#mnemosynai

[tachiisms]

( obi-wan kenobi ) @mnemosynai | closed starter 

She senses him before she can see him; his presence like the golden radiance of a spring sun, come to warm the frost of winter and soothe rainstorms.

( It’s remarkable, it occurs to her, how even in these times of war, even when he’s the one who’s just come from battlefields, that his presence in the Force is still so tranquil, while she’s always edging on tumultuous, even though she’s been at the Temple where there seems to be the last bit of peace in all the galaxy. Or perhaps it isn’t remarkable; this is how they’ve always been, hasn’t it. She’s a storm; he’s steady. )

She turns towards him, his mere presence in the Force telling her where he’ll be without needing to hear the footfalls of his boots, and she’s flashing him a grin even before her eyes have even fully settled on his.

It’s been a few weeks, and instinctually, blue eyes sweep up and down him; sight coupled with the Force confirms that he isn’t seriously injured. Good. Obi-Wan is a skilled Jedi, and certainly one whose skills have Siri’s upmost admiration, but he isn’t invincible, and this is wartime. Already too many Jedi have been killed, too many clone troopers have fallen and been replaced by the Kamonians as though they’re cogs in a wheel instead of sentient beings.

( And here they are, in love during a war, only now fully allowing themselves to accept their feelings, at a time when either of them could be killed at any moment. Does that make every moment more precious, or does it just make the both of them stupid? Probably both. Though perhaps, Siri acknowledges, that isn’t the only thing up for consideration that makes them stupid…and also makes every moment together more precious. )

“ I was almost starting to wonder if I was going to get a distress call from you, ” she greets teasingly, “ Though I’m glad to see you managed without me. And that you seem to be all in one piece. ”

[tachiisms]

*gives her a little kiss when the fireworks go off, holding her close to ward off any discomfort caused by the explosions* Happy New Year, darling.

She returns the kiss, gently, but sincerely, slipping her arms up around his neck. “Happy New Year,” she replies, a low murmur as she pulls out of the kiss, smiling up at him. 

[starkindustrics]

Awaiting Tony on Christmas morning is simply a small, black velvet box with a silver bow attached to the top. Inside the box is a platinum 1895 Cartier wedding ring, the diamond in the center catching the light and sparkling.

              he doesn’t realise that it’s there, of course. sojourns spent in the lab, closed away for days on end tends to gel time into an indiscernible whole that he cares little of to tease apart. it isn’t until edwin knocks crisp and clear against one of the many floor-to-ceiling panes of clear glass that divide work from recreation that tony turns to look over his shoulder, surprised enough that he’s equal parts tired and hungry. even while seated, one can almost be certain that his daily calorific intake was being steadily consumed by a preternatural intelligence that persists in its restless machinations. his fingers only oblige when bidden, a servant to their wiles. speaking of which— he spares his own work a glance, caught at a halting revelation that he’s lost all train of thought, the breadcrumbs having simply disappeared. 

indication enough to buy himself some time away from tinkering, and tend to a body that was no doubt ailing quietly. he’ll phone ben, too, while he’s at it. surely he would have left for jersey ahead of time, bearing his schedule in mind. bones creak and pop in his ears as he’s moving to stand, raw sinew bearing new duress that they have thus far shirked from when at rest. he doesn’t make much of it, even with the glaring knowledge that it’s christmas, judging by the emergence of familiar ornaments being brought out from the attic to dress the otherwise monotonous hallways with. 

                 out past the spartan expanse of his workspace and into what comforts a million-dollar piece of prime new york real estate affords, he moves quickly up the typical flight of three stairs with wide strides, alternating between a cool winter’s sun flitting through panoramic scenes of the city and the muted glow of wall sconces. 5,000 sqft feels to be emptier when split between a meager staff and himself, he thinks. but its festive no less, when he passes a string of holly set over the archway leading into his suite. 

he doesn’t make much of the holiday, of course. the significance isn’t lost in him, what with the many appearances that he’s made over the years since boyhood into his late adolescence with his parents at annual christmas socials. but its hackneyed, the well-wishes and fake plastic firs, ringing a hollow intention steeped with big-business intentions. so he’s callous when he spots a conspicuously laid black-box set against folded white sheets. a gift, no doubt. ben has had this planned ahead, he’d assume. but upon closer inspection and deliberation, he bears new suspicions, recognising the cartier bundle and the weight it carries. hardly a throwaway gift that one would proffer over the holiday season, more so bearing in mind the sort of money that ben earns. tony knows the catalog well, and wonders what would have inspired such frivolous spending. 

that is until he has the lid cracked open far enough to be confronted with a question tacitly posed in blatant frankness, in the sum of a brilliant diamond set against a tasteful platinum band. its a loud, bold thing that emanates from the tiny space lined with black, filling the entirety of the room with a cottony warmth. there’s guilt, of course. guilt in knowing how much ben had likely shelled out for this. but the sentiment far outweighs that. some time paces before he hears himself breathe again, and he seats himself down, ring still held in its box on his lap. suppose then, ben would be waiting on him more eagerly than he had anticipated. ❝ you couldn’t have waited till after christmas dinner? ❞

[stormlit]

( @mnemosynai / brad )

        the cigarette does little to soothe how raw tunny feels inside, the steel he covers his nerves with torn apart by these sessions. ( sometimes, it looks worse than bullets splintering wood. it looks worse than an explosion tearing a leg apart. but he’s the only one who can see it the post-war devastation. tunny thinks he can be forgiven a smoke or two. fuck what it might do to his lungs. ) but it gives him a few minutes to collect himself, to rebuild the defences he needs to head back out into the world and get on with his day, and something to do with his hands. something that isn’t rubbing his leg ‘til it’s sore.

        bad fucking habit. just like the rest of them, then.

        ❝ sergeant colbert? ❞ he thinks he’s seeing wrong, at first; it’s been a fucking long time, though it’s fuzzy for tunny, losing months to fever and infection-induced delirium, and even more to rock bottom depression ( quite an achievement, for someone who’s spent his entire adolescent and adult life digging his way through the rock bottom to the sub-surface beneath it ), and he’s not exactly sure how long. he could be wrong entirely, without the harsh desert light and camo print. but there are no coincidences. it’s just a small fucking world. 

        tunny pulls his guitar case over his shoulder, cursing his crutch and his instability on his prosthetic.  ❝ hey, asshole, slow down! i can’t fucking run. ❞

[atlsburnt]

          she can feel the eyes ,  skin pricking at the back of her neck as she scans her surroundings.   search lands on a source ,  head tilting in acknowledgement.    it’s a damn good thing she’s not hela ,  lest daggers would be flying just from the look in focused brown eyes.     ❛    yeah ,  i got a reputation goin’ ‘round.   ❜     /     @mnemosynai​ lyric sc     -- jack daniels eric church  

[atlantisking]

With careful attention Arthur unwraps the present, disciplined fingers slowly create an opening, not tearing mindlessly, though the excitement and expectation is obvious on his features as he wonders what Sam made for him. His husband already teased about the contents, he knew it was going to be something connected to technology, tailored for him but had no idea about the specifics.

When he finally sees the wristband his smile widens, already in love with the design of it but when the attributes of it are explained to him completely, he gets up to wrap his arms around Sam, embracing him for long moments before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.      “   IT’S PERFECT,   I love it, Sammy. Always connected no matter what, no matter where we are and how long it might take to see each other again. We will   never be truly apart.   “     His hands gently cup his husband’s jaw as he watches him with adoration.     “   Thank you, baby, once again you proved you’re a   TRUE GENIUS.   “

@mnemosynai

[tachiisms]

'Come now, Master Tachi. Don't tell me you missed me.' ~Obi-Wan

She grins at the familiar voice accompanying the flash of blue as he leaps out of the transport, his clone troopers following him momentarily, joining hers in the fray. It’s mere moments before they’re beside each other, as in sync as if they were dancing, not deflecting blaster bolts from battle droids. 

“ Me? Miss you? ” She teased above the din of battle, tossing him another grin, “ I was just worried you might be getting bored, not being invited to this party! ”