against his face harshly, sucking in a deep breath as he tries to wrap his head around the situation. His fingertips press against his closed eyes, trying to fathom the damage she possibly could have done.

“What did you do?”

Even though he was remaining as calm as possible, she can hear the disappointment in his voice. Her eyes squeeze closed as she chokes back a sob, holding the telephone closer to her ear as she tries to come up with something better than “I knocked a girl unconscious while blindingly drunk.”

“Assault.”

The breath is knocked right out of him. How the hell could this have happened? Y/n? Assault? She’s always been such a good person, always doing what’s greatest in her heart and making sure those around her are safe and content at all times. She’s a big believer in treating others the way she wants to be treated, so putting people before her was in her blood—in her nature —like she was born for those around her.

Her wholeheartedness was one of the many reasons Harry fell in love with her. She was just so goddamn easy to fall for and he admired the effortless aspects of her love and fondness. He knows deep in his heart that there must have been a good reason, a really good reason, Y/n would have assaulted somebody—he really does believe that—but he just can’t shake the anger out of him right now.

She knows what this night means to him and his career yet she’s finding her way to ruin it. And if he didn’t love her so much, he would finish off his meeting and make her wait, make her learn her lesson to not be so goddamn careless and stupid, but he just can’t do that. No matter how jaw-clenchingly pissed off he is, she means the most to him and he would never be able to live with himself if he were to keep her in any danger any longer.

He sighs again, resting his forehead in the palm of his hand while his elbow is placed sturdy on the wall beside him. He feels dizzy and his brain is moving much too quickly for him to comprehend any rational thought. There are so many endless possibilities as to what could happen to her—what could happen to them—after this gets resolved.

“I’ll be there soon.”

It takes him nearly five minutes to get his head screwed on straight and muster up the courage to tell the managers that there’s been a family emergency. Although they seem hesitant to believe him, he’s sure they’ll be reading all about Y/n’s arrest on social media if it happens to become public.

And that’s just another thing that’s really getting on his nerves. He’s an extremely private person, always tentative about shining light on his personal life. It took him months to make his relationship with Y/n public, and although she’s done nothing but respect his need of privacy, this entire situation is going to interfere with that. And possibly this new upcoming role.

Everything about tonight makes him more angered than he’s ever been in his life and it’s almost overwhelming him. And God, does he want to put some sense into Y/n, but he can’t even think about being more upset with her than he already is until he knows that she’s okay.

When Harry arrives at the police station, they already had Y/n sitting on a bench near the officer’s room. His eyes instinctually look for any visible scars or damages on her skin, but besides the few bruises on her arms and a busted lip, she doesn’t seem too hurt.

What he really does notice, though, is how tired and out of it she looks. She looks lifeless upon the bench, her eyes refusing to move from the wall in front of her. The color of her skin is paled and her eyes are sunken in with exhaustion. She’s still crying, too, but doesn’t make any attempts to rid the tears falling rapidly down her cheeks.

“Sir, are you here for Y/n Y/l/n?”

His gaze breaks away from her figure to meet with the police officer standing beside him, who’s holding files of papers in his hands with a stern look on his face.

Harry nods quickly, not bothering to clarify much more than he has to. The officer nods in response, pointing his head over to his desk—implying Harry to follow him into the room. He leads him over to the empty chair, making sure to close to the door to prevent any leaked information.

Harry makes himself as comfortable as he possibly can in the circumstances that he’s in. The officer is extremely intimidating and making it hard for him to communicate properly. He just wants to know what the hell is happening so that he can put his worries to rest and bring Y/n home.

The officer is flipping through papers on his desk, not making any move to sit down or reassure Harry in any way. He can physically feel his heart beat harshly in his chest and the sweat surface on his palms.

“And you’re the boyfriend, correct?”

This time, the officer finally looks up to where Harry’s is sitting across from him. He nods tentatively, unsure of really what to do or say. He figures that wordless gestures are enough unless he’s asked for details.

The officer writes something down on paper—perhaps confirming his presence and here to bring Y/n back home. He coughs slightly before finally giving the answers Harry desperately, hopelessly needs.

“Since she’s had no prior criminal record and was under the influence of alcohol, we’re letting her go with a three-month probation. Thankfully, for her, the woman didn’t press any charges. If she doesn’t cause any trouble within the next three months, we’ll drop the record from her name. Got it?”

Although confusion is still buzzing through Harry’s head and there’s still so many questions to ask, he doesn’t say anything in response. Between the gloominess and tension in the small room and all the intimidation flowing through his veins, he’s almost scared to speak out.

The officer doesn’t look very promising, either, even though he hasn’t been harsh on him. It’s all just too much happening at once and he can’t understand it all.

Harry obeys all the officer’s orders in regards to the instructions of Y/n’s probation. It doesn’t take much longer than twenty minutes to get everything clarified, but his legs are shaking impatiently. He really just wants to get out of here.

And when Harry finally walks out of the room, the officer that was standing by Y/n leads her over to him. Her steps are hesitant and slow, almost unsure of her movements. She still hasn’t looked up at him but Harry barely notices—either that, or he doesn’t really care.

He grabs her wrist between his fingers before he practically drags her out the door. He isn’t walking that fast, but Y/n’s still a bit drunk and she can barely see where he’s going through all her tears. It seems as though the world is moving too fast for her to keep up.

The entire car ride is filled with tense air and Harry’s shallow breathing. She knows there is nothing she can say to make the situation any better, but she just wishes he gave her something to work with. She’s never needed anybody the way she needs Harry right now. Ever.

And when Harry doesn’t talk, that’s when he’s really had it. He doesn’t speak much to begin with, so when he’s silent and refusing to talk things out with her, he’s building himself up—it’s the calm before the storm. Everything he wants to say is being swallowed in his own throat, just waiting to explode all at once.

“H, please say something.”

He grips the steering wheel tighter—so tight that his knuckles turn white and his wrist pulses under the pressure. Not a reaction in him gives her a reason to believe he can even look at her in this moment. She’s unintentionally pushing him over the edge and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to live with herself for it.

“What’d you want me to say? Got nothing to say to you right now.”

She throws her head back on the headrest as a cry spews past her lips. Her feet are kicking at the glove compartment and she really thinks she can break down right then and there. She really fucking needs him to be there for her and tell her everything is going to be okay.

“I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to ruin your meeting because I know how important it was to you, but I swear I—“

“Y/n, please. It’s taking everything in me not to yell at you right now and I don’t want to be so bloody angry that I can’t see the road. So please, that’s enough.”

When they get home, Harry doesn’t open her car door like he usually does, nor does he wait up for her before going inside. She pouts at this, feeling neglected and utterly upset that she’s made him so angry.

But she needs him right now—now more than ever. There is so much more to the story than he knows and she can’t stand the fact that he won’t let her talk about it. She needs his comfort and his love to keep her steady in the midst of all the chaos happening in her life, but she knows that’s the last thing he’ll give to her right now, no matter how much she relies on it.

Her bottom lip trembles as she closes the front door shut, meeting a house full of slamming cabinets and the sound of his rushed footsteps. She tentatively follows the glimmer of light that meets the hallway from their bathroom, slowly opening the door wider as she’s met with a counter full of first aid kits and Harry’s moving body.

“Just because I’m pissed off at you doesn’t mean I don’t care. Sit on the counter, your knuckles and lips are cut.”

She complies silently, hitching herself on the edge of the counter until her bottom legs are dangling and her back is slouched against the mirror. And before she really has time to get comfortable in her position, he’s already grabbing her hand to clean the dried blood off.

There are so many things he wants to say but doesn’t know how, not without sounding like an asshole. He loves her too much to keep her crying the way she has, and loves her too much to make her feel worse about herself than she already does. But really, what the fuck was she thinking?

He sees the regret and guilt in her eyes and it pains him. He knows that it’s partially his fault—why she’s so saddened—but this isn’t something he can forgive her so easily for no matter how much he wishes it was.

He’s at his boiling point and he can feel it—partially mad at Y/n, partially mad at himself. The cotton swab that was once gently patting her cut knuckles is now moving more harshly from his aggressive movements—not enough to hurt her, but enough for her to know that he’s having trouble keeping it all together.

“There better have been a really good reason as to why you’ve done this, Y/n—acting like a proper idiot. Do you have any idea how this makes you look?”

She shrugs, a pout on her face as she refuses to answer. She knows it’s not worth trying because this is his blow and she doesn’t want to push him any further. She’d rather take it as it is now rather than make it worse—something she wouldn’t be able to take.

“You know what this night meant to me and you know this could have been the worst possible time to cause some shit like this! And you were drunk, too! You were proper fucking drunk and alone! You know how you are when you’re drunk, damn sensitive, have no sense! And look where you ended up!”

He slams his fist on the counter next to her legs, the gauze falling from his hand from the impact. He still isn’t looking at her—hasn’t once looked at her since they’ve left the station—and it breaks her heart in two.

It hurts so bad, for him to be right in arms reach and not being able to hug him and kiss him and tell him just how sorry she really is.

His shoulders are tightened, jaw clenched, face nearly red, and fingers in fists from all the anger. And Y/n begins to cry.

“I had to sacrifice my time, my future, my career because of your fucking irresponsibility! This isn’t even goddamn like you, Y/n! And if the media finds out, guess whose ass is on the line! Mine! It will all turn shit for me and my possibility for making a life for us all because you decided to physically assault somebody!”

Y/n’s head is hung low at the point, not having the strength to look at him the way he is now. She never wants to see him this frustrated with her—because of her—and it just makes her feel worse than she already did.

And normally she would still listen to his lectures, only because she really deserves it and doesn’t find it in her heart to turn anything around on him, but she has to say it. No matter how embarrassing it’ll make her look—no matter how bad it’ll make her look—she needs to tell him.

If she doesn’t, he might not ever forgive her.

“My mum overdosed.”

It’s almost a silent confession, spoken so inaudibly Harry almost doesn’t hear it underneath all his rage. It doesn’t make any sense, and he almost thinks he misunderstood her somewhere because it just doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

“What?”

She sighs, lifting her head but still not having the courage to look at him. She lays the back of her head against the mirror, tears falling silently from her eyes as she stares emotionless at the wall beside him.

He’s already calmed down some and is now staring at her in confusion. He’s not even entirely sure what she just said and his patience is wearing thin when she takes a couple of moments to fully explain herself.

“I got drunk because my mum overdosed. She’s been like this for too long—you know, being addicted. It was only a matter of time before it got to that point, where too much wasn’t enough. That’s why I never had you meet her— because I never wanted you to look at me differently or look at me like there’s something so terribly wrong with me.”

Harry’s hands are running delicately up and down her legs, listening intently to her words. There’s a furrow between his brows as he takes everything in, allowing himself to process everything she’s saying before he finds the right words to say back to her.

“And I know, getting drunk wasn’t the answer, but it wasn’t the problem, either. Some girls from my high school had found out—I guess maybe from their friends or parents? I’m not so sure. They’ve made my life miserable for as long as I could remember and this was their perfect opportunity to make a fool out of me. You know, ‘look at the drug addict’s daughter’ and ‘maybe this explains why you’re so fucked up.’”

Harry instinctively reaches his hand out to her tearful cheeks, cupping the skin between his fingers as if to reassure her that he’s there for her. His own eyes are overflowing with tears and he swallows the lump in his throat harshly.

“Oh, baby.” He whimpers.

She really could have stopped there—he didn’t need any further explanation for what she’s done. He’s already forgiven her and is more than ready to console her and be there for her for as long as she needs. But she needs to keep going, he knows that. He sees the words fighting past her lips and he’s not going to keep her thoughts unspoken.

“They started insulting my family, insulting my mum, insulting me and they just kept going. They just wouldn’t stop, and people around us were looking and I was so embarrassed and so upset, Harry. I just needed one last push until I cracked, and that’s when they mentioned you. Saying how you don’t deserve a mistake like me—saying that I must be fucking up your life the way my mum fucked up mine.”

She purses her trembling lips tightly and squeezes her eyes shut, trying so desperately to control the sobs that dare leave her mouth that her wobbling chin meets her chest. Now that she’s started, there’s no way for her to stop, but she doesn’t know if her body can take it.

Harry slowly drifts his hand to the back of her head, slightly digging his fingertips into her scalp and rubbing in soft circles. He’s never seen her this horrible and he’ll do anything he can to make it stop. His heart is hurting for her, his chest is burning with guilt, and his eyes are tearing with sympathy and he never wants to let her go. No, not tonight.

“And I didn’t need that, Harry. I didn’t need to hear that because my biggest fear is becoming what my mother is. I love her so much—I love her so fucking much even though I shouldn’t because she picked her addiction over me! I’ve always been neglected! She never loved me like I loved her and I never want to do that to you, Harry! I never want to do that to you.”

She punches at his chest almost passionately, to show him how much she really means it, because he might not ever trust her now.

But Harry scoops her up in his arms, keeping her as close as possible as she drowns herself in her hysteria. Her hands are shaking against his chest, lips pressed against the crook of his neck, and legs wrapped around his waist as he shushes her in an attempt to calm her down.

His lips pepper chaste kisses against her skin, an endearing reminder that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

He buries his head in her hair and cradles her into his chest, his hands running feverishly all over her back. She doesn’t deserve anything that’s been given to her tonight—including everything he’s said—and she doesn’t deserve all the pain and worries she’s been going through.

Hell, she doesn’t deserve any bit of this and he wants to fix it now—has to fix it now.

Because how could he have missed it? How could he have been such a shit boyfriend to not take notice in Y/n’s toxic relationship with her mother? How had he never asked questions? How had he failed to be there for her for so long?

“Baby, baby, look at me. Look at me.”

He’s cupping his hands over her cheeks to ensure that her eyes meet his. And when they do, his heart breaks at just how spent she looks. The light in her eyes has burnt to a crisp and it seems as though there’s nothing left in her.

And despite how devastating it is, he still looks at her in the most loving way. It almost makes Y/n smile, but instead of the tug on her lips to do so, she feels the tug in her heart.

“You’re never going to do that to me, you understand? I know you more than anybody and I know how much you love me. It’s in everything you do, and even if you didn’t love me, you are not your mum. You’re so much stronger than you think you are and I am not letting you live your life in constant fear of turning into somebody you’re not. I’m not letting you do that, not when I’m here with you.”

She lets out a whimper, and despite the evident pout on her lips, she nods in understanding.

“Don’t deserve this, not one bit.”

His thumbs are rubbing against her cheeks while he presses a passionate kiss on her lips, and something about the common gesture is enough to settle the constant fear in her thoughts. And when his lips move to settle on her forehead and his hands tuck her into his chest, the weight in her chest seems to disappear.

By now, all her tears have been shed and all she’s left with are heavy eyes and a nearly boneless body. This day has consisted of almost too much chaos and she needs to end.

She hums softly, slowly moving to kiss his neck before resting her chin on top of his shoulder, closing her eyes at the sound of his breathing.

“I love you so much, H. Can you take me to bed? Need you.”

Her fingers tug at the collar of his shirt and he laughs softly at the gesture. It’s one of the sweetest things she’s ever done, and it’s in that moment he questions how he’s gotten so damn lucky.

She truly is the sweetest girl he’s ever known, and really is the most beautiful sight to see. And she’s all his. No matter what she does to make him angry, or what shit is going on in her life, she’s his greatest blessing and he’ll do whatever he can to protect her.

Not just for tonight, but for every night for the rest of their lives.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot

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