#AO3 is the greatest honestly

[snaileer]

A writers haunted past.

I’m literally having this issue with a fic right now🥲

[carolinanadeau]

well. uh. my fanfic has finally attracted the attention of a Person I Definitely Don't Want to be Friends With. I mean at least they didn't insult me or anything and seemed to actually like the story but I feel weird being perceived by such a person at all. I'm just going to slink away on the ground like a flattened Snoopy

[messrmoonyy]

- The Forbidden Fruit

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Request- I NEED ARTHUR TO STEAL DUTCHS GIRL AND SHOW HER A REAL MANS LOVING. FILTHY PASSIONATE LOVING. WORK YOUR MAGIC

A/N- I got incredibly carried away with this. Is basically prawn with no plot honestly. And far softer smut than I think you intended it to be but. Here we are. Enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | implied toxic relationship ( reader is in love with Dutch van der Linde what can you expect here ), smut: affair, Arthur being desperate to please!!!, fingering, oral ( reader receiving ) , unprotected p in v and he accidentally finishes inside oops, like the tiniest amount of cockwarming ( WC-8.9k )

AO3 | Masterlist - requests are open :)

Arthur didn’t involve himself in Dutch’s relationships. He stayed polite to whatever young woman he had hanging off his arm at the time, but that was about it. He’d seen too many girls come and go- usually in floods of tears at being dismissed by the man that had seduced and charmed them into loving him. Just working his way through shiny new plaything to plaything, hiding his unending sorrow for Annabelle under the skirt of some new girl. 

Unfortunately you were no different. 

In your defence, he supposed, you had lasted far longer than the rest. The only real exception to that being the famed Annabelle herself. But as was almost inevitable, your time in the honeymoon phase was slowly crumbling down around you. 

Arthur did wonder if it was simply because of the current stress levels in camp. They had all been on the run for longer than he cared to try and count, but after the mess in Blackwater they had reached new heights of being hunted. It had never been this bad. Nothing had ever gone this wrong. Because before everything had gone to complete shit, he’d actually seemed quite taken with you. In truth Arthur actually had begun to consider the idea that Dutch really did love you. Had finally been able to move on from the weight on his heart of his dead lover. 

But no. 

Arthur was observing the same pattern as always, it had just taken far longer with you. And that just seemed to make it all the more cruel. 

He barely even looked at you most days now. Barely uttered a few words in return to any question you asked. 

And the arguing was growing ever more fierce. It was practically everyday. 

Arthur didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way Dutch treated you. Didn’t like the way Dutch was treating anyone lately. But you in particular had never been anything but nice to him, kind. Sweet. Incredibly naive but sweet. To Arthur too. Some of the girls Dutch had strung along had been vile, rude and entitled and stuck up. But you? You were a genuinely nice person it seemed. And maybe that was your greatest flaw, for someone like that did not belong with Dutch Van Der Linde. 

In fact Arthur had come to like you from a distance. The times he had spoken to you you had been interesting, intelligent. Far cleverer than him and he had always liked that in a woman if he was honest. 

But still you clung to Dutch. Though your patience with him of late seemed to finally be wearing thin. 

Dutch had never really been one to be ashamed or afraid of airing his dirty laundry within the gang. Whether that be packing on the PDA in camp in a way that often made Arthur want to vomit up his breakfast, or the even more puke inducing sounds of the two of you making up all night long. So arguing was no exception to that either. 

And today was no different. 

“ you barely even look at me! I’m right here! I always have been, I’ve always been such a good girl haven’t I? I do as you say. And look at how you repay me! “ Arthur sighed as he dropped a stack of bills into the box, successfully recovering yet another of Strauss’ debts for him. You were both screaming at each other again, the tent flaps pulled down as if that would over any form of soundproofing. It was the camp's regular ambience now it seemed. 

He did feel sorry for you, he really did. You’d left everything you had for Dutch. Some beautiful, intelligent, well spoken girl. Heiress to her daddy’s mining fortune up north, used to the finer things but seeking some adventure. And Dutch had offered you both. Drowned you in jewels and gifts- though unlike the ones you had once owned the ones he gave were not his to give- Shown you off like a shiny new toy on his arm. Expressly informed Miss Grimshaw that you were not to be lifting a finger, that you would not have to earn your keep with chores like the others. 

You earned your keep by looking beautiful beside him, by boosting his ego with your constant devotion to him, by letting Dutch use you for his own source of pleasure and by the sounds of things- that Arthur truly had no choice but to overhear- not getting very much back in return. 

“ You know I don’t think I’ve ever met a more selfish woman in my life! “ Arthur sighed and sat down on his cot, debating whether or not to make some attempt to get the sleep he had been planning the entire long journey back to Clemens Point. But his tent was but a stone's throw from Dutch’s. 

“ I have needs too Dutch Van Der Linde!” Everyone else in camp didn’t seem to mind it though, most of them preparing to settle in for the night. Whether that be passing out on their bedrolls or drinking by the fire. But Arthur wasn’t sure he could put up with another moment of the damn yelling. 

“ oh? You have needs? “ Dutch’s voice was condescending. Mocking “ I give you everything! You are acting like a spoiled child”

“ a child? A child!? “ Arthur stood back up again, deciding he’d fare better trying to sleep on the damn ground rather than next to the likes of you and Dutch. So he headed out towards the edge of camp, hiding himself in the woods by the water. He slumped down against a tree with a heavy sigh and wished he’d thought to pick up a bottle of beer on the way. 

But it was no matter. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear the fighting anymore, but close enough that if he was needed anyone calling his name would be heard. 

He looked out across the water, enjoying his rare moment of peace. It was a clear night and a full moon, the reflection bouncing off the water in the most beautiful way. He pulled out his journal and started to sketch it, wishing he could capture its beauty better. 

‘ Dutch and the girl were arguing again. Got out of earshot for a bit to try catch some sleep. Thought the water and the moon looked mighty pretty ‘ 

He scrawled underneath when he was done, tucking it back into the satchel discarded at his side. Javier's guitar had silenced back in camp now and he figured everyone had gone off to bed. But he was quite content there by the water, so dropped his hat over his face and settled in to try and catch a few hours himself. 

He was just dozing off when he heard the sound of boots marching quickly through the undergrowth, snapping twigs as they went. And then the soft sound of someone mumbling to themselves. He silently hoped whoever it was would keep well away from him. But the boots grew nearer and came to a halt not so far away. The crackle of a match being lit and a heavy sigh. 

“ thinks he can talk to me like that? Bastard. Bastard he is. I’m a lady I deserve better than. Than that “ 

You. 

He cleared his throat lightly to inform you that he was there, but unfortunately still seemed to startle you. 

“ Christ! Gave me a damn heart attack Arthur “ he placed his hat down with his satchel with a sigh and looked up at you. In the light of the moon reflecting off the water he could see your cheeks were tear stained, the glow of the end of your cigarette illuminating your face further and showing your makeup in streaks. 

He couldn’t lie that it made his heart ache for you. He didn’t particularly have any solid feelings for you, but he did feel sorry for you. It was hard not to feel sorry for the woman seduced by Dutch. 

And you truly were a cut above the rest in his opinion. Beautiful as the early morning sun and, when you weren’t screaming at Dutch, as kind and warm as it too. But maybe that was fitting. Because much like the sun you could bask people in warmth, but burn them too. Beautiful and bright but scalding and he found he couldn’t look at you for too long, no matter how many times he wanted too. Simply blinding his eyes with your flaming beauty and having to turn away. 

But maybe he was just getting caught up in his metaphors. 

“ shouldn’t be out this far from camp “ you simply shrugged, taking another drag of your cigarette “ ain’t no one nice lingerin’ in woods at night miss” even if no Lemoyne raiders were sneaking around the trees, there were plenty of species of wildlife that would happily do a number on you. Chew off a leg or bite you with poison fangs. You didn’t know how to take care of yourself. You couldn’t handle a gun, didn’t have a single survival instinct in you. 

Dutch had quite made sure of that, he’d heard you ask once or twice. And had been denied. Charming you with some string of words about how you were far too delicate to be handling a gun. To leave it for the men. 

“ you’re lingering in the woods aren’t you Mr Morgan? “ he chuckled and shrugged. 

“ and I ain’t that nice. Point proven lady “ 

“ not like Dutch would care if someone took me anyway. He’d probably be thankful “ your voice was hoarse from the shouting and he couldn’t tell if you were going to cry again or not. You took a long drag of your cigarette before seeming to suddenly remember something, dipping your hand into the waistband of your skirt and pulling out a pack “ sorry my manners. Want one? “ he took one with a nod of thanks “ can I sit? “

You sat down carefully beside him then with a long sigh, tucking your legs beneath you, and leant forward so he could light the cigarette between his lips with the end of yours. 

“ thanks “ you both sat quietly for a short while. Smoking and watching the ripples in the water. He didn’t mind it actually, as much as he had been slightly annoyed at you disturbing his attempt to sleep. You were decent company. 

You rarely strayed from Dutch’s side, but on the odd occasion you had and Arthur had stumbled upon you having a moment to yourself at the edge of camp it had been quite nice. So he didn’t mind sitting there with you, company. For you both. 

“ I think you’re nice. By the way “ you said to break the silence, refrenching his previous comment of bad men lingering in the woods. 

“ No offense to you Miss, but you’re in love with old Dutch. I don’t think you’re particularly qualified to be sayin’ whether folk is nice or not “ he said it teasingly in some hopes of making you smile. And it did. A little. 

“ maybe not “ he watched you bring your cigarette to your lips again, glancing at your hands. Nails perfectly trimmed and not a single speck of dirt or sign of a scar. Hands that had never had to lift a finger. Ever. It was an interesting contrast to his own. Calloused and scarred and bruised “ but Dutch he… he…Can I ask you something? “ 

“ Sure “ he said and flicked his cigarette away. 

“ Do you think I’m beautiful Arthur? “ you asked meekly. Your face was sad. Lingering innocence yet to be wiped away by life somehow, the kind that only remained because you had lived a life so sheltered. Even with Dutch you were as sheltered as could be “ and don’t lie. Please “

“ I think you’re beautiful, sure “ you turned back to the water again, tossing your own cigarette before promptly lighting another. 

“ Dutch doesn’t. Not anymore. Barely even looks at me “ Arthur ran a hand over his face, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say to you in the situation. At all “ I know I know I don’t expect you to agree. You two you’re…you’re like two peas in a pod aren’t you? “ you said with a small laugh, but it held no humour. You took a long drag of your cigarette. 

“ me and Dutch it’s… we go back a long way. But… I will agree the way he’s been treatin’ you. Ain't nice. Not when you done nothin’ but be loyal to him for so long “ you turned back to him again and gave a small smile. It was like a wave of relief had washed right over you. 

Someone was finally listening. 

“ I think he’s got his eyes on Mary-Beth “ you mumbled, red stained lips wrapping around your cigarette again. Much like how he had found himself admiring your hands he now found himself admiring your lips. Soft and plump and stained red in the way they often were. 

He blamed it on his fatigue. 

“ he’d be a fool to give you up. You’re kind, loyal, hell you might jus’ be the most beautiful woman I know. He’s in a weird place right now. He’ll snap outta it, be back to readin’ you Evelyn Miller in no time. You’ll see “ maybe the last part wasn’t entirely true. But the first part was. And you seemed to bask in his compliments. He wondered when the last time Dutch had said something nice to you had actually been. 

“ Thank you “ you looked as though you might cry again. And he really hoped you wouldn’t. He didn’t like to see you cry. And he really wouldn’t know what to say to you then. Once again you turned your attention back to the water and gave a small sigh “ maybe I chose the wrong outlaw “ you said with a small laugh “ always have thought you were quite handsome “ 

He nearly choked on his own saliva, clearing his throat in hopes to pass it out smoothly. He didn’t know if it had worked. 

“ Really? “ 

“ Hmm “ you mused, tilting your head inquisitively to the side “ but you were oh so hung up on that Mary girl when I found Dutch”

“ Yeah well. Mary she’s- that’s all done with now “ maybe Mary was the reason he seemed to sympathise with you so. Because he too had had a broken heart. Though he was sure his was not as brutal as yours. 

“ Guess we both have bad taste don’t we Mr Morgan “ he chuckled and nodded. 

“ That we do miss. That we do “ he placed a gentle hand to your shoulder and squeezed in some form of comfort “ don’t worry bout Dutch though. Really. He’ll come to his senses and if…if he don’t then. Any man would be lucky to have ya “ you sniffled and he figured you’d started crying again “ I didn’t mean to upset- “

“ No. No I’m fine. It’s just…you mean it all don’t you? All these kind words? “ he shrugged and then nodded. 

“ Sure I do. You’re a beautiful woman. Inside an out “ something seemed to flash across your face, a million and one things whirring away behind your eyes. He’d never been that good at reading people, never one for knowing what people were thinking. And the look on your face was the most confusing he’d ever seen. 

The next part happened far too quickly for him to process it. Maybe because he was tired, maybe because he truly hadn’t even slightly suspected you to do it. You flicked away the butt of your cigarette and leaned forward, one hand to his leg and the other to his neck. And kissed him. 

He was taken aback and you pulled away before he could make any attempt to figure out what you’d just done. 

“ Sorry “ you sighed in slight annoyance, seemingly at yourself, sitting back beside him again. Like it was no big deal. Just something that had happened and had no real consequence “ shit- sorry “ Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and shrugged with a small laugh. Attempting to play it as cool as you clearly were. 

Maybe he’d finally cracked and entered some weird fatigue induced psychosis, hallucinations and hearing voices. And kissing Dutch’s woman. 

“ S’okay. No harm done “ he was bewildered. Trying to process the last 30 seconds and coming up completely blank. 

“ Just the way you talk about me I- Lord forgive me “ he was certain he must have looked half dense. Still completely confused at what on earth was happening with you. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit flustered at having a woman like you kiss him. Even if you were begging the Lord for forgiveness right after it “ no one’s spoken to me like that in a long time and…and I wish they had. I want to be told I’m beautiful again. I want to be kissed. I want I want…I want a lot of things “ 

Maybe Arthur was a stupid, idiotic fool. Maybe too many gunshot wounds and bumps to the head had finally caught up to him. Maybe he too wanted to act on his ever growing annoyance with how Dutch was behaving. But he found himself reaching out, fingers tucking under your chin to turn your face to look at him. Your eyes were so beautiful up close. Practically sparkling in the moonlight.

Oh he was such a fool. 

“ could’a jus’ asked “ a small smile tugged at your lips and you laughed a little. 

“ Yeah. Of course. Because you’d have said yes Arthur? “ he shrugged. He didn’t know if he would’ve actually. But now the thought was in his head “ alright “ you whispered and shuffled a little closer to him “ indulge me “ 

His thumb was absentmindedly brushing over your jaw, looking at you in the light of the moon and wondering how on earth Dutch wasn’t constantly begging for your attention. If he had a woman like you constantly hanging off his every word he wouldn’t know how to act. Would be like a mangy dog trailing around after you for food.  

“ I might’ve “ you gave a roll of your eyes but you were smiling still, a beautiful, tempting smile.

You were a temptress. A siren. Luring him in with your beauty to do something terrible. And you were vulnerable. Sad and seeking appreciation. And he was truly debating it. 

“ Well…“ you started quietly, looking up at him through your long lashes in a way that made his chest go tight “ there is… still time for you to say yes “ 

“ we ain’t gonna tell no one bout this y’hear? This it’s… it’s jus’ between me and you. Okay? “ your eyebrows furrowed for a second looking up at him intently, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not. If he was serious. He wasn’t entirely sure himself, needed you to agree or disagree to put the thought to rest.  His thumb continued to brush along your jaw tenderly and your eyes fell closed for a moment. 

How long had it been since someone had touched you with such care? That something as simple as that seemed to mean so much to you. 

“ I understand “ you whispered, eyes flickering down to his lips again. He pulled you in close, barely an inch between your lips and then spoke again “ you’ll give me what I want? Don’t treat me like him “ 

“ Anythin’ ya want. You got it. I’ll give ya what you deserve “ you let a shuddering breath escape and gave a small nod before closing the gap between you both again. 

He hadn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he sure found his footing quickly. You kissed him like he was your source of air, climbing your way into his lap and slipping your hands into his hair. You tasted of cigarette smoke and something almost sweet. Whatever it was, it was an intoxicating mix. You were like a siren singing your call in his ear, drawing him in and taking him for your own. The weight of you in his lap was almost familiar, welcoming. Just… nice. 

He had almost forgotten just how fun it was to kiss a woman. How so many men seemed to shun it as boring, pointless- Dutch obviously included. But Arthur had always loved it. Had spent many a night as a youngster sneaking his way into Mary’s room just to kiss her. To spend hours kissing and talking and kissing some more. 

Kissing you was something else. Addictive. Intoxicating. 

Eventually he had to pull away, his lungs screaming at him for air. Your hands slipped out from his hair and down to grasp at the collar of his shirt, resting your forehead on his. 

“ Anything I want you say? “ you asked quietly, breathless. 

“ Anythin’ “ you smiled and lifted your head, a quiet determination settling over you. Your lipstick had smeared and he wondered how much of it was now on his own face. 

“ okay… undress me then “ you softly commanded, shifting slightly in his lap “ please. Dutch never- he makes me do it myself, barely even looks I- Please “ 

He almost laughed to himself about now he immediately thought getting you naked was entirely too risky. As if the entire situation alone wasn’t risky anyway. But he didn’t want to think too hard about that, instead simply channelled his recent annoyance towards Dutch into his actions. Tried to tell himself he was doing a good thing, taking care of you. 

You watched his face carefully as he gently untucked your shirt from where it was tucked into your skirt, some silky soft thing that probably cost more than everything he owned in his clothing trunk put together. He undid every pearl button slowly, eyes darting up to your face as he did. Your chest was heaving in long, heavy breaths. You were nervous. Or excited. He couldn’t tell which. 

You shivered lightly when he pushed it from your shoulders, now only the soft cotton of your chemise between his hands and your chest. Your nipples had hardened, from the slight night chill or lust he couldn’t say. But he found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips through the cotton. You gasped softly, a sound so beautiful it made him groan. You sounded delicate. Innocent. You’d never made such sounds when he’d overheard you with Dutch. In fact a majority of the time you almost sounded in pain. 

But this sound wasn’t that. This sound was beautiful. And he wanted to hear more. One hand pushed at your back to bring you closer, the other palmed at your neglected breast in hopes you’d make the sound again. And you did. Gentle, soft gasps as his tongue dampened the material of your chemise, teeth tugging at you gently through the material. Your hand found his hair again, raking your fingers through it and arching your back into his touch. 

He couldn’t imagine why Dutch had never wanted to do such a thing. How could he not want to hear you make those pretty pretty sounds? How could he not want to feel you writhing in his lap and yearning to be touched. Maybe Dutch was more of a fool than he had originally thought. 

“ Need you to touch me- properly I- take this off “ your sentence was choppy, like you weren’t focussed enough to truly articulate the words you wanted to say. But he understood, pulling your chemise over your head and dropping it to land with your shirt. 

He took a moment just to look at you, not even entirely because he knew you’d want him to. Just because he wanted to. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t wondered what was hiding under your expensive clothes once or twice. How could he not when he had to try sleep through the sounds of you and Dutch of a night. 

“ God damn “ he said softly, hands soothing over your waist as you basked in his admiring stare, taking in the feeling of finally being looked at. Properly. 

“ like what you see Mr Morgan “ you asked, voice sultry and low in a way that made his cock twitch in his pants. 

“ Dutch is a damn fool “ is all he could say, leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands moving to grab at your chest. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and massaged your breasts with his large hands, seizing the opportunity to dip his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. Your fingers in his hair, twisting strands around your fingers and tugging lightly. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Certain he’d somehow taken a stumble through the veil and ended up at heaven's gates. 

He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but the way he was prepared to worship and praise you could truly be considered blasphemous. 

He couldn’t resist the temptation of getting his mouth on you again much longer, dragging his lips from yours and wrapping them around a pebbled nipple instead. You rolled your hips against him, those beautiful soft moans still falling past your lips. This was what you had wanted from him. To be worshipped. To be looked at as the beautiful temptress of a woman you were. And not merely glanced at and then used like some two dollar whore in a saloon. 

He wanted to nip at your skin, bite and soothe it with his tongue. But he knew he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk Dutch seeing it if he felt the need to stop ignoring you for a short while for his own needs. But oh how he wanted to. To mark up your smooth skin with reminders that you were desired. That you could look at as they faded and be reminded that you were wanted. 

“ I need more “ you whispered “ Arthur please. Give me more “ another roll of your hips followed by a small whimper told him enough. 

“ I know I got ya “ he murmured against your skin, pressing kisses up your sternum and your neck. Nose brushing at the underside of your jaw and working his way back to your lips again “ stand up. Lemme get you out of these damn clothes “ he caught the smile on your face as you stood up, he stayed seated and ran his hands over the fabric covering your hips. Something seemed to blaze in your eyes as you looked down on him. He realised it was most probably you that was usually being leered down on, but not now. 

Not with him. Not with Arthur. Arthur looked up at you like the goddess you were, looked up at you with what he knew was a silent pleading in his eyes. Dutch would never ask he knew it. Dutch took. Stole. Used. Arthur didn’t. Wouldn’t. 

“ I like how you look at me “ you said quietly, hand soothing over his hair “ you make me feel beautiful “

“ Cause y’are “ he murmured, hands reaching to the ties of your skirt. He wanted to see more. Wanted to see all of you. 

You helped him with the slightly tedious task of getting your skirts and undergarments off, but all so slowly. Taking his time. Making sure he appreciated every single layer of clothing you removed for him, right down to unlacing your boots and holding your leg gently to help you out of them. Until you stood there as naked as the day you were born, illuminated by the moonlight on the water. 

“ well ain’t you a sight “

Your skin was so smooth. Soft. Not a single scar that he could see. The skin of a woman who had never had to lift a finger. Had never known the hardships that he had. The only true blemish on your skin was the almost completely faded bruises on your hips. Fingertips. Dutch. 

He soothed his hands up your legs, pressing soft kisses to the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he went, and stopped as he reached them. 

“ He can be a little rough. It’s how he likes it “ you answered before he could even ask. Arthur too had been known to have his rougher moments. But he could never hurt you. Never mark you in anyway other than that of affection and care. 

“ I ain’t like that “ 

“ I know. That’s why I want you “ he pulled you back down into his lap, his large hands splaying over your hips as he took yet another moment just to look. To admire. To thank whatever stupid damn God may exist for placing such a heavenly body in his presence “ I feel a little like the odd one out here though “ you said with a small smile, tracing a finger down from the open top buttons of his shirt to his pants. 

He’d been far too occupied with you to even really notice the fact that he was ridiculously overdressed in comparison. 

“ Can’t have that now can we darlin’ “ your smile grew and you made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders with a gentle sigh. You ran your fingers through the hair on his chest, nails scratching lightly at his skin and peppering lipstick stained kisses as you went. Littering his collarbones, his sternum.

“ much better “ your hands kept roaming and your lips kept kissing. Hands seemingly wanting to touch him all, scratching lightly up his sides and over his waist, his stomach and his ribs. Slowly moving to slide over his shoulders and loop around his neck. You rolled your hips against him again and whined softly. He was so hard it was growing painful as he stayed restrained by his pants. But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Dutch. And he wasn’t about to seek out any form of pleasure himself until he had you seeing the stars you deserved. 

“ tell me what y’want “ he murmured, peppering soft kisses across your jaw. 

“ touch me “ you sighed blissfully “ please touch me “ 

His hand slipped down in between your bodies, brushing past the soft curls between your legs and couldn’t contain the groan of a sound that left him when he felt how warm and wet you were. 

“ Christ “ he muttered as your head dropped to his shoulder with a shuddering breath “ he ever touch you like this? “ he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. Why would he? He didn’t get anything out of it. 

But Arthur did. Oh Arthur did. 

“ no “ you whispered “ no never…please. More “ he tested the waters, pressing lightly against your clit and revelling in the squeak of a sound that it caused you to make. 

“ or like this? " You shook your head again, breathing shakily as he dragged his finger through the wetness and drew light circles around your entrance. 

“ Arthur “ you moaned his name in the most delicious way as he pushed his finger inside, burying it to the knuckle 

“ yeah and what about this darlin? “ he again knew the answer. Dutch didn’t care about your pleasure. Didn’t care about wasting time on something as simple as making you whimper and whine for more “ he touch you like this? “ 

“ no “ 

“ think ya can take one more for me? “ you nodded again and he withdrew his finger, gathering your slick on his other before pushing them both past the resistance of your entrance “ that’a girl “ he pumped his fingers in and out steadily, curling and probing at your velvety soft walls to test what you liked. 

“ This is so… oh god. This isn’t proper at all “ you laughed slightly, melting into a soft moan. Arthur chuckled, lifting your face up so you’d look at him. 

“ Ain’t proper at all? It’s damn right filthy darlin” your cheeks were aflame and you closed your eyes for a moment, grinding yourself against his hand “ look at ya. Drippin all over ma fingers like that. Ain’t proper. Not one bit “ you smiled, a cheeky, devious smile that made him lean forward and kiss you again. 

You were so wet it was obscene. He couldn’t tell where the sounds of you kissing stopped and the sopping sounds of his fingers began. You continued to grind down against his palm, practically riding his fingers, his whole hand wet and sticky with you. 

And he wanted to taste it. To taste you. To flood his mouth with the slick, liquid gold covering his fingers. It was an almost primal desire, like a desperation as strong as needing air. He needed to. He had to. 

“ Darlin’ “ he murmured, lifting your head from where it had fallen to his neck again “ gotta let me taste you. You gotta “ the look on your face only made him want it more. Your skin flushed and eyes blown out with nothing but pure lust and desire. He’d never needed anything more. Nothing else mattered, not the painful hardness in his pants, not the realisation that you were very much Dutch’s girl. He didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to be between your thighs. 

“ really? No one’s ever- oh god. Yes. Yes. Please Arthur “ he withdrew his fingers making you whimper and quickly grabbed his discarded shirt and lay it down on the ground. Then he kissed you again as he wrapped his arms around your waist, gently turning you to lay back on the shirt. It still couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. But you didn’t seem to mind, tugging at his hair and lifting your hips up against him as he hovered over you. 

He took his time moving down. Leaving a long and slow trail of hot, wet, kisses on your skin. You writhed underneath him, whining softly and twisting your hands in his shirt underneath you. He took extra time with your thighs. Kissing up from the inside of your knee and stopping before he could place his mouth where he really wanted to, then repeating with the other. 

“ Arthur “ you whined, still squirming around and desperate. 

“ I know. I got ya. Gonna make those pretty sounds for me again yeah? "You nodded, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him as his head sank lower, spreading your legs wider to give him full access to the centre of you “ that’s a good girl “ he spread you open with his fingers, in awe of the way you parted for him. Like petals on a flower, dripping with the morning dew. 

But you were far more delectable. A forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. 

And oh was it pretty. Even in the dark, in nothing but the light of the moon on the water, it was pretty. Begging to be tasted, touched. Admired. 

The sound you made as he dragged his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit was like music to his ears. He didn’t know how he managed to not come in his pants just at the sound of it. 

You still kept it quiet, but loud enough for him. 

His own, deep, guttural moan escaped from his chest as he licked again. Your taste flooding his mouth in a way so so much better than he could’ve imagined. 

He ate you like he was starved. Like a savage predator that hadn’t seen meat for days, like a man ready for the gallows enjoying his last meal. His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs apart for him as you bucked and squirmed against his face. It was visceral. Carnal. You made him feel like his grip on his own composure and control was weaker than ever, that he was holding on to it with nothing but his fingertips. 

“ Arthur “ he dipped his tongue into the welcoming warmth of your cunt, his eyes falling closed for a moment as he felt you clench around him, desperate for more. Desperate for him. And he would give you more, would give you anything you asked of him. But not until he made you come first. 

He let go of one of your legs and brought his fingers back to their previous position, wanting to feel you again. To be inside of you, as close as he could get. To make you see stars. 

The flat of his tongue found your clit again, certain he could feel you pulsing against him. Desperate and full of desire for him. He felt honoured, privileged. That you were so loyal to Dutch, glued to his side. Never even batting an eye at anyone else. And yet you had broken that for him. Had sought him out because you knew he would treat you well. 

Your back arched off the ground as he sunk them back into you, slipping in with a welcome ease. His thick fingers pumped into you at a steady pace, his tongue diverting all its attention to your clit. Lapping and sucking and letting you press his face harder against you as you tugged on his hair. 

“ don’t stop please dont- Arthur “ he had no intentions of stopping, none at all. In fact he simply honed in on his ministrations, working harder to push you closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm he knew you had been craving for weeks. 

“ Not gonna stop darlin. Ain’t stopping until you come for me. Taste so good, so good “ he murmured against you, curling his fingers and hitting a spot that made you gasp and your body shudder “ there we go, right there “ 

He flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves, looking at you as best he could to gauge your reaction. You were pulling a little painfully at his hair, squirming and rolling your hips against his face. He let you do it. Let you be the one using a man for your pleasure, rather than being the one used for once. 

Your sounds were sinful. Melodic. He took it all in. Basked in the noises you made for him, the delicious taste of you on his tongue, drunk on you. On your taste. Your smell. 

“ Arthur- Arthur please I- “ you babbled, a slightly smug smile working its way onto his face as he watched your prim and proper facade melt away “ don’t stop “ 

He hummed an assurance that he wouldn’t, your hips bucking against his face as he did. You were so unbelievably wet, dripping out around his fingers and soaking the hair of his beard. He would never have thought it of you. The way you held yourself around camp, so poised and prim. The accent when you spoke that made everyone else around you sound so common. And yet there you were. On your back in the woods, chasing an orgasm being offered to you by an outlaw. Repeating his name like a mantra. 

And not even that of the outlaw you were in love with.

“ Arthur- “

Only seconds later it happened. You held a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit you, muffling your choked moans, back arching off the ground and walls clamping down on his fingers as he worked you through it. Tongue still working diligently at your clit until you pushed your hand at his head, squirming away a little. 

He almost didn’t want to stop. Could’ve happily stayed there a while longer, but moved back, an obscene wet sound in the late night silence as he withdrew his fingers. 

He took his fingers to his mouth, sucking the remnants of your climax onto his tongue. Unable to control himself. You watched him do it, mouth slightly agape and eyes half open with some desperate undeniable look of utter desire. He could almost see the way it made you feel, could see you unable to contain the overwhelming feeling of realising you were desired. Wanted. 

“ God. You are unbelievable “ you whispered, pushing yourself up onto your elbows and grabbing at his arm. Your fingers looped around his wrist and tugged his hand towards your own mouth. He shook his head with a chuckle, slightly in awe as you took those same two fingers between your red lips. 

Your tongue swirled between his digits, plush lips wrapping around them and sucking. Your eyes locked on his as you did. It made his cock ache. He wanted your lips on him, wanted your tongue swirling around his length and milking him dry. He could imagine it if he thought hard enough. The way you hummed slightly in appreciation as you sucked his fingers clean, sent vibrations straight through his bones. Rattling him to the core. But he would never ask that of you. But the thought was one he would hold onto. It made him shift slightly. 

“ you ain’t so prim and proper lady “ he murmured as he withdrew his fingers, a string of saliva connecting his fingertips and your lips “ This ain’t very proper of you miss “ Arthur said with a small smile, teasing “ rollin’ around in the dirt with the likes of me “ 

“ Oh to hell with being proper if it means I get to feel like this “ you said with a small laugh and he kissed you again for what felt like the millionth time. He wondered if you could taste yourself on his lips, smell the heady delicious smell of you on his beard.

He would’ve been more than happy to leave it at that. No matter how badly he wanted to sheath himself inside you and stay there for eternity. His goal had been your pleasure and he had achieved it. 

But as he kissed you your hands began working at the buckle of his gun belt, opening it with a skilled ease that made him pull back. 

“ Darlin’ you ain’t gotta do that- “

“ shush “ you pushed at him lightly so you could sit up and went to work on the buttons on his pants next “ I want to. I- Arthur take them off “ he made far quicker work of his own clothes than he had of yours and you leant back on your elbows to watch him. 

You looked like a pinup girl. Like something he’d seen drawn come to life. Your eyes seemed hungry as you looked at him, dragging down his body and lingering on his rock hard cock. He was practically throbbing with want, the tip an angry shade of pink and leaking precum slightly embarrassingly “ come here. Please. Back down here “ 

He did as he was asked, crawling back over your body as you eyed him greedily. 

“ We really don’t…I mean, If y’don’t wanna- “ his words stuck in his throat as your fingers wrapped around the length of him with a small sigh. 

“ I want you to I just…can I ask one thing? “ he couldn’t get the word yes to escape his mouth, your fingers squeezing him softly in a way that made him see flashes of white in his vision. So he simply nodded “ don’t fuck me. Dutch fucks me, make love to me “ you seemed a little embarrassed at the request. But he didn’t think it was embarrassing. In fact he had had no plans to use you as brutally as Dutch. He was almost a little offended you thought he might. 

“ Told you, anythin’ you want. You got it “ you smiled softly and pressed another kiss to his lips before laying back down again. He positioned himself over you, caging your head in between his arms. And it truly was incredibly intimate. He wondered when the last time you had had such intimacy was. If you’d ever received such a thing from Dutch. 

He spat on his hand and grabbed a hold of his sensitive cock, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself slick. Not that he really needed to, you were already wetter than he’d ever known a woman to be. But the last thing he wanted was your discomfort. He lined himself up with you, eyes trained on your face as he dragged his weeping tip between your folds. You gasped as he caught your clit, still sensitive and alert from your first orgasm. 

“ Arthur please “ you whimpered rolling your hips up against him, so desperate to have him inside of you. 

“ So God damn wet for me “ he murmured “ such a good girl ain’t ya? “ you whined in answer, fingers wrapping around what you could of his bicep and digging your perfectly trimmed nails into his skin “ gonna make you feel so good I promise darlin’ jus’ like you deserve yeah? “ you whispered out a yes and brought your other hand to the back of his neck. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, still running his cock along the length of your slit. Teasing. 

“ Keep looking at me. Please look at me Arthur “ he continued to do as asked. Again. Though his eyes had barely strayed from your face anyway “ I need you so badly “ Eyes locked on yours, he finally pushed into you, he took it slow. Letting you take it inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy wash over your face. Your eyes fell closed. 

He fought to retain his own composure, overwhelmed by the tight, wet, warmth of your walls enveloping him. He could feel every unique ridge and bump that made your cunt oh so perfect, feel every muscle stretch and contract as you adjusted to him. 

“ god- oh god “ 

“ shh shh easy there. I got ya “ he paused once he was seated inside of you, grabbing at your hip with one hand to angle your hips better. Allowing you to comfortably take all of him in. He waited, let you adjust to his size, not daring to move before he got the go ahead from you “ there you go, look at you, takin’ all of me like that. So good f’me “ you basked in his praise, a dopey kind of smile spreading across your face.

“ so much bigger than him “ you whispered with a small laugh and Arthur couldn’t help the smug smile on his face. Kissing you and touching you and making you come on his tongue had been one thing. But having you like this? Having his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so unbelievably close together. And to then be told that? To know he was about to do you better than Dutch ever had. Ever could. It felt like the biggest fuck you to the man that had been not only mistreating him of late, but also the goddess of a woman beneath him “ I’m good. You can move. Please move “ 

He didn’t need telling twice. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting back in in one smooth motion. The pace he fell into was just as you’d asked. Loving. Tender. But hard and deep, making sure his hips were flush with yours with every stroke. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled his face back down to kiss him again. 

If anyone had spotted you they’d have easily mistaken you both for a lovesick couple having a private moment to yourselves. The entire thing intimate and passionate. No one would assume it was an affair in motion, hidden away in the woods by the shoreline in fear of your lover finding the pair of you there. 

But it was what you wanted. What you had needed. And he felt privileged to provide. 

He pulled back from your lips to watch you again, enthralled by the way your face relaxed and twisted in the pleasure he was providing you. You continued to spill those angelic sounds from your throat, growing breathier and higher pitch as he continued to drag his cock against the sopping, sensitive heat of your cunt. He had to focus hard not to finish in seconds. So much build up paired with being practically celibate for months was truly doing him no favours, but he focussed. He wasn’t letting this end until you came once more. You deserved it. 

“ Keep those pretty eyes on me “ he murmured as they fell closed again “ that’s it darlin’, look at me there ya go “ everytime he spoke the slightest word of praise you practically beamed, so desperate to hear it. To be told you were good. Beautiful. So different to Dutch constantly yelling at you about how annoying you were, how much your mere presence bothered him these days. So he kept it up. 

“ Doin’ so well for me. This pussy it’s perfect, ain’t that right? C’mon tell me “ he urged, still fighting off his ever looming orgasm. The sounds alone was enough to make him want to burst. Sweat slicked skin on skin, the wet sounds of your cunt dripping around the swollen intrusion of him. And those sweet sweet moans of yours. 

“ yes “ you whimpered “ it’s perfect “ 

“ That’s a good girl “ he increased his pace ever so slightly and your hands slipped from his arms to his back, dragging your nails down him to try to pull him impossibly closer to you. 

He moved a hand down between your bodies, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, grunting and choking back his own moans as you squeezed him. Like your body never wanted him to leave, gripping his cock with your cunt and making it ever more harder to hold back. He couldn’t help but have a look, glancing down to see the way you stretched around him, mesmerised at the way you took him in so deep. 

“ tell me I- oh. Tell me I’m beautiful “ you whimpered, sounding almost like you might cry. From pleasure, from upset. He didn’t know. But he continued to do as asked. 

“ you’re beautiful “ he murmured picking up his pace a little more, his sweat slick skin slapping against yours. He was desperate to see you come again. Wanted to see your face up close this time, watch your eyes roll back and your kiss swollen lips part in ecstasy “ so beautiful darlin. Doin’ so well f’me, takin’ me so well “ 

“ don’t stop, don't stop “ he dropped his head to your neck whispering every word of praise he could think of into your ear, your body arching up against his and whimpering and whining with every word. 

“ ain’t ever looked prettier than this “ he whispered, his own voice becoming breathless with the effort “ shit- look at ya, takin’ my cock so well. So pretty darlin’ “ 

Your second orgasm seemed to shock you as much as him, clawing at his skin to hold him close as your body trembled beneath him, biting at his shoulder to muffle your moans. 

He didn’t mean to finish inside of you, had fully intended to pull out. But the way your cunt had squeezed him, the sounds you had made as he pushed you over the edge for the second time.

He muffled his own groan of pleasure in your neck, fingers digging into the dry earth beneath you, spilling load after load whilst fully sheathed inside of you. His entire body tensed, a pleasure he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears as it seemed to drag on forever. 

And then he came to his senses. 

“ m’sorry. Shit. Sorry “ he panted as he tried to compose himself and pushed himself up onto his hands to pull out. But you yanked him back down, arms wrapping around his back again and legs tightening around his waist. 

“ no. Please. Stay. Stay right there. Just a moment would you “ he had come to realise in the past.. how long had you two even been out there? However long it was, he’d come to realise he was terrible at saying no to you. Could never possibly even dream to deny you of anything you wanted from him. And so he slumped back down onto his forearms, dropping his head against your shoulder for a moment. Your chest heaved beneath him and you caught your breath, fingers tracing gentle strokes along his spine. He felt he could stay there for hours. 

“ You doin’ okay? “ he asked, pressing a light kiss to your jaw when he had composed himself a little more. 

“ marvellous Mr Morgan “ you whispered with a small smile “ truly. Marvellous “ he couldn’t help but kiss you again, the long lingering kind meant for two lovers. 

After a few minutes you both finally moved, re dressing in silence and then sitting back in your original position against the tree. He handed you a cigarette, lighting it and placing it between your lips. 

He wondered what he looked like. Wondered what evidence you had left on him. Had he sweated off the lipstick prints on his chest or were they still there? He knew you had scratched his back up good and proper and would have that reminder there for a few days at least. 

“ Thank you. Mr Morgan '' you said quietly after a few silent moments of smoking, blowing out a long stream of smoke “ I mean it I- i'm not sure what I’m supposed to say “ 

“ Don’t say anythin’ “ he said with a small wave of his hand, appearing as blaise as he possibly could but in reality knowing he wasn’t about to forget that night anytime soon “ its fine. Really. Anytime y’need me, for anythin’, you know where I’ll be “ you smiled and he watched your body relax a little more. 

“ you know, i might just take you up on that “ 

He sincerely hoped you would. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

The Horror and The Wild (yan!Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader) COD Fantasy AU

You decided to visit Konig's harem. Turns out, they like you as much as the emperor himself. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator

Word count: 3274 AO3

Your husband has a harem. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would – he is the emperor, after all. You’d be more concerned and surprised if he didn’t have an army of perfect women lust all over him – catering to his every whim, to every last one of his perverted desires. You read about kings having harems in books – you think that the king of your country had at least a dozen mistresses, although none of them were an official part of the court. Empire is a bit different in its customs – every territory in its big hold wanted to give the sole ruler their greatest treasure, so the politics could be ensured through maidenhood of their daughters. — Little empress is so shy…is this her first time with an angel?

A woman – you think her name was Stiletto, or something equally sharp – was holding you tightly, her breasts against yours, her hips straddling yours in hold that didn’t make you feel unpleasant. If anything, you loved it. Reminded you of the sessions you shared with the Princess. Something that had to be hidden far, far away. — I would r…I think we should discuss, ah, the further fate of the… She holds you close, her lips on your neck. You whimper, looking back only to see König in a relaxed pose, drinking something – you don’t think it was wine, way too golden for anything like this – out of the transparent, beautifully sculpted goblet. For some foolish reason, none of the women in his harem were particularly interested in him – but you counted at least four who already proposed to make your night better. 

It made you feel ecstatic. 

It made you feel shy. You came to the forbidden part of the palace, the one that almost no one is visiting – with the goal to drag at least a few of the servants by their hair, thinking that it would just ensure that you won’t be poisoned later. You came here expecting to be assassinated by some lovestruck princess – but you were kissed, held, and touched by many of them. Your legs already spread wide enough to reveal the edges of the thin laces of your undergarments, your emperor enjoying the show as the women of his harem made a blubbering mess out of you. 

— Are my women not treating you well enough, little princess? 

— Y…your Highness, this is… You whimper, feeling a soft hand on your breast. König was there too – his palm enveloping your chin, gently tilting it so he could kiss you, your face hidden by the fabric of his hood slowly lowering over you. His kisses are softer now, much warmer than they were before – maybe, finally stealing your virtue prompted him to be softer. Maybe, he knew you wouldn’t be running away or trying to kill yourself anymore – so he was able to share with you the softness he previously kept hidden. Maybe, he was always soft and you just never got to see it – but now you can’t help but stare at his softness, taking in every last inch of it. You feel like a fool, honestly. 

There are beautiful women touching you, whispering sweet nothing to you. There is a beautiful man who is devoted to you completely – who burned down an entire castle and took your country just so he would be able to marry you. Yes, with all of these people – powerful, beautiful, angels and gods walking on this sinful earth, you still felt like a servant. Dirt under their boots – the indoctrination of your class is making it impossible to think of yourself as someone who is worthy of even the tiniest bit of praise. 

You think about your princess – if she is alive or not. If she remembers your sacrifice or curses you for it. The news of your wedding should have spread far and wide, even with the little notice that König gave to the bordering kingdoms – and you wonder what would her reaction be. You are getting too far ahead of yourself, after all, You should know your place by now, all things considered. 

König and the girls – you think one of them was the duchess, send here as a peace offering only to be held up in the lower harem, with the Emperor only seeing her for one time and then retreating back to his chambers – only let go of your when you started sniffling, an action so freakingly ugly for an empress. You should never show your true emotions – you knew this even from your years with the princess, with other servants being as cruel as devils while she wasn’t looking. Perhaps, you still haven’t outgrown this mentality. 

— What’s wrong, meine Liebe? 

— You’re disturbing the Empress, your highness. 

— I am her husband! 

— Maybe, this is why she is disturbed. Are you ignoring her needs too, Your Majesty? 

— I will nit be ridiculed by my…

— Oh, but please, do proceed, our lord. The princess is crying already. 

— You scared her!

— Maybe, she didn’t want to be married. You could send her to harem and make her like us… — And to have you, vile creatures, fuck her till she passes out? — At least we could show you pleasure. Maybe, she’s on edge because Your Highness was…

— I won’t be talking to you about it! 

— Ah, but the Empresses’s distress is evident already, our lord. Do we need to cast a potion for your…

You feel their hands on you again, soft touches mixing with rough fingers caressing your face – your cheeks, your lips, passing into your mouth and making you suck for the tiniest bit of a second, leaving right when you started to feel uncomfortable. You feel loved, so thoroughly, by him and by them – and you don’t feel like you deserve to be. 

You can’t find a real reason to talk to them – so you do your best to shut up, biting your lips that were smeared with makeup so thoroughly. You felt awful, you felt horrible, you felt like you were going to freaking burst because, by gods, there are so many people around you who deserve to be treated as kindly as possible, who deserve to be treated like equals – and yet, you still feel like a servant. Like a bought pet who was dragged to the house where no one wanted to see you and to hold you – and yet, there are so many people, longing to just… You sigh, curling up in a corner. Distasteful display from an empress – but you could worry about assassins and court intrigues the other day. You don’t have the strength to play in the games of these vile women anyway. Not that you would be able to even if you’d want. 

— Meine Liebe, please, you must protect your dignity over those…

— I’m sorry. 

— What? 

Hands are gripping you tighter, suffocating. You shouldn’t mistake their devotion for kindness, their affection for liability. No matter your cries and pleads, they won’t let you go – and even the girls who looked the kindest, the ones who already got your dresses collected and your hair in elaborate constructions, with their soft hands running up and down your breasts, your hips, your rear – were nothing more but a pack of people who used to get what they wanted. And you shouldn’t think that your opinion would matter – but you could close your eyes and think about your country. Close your eyes and try to enjoy it if only for a little while. 

— I’m not…not fitting as a queen. 

One of the girls plummets on your lap, her hair spreading across the floor. You start to pet her out of pure instinct – and you can feel König’s hand in your hair, doing the same. Somehow, the tiniest act made you feel even more like a pet and less like a person with power. Maybe, because you never had power to begin with. 

— Of course not. You’re an empress, not a… You gulp, worry still in your mind. You are surrounded by people who should look up at you – and yet, you feel like a pet, brought to them for amusement. Then it strikes you – then it falls down to your shoulders, heavier than the crown you never wanted to wear. 

A consort empress – no power, no influence, just smile and wave to your people in a pathetic attempt to remind them that you exist. You exist, you exist, for their amusement, for your husband’s amusement, to make the crowd wild with promises of heirs, to make everyone forget what exactly you are doing here. That your job as an empress is to sit back and look pretty, hoping that it would be enough. That it needs to be enough.

— Am I? Seems more like a toy for everyone. 

They laugh – they smile and push their hands on you again, surrounding you with swirls of touches and gentle pushes. Back and forth, back and forth. You feel like a fool falling for something as silly as this – being consumed by lust of not just your husband, but also the women who, by all means, are supposed to take you in and leave nothing behind. You were supposed to swirl around in cort intrigues, not in… A hand moves down your stomach, fluttering just above your labia. Dancing on the gentle skin, caressing in a tingling motion – you moan and spread your legs depsite yourself, despite the feeling of apathy slowly growing in your bones. Your body got so used to constant pleasure, it makes you crave it like the last whore in the whole empire. You aren’t sure who is touching you – but you know that König is nearby, his hand tilting your head to the side, so he could look. Enjoy the view – god, you must look like such a mess right now… — The consort is a toy for the whole Empire, Schatzen. You knew this when you agreed to marry me. 

— You never asked my hand properly, Your Highness. 

— Why would I need to, if I could just chop it off and bring it with me? 

You gulp, thinking again – gods, your choice in marriage is as horrible as the legends say. Especially since there are no legends of him yet – his rise to power is too fast and too early – and since you never had a choice on the matter anyway. Since there is no way you could have escaped this. 

— Would you like it, then? To kill me for spare parts? 

He laughs, and the others followsuit. You feel weird – you don’t understand them, their reactions, you feel like your head is going to burst from all the emotions being contained deep inside. You take a deep breathe and think. Trying desperately not to seem insane. — This would be a waste of a perfectly fine princess. 

— She’s an empress now, your highness. 

— Oh, but she will be a princess to us, ja? They giggle – and you feel dragged to the other room, finally alone. Not as much as you linked to be – König is still there, his hands are keeping you in place firmly. Fingers playing with the edges of your outfit, you feel somewhat sated and drained already. Your maidenhood throbs between your legs, soaked and warm from the touches and nice words of the women of his harem – and you feel weird, knowing that he allowed this infidelity to happen on his watch. At least you knew he never touched a single one of these women, although they were gifted to him. At least you know that he is ready to throw you in for the wolves in order to satisfy you while he is away doing everything an evil ruler should. 

He lets you sit on a chair, pulling you in his lap – an intimate position, the outline of his cock is poking at the outline of your rear even through the skirts of the dress you wore. He pushes his face in the crook of your neck and you feel the tingling sensation of his tongue outlining your skin. You don’t want him to make you even warmer, to play with you more than all of his harem did – but it’s a welcomed distraction. You still feel like an imposter who never deserved to even be here in the first place…

— You do realize that you not being a princess doesn’t matter, right, Schatzi? 

He cocks your head to the side, making you look at him wide-eyed, surprised. You are pressed against his chest, your face dangerously close to his – you want to get as far away from him as possible, but he whispers in your neck like it’s a gospel. You’re inclined to listen. 

You don’t answer – you just let him keep going because, in the end, this is what a good empress is supposed to do, you think. Sit tight and listen and listen and use all of the space in your head to get into theirs. You feel like a fool even trying to attempt this, but…you never listened to the stories about your husband before he came into your life – and now you’re fabulously undereducated on the matters of his life. 

König’s hands are going up, into your cleavage – almost ripping your corset open and not caring for how expensive it was. He has a terrible habit of running every pretty thing he buys for you – and you bite your tongue as to no scold him for leaving your breasts out, the diamonds and ripped seams on full display. You feel like a fool, knowing just how inappropriate he is with you. And how you allow him to do it. 

— I would never accept that stuck-up royal of yours as mine. As a part of the harem, maybe. To forget about her bloody existence. 

You bite your lips, a scowl escaping your expression. You don’t want to act like this, but she was still your princess – whenever she is now, if not dead and forgotten even by her own people. 

— Don’t…don’t speak of Her Majesty like this. 

— What a loyal servant you are, meine Liebe. Why not put that loyalty to me? 

— Do you also need help with wearing your own clothes and warming your jewels? 

— Maybe. If I get to feel your hands on me each time you do it. 

You feel your cheeks burning. Your teeth are clenching, your hands and gripping your skirt, almost ripping the delicate material to shreds. Oh no – you’re getting used to a rich life, not even caring for your own clothes and how expensive it would be to replace them. König kisses your forehead, laughing, and your entire face and neck are burning now – the expression of his affection always makes you embarrassed, even if this is, by far, the most innocent thing he did to you. Much more pure than…no, if you’d start thinking about it, the space between your thighs would be wet again – and you already established just how sinful it would be. 

— You are making it look like I have to worry about every maid who swings her skirt around you. 

— Hm. I don’t think that my maids are half as cute as you. 

— So you went to steal maids from other countries? 

He chuckles, holding your chin in an iron grasp. You can’t turn away and save your graces when he is taking his mask down, smiling like a cat who got the cream. Perhaps, he is just like a cat – a ginger one, arrogant and smug, with rare stubble grazing over your sensitive skin as he plants a sloppy kiss on your lips. He is hungry, devouring you with each stroke of his tongue – the literature made you think that those kinds of embraces should be gentle, slow. You know better now, of course. 

— I knew I needed a wife. People won’t take lightly to their emperor being more and more involved with dark powers – I thought that maybe, having a people-pleasing empress would make a difference. 

He pinches your nipples until they are nice and firm, almost bruising your soft breasts in his hands. He is trying to handle them gently, but he is unable to contain his excitement – and you feel your lower parts clenching around nothing, moisture collecting in your undergarments. König isn’t soft when he is handling you like this, the overwhelming pleasure is risking to make itself known to everyone – by gods, you are tired of always getting handled like this. Like just an afterthought in his perverted desires…but, perhaps, you are just that. 

— It was stupid. I sent the first letter, then the second…and this entitled brat didn’t even bother to answer. I knew she wouldn’t – but it still stings. 

You remember the letters. Remember the annoyed voice of your princess, as she told you to handle them – burn them, toss them away, rip them to shreds, and feed them to the birds passing by. Everyone knew that the emperor already had a harem, and your princess didn’t want to be a part of it – besides, the king already established no connections to the empire, even as it was creeping to his doorstep. 

You also remember writing the answers. Polite ones, short ones – the types that wouldn’t involve you in a political ploy. Leaving the emperor without an answer would be even worse than proclaiming war – wounding a man’s pride is something, that your princess knew how to do well, and also a thing that you knew how to take care of. Always the one to clean up her messes.

— I knew it wasn’t her writing those answers. But I remember how they felt, in my hands. The smells of whatever fragrance you put, ja? 

You also remember accidentally cutting yourself while writing one of the answers – ink mixing with blood on expensive paper, made you think twice instead of changing the paper piece to a new one. Perhaps, if you were truly smarter than that, you’d just toss it away. Unfortunately for you and the kingdom, you didn’t want to waste expensive, fragrant paper. 

— So…you’re saying that…

— It’s your fault, Meine Liebe, really. I fell in love with you since the first word you have written for me. So why would you cry in front of me and my harem like that?

— You’re lowering yourself like this. Being on my level…not something fit for an emperor. 

He laughs, his fingers returning to gently squeeze your nipples together – and then go high, to push your face in place again. König plants another kiss on your lips and dips, his tongue playing over one of your swollen nipples. You don’t want to think about how much your body will change when his seed is going to take – but you know it won’t be long, with how often he pushes himself between your legs, filling you up until you can’t walk anymore. 

— You know nothing about me, do you, Schatz? 

— Thought you wanted it that way. 

— Public won’t take nice to a ruler like me. Not a drop of royal blood. 

You don’t think you knew the stories about him. The rumors, maybe – calling him the bastard king, the one that killed the previous ruler of his country in a soldier’s uprising. It’s all being taken down now, with all the old rich families either getting wiped out or signing their loyalty to the new emperor. The books are being burned and written anew. 

— We’re both servants, little princess. And I would never someone born into this uptight fucking family. 

Hm. A bastard emperor and a fake princess.

You really were made for each other. 

[phantomskeep]

The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 1

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 1 -  9 Out 10 Doctors Prescribe Child Rearing for Emotionally Constipated Families

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter Two Was he still wearing traffic light colors? No. Was Bruce going senile as he got older? Yes, and he was gathering evidence of it every day.

Dick wondered once again why they were having so many issues between them as he swung to the next rooftop, landing almost gracefully amongst the leftover rain on the asphalt. Stumbling on his feet was embarrassing nonetheless and he grumbled to himself as he kicked a pebble across the roof, watching as it hit an old AC unit with a hollow clang. Honestly, he came to Gotham to help Bruce out of the goodness of his heart while Tim is out of town and how does the man respond? By treating him like he's still a little Robin meant to dutifully take orders without question!

“Fucking old man, treating me like I'm a kid,” Dick muttered under his breath, not caring who heard him nearby, he was alone on the roof anyway.

“This ‘fucking old man’ can still hear you,” Batman’s deadpan voice came over the line. Dick froze on the spot, shoulders tightening as he heard the quiet undertones of anger. Oops, comms were still on and open to the shared channel… “Either mute your comms or keep those thoughts to yourself, Nightwing.”

Dick pondered for a minute, putting his hand on his chin like he was really thinking on the idea before he responded. “Nope, I'll pass,” he told Batman cheekily, smirking to himself. He was an adult now. While Bruce may have taken him in and taught him all he knew at Dick's lowest point, it doesn't mean the man gets to treat him like a child anytime he comes by home Gotham.

He was his own grown man. Nightwing had his own city to protect now–he was even a well-established member of the hero community in his own right! He didn’t need some emo flying furry telling him what to do anymore. Covering his eyes from the light drizzle that had picked up again, he observed the area below him, staying alert for any sort of disturbance that may pop up and ignoring Bruce’s displeased grunts. It wouldn’t be good if Dick were to miss a crime after their little “spat” earlier, as Aflred would call it. A screaming match was a more accurate description if you asked anyone else, and he was not willing to let it open him up to more criticism from the “World’s Greatest Detective” later on when they were back in the Cave.

Stiffly, the black and blue clad vigilante stalked to the edge of the darkened rooftop, trying his best to not clench his fists like some angsty teenager. What was he even hoping to gain, coming back here? The man stood, pondering as he gazed down at the busy streets of his childhood home. A pat on the head, like the good little dog he was acting like? Bruce calls, so he comes running? Dick scoffed at himself, turning his head sharply. He aimed his grapple, firing it at the corner of a nearby building. With the grace born from years of practice, Nightwing danced between towering structures as he continued his Batman-approved patrol route.

“Nightwing, behave yourself over comms or you will go back to the Cave for the night.” Dick grit his teeth, jaw clenched tight as Bruce tried to basically ground him. He shook his head, preparing to land on the next rooftop, but stopping just shy to grab onto a gargoyle sitting on the edge of a lower office building. Leaning against the cold surface, Dick felt the sharp points of the creature’s horns digging into his back help to ground him in the moment. 

“Batman, you do not have a say over my actions or whether I am benched anymore,” Dick told him, evenly spacing out his breaths as he tried to keep the rage at bay. He felt like there was a ball of heat in his chest he was desperately trying to cool as he methodically rubbed his gloved fingers over the stone ridges of the statue's ugly face. 

“Nightwing–” Bruce started to grunt, so Dick turned off his comms as a response and took in a deep breath of the familiar, smoggy Gotham air. This city may not have been where he was born, and he may not live here anymore, but the man found peace flying through her night sky. This would always be his home. As ugly and villain-infested as it may be… This shithole was his shithole.

Ever since Jason passed, Dick knew things needed to change so he could preserve this feeling and keep this dysfunctional family intact. Tim helped a lot in the beginning, when Dick was too bitter to do more than practically tell a thirteen-year-old to handle a drunkard on his own. But, he's trying to make up for it now by helping on patrol and making them all participate in family dinners twice a month. It wasn't much, and he could admit it wasn't really working since he'd noticed Tim wearing sound proof headphones more often than not when Dick and Bruce were together. It broke his heart that another little brother of his felt like he needed to prepare himself for an inevitable screaming match from his family members. 

Dick was trying, he really was. But Bruce just made everything so hard. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of multiple trash cans falling over each other nearby. His face twisted in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together as his head whipped around to find the source of the noise. Body becoming a tightly coiled spring of focused intent, he silently crept closer to where he heard the cacophony. The noise became apparent in the way of a metal lid rolling out of the alley below and into the street like a quarter, spinning and spinning for a moment before falling flat. Dick cautiously peered over the edge of the roof, eyebrow raised at what he could imagine he'd find. A goon passed out drunk? A working girl kicking the nuts of a deadbeat harassing her? An internet famous Gotham-patented radioactive raccoon?

What he certainly did not expect was an unruly mop of black hair peeking out above the trash cans, only visible against the dark of night in contrast to the silver metal they clung to with tiny baby hands. He watched in disbelief as this child (so tiny and cute, he had to admit) stumbled to their feet, swaying as little as they reached for the contents of the trash. Dick felt sick just looking at the spill, but he felt worse knowing the child was doing this out of desperation. Tapping on his lenses, they zoomed in on the kid and he saw how small they were and how scrawny they looked. Alfred would faint at the sight of how skinny this child was and Dick would be right there with the old butler.

Making a quick decision, Dick hastily hopped onto a pipe that clung to the building he stood on and quietly slid down it like a fireman's pole. He didn't want to scare the small child who, at closer inspection now that he was on the ground, looked similarly disgusted at their options before them. The kid was still swaying, the movement picking up in speed before they plopped onto the asphalt, groaning. 

Dick rushed forward, panicking, but his sudden burst of speed startled the child. The tiny twig of a human scrambled back, a weakened wheeze of panic bursting from their lungs as they held out a small hand to ward off the vigilante.

“Hey, hey now,” Dick soothed as he crouched down to make himself seem smaller. “It’s okay, you’re okay…I’m not gonna hurt you.” The practiced “soothe the victim” voice was easy to fall into as domino-covered eyes worryingly took in the shaking child. He wanted to reassure this kid as much as possible, but he knew that he couldn't promise them anything. Making a promise to a child was important, he learned young that if you couldn't keep that promise the child would see it as a loss of trust.

“S-stay back!” The kid’s squeaky voice tugged at Dick’s heartstrings with how much terror it held. “Yo-you can’t t-take me!”

Dick slowly lowered himself to fully sit down on the filthy, trash-covered alley. He grimaced at the smell (was that sludge on his glove?) and he crossed his legs, letting his arms hang disarmingly on his knees. Keeping his body language loose and unassuming, Dick smiled goofily at the other. “My name’s Nightwing, I’m one of the heroes here in Gotham tonight. You’re safe now, no one’s going to take you while I'm here.”

Icy blue eyes peered out from behind a dirt-stained hand, reminding Dick of a different time, a different alley-found kid who was taken too soon. By Batman's stinky cowl would he let another one be lost to the horrors of this city as well. When the kid spoke, their voice was full of doubt. “How can I trust you? For all I know you could be some weirdo looking to kidnap me!”

A surprised laugh burst from Dick before he could contain himself, causing the filthy child to flinch away with a startled squeak. He sobered up quickly at that reaction however, leaning away from the kid to give the illusion Dick was no longer directly in their space, but still close enough to keep an eye on them. He's met children like this before, wary of adults or the world around them in general, only relying on themselves at an age where they can't do enough to keep their heads above water. Blinking rapidly at the thought to hold back his tears, Dick remembered when Jason first came to the manor. Even as distant as he was with his brother at the time, he saw how the pre-teen acted out of self preservation even months into Alfred's mother-henning.

This kid had the same fear written in the lines on his young face, as well as the same steel of determination in his eyes. Dick respected it, but he still was worried about this child who looked like they hadn't eaten a proper meal or slept in a bed in months. 

“I might be a weirdo to some people for sure,” Dick agreed casually. The kid blinked in surprise and he grinned a little in triumph, quickly smothering it with a serious expression. Exaggerating his actions, Dick twisted his head this way and that around the alley as though checking for anyone listening in, before he leaned a little bit forward with his hand blocking his mouth. The child shuffled forward a few inches, alternating between staring him down and checking the alley themselves with wide eyes. Dick resisted the urge to laugh again, focusing on trying to ease the kid into believing that he was safe.

“Between you and me? My friends think I'm a super big weirdo for putting peach jam in my pb & j's,” he told the kid, nodding his head sagely. All he got was a deadpan look in response, all of the sudden interest he got was lost from the kid before him.

“So you're not just a weirdo, but also super lame with no taste buds?” 

Wow, okay, so Dick was a little offended… or maybe he was impressed? The kid gave him a look that was reminiscent of Alfred or Jason when he tried to argue he could help in the kitchen. The “are you seriously this stupid to defend yourself like that” look. 

Yeah, maybe a little more offended than anything. Didn't mean the kid wasn't cute while doing it. 

Quick thinking made Dick grab at his uniform with striped fingers, gripping the fabric around his heart. “Ouch!” He wailed dramatically, flopping his legs forward as he used his toned core muscles to lean backwards, careful to not let more of the filthy alley touch him. “Ah! Truly a strong opponent, I cannot win!”

Quiet giggles echoed around the alley, causing Dick to grin in triumph. He titled his head to the side a bit to better see the small child. Their face was scrunched up in mirth, both hands covering their mouth in an attempt to better muffle the joyful sounds trying to escape. Encouraged by this, Dick resolved to continue to give the best performance of his life.

“I will simply never recover,” Dick moaned, making his body twitch dramatically. “This is how I die…the great Nightwing, struck down in a battle of wits by a toddler!” He gasped, reaching one hand up to the sky as he gave his big finale. “I can…see the light! It’s calling me…must…go…” He murmured quietly before giving a final spasm with an extremely convincing “blegh”, letting his arm drop to his chest and sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

As the giggles continued, they got closer. Peaking an eye open just a bit, Dick could see the kid toddling closer to the felled hero. “You’re silly,” they said, poking at Dick’s cheek hesitantly. “That’s not what death looks like.”

Dick could feel his heart shatter. This kid, no more than, what? Maybe four or five years old? This poor, tiny child was trying to correct Dick on what dying looked like. It made Bludhaven’s protector want to just scoop them up and wrap them up in a giant, fluffy blanket and protect them from the world.

“It’s a good thing I’m not actually dead then, huh?” Dick said with a grin, trying so hard to not let what he was feeling filter through. Bright smile for the tiny concerning child, bright smile.

The child cocked their head to the side like a curious puppy. “Well, duh,” the little thing scoffed, relaxing a bit at the horizontal hero. “I'd know it if you were actually dead.”

*****************

He really needed to get some meat on this kid’s bones, like immediately. Dick felt like he was carrying a small bag of potatoes while he grappled through the streets of downtown Gotham towards Wayne Enterprises to meet B for their patrol check in. Maybe if he showed the kid to Alfred, he could just keep him safe at the manor and he wouldn't worry about the tiny thing in his arms being so tiny anymore.

“Where are we going?” A squeaky voice shouted in his left ear. Was there a ringing bell nearby? 

Dick smirked, glancing quickly at the child before shooting his gun at the side of Wayne Enterprises, clicking the side button and rocketing them up the side of the skyscraper. He heard a soft gasp over the rush of wind before his world was filled with small, uncontrollable giggles and Dick tightened his hold.

“We gotta meet up with someone, little one!” He cheerfully shouted back as the duo landed at the top of the tower. With his feet squarely against solid concrete, Dick set the child down to face away from the large drop off the side of the building. He was worried the kid would either get scared, or want to try jumping off and he wasn't sure which was worse right now. A quick glance around told Dick that Bruce was still doing his own patrol. “Just stay away from the edge, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the little sass monster said as they shakily walked towards the center of the helipad. “I’m not dumb.”

“Uh huh,” Dick sassed back as he hovered over the kid. “You wanna tell me your name yet?”

Cold eyes narrowed as the child looked up at Dick. “No, you’re still a weirdo.”

Yikes, Dick thought. Whoever this kid's parents were deserved an award for raising such a menace to society. “Okay, okay,” he said airly. “I’ll figure it out one day, just you watch.”

“Oh, so now you’re a stalker, too?” The kid said as they flopped onto the concrete flooring. “Maybe I should’ve run away. Stranger danger and all that nonsense.” They flapped an itty-bitty hand dismissively.

“I thought we established that I wasn’t a stranger already?” Dick wasn’t pouting. He was an adult, and adults don’t pout at children winning in a battle of sass.

“No, we just established that you don’t know what it looks like when people die. Do you even pay attention to anything?”

Dick rolled his eyes, sauntering over to nudge his foot against the kid's thigh. “I paid enough attention to notice that you're good at avoiding questions. Why is that?”

“Nunya,” they told him. Dick felt the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. No, he would not act like Bruce.

“Nope, I'm not playing that one,” Dick told the kid, who pouted that they couldn't finish the joke. “Come on, I can't keep calling you ‘kid’ or ‘that tiny child lighter than a grape’ now can I?”

They squinted at Dick, crossing their arms awkwardly since they seemed to refuse moving from their starfish position on the ground. “Rude. You talk to every kid you meet like that?”

Dick smirked, “Just the ones who think they’re tall enough to talk back? Where do you reach on me again?” Dick mimed checking the kid's height against himself and stopped with it below his knees. Was it petty to make fun of the small child’s height? Yes, but he didn’t care. “Oh right, sorry but you're not tall enough to verbally attack this adult.”

“Whatever,” they muttered, turning away from Dick. But he noticed the kid kept him within their peripheral vision, just enough of an angle to pretend they couldn't see Dick even if his every movement was being tracked by blue eyes. It was just like how Jason acted, back when he was first introduced to life in the manor. Luckily, that meant that Dick had more than enough experience with snotty scared children to make sure this one kept feeling safe around him.

“So,” Dick said after a few moments of silence. “Like I said earlier, we’re gonna be meeting up with someone. But what I didn't mention was that it's Batman.”

“What kind of name is that?” The kid said, their spunk seemingly reviving itself in the few minutes where they didn’t speak. “Who wakes up one morning and decides to name their kid things like Nightwing and Batman?”

Dick spluttered. “It’s a superhero name, kid. It’s meant to not be normal.”

“You should’ve been named Jeff. Now Jeff is a good name.”

Dick paused, scrunched his nose a little in confusion before responding. “So, do you want me to call you Jeff since you like it so much?”

The kid scoffed, not fully paying attention and obviously still insulting him mentally. “Pffsh, no, call me Danny because my name isn't Jeff, stupid.”

Dick smiled like the cat who ate the canary. “Well, well, Danny is such a nice name,” he told Danny. Dick was enjoying the expression on his face when he realized that he messed up, the horror seeping into his features and a devastated tilt to his lips as he turned to Dick. “Thank you for telling me, now is Danny short for anything?”

Danny pouted and it was so cute Dick wanted to coo and squish his little cheeks. “No, just Danny, you weirdo.”

“No last name?” Dick prodded, poking at Danny’s thigh.

“You’re subtle.”

“And you’re going to answer!” Dick cheerfully said, walking around to stand at the front of the black-haired boy.

“You can’t make me do anything,” Danny glared up at Dick, arms still crossed. “You’re not my dad.”

Dick wasn't sure why that comment stung unlike the others, but he moved past it. He scoffed obnoxiously and mimicked Danny's pose, jutting his hip out in a move of pure sass. “Well I may not be but–”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze with whatever bullshit he'd pull out of his ass dying on his lips. He saw Danny raise a questioning eyebrow at the scene, clearly interested in the drama, but Dick didn't focus on it. Instead, like always, he responded to Batman's voice. It didn't matter he wasn't Robin anymore and someone else held the title, it didn't matter he was all grown up and had his own name now. When Batman called, a Robin always whistled back, standing at attention like the “good little soldiers” they were. 

Sighing, he turned around and put his hands behind his back, feet spread apart as he nodded at Batman. Because this wasn't his father figure, the man who raised him despite the emotional intelligence of an ant. This was Batman, who didn't take disappointment or inadequacy from his sidekicks. No matter what happens, we'll always be little soldiers reporting for duty, won't we?

“Batman, no unusual activity for the night. There were the two robberies I reported on patrol, as well as stopping a street girl from being taken into an alley and shot. Oracle has the recordings from my suit already uploaded for review.” Simple, to the point, just the way Bruce liked it. All done.

“Hrn.” 

What? What did he forget?

“Hey! Why do you go around with your underwear outside your pants like that?” Danny interrupted.

Oh…right, he forgot about Danny for a minute there.

The silence across the rooftop was louder than any words shouted into the night sky could be. Dick tensed as he shifted, covering more of Danny from Batman's view as he watched the man's cowl wrinkle up. Internally he winced, wishing he had honestly thought this out better but at the time, he had only been focused on gaining Danny's trust. Once he had it, something in him wouldn't let the kid go and, frankly, he didn't want to. But in hindsight, this was definitely not one of his best ideas. He snorted lightly, thinking Jason would have made fun of him for being an idiot right now–like the time he tried to catch a runaway ice cream cart and slipped into a pile of cold sugar that spilled on the ground instead.

“Why do you have a civilian child here, Nightwing?” Batman practically growled, causing Dick to frown and tense his shoulders in a defensive response. He knew the man had been having problems since Jason's death. Tim had been trying his best to help Bruce out of a dark place, but sometimes he seemed to fall back into those old, angrier patterns on them. It was not appreciated, but he knew it took time to work through grief. It was small mercies the man wasn't sending people to the hospital or himself into an early grave on the daily anymore.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, during my patrol I noticed a disturbance in an alley and–”

“He met me! So, why are you looking at Nightwing like he's a bad guy, Batman? Aren't you two friends?” Danny popped up at his side all of a sudden. Dick startled, quickly shooting a glance at where the boy had been five feet away and he wondered at how he didn't hear so much as a squeak until Danny spoke. “You shouldn't be mean to your friends,” he nodded sagely at his own words and Dick held in a snort of amusement. “That's what she always used to tell me.”

Dick paused. Danny hadn't mentioned anyone he knew before now. Ignoring Batman's glowering, he tilted his head down to catch Danny's eyes. But the kid was gazing past them both, the bright blue dulling in the throes of some kind of possible memory. Telegraphing his movements slowly, Dick lightly touched the tips of his fingers to Danny's shoulder and whispered his name. “Danny? You okay in there, bud?”

It took a moment for the kid to shake his head like an old, wet dog, blinking slowly and gazing back at Dick. He nodded, glancing down at his tiny hands as though they held all of the answers to the universe’ most difficult questions. “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”

“You spaced out there a little bit,” Dick carefully told him. He watched Danny’s eyebrow’s furrow and mentally debated pushing. He was curious if the child would open up to him a little despite the hulking bat furry standing behind him like a living shadow. Cautiously, he held his hand a little more firmly on Danny’s shoulder and asked him what he was wondering. “Danny, who is this ‘she’ you mentioned?”

“Uhh…” Danny stalled, titling his head and giving an awkward smile that was barely more than a tick of the lips and didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know?”

“Alright, kiddo.” Dick murmured, a bit disheartened hearing the response, but doing his best to not show it. He gave a sharp nod and turned his head to look at his mentor. “But, yeah, B he’s right. Shouldn’t you be nicer to me?”

“You’re endangering a child, Nightwing.” Batman growled, disapproval practically flowing off the man. It took years upon years for Dick to understand the different levels of Bruce’s inflections and what they meant, like learning a whole new language. But now? It was clear as day to him looking at the man. The big, bad bat was pissed and disappointed at his oldest protege’s actions. Dick tried to not let it hurt him (and show on his face) as much as it did.

But he also felt a flare of anger swell up in his chest. Indignant, Dick stepped forward, close enough to block Danny completely from Batman's sight and get in the Dark Knight’s face. “You want to talk about endangering children, B? You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Picking us up off the streets like party favors.” 

Dick shook his head, a scoff falling from his lips as his hands vibrated with the anger now burning his veins at the hypocrisy of the moment. A quick tug to his leg made him stumble though, and he almost fell when Danny barged past him. A cry on the tip of his tongue, Dick watched as the little tyke stomped over to Batman and crossed his tiny arms. 

“Hey! He may be a total weirdo, but Nightwing is really nice and he's been taking good care of me!” Danny pointed a finger at Batman and Dick realized with dawning horror and amusement that this child was lecturing B, for him. He felt his heart beat as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “So you stop bullying him right now!”

“Kid,” B started gruffly, reaching a hand to grab him, probably. But Danny smacked his gloved hand away and took a shaky step back. He stumbled over his feet closer to where a stunned Dick stood, gaping at the scene before him. 

“NO! I DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH ME, I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! HE'S NOT NICE!” Danny shouted at the top of his lungs, shaking arms firmly clung to either side of him. His body faced Batman, but his head was turned to a spot just over the man's shoulder. The kid started swaying side to side again, and Dick knew that tears were welling in Danny’s eyes even if he couldn’t see the boy’s face.

Dick scrambled forward, recognizing the signs from earlier. The vigilante caught the child in his arms and pulled out his grapple gun. “We will discuss this more later, at the Cave. But right now Danny is upset, so I'm going to take him to Agent A. For the rest of the night, you're on your own.”

He whispered comforting nonsense to the shaking, brooding child in his arms as he walked away and didn't look back. Not even when Danny heavily propped his chin on Dick's shoulder to keep an eye on Batman as they left. “What was all that about Danny? Who were you yelling at?”

Dick was sure Danny wasn’t talking to Bruce at that time, his head had been tilted too far to the left and he spoke as though he were talking about Bruce to someone else. But no one had been there. It made him a little concerned he might have something in his system and resolved to have Alfred examine him after they got some real food into Danny. 

Danny cut him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye, not bothering to move his head’s position and smirked maliciously. If he didn't think everything about this kid was adorable, he'd probably be unnerved at the expression, paired with little baby fangs poking past his lips he hadn’t noticed earlier. Danny replied to him, but in a loud enough voice so that it would carry across the roof to where they left Bruce, no doubt standing guard as he watched them leave.

“I was talking to the ghosts that follow him, duh.”

[bowtiepastabitch]

Here's the deal on the Good Omens limbo situation. My optimistic and analytic two cents, if you will.

If we look at this through a capitalistic lens, the chances of the show being cancelled are pretty slim at the moment. Think for a moment about the top three amazon prime originals that you pay/keep the platform for. Can you think of three? I honestly can't, not off the top of my head. I know I'm not really the target audience for streaming services, since I don't watch a lot of new shows, but still. I can name plenty of netflix shows I like/might watch. That's why Netflix can cancel anything and everything so easy. They don't have just one or two fandom cash cows.

Amazon, though, doesn't have a lot. Here's a list of all their original shows. I only even recognize 8 titles. I've only actually watched 2. Plus, Good Omens is currently one of the biggest fandoms in fandom right now, with Aziracrow being the top ship on ao3 for the Jan-Dec 2023 wrap up and again on the Summer 2024 leaderboard, as well as the top ship on tumblr and Good Omens as the top tv show (plus second overall after Artists on Tumblr) for 2023. We're a big deal, and I'd bet money that they're betting money on us. I also lowkey think we're the reason Amazon is spending money on a british miniseries starring Michael Sheen tbh but that's just speculation. The show has also won a slew of awards, the same of which cannot, to my knowledge, be said of many of their other properties.

So let's talk production changes; I think there's a good chance they're doing this for the same reason. Our fandom had unique access to the creator via tumblr, and a majority of the conversation around the allegations of SA against Gaiman were and are taking place in fandom spaces. There have been petitions to fire him from the show and conversations (both productive and otherwise) about the duties of fandom when engaging with content connected to problematic individuals. Meanwhile, Gaiman has effectively dissappeared from the internet. Additionally, the video and threads sharing that Terry Pratchett wrote most of the original book have been making the rounds here and I think on the bird app(?). All that to say, if they're betting on us they want to make us happy and keep their good PR. I don't ever expect a major corporation to make a "good" decision, but they will always make the profitable one.

There is, of course, also the matter of the Pratchett estate and the other major players in the matter: the actors, directors, and creative team. These are forces at play with the power to block or stall productivity and profit for Amazon through copyright and labor power. I can imagine there's conversations happening backstage that we don't know about as well as what we see in headlines.

Ultimately, I think the biggest risk to season 3 is unfortunately going to be Neil Gaiman himself and how he responds to the situation at hand. If he steps back quietly, we're living in our best case scenario and everything moves forward as much according to plan as can be expected with at least this small justice being served. I see a hissy fit on his end as the greatest potential wrench in proceedings, but that would exacerbate the (currently quiet in the mainstream) bad PR for him so I give it low odds.

All that to say. From a pragmatic viewpoint, Amazon's best interest seems to be entirely tied to ours as a fandom, and I anticipate Season 3 being made and most likely being only minorly delayed. Either way. What happens behind the scenes in corporate office buildings between rich white men is entirely out of my and your control. I know how huge anxiety can get when it relates to a special interest or a community that has a huge role in your life, and whatever happens we're in this together as a fandom. It's going to be alright. Take a deep breath and maybe get some water. Whatever happens, we're in this together as a fandom, and at least it won't be the end of the world;)

[ayyy-pee]

𝐓𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Day 2: Face Fucking

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, Profanity bc who do you think I am, Pussy Eating, Face Riding, Face Fucking, DID NOT PROOFREAD SO SORRY FOR ERRORS LMFAO

Summary: Satoru puts his mouth to good use for once.

You may be over Satoru, but Satoru is not and will never be over you. 

❥ Gojo NSFW Week Twitter - AO3 Collection ❥

Discord 18+ - Twitter - JJK Masterlist

“Why are we doing this again?”

“Because I don’t wanna do the mission. If I win, you gotta do it for me.”

“Satoru…” You groan, exasperated. “Are you really that lazy?”

Your boyfriend grins up at you. “Not lazy, but taking care of a Grade 2 curse sounds like a fucking drag and honestly, it’s a waste of my time.” He folds his hands behind his head, yawning loudly. 

“This is such a stupid bet,” you grumble and Satoru laughs.

“You’re always so tense. Either way, you literally come out on top, so really I’m doing you a favor.”

You cock your head to the side in annoyance, folding your arms over your chest as you glare down at your boyfriend. You wish you could see his eyes through that stupid blindfold he’s always wearing. You’re sure they’re positively glowing with mirth.

Your mind replays the events of earlier today and how you’d ended up in such a compromising position. 

- - - - - -

It should have been a day like any other. You’d teach your classes, maybe take the students on a mission, let them do their thing. Then you’d find Satoru at the end of the day to go home together. But when you’d bumped into your boyfriend coming out of Principal Yaga’s office with a sour look on his face, jaw tight with irritation, you couldn’t help but stop in your tracks to ask what was wrong. 

Your mistake.

“How would you like to gain some experience and maybe earn points with Yaga for a promotion,” Satoru proposed after explaining the situation. His wide, toothy grin shone brightly as he awaited your answer, which came the moment he’d finished asking.

“No.”

“Babe, come onnnnnn,” he whines, grabbing your hands. “Please, it’s an easy mission!”

“Then you do it!”

“I don’t wannaaaaaa.”

“God, Satoru, why are you literally the strongest and laziest person I’ve ever known?” You roll your eyes, pulling your hands from his grip to place them on your hips. Satoru pouts, and you’re grateful you can’t see those baby blues or you may have given in right then. His eyes were his greatest strength when it came to you, and not because of the power he held in them.

“Oh, I’m the strongest lazy person, but Suguru literally quit because he didn’t wanna do missions,” he grumbles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest. Satoru stands there, staring you down until you think you can quite literally see the bulb ding above his head. “Okay okay, wait. I have an idea.”

Your eyes narrow, looking your boyfriend up and down suspiciously. You have no idea what he could be up to, but you’re curious, if not a little scared.

“It’s just a bet,” he says as if that’s going to make you feel better. He must see the look of concern on your face because he scrambles to keep talking. “It’s just something we were probably gonna do anyway, but now we can make it a little more exciting.” He holds both his hands up in the air, wiggling his fingers and giggling to himself as though he’s just said the most hilarious thing. 

You’re still waiting for the punchline.

“What is it…” You ask warily…and you regret it immediately when Satoru leans down and brushes his soft lips against the shell of your ear, whispering.

“Let’s make a bet. When we get home, I want you to sit on my face. If I can make you cum in ten minutes or less, you take the mission for me.”

A tingle races up your spine, a slow warmth uncurling low in your belly. You’ve never done that with Satoru before. The thought fills you with excitement. Your lips curl with a smirk and you whisper back, a challenge in your voice. “And if you can’t?”

“Then I guess I’ll do the mission, but something tells me I won’t have to worry about that.” He nips your earlobe, grinning when you yelp. You shove his shoulder, effectively pushing him back. You try to resist smiling when you realize he has his infinity off for you. He always has it off for you. Only you. Such a romantic.

You could always go home and fuck Satoru until the sun comes up like it’s a normal Tuesday night. Or, you could take him up on his offer…and make him suffer a little in the process.

Satoru closes the distance between you and loops his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. “So? Do we have a deal?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to whisper against his lips, “Take us home.”

It’s instant. Space and time bend violently around you and Satoru covers your eyes, holding you tightly against his chest as he warps you both home.

- - - - - -

Now here you are, naked and straddling Satoru’s chest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about what’s to happen next. Your eyes dart down to Satoru’s phone on the bedside table, the big fat 10:00 timer blinking brightly on the screen. All you have to do is not let him win. You don’t want the mission anymore than he does and he needs to learn he can’t just dump all of his responsibilities on other people. 

Satoru clears his throat, pulling you from your straying thoughts. “As much as I’m absolutely loving the view from down here, we don’t have much time before one of us…” he points only to you, “...has to be on this mission.” You purse your lips, the uneasiness you just felt quickly dissipating. Satoru’s hands find purchase on your waist, gently squeezing. “Look, if you’re worried you’ll smother me to death –” 

“Tempting,” you interrupt, grinning with Satoru frowns.

“Anywayyyy, if you’re worried you’ll smother me to death, don’t worry about it. I’m the strongest.”

You stare blankly at him while he stares amusedly back at you. You’ve heard enough. You scoot forward, your bare cunt hovering over Satoru’s face for a moment before you effectively shut him up, dropping your core right on to his lips. A muffled yelp can be heard from deep between your thighs, Satoru shifting beneath you to try and get comfortable. 

“Clock starts now,” you sing, leaning over quickly to tap the timer on his phone to start. The seconds tick down rapidly, Satoru just as eager as he groans into your center. His hands wrap around your thighs, spreading them further apart for him. His tongue grazes your clit, swirling around the sensitive bud over and over.

You try to stay focused, try to stare straight ahead at the damn headboard because you don’t want to give Satoru the satisfaction of being able to brag that he won. But it just feels too damn good, the way he works his tongue through your folds, how he kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, how he groans into your cunt, clearly enjoying himself.

Satoru gives your pussy one long, broad lick and groans. Your eyes fluttering closed and your head falling back. You bite your lip just as his tongue thrusts between your folds, sucking, licking and biting. Your thighs shake as you struggle to keep your hips from slamming down into Satoru’s face but god it feels so fucking good.

Satoru has always been…gifted in the bedroom. There’s very little he’s not good at and it’s showing now as Satoru’s hands graze along your thighs, around to your ass where his nails dig into your ass cheeks. He pulls you forward, urging you to move.

You roll your hips forward when Satoru gives your ass one last smack. He sucks on your clit, humming as his lips wrap around the bundle of nerves and the sudden choked sob that leaves your lips catches you off guard. 

“Fuck! Satoru, right there. Don’t stop!” You moan, your fingers reaching down to tangle into your boyfriend’s hair. 

Satoru doesn’t stop. He does it again and again until you’re a panting mess atop of him. He grunts into your core, squeezing your ass before smacking it hard. A strangled cry rushes past your lips. Your thighs tremble on either side of Satoru’s head and he chuckles, smacking your other ass cheek and relishing in the way your legs shake again.

Your hips rock back and forth along his tongue, Satoru’s fingers digging into the meat of your ass to push and pull you along his face. He wants you to go faster, go harder, ride his face until you drown him in your cum.

God, he knows what the fuck he’s doing with that annoying mouth of his. You were an idiot for agreeing to his bet because you can already feel the heat pooling in your core as the band inside your belly threatens to snap at any moment.

Satoru’s loving this, you can tell by the needy groans and breathy whines escaping him as he buries himself as deep into your cunt as he can go. It’s so filthy, the way his tongue laps at your core, tasting and relishing every last drop you have to offer. 

You’re panting, leaning forward now to grip the headboard. Satoru stops suddenly, reaching up and pulling his blindfold off of his face to reveal his eyes. He knows exactly what that does to you, that you’ll fall apart in those beautiful orbs that hold all the power of the universe in them. Satoru looks just as beautiful between your thighs, snowy locks spread wildly, his mouth wet with your slick. He kisses your thighs, trailing soft touches all the way up to your center, leaving a gentle peck to your core. Satoru smirks when you roll your hips forward at the contact, then he trails soft kisses back down your other thigh. 

His hands squeeze your ass softly just as Satoru pushes his tongue between your folds again and runs his tongue flat up your core.

“So good, Satoru. Fuck, that’s so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He asks, voice muffled as he buries his face in your cunt again, licking and sucking your clit while you’re grinding your own hips down on him, pace harder and faster than before. You nod, the only sounds heard being the hushed moans that grow gradually louder as you grind your hips down against Satoru’s face and the lewd slurping of Satoru’s mouth as he laps at your slick cunt.

With one hand, Satoru spreads one of your cheeks. With the other, he easily slips two fingers into your drenched cunt. “Shitttttt,” Satoru moans into your pussy when he feels your pussy clamp down on him. He curls his fingers sharply, smirking when he feels your thighs immediately begin to quiver around his head. You’re so close. There’s no way you’ll make it much longer. “Need your cum, baby. I wanna taste it. I need it.”

You don’t even get a chance to answer him. His fucking phone alarm blares on the table next to the bed, effectively stopping his actions and your orgasm. 

“Fuck.” You lean over and tap the phone, Satoru’s fingers idly pumping into you. You take your position with shit eating grin on your flushed face. “Guess I won –”

Satoru pulls you back to sit on his face, tongue darting out to lap at your soaked pussy.

“Don’t give a fuck about the bet. Need to make you cum,” he mutters into your core, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt. Your mouth falls open with a silent moan as Satoru wastes no time bringing you to the most earth shattering release of your life.

[ohnoitstbskyen]

hey skyen, you mentioned about kuina that she seemed transmasc to you and in my experience i think more people see zoro as a transmasc person, the reason being is his want/need to break gender stereotypes rather than enforce them. through kuina, his story to become the greatest swordman is inherently about breaking gender roles. and personally i think a lot of transmascs see this as their relationship to cis women. (especially in how kuina pushes zoro into the "weak" category with him and parrots sexism without knowing how it affects him) i also think his story is WAY more satisfying from a gender perspective if you see him as transmasc, regardless of if its intended or not. (the truth is that theyre BOTH transmasc, actually, why not?) (idk if you read fanfiction, probably not, but the fanfiction Burning Man on ao3 really goes in depth with transmasc zoro. its also the best fanfiction ive personally read for op)

Yeah, I can absolutely see that.

On related lines, I've also seen an interpretation of the story that Kuina and Zoro are the same person, and that Zoro's flashback depicts a metaphorical series of events rather than literal, where he battles with his assigned identity over and over as a child and can never "beat" her, never overcome or break out from under her.

But when he realizes that his assigned identity is miserable and in pain, and that all that even she wants is to be a boy, he has to go through the trauma of seeing her die, and go out into the world as truly himself. Through that lens his quest to become the greatest swordsman in the world is, in part, a quest to spite every motherfucker on Earth who told his past self that he would never be able to transcend his assigned gender.

So long as you assume that Kuina's father is playing along with it to the point of setting up a grave for his dead daughter who never was, it does explain why he would let Zoro take away the Wado Ichimonji, an incredibly important and valuable family heirloom, and treat Zoro so much like a direct son.

The Three Sword Style already represents Zoro carrying Kuina's spirit and memory with him always - his two-sword style in the hands, her one sword style in his mouth - and in this reading the style would be carrying the memory and pain of his childhood with him, and letting it empower him to become greater than anyone without his experiences could ever be.

It's one of the nice things about One Piece, I think, that it is open to these kinds of interpretations. Luffy being aro/ace is basically canon, which I appreciate a lot, and nobody can tell me Nami and Vivi didn't have a mutual crush going during Alabasta, and there is no understanding of Ace I will accept where he wasn't the most bi/pan wandering disaster the Grand Line had ever seen since Roger.

I do hope the actual explicit text of the manga will catch up to that someday... I was really happy to finally see some actual transmasc rep with Yamato, and a bit more playfulness with gender in general in characters like Izou and Kikunojo in the Wano Country arc, and honestly canonically transmasc Zoro or Crocodile would be enriching to both of those characters, I think.

[andromeda-pleiades]

Hi everyone. 🌏

I know I have been gone for some time now, but this absence was because something really bad has happened in my family to the point that my family will need therapy and the law involved.

So... I might be taking a long break until I feel in the right mind to write cod fics again. I am prioritizing my family's mental health right now.

But in the meantime, here are some blogs that have been making me feel better with their amazing cod posts and stories

@groguspicklejar

I honestly don't really know what to say about this blog it's one of my favorite blog on this website, and I really love their works, reblogs, and random posts. I kinda wanna gatekeep them, lol. I love this blog so much I want to eat it

@shotmrmiller

They are the reason I have been interacting in the cod Fandom (comments and reblogs) where i didn't really feel confident before. It's a really welcoming blog

@greatstormcat

I love seeing notifs that they have posted or rebloged because I know I'm going to be invested every time

@ohbo-ohno

I found them through ceilidho, and I had to follow immediately. I've been going through their blog and eating it right up.

@ceilidho

I'm so excited I found them on Tumblr because I've been a lurker on AO3 for a while. Every time I see that they updated one of their stories, I have to put my phone down and do a lap around the house. I love your mind

@the-californicationist

I found them on AO3, and they are the reason I started to read for fun again. I love their work. You can really tell they put a little love in it

@gogh-with-the-flow

They reblog some of the greatest cod posts, which really puts you in the cod Fandom where you can find other writers and just see some nice cod content

This isn't every blog I love, just some that have been shining light on this very dark time in my life.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Wild Hearts

In the idyllic English countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the big city, two teachers at Willowbrook Hall set out to transform their students’ lives through the world of theatre. But for Mr. Crowley, the challenge of navigating his long hidden feelings and dear friendship with Mr. Fell may prove to be the greatest drama of all.

Length: 145,589 Words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Romance, Slow Burn

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers

*Minor Spoilers* Welcome to Willowbrook Hall, or as I like to call it, The Gay and Trans School for Gay and Trans Teens. Come meet professors Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley, and their colorful cast of teens as they spend the school year getting ready for the performance of a lifetime in the school play. This place has it all: hijinks, dances, costumes, drama, and best of all a cat.

What I really loved about this story was how cinematic it felt. Sure, some scenes intentionally reference a movie (Wild Child, so fun and camp!), but that's not what I mean. The whole thing plays out like a movie or its own TV show. We get big dramatic moments of romance and heartbreak, plus fun ones like a mini makeover, the school dance, and the play. And there is tons of subtle foreshadowing along the way that will make you jump up and down when things come to fruition. It's thrilling and engaging, and waiting for updates when this was a WIP was excruciating because I wanted to know what was going to happen next so badly!

The side characters especially are so much fun! I loved the kids and their side plots. Even though we don’t follow their story directly, we see enough to get hooked. Adam and Warlock are standouts, but they aren't the only ones I enjoyed! Honestly, I'd read a standalone from the kids perspective! The teachers are excellent too. I have a soft spot for Newt, who pops in now and then, always a sweetheart. Crowley could be in the depths of heartbreak and still manage a smile for Newt. All the teachers (plus Nina) don't feel like they're just there. I was interested in them, and you really get a sense of how much of a family they all are. It's a real skill to make side characters as interesting as the main duo.

Of course, the main attraction is Crowley and Aziraphale. They’ll make you fall in love with them all over again. They’re the perfect domestic couple well before they admit anything. So many lovely details about them, from note passing and bets, to their shared bond with Beethoven the cat (aka the best character ever). You'll experience everything with them: the highs of gender discovery and euphoria, and the lows of miscommunication and misunderstandings. What drama is complete without that? Yes, they’re a bit thick headed, and yes, a single conversation could have fixed everything. But where's the fun in that? I'm here for the drama! The pang of heartbreak and yearning makes the reunion so much sweeter! They are wonderfully characterized, and yet still have an air and life of their own. Unique to this story, but true to their characters.

You’ll be mostly safe reading this in public. There are a handful of explicit scenes but you should have enough notice to get away from prying eyes. The sex here is delicious and heart pounding! Plus the way that Crowley's gender fluidity plays into those scenes was very beautiful. There are so many reasons to love this story. It's engaging, cinematic, dramatic, funny, and romantic. This was an incredible achievement and I hope you have just as much fun and I did!

Read it here, fic by foolishlovers

[megamagimugi]

(M) 331 poster and sketches

I absolutely love this fanfic by Yoshi_with_hat on AO3 and personally consider it a masterpiece, one of the best this fandom has to offer. Might be my personal favorite if it's even possible to pick just one. So I decided to show my love for it in the best way I know how: by doing more fanart! I went with a poster this time.

I wanted to do more. This story deserves it. But eventually only made this poster and a few sketches and didn't really want to wait anymore to post them. Maybe I'll do more someday since I regularly reread this story, but for now I'm afraid that's it.

The sketches, however, contain major spoilers. Please, I beg of you, if you haven't read the story yet, skip the sketches. This fic's greatest strength, other than its well crafted characters, is without a doubt its plot with some brilliant twists you couldn't possibly predict. If you've already read it, feel free to take a look though. If you're curious, then please, read the story until the end first. I highly recommend it to any Mario fan, especially anyone who likes Mario 2D platformers.

Speaking of which, I think this is a perfect spot to put the link to the story:

Alright. So, as for the spoilery sketches.

Here they are:

72 wall jumping out of the pit, Bowser carrying 42 and Peach (with Kevin's wand) on his shoulders, and 304 telling Loggi what he did.

Now, after my fourth reread I must say one thing. This fic made me cry twice this time (honestly don't remember if it did on my previous reads, but maybe? probably?). I don't even cry at movies very often, let alone written word. It's so rare! And it's all because of 304. Yes, his thought process was flawed and eventually he did a horrible thing, but other than that I relate to him way too much, with him being rejected for no clear reason when he only wanted to be accepted and make some friends... Man. It just hits too close to home. When #1 cried for him, I could certainly relate :')

Alright. Dear Yoshi_with_hat, if you see this, I really hope you like it. And thank you for writing this amazing fanfic.

[muiitoloko]

See Me

Summary: Metatron, the former Voice of God, faces his greatest challenge: loving and protecting a human from a distance, unseen and unheard.

Pairing: Metatron × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst

Author's Notes: Honestly, I have no idea why I wrote this—just got hit with a sudden urge for some good old angsty, cliché vibes and had to roll with it! 😅

Also read on Ao3

When all this began, Metatron was furious. The idea of being demoted from God's spokesperson, the Voice of the Almighty Himself, to a mere guardian angel was unthinkable. He had been the one who spoke God's will, who delivered divine messages with a biting wit and an air of celestial authority. Now, he was expected to guard a single human life, and a newborn at that. It was a role that felt beneath him, a task for lesser angels, not for someone of his rank and stature.

But there was no arguing with the man upstairs. God's decisions were absolute, unchangeable, and Metatron, despite his anger and frustration, had to accept this new role. He took it with the reluctance of a soldier sent to clean the latrines after years on the battlefield, and when he first laid eyes on you—the newborn baby he was supposed to guard—he felt nothing but resentment. What was so special about you that he had to waste his existence watching over your every mundane moment?

And so, with a heart heavy with disdain, Metatron began his task. He watched over you as you grew from an infant into a little girl, your parents' first child and clear afterthought. It didn't take long for him to notice the imbalance in your household, how your parents lavished attention on your younger brother while you were left in the shadows. You never seemed to mind, never voiced a complaint, always the quiet, unassuming child who asked for nothing and expected even less. But Metatron could see how it hurt you, how you longed for a kind word, a gentle touch, anything to show that you were loved, too.

Years passed, and the little girl grew into a young woman. A kind woman—too kind, Metatron often thought with a bitter edge. Kind to everyone around you, even when they didn’t deserve it. You gave and gave until there was nothing left, and still, you smiled, still you pretended that it didn’t matter, that you were content with the crumbs of affection you received.

But Metatron saw through it all. He had watched you for years, after all. He knew that your kindness was a mask, a way to protect yourself from the endless disappointments that life had thrown at you. Your parents, who never saw you; your brother, who took their love for granted; your ex boyfriend, who used your gentleness as a convenience; your friends, who abandoned you when you needed them most. You were not the fool you appeared to be, not the oblivious girl who floated through life without a care. You were sharp, intelligent, and painfully aware of every slight, every cold shoulder, every broken promise.

Metatron hated it. He hated how they treated you, hated how you let them, hated the world for being so blind to your worth. And yet, despite all his celestial power, he could do nothing. He was bound by rules, by divine decree, unable to interfere in the ways that mattered most. He could only watch as you smiled through your pain, as you laughed with those who didn’t deserve your joy, as you loved with a heart that was destined to be broken time and time again.

And somewhere along the way, amidst the anger and frustration, Metatron began to feel something he never expected: affection. It started small, a quiet appreciation for your resilience, for the way you held yourself together when the world seemed intent on tearing you apart. But it grew, steadily, inexorably, until he found himself thinking of you not as a duty, not as a burden, but as something precious. Someone precious.

He knew it was wrong. He was an angel, a being of pure spirit, created to serve God’s will. He was not meant to feel, not like this, not with such intensity. But the more he watched you, the more he grew to admire you—your strength, your kindness, your intelligence hidden beneath that façade of simplicity. You were so much more than the world saw, so much more than anyone gave you credit for

But you were also fragile, your heart worn thin by years of neglect and quiet suffering. Metatron wanted nothing more than to reach out, to touch your cheek, to tell you that you were not alone, that someone saw you, truly saw you, and cared. But he couldn’t. He was bound by the very laws that had demoted him, and so he remained at a distance, watching over you, protecting you from the shadows, always close but never close enough.

And the anger that had once filled him—anger at his demotion, at the unfairness of it all—had slowly transformed into something else. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was directed at the world that had hurt you, at the people who had failed you. And it was tempered by a deep, aching love that he could never express, a love that he knew would remain unspoken for all eternity.

Metatron had watched over countless lives in his long existence, but you were different. You had changed him in ways he didn’t fully understand, had softened the edges of his celestial being, made him feel things he never thought possible. And it terrified him, this attachment, this love that defied all the rules of heaven and earth.

But he couldn’t turn away. Even if it meant enduring the pain of watching you suffer, even if it meant standing by as others hurt you, Metatron knew he would stay by your side. Because you were worth it. Because in a world full of shadows, you were the only light he had left.

And so, he continued to watch, to guard, to love you from a distance, hoping that one day, somehow, you would find the happiness you deserved. And though he could never be the one to give it to you, he would be there, always, watching over you, protecting you from the worst the world could offer, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

For what was an angel without his purpose? And Metatron had found his, in you.

That night, Metatron sat unseen in the armchair across from you, his hazel eyes watching intently as you moved around the living room, carefully setting out snacks and arranging cushions for the movie night you had planned. Your movements were meticulous, your expression one of quiet anticipation, as if this night meant more to you than you would ever admit. You had invited your friends, or at least those you thought of as friends, hoping for a few hours of laughter and camaraderie. Metatron couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at how much you invested in these people who had proven time and time again that they didn’t deserve your kindness.

He watched as you placed the final bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, stepping back to survey your work. You seemed satisfied, a small smile playing on your lips as you reached for your phone to check the time. They were supposed to arrive any minute now, and you were ready, hopeful even. But as Metatron sat there, unseen and unheard, he knew what was coming.

It wasn’t long before your phone buzzed in your hand, the screen lighting up with a message. Your smile faltered slightly as you read it, but you quickly forced it back into place, your kind nature refusing to let disappointment take root.

"Hey, I’m so sorry, but my grandmother is sick, and I need to stay home tonight. Rain check?"

Metatron’s eyes narrowed. He knew the truth—your so-called friend wasn’t home with a sick grandmother. No, they were out, laughing and drinking with others, not sparing a single thought for the invitation they had so casually dismissed. But you didn’t know that, and as always, you believed their excuse, sending back a message full of well-wishes and understanding.

"It's okay, take care of her! We’ll do it another time," you typed, your fingers moving quickly over the keys before you set your phone down, that hopeful smile still lingering, though it had lost some of its shine.

But the night was only just beginning, and as you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a drink to go with the snacks, the phone buzzed again. Another message, another excuse. Metatron saw the way your shoulders tensed, the slight pause before you picked up the phone again, your eyes scanning the words as your heart sank a little further.

"Something came up last minute. I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. Hope you have fun though!"

Again, you believed them, because that was who you were. You always saw the best in people, always gave them the benefit of the doubt, even when they repeatedly let you down. Metatron watched as you sent another understanding reply, but he could see the cracks beginning to form in your carefully constructed armor. He could feel the weight of your disappointment, even if you wouldn’t acknowledge it yourself.

And so it went, one after another. Your phone buzzed, you read the message, and each time, your expression grew a little more resigned, a little more defeated. By the time the last message came through, you were sitting on the couch, your phone clutched in your hand as you read the final excuse.

"Sorry, I totally forgot I had plans tonight. Maybe next time?"

That one hurt. Metatron could see it in the way your eyes lingered on the screen, your thumb hovering over the keys as you tried to find the right words to reply. You wanted to believe them, wanted to think that they had genuinely forgotten, that it wasn’t intentional. But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. They hadn’t forgotten. They just didn’t care enough to remember.

Still, you sent a reply, something kind and understanding, as you always did. But the energy had drained from you, the excitement that had once filled the room now replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence. Metatron hated that silence. He hated how you just accepted their behavior, how you allowed them to hurt you over and over again without ever standing up for yourself. But more than that, he hated how he was powerless to do anything about it.

You sat there for a while, staring at the screen of your phone as if hoping for a miracle, for someone to change their mind, to show up at your door and make the night what you had hoped it would be. But no one came. No one messaged. And eventually, you set the phone down with a sigh, reaching for the remote to start the movie you had planned to watch with them—now watching alone.

Metatron wished he could tell you that he was there too, that he was watching with you. He wished he could comfort you, let you know that someone cared, that someone saw you, truly saw you. But you didn’t hear him, didn’t see him, didn’t feel him. You were alone, just as you had been so many times before.

The movie played on, but you weren’t really watching. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying the messages, the excuses, trying to convince yourself that they were genuine, that they hadn’t meant to hurt you. But then, your phone buzzed again, and this time, Metatron knew it would break your heart.

You picked up the phone, your eyes widening slightly as you saw the notification. One of your friends had posted a picture, a group shot of them all out together, laughing, drinks in hand, the night filled with the kind of joy you had hoped to share with them. You stared at the screen, your heart sinking as you realized they hadn’t just canceled—they had gone out without you.

They hadn’t forgotten to invite you. They just didn’t want you there.

Metatron watched as the tears welled up in your eyes, your hands trembling slightly as you set the phone down, your gaze fixed on the screen. You tried to hold it together, tried to tell yourself that it was a mistake, that they hadn’t meant to leave you out, that there was some reasonable explanation. But deep down, you knew. You always knew.

He hated how you never seemed to see the bad in people, how you always looked for the best, even when they repeatedly showed you that they didn’t deserve it. He hated how they hurt you, how they took advantage of your kindness, your generosity, and left you with nothing in return.

And yet, despite everything, you still believed in them. You still wanted to believe that they cared, that they were your friends. It was a kind of stubborn optimism that both infuriated and endeared you to Metatron, but in moments like this, it was more than he could bear.

He wished he could reach out, touch your cheek, wipe away the tears that threatened to spill over. He wished he could tell you that you were worth so much more than the way they treated you, that you deserved friends who loved you, who saw you, who valued you for the incredible person you were. But he couldn’t. He was bound by the laws of heaven, and so he remained in the shadows, watching as you curled up on the couch, your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold the pieces of your broken heart together.

The movie played on, but you didn’t watch it. Your mind was too full of the images on your phone, the laughter and joy that you were so painfully excluded from. Metatron wished he could tear the world apart for you, make it right, make them see what they were missing. But all he could do was sit there, powerless, watching as the tears finally fell, silent and unnoticed, just like you.

And as the night wore on, Metatron’s heart ached with a pain that was all too human. Because in that moment, he realized that no matter how much he loved you, no matter how much he wanted to protect you, there was nothing he could do to heal the wounds that others had inflicted on your heart.

All he could do was watch over you, love you from a distance, and hope that one day, you would find someone who could see you the way he did—someone who would never let you cry alone.

Later that night, after the painful realization that you had been excluded from yet another gathering, Metatron watched as you moved through your bedtime routine with a sense of resigned heaviness. He had observed this ritual many times before, each movement familiar and practiced, but tonight, there was a sadness in you that he hadn’t seen in a long time—a sadness that tugged at something deep within him.

You brushed your teeth, washed your face, and changed into your nightgown, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin. But there was no comfort to be found in the familiar routine tonight. Your movements were slow, almost mechanical, as if you were going through the motions without really feeling them. Metatron noticed how your shoulders slumped, how your gaze seemed distant, how your eyes were red-rimmed from the tears you had tried so hard to hide.

When you finally finished, you walked over to your bed, the room dimly lit by the small lamp on your nightstand. Metatron’s eyes followed your every move as you knelt beside the bed, your hands clasped together, your head bowed in prayer. This was how you always ended your day, no matter how difficult or lonely it had been—you always prayed, always spoke to God as if He were right there beside you, listening to every word.

But tonight, there was a heaviness in your voice as you began to speak, a tremor that betrayed the depth of your sadness. Metatron leaned forward slightly, his heart aching with a pain he wished he could take away, as he listened to your prayer.

“Father,” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “thank you for another day, for the health and strength to get through it. Thank you for my family, my friends, and for the people I was able to help today at the hospital.”

You paused, your voice trembling slightly as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Metatron could see the way your hands clenched together, your knuckles white as you fought to keep your emotions in check.

“Please, watch over them,” you continued, your voice wavering. “Watch over my parents, my brother, and… and my friends. Keep them safe, Father, and give them the happiness they deserve.”

There was another pause, longer this time, as if you were struggling to find the words to say. Metatron watched as a single tear slipped down your cheek, your eyes closing tightly as you tried to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

“I… I don’t want to be ungrateful,” you whispered, your voice thick with anguish. “I know I have so much to be thankful for, and I try, I really do. But… I feel so alone, Father. So alone, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

Metatron’s heart broke at the sound of your confession, the raw vulnerability in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He wanted to reach out, to comfort you, to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was there, watching over you, caring for you in ways you could never imagine. But he was bound by the laws of heaven, unable to reveal himself, unable to give you the comfort you so desperately needed.

Your voice shook as you continued, your words spilling out in a rush of emotion. “I try to be strong, to be kind, to see the good in people, but… but it’s so hard, Father. It’s so hard when… when they don’t see me, when they don’t care. I try to be a good friend, a good daughter, but… but it feels like no one wants me. Like I’m just… invisible.”

Another tear fell, and then another, until they were streaming down your face, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the sobs that threatened to escape. Metatron could feel your pain, your loneliness, as if it were his own, and it took everything in him not to cry out, not to break the rules that bound him and reveal himself to you, to tell you that you were seen, that you were loved, even if you didn’t know it.

You bowed your head lower, your voice barely audible now as you spoke the words that had been weighing on your heart for so long. “Father… please… help me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this. I’m so tired of being alone, of being… unloved. I just… I just want someone to care. Someone to see me… for who I really am.”

Your voice broke on the last word, and with it, the dam of emotions you had been holding back for so long finally burst. You buried your face in your hands, your sobs muffled against the bed as you cried out all the pain, all the loneliness, all the heartache that had been building up inside you for years.

Metatron felt his own tears welling up, his heart shattering at the sight of your suffering. He had watched over you for so long, had seen every tear, every heartbreak, every moment of loneliness, and it had taken everything in him not to intervene, not to break the rules and offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

But tonight, as he watched you cry, as he listened to your anguished prayer, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t just sit there, invisible, powerless, while you suffered. He couldn’t just watch as you cried yourself to sleep, believing that you were unloved, unseen, when nothing could be further from the truth.

For a moment, Metatron considered defying the rules, revealing himself to you, showing you the love and care that he had been holding back for so long. But he knew that it was impossible, that it would only cause more harm than good. And so, he did the only thing he could—he prayed.

“Father,” Metatron whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he gazed at you, his heart aching with a love that he could never express, “please, give her the comfort she needs. Let her know that she is not alone, that she is loved, even if she can’t see it. Let her feel my presence, if only for a moment, and let her know that I am here, watching over her, caring for her.”

And as you cried yourself to sleep, your prayer still lingering in the air, Metatron remained by your side, his unseen hand hovering just above your cheek, so close but never close enough. He stayed there, watching over you, guarding you, loving you in the only way he could.

And as the night stretched on, Metatron made a silent vow to himself. He would do everything in his power to protect you, to guide you, to help you find the happiness you deserved. And even if you never knew he was there, even if you never saw him, he would never leave your side.

Because in a world full of shadows, you were his light, his purpose, his reason for being.

And he would love you, from a distance, for all eternity.

As the days passed, Metatron continued his silent vigil, watching over you as you navigated the challenges of your life with the same quiet resilience that had drawn him to you in the first place. Today, he accompanied you to the hospital where you worked, his presence unseen but ever vigilant. You were a pediatric doctor, a role that suited you perfectly, given your boundless compassion and patience. It was in the hospital that Metatron saw the truest reflection of your heart, the way you poured yourself into caring for the children, giving them your time, your love, and your undivided attention.

The children adored you. To them, you were more than just a doctor—you were a friend, a protector, someone who made their days in the sterile, often frightening environment of the hospital a little brighter. They loved you because you saw them, truly saw them, in a way that others often didn’t. You took the time to listen to their stories, to comfort them when they were scared, to make them laugh even when they were in pain. And in return, they gave you their trust, their affection, and, most importantly, their honesty.

Metatron watched with a mixture of admiration and concern as you moved from one patient to the next, your demeanor calm and professional, yet always with a warmth that set you apart from the other doctors. You were in your element here, surrounded by the children you loved, and for a few hours, at least, you could forget the loneliness that plagued you outside these walls.

Today, one of your patients was a little girl named Sophie, a bright-eyed child with a contagious smile despite the illness that kept her in the hospital. She had always been one of your favorites, and Metatron knew it. There was something about her spirit, her resilience, that reminded him of you. As you entered her room, Sophie’s face lit up, and she greeted you with the kind of enthusiasm that only children seemed capable of.

“Doctor!” Sophie exclaimed, her voice filled with joy as she reached out for your hand. “I’ve been waiting for you all day!”

You smiled warmly as you took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, too,” you replied, your voice soft and full of affection. “How are you feeling today, Sophie?”

Sophie’s smile faltered slightly as she thought about her answer, but she quickly brightened again, determined not to let her discomfort show. “I’m okay,” she said with a shrug, her tone a little too casual for a child her age. “But I wanted to tell you something!”

“Oh?” you asked, your curiosity piqued as you sat down beside her bed, your full attention on the little girl. “What’s that?”

Sophie leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she whispered, “Doctor Marques likes you! He told me!”

Metatron, who had been hovering nearby, listening intently, felt a surge of irritation at the mention of Colin Marques. Doctor Marques was a natural flirt, the kind of man who spread his charms indiscriminately, with little regard for the feelings he left in his wake. Metatron had seen his type before—men who were all too happy to take advantage of someone’s kindness, to make promises they had no intention of keeping. And the idea that Marques might be trying to worm his way into your life, into your heart, made Metatron’s blood boil.

You laughed softly, a sound that Metatron usually found comforting, but now it only made him more agitated. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice playful as you ruffled Sophie’s hair. “And what did Doctor Marques say exactly?”

Sophie giggled, clearly delighted to be sharing what she considered a very important secret. “He said you’re the prettiest doctor in the whole hospital, and that he likes talking to you because you’re nice. He said he wants to take you out for dinner!”

Metatron clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists as he fought to keep his composure. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Marques was nothing but trouble, and the thought of him trying to charm his way into your life, to take advantage of your kindness and generosity, was enough to make Metatron want to interfere in ways he knew he shouldn’t.

You, of course, took Sophie’s words in stride, smiling at the girl’s enthusiasm. “Well, that’s very sweet of Doctor Marques,” you said, your tone light and nonchalant. But Metatron could see the faint blush that crept into your cheeks, the way you ducked your head slightly as if embarrassed by the attention. He knew you well enough by now to recognize that, despite your dismissive tone, the idea of someone showing interest in you wasn’t something you took lightly. You had spent so long feeling invisible, unappreciated, that even the smallest bit of attention was enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were worth noticing after all.

But Metatron knew better. Marques wasn’t interested in you for the right reasons. He was a man driven by ego and desire, and the idea of winning over someone as sweet and unassuming as you probably appealed to his sense of conquest. It wasn’t about love, or even genuine affection—it was about the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of knowing he could have you if he wanted.

And Metatron would be damned if he let that happen.

Over the next few days, Metatron made it his mission to keep Marques at bay. He couldn’t interfere directly—his powers were bound by the laws of heaven—but there were other ways to make sure Marques stayed away from you. Little things, subtle things, that the doctor wouldn’t even notice. A misplaced file here, a scheduling conflict there, a sudden page that called him away just as he was about to approach you. It was all too easy for someone with Metatron’s celestial abilities, and he took a certain grim satisfaction in watching Marques grow increasingly frustrated as his attempts to get closer to you were thwarted at every turn.

The other angels noticed, of course. The guardian angels assigned to the children you cared for, and even Marques’ own guardian, a rather irritable angel named Maraues, were quick to pick up on Metatron’s interference. They didn’t like it—they were bound by the same rules as Metatron, after all, and they knew how important it was to respect the boundaries set by the Almighty.

But Metatron didn’t care. Let them talk, let them frown and shake their heads. He knew what he was doing was right. You deserved better than Marques, better than the casual flirts and smooth talkers who would only end up hurting you in the end. You deserved someone who truly saw you, who loved you for who you were, not for what they could take from you.

And if Metatron had to play dirty to keep Marques away, then so be it.

One day, as you were finishing up your rounds, Metatron noticed Marques lingering near your office, a bouquet of flowers in hand and a hopeful smile on his face. It was clear that he was planning to ask you out, to finally make his move after days of trying to catch you alone. Metatron’s eyes narrowed as he considered his options, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a way to prevent this encounter.

As Marques started to approach your office, Metatron acted quickly. A slight flick of his wrist, a whispered word in the ancient language of angels, and the door to your office suddenly swung open, revealing you standing there, your expression one of surprise as you saw Marques standing just outside, flowers in hand.

But before Marques could speak, Metatron intervened once more. He sent a sharp, insistent thought to one of the nurses down the hall, and within seconds, the nurse appeared, rushing up to Marques with a look of urgency on her face.

“Doctor Marques, we need you in the ER right away!” she said, her voice breathless with urgency. “There’s been a serious accident, and they need your help immediately!”

Marques hesitated, clearly torn between his desire to talk to you and his duty as a doctor. But in the end, duty won out, and with a frustrated sigh, he handed the flowers to the nurse, instructing her to give them to you before hurrying off down the hall, leaving you standing there, bewildered and alone.

Metatron couldn’t help but smirk as he watched Marques’ retreating form. It wasn’t the most honorable way to handle things, but it was effective. And that was all that mattered.

But as you stood there, holding the bouquet that had been left behind, your expression softening into something that Metatron couldn’t quite decipher, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew he was protecting you, that he was doing what he thought was best, but he also knew that you longed for love, for companionship, for someone to see you the way you deserved to be seen.

And so, as you placed the flowers on your desk, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, Metatron vowed to himself that he would find a way to protect you without stifling your chance at happiness. He would keep you safe from those who would hurt you, but he would also keep his eyes open for someone worthy of your love, someone who could give you the happiness you so desperately deserved.

Until then, he would continue to watch over you, guarding you from the shadows, doing everything in his power to keep you safe—even if it meant bending the rules a little along the way. Because in a world full of pain and disappointment, you were the one thing worth fighting for.

And Metatron would fight for you, for as long as it took, until the day came when you no longer needed him.

But deep down, he knew that day would never come. Not for him. Because somewhere along the way, in the midst of his duty, in the midst of his anger and frustration, Metatron had fallen in love with you. And though he could never act on it, though he could never reveal it, he knew that his heart would belong to you for all eternity.

And that was enough. It had to be.

Metatron’s heart felt heavy as he watched over you that night, his unseen presence lingering in the quiet darkness of your bedroom. He had made sure you were safe, that you had finally drifted into a restless sleep after the emotional turmoil of the day. The soft rise and fall of your breath was the only sound in the room, and Metatron felt a pang of longing as he stood beside your bed, his gaze fixed on your peaceful face.

You were so vulnerable, so fragile in this moment, and yet there was a strength in you that Metatron had come to admire deeply. He had seen the way you faced the world, the way you endured the pain and loneliness that seemed to follow you like a shadow. And though you didn’t know it, he had been with you every step of the way, silently guarding you, protecting you from the worst of what the world could throw at you.

But tonight, as he watched you sleep, Metatron felt a deep sense of frustration and helplessness. He had done everything he could to keep you safe, to shield you from the people who didn’t deserve you, but it wasn’t enough. You were still lonely, still longing for someone to see you, to truly see you, in the way that Metatron did.

And so, with a heavy heart, he made the decision to return to Heaven, determined to speak with God Himself. If there was anyone who could help, it was Him. Metatron wasn’t one to beg, but for you, he was willing to do whatever it took.

As he ascended to Heaven, the familiar, brilliant light of the celestial realm surrounded him, and his usual sharp wit and sarcasm returned as he passed by his angelic brothers and sisters. He could feel their curious gazes on him, their whispers of speculation about what could have driven the Voice of God to such a state. But Metatron paid them no mind. He had one purpose, and he wouldn’t be deterred.

Finally, he stood before the throne of God, the presence of the Almighty filling the space with a power and serenity that would have brought any other being to their knees. But Metatron, as always, stood tall, his hazel eyes flashing with a mix of determination and frustration as he addressed the one being who could change your fate.

“Father,” Metatron began, his voice steady but laced with an underlying edge, “I need to speak with you about her.”

There was a pause, a silence that stretched on for what felt like an eternity, but Metatron waited, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that God was aware of you—how could He not be? But it was one thing to watch over you as Metatron had been doing, and another entirely to intervene in your life in the way Metatron was about to request.

When God finally spoke, it was not with words, but with a presence that filled Metatron’s mind, a sense of knowing that transcended any human form of communication. And in that moment, Metatron knew that God understood exactly what he was asking for.

“You know I cannot grant this request, Metatron,” came the silent, omnipotent reply, gentle yet firm.

Metatron’s jaw clenched, his frustration bubbling up as he struggled to keep his tone respectful. “Why not?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion. “She deserves more than this—more than the loneliness and pain she’s endured. I’m not asking for much. Just… just let me find someone for her. Someone who will see her for the incredible person she is, who will value her and love her the way she deserves.”

“Humans have free will, Metatron. They choose their own paths, their own loves. No angel, not even you, can interfere with that. It is not our place.”

Metatron’s fists tightened at his sides, his frustration mounting. “But she wants to be seen,” he insisted, his voice growing more desperate. “She’s spent her whole life being overlooked, taken for granted, treated like she’s invisible. Can’t you see that she needs someone? Someone who will finally see her the way I do?”

Another silence, longer this time, as if God were considering Metatron’s words. But when He spoke again, the answer was still the same, unyielding and absolute.

“It is not our place, Metatron. She must find her own way, make her own choices. You cannot choose for her, nor can I.”

Metatron felt a wave of helplessness crash over him, a rare and unwelcome emotion for someone of his stature. He had always prided himself on his ability to solve problems, to find solutions, even in the most difficult situations. But now, standing before the Almighty Himself, he realized that there was nothing he could do. He was powerless, bound by the very laws that had created him.

But he couldn’t let it go. Not this time. Not when it came to you.

“She wants to be seen,” Metatron repeated, his voice low and filled with a pain he hadn’t meant to reveal. “And so do I. I want her to see me, to know that I’ve been there all along, watching over her, caring for her in ways no one else ever could. I want her to know that she’s not alone, that she’s never been alone.”

God’s silence was deafening, the weight of Metatron’s confession hanging heavy in the air. For a moment, Metatron feared that he had gone too far, that he had revealed too much of his heart, too much of the forbidden love he had for you.

But then, something changed. The presence of God seemed to shift, to soften, and Metatron felt a warmth in his chest, a deep understanding that transcended words.

“You both want to be seen,” God finally said, His voice gentle, filled with a compassion that Metatron had never experienced before. “But that is not something that can be granted by divine intervention. It must come from within, from the choices you both make. You must let her find her own way, and you must accept that you cannot interfere.”

Metatron’s heart ached with the truth of those words, a truth he didn’t want to accept. But he knew, deep down, that God was right. You had your own path to walk, your own choices to make, and no matter how much he wanted to protect you, to guide you, he couldn’t force your hand. You had to find your own way, and he had to trust that you would.

But it didn’t make the pain any less real.

Metatron bowed his head, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his unspoken love, his unfulfilled desires. He had always prided himself on his duty, on his ability to carry out God’s will without question. But now, faced with the one thing he couldn’t have, the one thing he wanted more than anything else, he felt the sharp sting of failure.

“I understand,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll protect her, as I always have. But I’ll… I’ll step back, and let her find her own way.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Metatron felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, a warmth that soothed the ache in his chest, if only a little.

“You have done well, Metatron,” God said, His voice filled with a kindness that Metatron hadn’t expected. “Your love for her is pure, but you must let her go. Trust that she will find her way, and know that you have done everything you can to protect her.”

Metatron nodded, though the motion felt hollow, empty. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier.

With a heavy heart, Metatron turned away from the throne, his gaze fixed on the floor as he made his way out of the celestial chamber. The other angels watched him as he passed, their expressions a mix of sympathy and curiosity, but Metatron ignored them. He didn’t want their pity, their understanding. He wanted you.

But he knew he couldn’t have you. Not in the way he wanted.

And so, as he descended back to Earth, back to the place where you slept, Metatron steeled himself for the task ahead. He would continue to watch over you, to protect you from the shadows, but he would no longer interfere in your life. He would let you find your own way, make your own choices, even if it meant watching you fall in love with someone else.

Because in the end, all he wanted was for you to be happy, to be seen and loved the way you deserved. Even if it wasn’t by him.

But deep down, Metatron knew that a part of him would always long for the impossible—to be seen by you, to have you look at him the way he looked at you, with a love that transcended all boundaries, all rules.

But that was a dream that would remain forever out of reach.

And so, with a heart heavy with unspoken love and unfulfilled desires, Metatron returned to your side, watching over you as you slept, knowing that he would never be more than a guardian, a protector, someone who loved you from a distance, unseen and unheard.

But it was enough. It had to be.

Because he had made a promise—to protect you, to love you, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

And Metatron never broke a promise.

[belovedivies]

along the wind (bodyguard!peter x f!reader)

・゜・summary: Peter has made his way to the top by defying the odds his whole life; barely anything fazes him at this point. Yet when a glimpse of normalcy comes into his life in the form of a girl whose presence he initially apathizes, the crack in the Apostle’s stoicism starts to show.゜・* ・゜・tags: reader-insert, pre-canon, pre-rejuvenated peter, slice of life, fluff, slow burn, eventual romance, (my poor) attempt at humor, friends to lovers, typical-canon violence (mostly referenced cuz i suck at writing fight scenes)゜・* ・゜・notes: this work has multiple chapters! also cross-posted on my ao3 <3 title is from a song called "fly away" by jang yoon ju.゜・*

chapter 1: white strawberry and mint. ・゜・chapter content: bashing/washing, brief mention of drug. ・゜・word count: 1,268 ♡masterlist♡

“Tch, stop squirming so much will you?”

"That's easy for you to say, you took my last xanax!"

Peter, very much irritated, decides to ignore those words as he drags the washcloth down your spine. You really thought Glory's greatest asset would want to be stuck here babysitting a grown-ass woman in her early 20s, huh? You'd better fucking think again; with how bizarre this unconventional live-in assignment has been and is still going, Peter's mental gymnastics constantly blow hot and cold between wanting to protect you and wanting to strangle you. Anything to make your perpetual complaining go away, honestly. But as nice as the thought of making you shut up for good, the Cathedral's order to keep you safe is final, and he is but loyal to the organization that made him the powerful man he is today.

So the Apostle sucks it up, a sigh leaving his lips as one big hand closes a little tighter around your waist.

"You're recovering," Peter continues, the authority colors his tone even as his touch on your soaked back is undeniably gentle, "and the last thing I need is another headache of you OD'ing over off-label pills."

You let out a sound that falls somewhere between a gasp and a yelp. "I'm not an addict, ok?" That half-assed excuse almost has Peter rolling his eyes in pure frustration, his displeasure threatening to bubble over when you flounder on his lap like a fish out of water. "They're just my sleeping aid-"

“Aid or not ,” he cuts you off mid-sentence, “it doesn’t change the fact that you pop three xans per meal and barely function without them.” The last of his impatient reprimand is accompanied by foam-covered linen spreading the Olay body wash over the skin of your belly. Peter’s nose crinkles slightly at the sickening sugary scents of white strawberry and mint that assault his nostrils, but the man decides to keep his mouth shut.

And much to his surprise, so do you.

He’s relieved at your lack of resistance, or at least no more bitter remark. A huff leaves your lips, then nothing. Good, the Apostle is sure if this goes on, he’ll be scrubbing your wrinkly skin raw. Peter sets the washcloth aside and grabs the shower head, aiming the lukewarm stream of water at your body and clearing away the bubbles and remaining grime.

The water sloshes underneath your body as you draw up your legs; the tub isn’t small by any means, but Peter is aware of his size and how his large stature might be a little suffocating to you in terms of space. His grasp on your waist loosens, wanting to speed things up so you both can get out of here quicker. Yet the second the soap on your skin is washed away, the guy can't help but let his eyes linger on the scar on your lower thigh.

"What?" Peter hears you huff again, sounding uncomfortable despite your nonchalant expression. One of your hands moves down to conceal the healing wound, even if through the little cracks between your fingers, he can still make out the pinkish scar tissue.

"How are you feeling?" It's a genuine concern on his part.

"Um," your hesitation doesn't escape his notice, even palpably so when you start shifting awkwardly between his legs. Peter just wants to make sure, but he has no problem with dropping the topic if it irks you. That is what he thinks, but you finish the sentence, "better?"

So it doesn't hurt anymore, at least not as badly as it used to. The man lets out a low hum, then turns his head to hang the showerhead into its wall-mount bracket.

"No hair wash?" Are you serious right now? Peter rolls his eyes for real—an act he's very much acquainted with in the past six weeks living here—before facing you.

"No hair wash," there you go again with that annoying pout. Really makes him wonder how the hell you two are the same age, "I won't have you lazing around in here for more than 30 minutes."

Sensing an upcoming brainless argument, the raven-haired assassin stands up and walks out of the bath, taking you with him. He promptly ignores the way you yelp when one right hand grazes a ticklish spot on your nape to keep you still, instead reaching for two towels sitting on the sink. Peter wraps one of them around his waist and focuses on patting you dry with the other. There's a bored look on his face while you just stand there, grumbling under your breath about how you can do this on your own. Brat.

"Put this on." He draps the towel over your shoulders and hands you a fresh set of clothes for the night. Only when you take them does he start putting on his own; a moment of silence follows, save for the rustling of fabric. It’s oddly calming, and even though he has used to going through days without a wink of sleep, Peter feels his eyes getting droopy as he puts on his grey hoodie; the day’s exhaustion finally catching up.

You let out a yawn, putting your hand on his shoulder for support while you slip on a pair of cotton slippers. Now he just has to wait for you to finish up.

“Hey, Peter…”

“Hm?”

The guy looks over his shoulder when you call out his name. This time, you don’t meet his gaze, instead staring down on the floor as you scrawl with one foot.

”Sorry for my mini tantrum earlier.” You gulp, and was that shame he just heard? ”You were just trying to do your job…”

Peter cocks an eyebrow. He isn’t mad at you, per se—the smirk on his lips giving away his rare playfulness—more like the usual light-hearted annoyance (that makes him want to choke you due to how stubborn you are sometimes, but that’s out of the question). You’re still 97% better than most people the Apostle had encountered in t ok his line of work, and that is to say out of the other 3% he didn’t fumble (or kill), you’re the girl who happens to fit the closest to society’s definition of normal.

Not that he cares about what people think, anyway.

“A-And I acted out like a child…” He’s half-expecting another sorry, but you keep your head down in silence. You must be waiting for his answer then, so the guy decides to give you an easy way out; the further teasing comment that is about to leave his mouth can be saved for another time.

”Aside from the occasional migraines you gave me,” Peter smiles, putting a hand on your head as he starts ruffling your hair. "you're not too bad yourself. Apology accepted."

You mirror his mirth, though only for a brief second. Schooling your expression into a mask of faux frustration, you huff and try to pry his hand off. “Right right, now stop would ya? You’re gonna mess up my hair!”

Again, sleep comes first. As fun as it is to taunt you, Peter needs to get you to bed. Tuck you in… is that what it is called? The Apostle mentally cringes at the term; Father Gabriel really did land him into babysitting his niece.

“Right… let’s go.” He settles for giving your head one last pat before motioning you to walk towards the door connected to your bedroom. The distance is short, but Peter knows you’ll be there when he turns around.

Tomorrow will just be another day.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

I Know the End | Vol. 1

Poe Dameron x Reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: You were one of the Rebellion’s greatest weapons in the Galactic Civil War, a Princess from a distant planet, a Jedi with wings. Now, you’ve found yourself in a new world, a new war, your old friends long gone.

When Poe Dameron was sent on a wild goose chase of a reconnaissance mission four systems out, he never expected to find the key to his heart…

Note: At long last, here it is. Thank you for your patience. I love you all. I honestly wrote this as a long-winded attempt to make Poe Dameron’s dumbest line “Somehow, Palpatine returned” into a gut-wrenching and emotional moment and it got way out of hand. I am no Star Wars expert, but I did a lot of research for this and consider myself waaaaaaay more of a SW nerd now than I was a mere two months ago. Could probably write a dissertation on it at this point (I say as I literally churned out a novel). It is my first time writing for the fandom, though, so, here goes nothing. I did make up a fair bit of stuff and a good handful of OCs for this. Let me know what you think!

I will also be uploading this to my Ao3 soon for easier navigation <3 If you see it there, don't panic.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, lightsaber and blaster wounds, alcohol consumption, war and the implications of it, gets a little steamy but no smut, reader has nightmares, misuse of the Force, Rewriting the Rise of Skywalker a lil bit…

Word Count: 82.7k total (Split into four approximately 20k chunks)

Reader Is: 24, a Jedi, a Princess, has butterfly wings

Vol 1. | Vol 2. | Vol 3. | Vol 4.

Prologue

Poe’s rain-soaked curls stuck to his forehead as he moved through the alleyway, steps brisk, shoulders straight. Poe Dameron, Commander of the infamous Resistance, and one of Leia’s best spies, which was why he was in a shady alleyway on a planet four systems out.

It had taken him a week of investigation, asking hard questions, chasing cold trails, translating outdated plaques and inscriptions, but finally, he had something real.

He checked the location on the holo again, then looked back up at the metal door in front of him, hesitating before knocking. Eventually, it slid open, and he stepped through, a hand on his blaster.

“Hello?” He called into the seemingly empty pawn shop. “I’m looking for Rhugo. I’m a friend of–”

“You’re Leia’s boy. The Commander.” The pawnbroker parted curtains in the doorway behind the counter, a long cigar poking out of his mouth, fingers long and green-tinted. “Got your message. Wait just a second.”

Poe watched as he reached on the counter, fingers still hovering above his blaster. If there was one thing he’d learned from his time with the Resistance, it was that almost no one could be trusted, to never let his guard down. But instead of a blaster, Rhugo pulled out a small wooden box and slid it across the glass counter. He motioned for Poe to open it.

He stepped forward, gently lifting the hinged lid. Inside, cradled in a bed of velvet, was a golden pendant, palm-sized, a shimmering pink and purple gem embedded in the metal. He stared at it for a long time, mesmerized. It didn’t seem to be a power source, but it had an energy to it he couldn’t quite place. Something powerful. Something all but forgotten.

“What is it?”

“You’ll have to ask your General that, I’m afraid. I’ve been looking for it for her for years. Hasn’t been easy to come by. The very last of its kind, it seems.”

“How much do I owe you?” Poe reached for his pockets.

Rhugo shook his head, batting a hand at the pilot. “Win the war, we can negotiate after.”

Poe grinned. “Thanks. That’s the plan.”

***

When Poe arrived back on the base, pendant in his pocket, the General was waiting for him, an expectant look on her face. He handed her the box, watching as she opened it, waiting for some hint as to what it was, why she had sent him so far to get it.

She stared at it for a long time, exhaling a sigh. Her eyes sparkled with tears. “You have no idea what you’ve just brought me.”

“What…is it?”

“This…this is our spark, Poe. The spark that will reignite the Resistance.” She touched it with gentle fingers, lingering on the cool metal. “This is hope.”

The Princess, the Jedi

You could hear the music from downstairs, all the way up in your chambers. The Mariposan palace was aglow with celebration, as it had often been since the fall of the Empire. The Battle of Endor had been only two years prior and since then, a great sense of peace had settled over the galaxy.

“You’re still doing your hair?” Leia laughed, striding into the room, draped in a long green gown.

“I can’t get it to sit right.” You laughed, redoing the braid nestled into your hair for what felt like the twelfth time.

“Just use The Force to do it.” Han teased, leaning in the doorway, Luke just behind him, wearing that gentle smile that so often accompanied him when he was looking at you.

“That’s not how The Force works.” You chuckled, Leia settling on the padded bench beside you. 

She pulled out the braid and redid it with her expert fingers, quick and agile. It was no wonder hers always looked so good.

“You look great, Princess.” Luke complimented, finally getting a good look at you.

“You clean up nice yourself, Skywalker.” You shot back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“There. You’re all done.” Leia walked over to Han.

You gave yourself a once-over and then stood, walking into the center of your spacious bedroom. By some miracle, your home planet, Mariposas, had been untouched by the Empire. And you, as the planet’s princess, did have some pretty nice quarters if you did say so yourself. It definitely beat the tiny, scrappy Rebel bases you’d spent so long in, although they definitely had their charm, too.

“We good up here? The king was wondering when his daughter was finally going to come down to the party.” Lando looked around with a grin. He met your eyes and let out a whistle. “Wow, Princess. You look great.”

“Ha. Thanks.” You replied, glancing at your saber before deciding to clip it to your belt. You and Luke were the only Jedi left. People expected you to have it on you, especially at events like this, where you were not only representing your home planet, but also the Rebellion as a whole. It was an anniversary of sorts, two years of peace across the galaxy.

“If I may?” Luke offered his arm.

“Always.” You slipped yours through his, smiling when he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek.

He escorted you through the halls, down the staircase and into the banquet hall, where the party was in full swing. Your parents, the king and queen, mingled with guests from neighboring planets and systems.

Your older brother, Maddox, the first born and heir to the throne, was greeting guests as well, chest puffed, shoulders proud. Your little sister, Laesynda, though you called her Laecy, ran with the other kids. She was only ten, now. Still full of innocence, eyes glimmering with youth and more hope than you could imagine. With the war over, she had a bright, bright future ahead of her.

“You’re nervous.” Luke noted, voice soft. “Your wings are tense.”

You forced them to relax, pushing down that feeling. But since you had become a beacon of hope, it was hard to live with the pressure of it. Of all the eyes in the room flicking to you the second you entered a room. It had always been like that more or less. You were a princess after all, but it was decidedly worse now.

“I’m trying not to be.” You admitted, wings fluttering behind you like a cape. They were large, but folded neatly out of the way most of the time, their hue fading from a sunset orange at their base, through a gentle pink, to a regal lavender at their edges, shimmering the way all Mariposan wings did.

The ballroom itself was alive in every sense. The walls carved from wood, windows cradled in root-like veins along the walls. Flowers cascaded from the ceiling, orbs of light floating through the air like specks of pollen in the spring.

You stopped walking once you reached your parents, greeting each with a smile and a warm hug.

“Glad you finally joined us, (Y/N).” Your father said, that knowing glimmer in his eyes. “They’ve been asking about you.”

“Oh I’m sure they have been.” You looked at your mother, at the way she’d done her hair, the warm shade of red painted across her lips. “You look beautiful, mother.”

“I was going to say the same about you.” She ran a hand down your cheek. “Try to have fun tonight.”

You chuckled, memories of your Rebellion days flashing in your mind. “I’m good at that part.”

Luke took your arm again, walking towards the dance floor. You stole a moment away while you could, enjoying a few songs together before finally settling at a table. You could hardly sit down between guests introducing themselves to you and Luke, greeting you with those expectant eyes.

Even from across the room, you could feel your brother’s gaze, burning a hole through your forehead. He’d always been jealous, but the attention you got now was enough to crush him, you were sure. During the war, he’d remained painfully neutral, ready to jump ship to whichever side won. You, instead, aligned yourself with the Rebels at the first opportunity, abandoning your royal duties to help the cause however you could. And you were beloved for it.

Eventually, you got the opportunity to sit down. Han slid you a tall glass of Mariposan mead, which you took a few long sips from. You needed it.

“So, what now?” Lando asked, looking at Luke. “Have you figured out your grand plan yet, Master Skywalker?”

“Just about.” He smiled, reaching for your hand, which you gladly took. “We’re going to start up the Jedi Order again. Find the budding Jedi out there, train them up. Complete Leia’s training.”

“Bring back balance to the Force.” You said, warmth in your chest blossoming when you said it. It made sense. Always had. You and him, together, starting something great. It felt right.

“You’ll need more sabers.” Leia noted.

“You still need to build yours, Leia.” You reminded her.

She smiled. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Soon.” Luke promised. “We’ll have to get our hands on some more kyber crystals.”

“Joyride in the Falcon?” Han offered.

“If you and Chewie have any room in that busy schedule of yours.”

He winked. “I’m sure we could squeeze you in. Chewie loves you.”

“I’m rather fond of that Wookie myself.” You grinned, taking another long sip of mead. You looked around the table at your friends. These people you had risked everything with, these people who loved you. Your family in all meanings of the word. And now that the galaxy had settled, you had the opportunity to start fresh, build something new with them, wherever your lives took you.

Leia had already been talking about weddings.

And though you weren’t sure you were ready for that, you would gladly stand in hers, give a riveting speech about her love story with Han, their daring adventures together that always led them straight to each other.

Luke gave your hand a squeeze, those soulful blue eyes gazing into yours, flecks of green swimming in them. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss there. It seemed only inevitable from the moment that you met that the two of you would wind up together, and there you were, still side by side after all that time.

***

Hours later, the party began to dwindle, guests retreating to their ships or their lodging for the night. The lights dimmed and stars began to peek out beyond the sprawling stained glass windows. Han and Leia swayed on the dance floor. Lando and Chewie hovered at the bar, and you and Luke retreated back up the stairs for a quiet night after a few final goodbyes.

You’d both drifted off quickly, you quicker than Luke, pulled deep into dreams and memories that flashed in your mind. Murmurs of a voice.

“Maker, I’m so glad we found you…”

His lips captured yours again, breathing into it. They wandered, down your cheek, past your jaw, down to your neck again. You laced your fingers through his curls, the burn of his stubble against your skin–shocked you back awake.

Whoever that had been was not Luke Skywalker. And whoever they were, this was not the first time you’d dreamt of them, either. By this point, their lips were familiar. Their scent. Fresh Rain. Sandalwood. Leather. Ship Fuel.

You jolted awake, staring at the ceiling, Luke’s body splayed out on the mattress beside you. His breathing was slow, face towards the window. He turned, eyes opening ever so slightly.

“Nightmare?” He asked, creeping closer. An arm hooked around your waist, lips pressing against your cheek, then your lips.

“Something like that.” You said, but you knew he could feel otherwise. You were connected like that. He always seemed to know what you were feeling.

“You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” He smiled, nose pressed against yours.

Something in you melted at the look in those eyes. Maker, he loved you so much. You could feel it radiating off of him. And you loved him, too. Your space boy. Your thumb skimmed across his cheekbone as you pulled him in for another sleepy kiss, the sky still dark and spotted with stars.

You turned onto your other side and he slotted himself against you, arm fast around your waist, nose nuzzled against your skin as you fell back asleep, your love swirled with a healthy dose of guilt.

How the Jedi Die

Your eyes fluttered open again when the dawn was melting into the morning. Luke was already awake. You could feel it. But he was quiet, his movements careful, limbs still tucked against your own.

“Training awaits, Your Highness.”

“It always seems to.” You grinned, turning to kiss him before sitting up to start your day. You put on some robes, a solid beige, hints of brown. You had a few that were considered traditional. The rest of your wardrobe was more Mariposan in color scheme. That was, to say, lots of pinks and purples and blues, hints of green from time to time.

You chose your belts carefully, strapping your saber hilt on, slinging your bag over the other shoulder before lacing up your boots.

Luke pulled you in by the waist, both of his hands settling there as yours rose to his shoulders. What a dashing prince he would be, you thought fondly, a hand carding through his soft blond hair as you floated closer. You kissed him gently and he did not hesitate to kiss you back. He never did.

After a quick breakfast, the two of you walked out into the forests of Mariposas. Giant mushrooms marked forks in the paths, lush trees looming tall overhead. Flowers dotted every walkway with color, butterflies flitting from stalk to stalk.

There was a clearing up on the hill that you loved. It was the perfect spot for everything, sparring, meditating, whatever the day brought. You started with the first, taking your saber from your belt and activating it with a click, brilliant indigo light emerging from the end of it. It was one of a kind, your saber, the golden hilt made from your mother’s old bracelets, put together by your own hands with the help of Obi-Wan himself.

Your saber clashed against Luke’s as you moved through the motions, steps familiar. The Force guided you, the path clear as you took each leap and bound, up onto rocks, through the treetops, sabers swinging, clashing against each other, but never making contact with any of the branches. The two of you landed back in the clearing, indigo shimmering against green until he turned away, twirling out of range with grace and precision.

He held his saber extended, meeting your eyes with that smile of his. You both powered your sabers down, breathing heavy.

“That was a good move, the flip you did.” You complimented. “Almost had me there, for a second.”

“Thanks, I’ve been working on those. I liked that move with your wings.” He grinned. “You’re so much better when you use them to your advantage.”

“I’ve been working on that, too.” You chuckled. You’d barely used them growing up, modern technology nearly rendering them useless, but he was right. Mastering using them as a tool was something you needed to lean into. They were an advantage few others had, and they had served you well during the war.

After, you settled onto your favorite seats. Yours was a repurposed stump. One of the woodworkers down in the village had carved it into a stool of sorts, crystals embedded into the rounded edge.

You sat atop it, cross-legged, breaths long and even until the stool disappeared beneath you. You floated, hair cascading around you, robes jostled by the breeze. You cleared your mind, surrendering to the Force, to your path and wherever it took you.

To the Jedi.

At first, there was nothing. A long, dark expanse of comets and stars. Empty, but tingling.

And then you heard a voice.

“We didn’t cover much ground, actually. He was…hesitant to train me. Or anyone, really…”

She was far, that much was clear. A young woman, maybe a little bit younger than you by a few years, but she had a spark to her, that glow of rebellion across her features. Yellow flickering light danced across her cheeks, determination strong on her brows. And she had some training, apparently. You wouldn’t be working up from nothing. It was…reassuring.

You felt a wave of peace in the knowledge that you and Luke weren’t alone in this.

Slowly, you descended back down onto your stump, heart light with the knowledge that there was another Jedi. Not only that, but another woman with the Force.

You stared at Luke, still deep in his meditation. He looked so peaceful, eyes closed, breaths slow as he floated there midair.

Whirring and beeping sounded, closer and closer up the hill. You wondered how long it would be before they found you. The droids. First came R2, Luke’s beloved blue droid. Quickly behind him came your droid, a silver R4 unit with purple paneling and a dome top. They were beeping at each other, talking. Flirting.

“Artoo, you simply cannot say things like this in the presence of a princess!” Threepio scolded, following the two of them up the hill with his stiff movements. He met your eyes with his glowing, mechanical ones. “My apologies. I did not realize the two of you were up here.”

“That’s alright Threepio.” You chuckled. “We’re about done for the day. He’s finishing up.”

“Any leads?”

“I got one.”

“Oh how exciting! Before you know it, this place will be teeming with Jedi!” The droid congratulated you on your breakthrough and for a few moments, it was nice. Until Luke fell.

Your stomach sank and you walked over to him, sprawled in the dirt, looking up at you with a pained look in his eyes. You reached for his arm, but he withdrew, like your touch alone would burn him.

“Hey, it’s me. Talk to me.” You said, kneeling in the dirt in front of him.

The fear melted into something softer and he stared up at you, words budding on his tongue. He exhaled, hands shaking. “It’s bad.”

“What is?”

“There’s…” he shook his head. “Call the others. We don’t have time. R2, tell Han to warm up the Falcon.”

“Where are we going?”

“Pretty far from here.” Luke replied, standing as you did. He rested his hands on your arms, pressing a long kiss to your lips before saying, “go tell your family goodbye. Get ready for a fight. I’ll explain on the way.”

You gathered your things with haste, instructing your droid, who you lovingly called Radia due to her love of playing music over her audio processors, to get your family together so you could say goodbye to them.

Your parents asked where you were going, what was wrong and you didn’t have any answers for them, leaving them with the promises of your return.

“Not to worry, mother. She will spend her life saving the galaxy. The duties of a Jedi are never-ending.” Maddox parroted the words of Obi-Wan when he’d gone to get you to begin your training so many years before. Only you seemed to hear the malice in his tone.

“And after, can I braid your hair? I learned a new one.” Laesynda asked, eyes bright. You knelt down and pulled her into your arms.

You petted her head, exhaling a breath before pulling away to look at her little freckled face one last time. You poked her nose, earning a laugh. “Of course you can. I’ll be back before you even remember to miss me.”

***

It was with record speed that Luke was able to round up the team. You, Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the droids all piled into the Falcon and headed out to a distant planet. Luke plugged the coordinates in at lightning speed, his fingers flying across the console before handing the controls off to Han, who gave that concerned, skeptical look he so often wore.

“You sure about this?”

“Positive.” Luke nodded. He took your hand and led you and the others to the booth around Chewie’s game table.

You searched his face. Usually, you could read him. This time, you could not. He was hiding it from you, shielding you from his thoughts, his feelings. “What is going on? Talk to me.”

“There’s a Sith cult. They’re trying to bring Palpatine back.” He whispered, eyes serious, locked on the checkers of the table between you. “They have a saber wielder. A woman. She…” He shook his head, tears glimmering in his eyes as he squeezed your hand. “We have to stop her.”

“We will.” You told him, but he didn’t seem convinced. Every time he looked at you, he was haunted. Whatever he had seen had been…bad.

You walked out to the cockpit and sat in the seat behind Chewie’s, watching the stars go by at lightspeed. It was kind of relaxing, always had been, like being in a fishtank.

“He’s in a mood, huh?” Han asked, glancing back at you.

“Something like that. Whatever he saw has him in a real funk.”

Chewie roared, reaching back towards you. You grabbed onto his fur-covered arm, giving it a grateful squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s just stressed. We’ll get this figured out.”

Han reached forward, pulling the thruster back and stopping the flow of stars around you. The planet you found yourself on made it…easy to figure out the mood Luke was in. The planet was rocky, skies gloomy and overwhelmingly…red. Thunder crackled in the clouds, zaps of lightning zipping past. Something on the ship buckled, met with a shower of sparks.

“Woahhh!” You shielded your face.

“It’s fine, Your Highness, nothing to worry about.” Han shook off your concern. “She’s taken worse.”

“There. That cave there.” Luke instructed, peering into the cockpit. “Land on the south side. (Y/N) and I will go in first. We’ll need blaster support. The droids can keep the ship warm so we can get out of here as fast as we can.” He motioned to a volcano on the horizon, not yet erupted, but hot, heavy smoke billowing from its tower.

“I don’t like the look of that thing.” Lando murmured. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

“That makes two of us.” Leia agreed, staring at it.

“That’s why they’re doing it now. No one else is going to come out here while it’s erupting. It’s now or never.” Luke said, turning towards the boarding ramp. You followed after him, walking out the ship as the ramp lowered.

He activated his Saber, green light clashing heavily with the red hue bleeding down from the sky. It was almost swallowed up by it, by the chaos and darkness. You lit yours beside him. They looked so right together. The green and indigo. Contrasting with each other.

You spun your saber and followed him into the shadows.

From within the cave, you heard chanting. As you emerged from the entryway, you could make out hooded cloaks. Dozens of them. Chills ran down your spine as you took in the sight of it. At the center of all of it, an altar with two halves of a body on it and a woman holding a glowing red lightsaber, its blade unstable.

“Insidia…” You whispered, her name finding your tongue just before her eyes met yours. She smiled at the sight of you and Luke.

“Just in time. Our sacrifices.” She said, face splitting into a grin, eyes glowing yellow. “Care to join us?”

“What you’re doing here will not stand, Insidia.” Luke said, voice even and cold. “We won’t allow you to raise him from the dead.”

“And you can’t stop us either.” She laughed, the other hooded figures joining in. “In fact, you are the missing piece in all of this. Your energy will give Lord Palpatine new life. Through your death, he will rise.”

“Not without a fight.” You told her, readying your saber in your grip, analyzing the figures gathered before you and praying to the Maker for luck. Luke pressed his back to yours, meeting your eyes one last time.

She laughed. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The three of you launched into battle. Insidia unsheathed a second saber, just as red as the first, attacking with fiery passion. With hatred in every move. You dodged, using the force to toss obstacles in her way. Scraps of ship parts scattered throughout the cave, rocks, anything you could.

Luke’s saber clashed against both of hers and she threw him towards the rocky wall with a clawed grip. You used the Force to stop him, gently lowering him before his head hit the cracked surface.

Blasters fired as Leia, Han, Chewie, and Lando followed, diverting the attention of the rest of the cult. They had smaller weapons. Swords and knives and daggers, their edges twisted with wicked intent.

Insidia’s blade swung just beside you, but you used your wings to lift away, legs swinging behind you. You thrust a hand forward in an attempt to throw her back, but she met you with equal energy, a stalemate of sizzling power hidden in the air between you.

She jolted as a blast made contact with her shoulder, glancing in the direction of the shooter for just long enough to buy you the opportunity to hit one of her sabers out of her hand, across the floor, and down, down into a deep crevice in the makeshift temple.

The volcano rumbled in the distance, shaking the ground beneath you.

Luke leaped through the air, his saber clashing against Insidia’s once more. She wasted no time, dueling both of you at once, alternating between the two of you with one hand. Up, down, over and over. You swung your saber with skill and precision, crossing in front of you, then behind. You used your wings to cut through the air, flipping over her head. And just before you could deliver the final blow, she reached out to catch not her second saber, but a dagger, thrown by one of her followers.

You swung, but missed the end of it, the weapon just short enough to slip through your range. She plunged the twisted blade into your flesh, just above your hip bone. You gasped, breath stolen from your lungs as blood began to seep from the wound. Insidia twisted, pulling a yell from your throat as pain blossomed from the blade.

“This is how the Jedi die.” She seethed, voice rasping as she swung her saber, its molten glow slicing through your wings, the severed remains fluttering uselessly to the cave floor.

White-hot pain tore through your vision, through your body.

And the last thing you heard was Luke Skywalker’s tortured scream echoing off of the cave walls.

There are No Healers

The soft rumble of the Mariposan healing pods was something you were familiar with. You had rushed several allies there during the war under cover of night. Friends with grave wounds that you knew wouldn’t survive otherwise.

You’d sat beside them so many times that the sound was almost comforting. It meant that whoever was inside it was healing, somewhere safe, and that you would be there when they woke up.

You stirred as the rumble came to a stop, the gentle lulling replaced first with silence, the sound of empty air and daylight, and then, voices.

They were quiet at first, their words scrambled murmurs to your tired ears, but eventually, you made out a “Do you think it worked?” followed by a “I swear I just saw her move.”

You took a deeper breath, stretching your aching limbs. You dared to open your eyes, facing the silhouettes standing beside you.

It became clear then that you were the one in the healing pod, based on the angle you were tilted, upright but leaned backwards.

Han was standing to your left, given away by his leather jacket. On the right was Leia and someone else. Another former Rebel, maybe.

You glanced at Han. His hair was darker. Curlier. Coming into sharper focus, but still blurred by your bleary, sleepy eyes. You let out a yawn and said, “Did you do something with your hair? It looks really good.”

Han looked at Leia and the other guy.

“A-are you alright?” Leia spoke but it wasn’t her voice. Wasn’t even her accent.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you laughed softly. “Leia, what is that accent you’re doing?”

They looked at each other again. Not a good sign. Your friends would be joking. Bickering, even. Not staring at you in silence. Maybe something had happened to Luke. Maybe…you’d lost the fight.

“Is Luke okay?” You asked quietly.

“Y-your Highness…” The other voice said, a deeper voice. “What do we tell her?”

“Wait, it’s getting better.” You told them, blinking until your vision sharpened enough to finally see their faces. Your eyes fell on Han first and you realized immediately that you were wrong. Very wrong. “Oh. You’re not Han Solo.”

His mouth fell open, making eye contact with you. His eyebrows furrowed with intrigue. “Honored by the comparison, though, your Highness.”

You studied him for a moment, chiseled jaw dusted in stubble. Thick, dark curls, tan skin. Dark brows, determined features. He was familiar in a way you couldn’t place. Something about his face…Definitely not as tall as Han Solo, though.

On your other side was a young woman in Jedi garb. Well, something close to that. She had a staff strapped over her shoulder, a lightsaber hooked to her belt.

Luke’s saber.

And then there was the third, a man with dark skin and kind eyes. He smiled when you looked at him, trying to dispel the concern you could feel bubbling up in your chest.

You looked up at the temple. Or, what was left of it. You let out a broken gasp at the sight of the shattered stained glass dome, daylight streaming into the room in bright rays. “W-what happened?” You pushed from the pod, wincing at the weight of it, but the woman was quick to support you, slinging your arm around her shoulders. The Not-Han-Solo reached out too, but stopped short of touching you once he saw his friend had it handled.

You stepped over a pile of things, foot brushing against them. Half-burned candles and…flowers, petals dried and scattered.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know how to explain but…you’ve been asleep, your Highness.” She explained, eyes meeting yours with sorrow and empathy. “You’ve been asleep for thirty years.”

You were stunned into silence, standing there for what felt like an eternity, staring up at that broken window. Never had you heard your home planet so quiet.

There are no healers. You finally noticed, taking stock of the empty room, completely abandoned aside from the four of you. There was no chatter from the palace halls, no roaming guards, nothing. You didn’t even hear any birds chirping.

You reached for the saber on your belt just to find it wasn’t there. Neither was your belt. Instead, you were wearing a silky robe, floor length, but thin, and some basic undergarments. Behind you, your wings, restored to their former glory, the only evidence they had ever been harmed in the first place being a thin golden line, right where the saber had sliced them off in a neat arch.

A droid beeping drew your attention as it rolled from behind another pod. Your eyes widened, looking at it. A ball-shaped droid. Orange and white. You’d never seen one like that before.

“Woah.”

“Yes, you can come out now, BB-8.” The man in the leather jacked chuckled. “That’s my droid. He’s curious about you. We…all are, your Highness.”

“I’ve never seen one like that before.” You murmured, looking at him. “Hello there.”

He beeped in greeting and you laughed softly. Technology had progressed. They weren’t lying. It had been…thirty years. You’d been asleep for…

You moved, finally taking a step away from the woman that was supporting you, testing out your legs. They worked, thankfully. “I…need to change out of this. There should be something more…suitable in my room…if this place hasn’t been completely ransacked.”

“Lead the way, your Highness. Take all the time you need,” said the guy in the leather jacket. The Not-Han-Solo.

You walked towards the entrance of the healers’ temple that led to the palace courtyard. Immediately, that was a mistake.

What should have been a giant, gorgeous, flowering tree with a thick trunk and sprawling branches was a husk. The Monarch Tree, the glowing crown jewel of the palace grounds, of the capitol, was gone. The branches had obviously been burned off, broken to splinters. The wreckage of a TIE fighter sat at its base.

Craters littered the lawn, deep dirt-filled holes that hadn’t filled. Beyond them, dozens of destroyed buildings. Hundreds, even.

A broken sob left your lips and your knees gave out from under you. You collapsed into the grass, a hand slapped over your mouth to stifle the yell that wanted to escape. Shaking, you wiped at the tears running down your cheeks.

“What happened?” You asked again, staring at the wreckage of what had once been your home.

“There was an attack. A few days after you went into your pod.” The woman explained, offering a hand that you gladly took as she knelt beside you in the grass. You laced your fingers through hers, her touch familiar despite the fact that you knew you had never met. She didn’t look much older than twenty. She hadn’t even been born when you’d gone to sleep.

“T-the Empire?” You asked, voice wobbling.

“What was left of it.” Leather Jacket Man explained, voice stable. “It was their last attack before going quiet.”

You nodded, listening but not really processing what he said. You blinked a few times, more tears falling.

“Are you going to be alright?” The woman asked, giving your hand another squeeze. Her voice was soft, eyes curious, but gentle.

“I need a minute. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The other man said, shaking his head. “I…I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

So you took some time. Minutes of quiet, of staring, of thinking before you finally heard a voice in the back of your mind.

Luke’s.

It’s time to get up now, Princess. You’ve got work to do.

Tears of the Princess

You stood again after what felt like a century, leading the others up the winding path and into the rest of the palace. Shards of glass were scattered across the colorful tile floors, furniture overturned, blaster fire immortalized by scorch marks on the wall.

You stepped over broken plates and bottles, making your way through the hallway. Just yesterday you had been there. Yesterday. And now, it was…no, you couldn’t. You didn’t dare think it.

Finally, you led the others to the doors to your room, double doors with golden handles, the wood carved and painted to match your wing coloration. A deep slash had splintered away part of the paint, but otherwise, it seemed untouched. You tried the handle, but it was locked.

“I’ll look for a key.” Leather Jacket Man volunteered, scanning the floor with his eyes.

“No need.” You said, raising a hand and focusing on the lock’s innerworkings. The gentle hum of the Force thrummed heavy on the air and the door came open with a click. “I never used one.”

All three of them stared at you and then at each other, wearing matching expressions. They were impressed. Hopeful, even. You walked inside, looking around to find it…more or less the same. Aside from a thick layer of dust, that was. Some cobwebs.

You made a beeline for the wardrobe, shuffling through your options until you found something more solid than the flimsy healing robe you were in. Beige tunic, brown pants, a magenta wrap, a brown leather belt. You turned towards your private chamber and got changed as quickly as you could, taking stock of yourself in the mirror.

The stab wound in your lower abdomen had healed perfectly, the skin still shimmering from the pod. Other than that, you looked…exactly the same. You hadn’t aged a day. It almost brought you to tears again, the thought of it, but you swallowed them down. There were bigger fish to fry.

Once you were dressed, you returned to the bedroom, where the others were curiously poking around. They all froze, watching as you reentered the room.

“Sorry.” Leather Jacket Man blurted. His eyes scanned your new outfit, looking you up and down. “We’re just curious.”

“That’s alright. You can look around, I don’t care.” You pulled a bag from the bottom of the wardrobe, quickly packing some basics into it. Sleep wear, casual wear, undergarments and undershirts. You pulled a belt with a blaster holster on it and put it in as well. Based on the way the others were armed, you sensed the galaxy was not necessarily in peace times anymore.

You took a few pairs of shoes and then turned to your dresser, where the jewelry was. Somehow, but some act of the Maker, the most important piece of your collection was still in tact. A kyber crystal on a leather cord. You pulled it off of its display and quickly did the clasp behind your neck. In lieu of finding your missing saber, you wanted to keep the door open for building another one at some point, given you could assemble the pieces. Speaking of which, those thick gold cuff bracelets sitting beside it would do nicely. You slipped them on as well.

There was a dainty golden circlet that you let your fingers hover over for a moment before slipping it on over your head. It didn’t feel right, though, so you put it in a box and slipped it in your bag for later. Maybe someday you’d feel like a princess again.

There was another box, one filled with Rebellion pins, cufflinks, and other trinkets. You put that in the bag, too, before turning back to the closet, where the woman was lingering, staring at the colorful fabrics there.

“Do you want some?” You offered, walking over to stand next to her.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly–”

“Yes you can. Otherwise, they’ll just sit here collecting dust.” You reasoned, flipping through them until finding one you thought would suit her. “You’re a Jedi?”

“I-I am. Training.” She said, meeting your eyes very tentatively. “Your Highness.”

“Then you need some robes.” You said with a soft smile, holding up a green one alongside a blue one. A yellow one, too. “They’re a little open-backed. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” She said with a chuckle, packing them in another bag.

“Boys, are you in need of anything?”

“Us?” Asked the man with the kind eyes. “No, I don’t think…”

“My brother’s room is down the hall if you want to take a look around. His fashion sense left something to be desired, but if there’s anything there, feel free. As far as I’m concerned, anything still here after thirty years is fair game…”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Leather Jacket Man said with a nod. He put a hand on the other one’s arm. “Come on, Finn. Let’s give ‘em a minute.”

Finn. You memorized, watching as they left. One name down, two to go.

You and the Jedi continued to browse the room, looking for…anything, really.

“What’s your name?” You finally asked her.

“Rey.” She provided, a kind smile on her face.

“I’m (Y/N).” You introduced.

“It’s an honor to meet you, (Y/N).” She replied, and something in you melted. You could tell already that you’d be friends.

You found a few other things laying around, a small tool kit, a sewing kit, things you felt would probably come in handy. You added them to the bag as well.

“Nothing in there.” Leather Jacket Man reported with a shake of his head. “Must not have been locked as securely as your room.”

“Yeah, that checks out.” You nodded. “We’re about done in here anyway.”

“Let me carry that, your Highness.” he offered, reaching for the bag you’d packed. “It’s kind of a hike out to the ship.”

“Thank you.” You said, handing it to him.

He wasn’t lying. They’d parked on the other side of the castle. You took them through a shortcut, which led down past the kitchens. A shelf of pots had collapsed, but that was quickly handled with a flourish of the wrists, using the Force to set everything right again, clearing the way.

“How did you find me?” you asked as you passed the library, nearing their ship, supposedly. “Did someone send you?”

“General Organa–Leia sent us.” Finn told you, solidifying to you two things: one, your best friend was alive, but two, that the galaxy was indeed at war again. “Things are…kind of desperate. We took some heavy losses recently. We need all the help we can get.”

“What was that pod you were in?” Rey asked. “I’ve never seen one that looks like that.”

“Mariposan healing pod. We’re famous for them. They can heal nearly any injury if you get to one in time. Problem is, they can only be opened by the High Healers, locked with their medallions. It’s to protect the vulnerable injured population in the case of an attack. I guess they never thought about someone getting locked inside…”

It struck you then that whoever had attacked had known what they were doing. They must have taken out the Healers before they could let you out. Surely, you would have been of more use to them even injured than asleep.

You pushed past the exterior doors, stepping out into the sunlight again. Beyond the walls, at the outskirts of the palace, was the Millenium Falcon. A wave of relief set in, seeing it, aged though it was. That ship had been home to you on more occasions than you could count.

The ramp lowered and out came Chewbacca, still leagues taller than the rest of the group, covered in fur, bowcaster ready to eliminate a threat, but not finding one. His eyes fell on you and he let out a throaty, emotional roar.

Your face lit up. It was a good thing you weren’t carrying your bag because you would have certainly dropped it with the speed you ran to him. “Chewie!” 

He roared again, picking you up off of the ground in a bone-crushing hug.

“I missed you too!” You sobbed, head resting on his furry shoulder. The tears kept coming. You doubted they’d stop. The others very pointedly hadn’t mentioned Luke, Han, or Lando. You could only assume they were sparing you from getting too much bad news at once.

But Chewbacca being alive was nice. You would take the little victories, too.

He ran a paw down your head, setting you back on the ground and studying you. Another little roar.

You wiped your tears and chuckled. “You look great, Chewie. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“You ready to leave? Is there anything else you need?” Leather Jacket Man asked. He hesitated, but elaborated. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to come back.”

You glanced back at the ruined palace one last time, letting out a long sigh. “I think I’m ready. I could stay here forever picking through it all, but I’ve got everything I need.”

“Alright. Good.” He searched your face for a moment, words dying on his tongue before he turned towards the cockpit.

Finn followed after him, an amused smile on his face. “Never seen anyone do that to you.”

“Do what?”

“Steal the words right from that big mouth of yours.”

Leather jacket man let out a sheepish laugh. Chewie put a hand on your shoulder and let out a little roar.

“I know, buddy. I like them already.”

Legends and Fairytales

The entire camp stopped and stared when the Falcon landed at the resistance’s current base. Leia was right there, waiting, hoping, that the moment that ramp lowered, there would be a powerful new recruit on it.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, bracing yourself as the ship landed, the movement of it still familiar, even with a different pilot. That said, he was a rather good pilot, this man in the leather jacket, whoever he was.

The ramp lowered and you followed Rey off of the ship onto the lush planet, the rebel base spread through the trees. You let out a sigh at the sight. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, you supposed. There were mechanics and comms operatives, bustling to and fro, pilots in their bright orange jumpsuits, prepping for reconnaissance flights.

And in the middle of them was Leia. She stared at you with those knowing eyes, that heartbroken smile. You approached her, wordless, dropping your bag on the ground and surrendering to her arms.

“Leia…”

Her hand cradled your head as she rocked you back and forth. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

“I could say the same about you. Tell me…everything.”

She released you from her hold and slipped her hand into yours, giving it a squeeze. She turned to the pilot, as he and Finn finally came off the Falcon. “Thank you, you two. Will you take her things to her quarters for me? We have some catching up to do.”

“On it, General.” The pilot said, scooping up your bag from where you’d dropped it. He reached forward and touched your arm, his hand warm, calloused. “It was great to meet you, your Highness. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” You said with a smirk. “Thanks for the ride.”

Finn had that look on his face again and you could tell by the way he stood next to the pilot as they walked towards your quarters that he was once again on the verge of teasing him.

Leia led you somewhere private. An office. Her office, you realized, looking at the few scattered trinkets from your time in the war together. A holo on her shelf held a photo of your core group: You, her, Luke, Han, Chewie, and Lando, all together, smiling after the war. You sighed, staring at it. You wondered how many of you were left.

“I’m sorry about…everything.” She started. “I can’t imagine what’s going on in your head.”

“I’m still figuring that out myself.”

“Maker, you haven’t aged a single day.” She murmured, looking at you with those eyes, wizened, worried. The same could not be said for her. Streaks of gray ran through her braided bun, a few wrinkles crinkling her face.

She had lived. She had aged. But she was still your sister, you could feel that much. Nothing in the universe could change that.

“So…what’s it like out there? How bad is it this time?”

“Worse.” Leia sighed. “So much worse. They call themselves the First Order. The Empire but…bigger. Their weapons are more dangerous. And they’re led by my son. Ben. He calls himself Kylo Ren these days.”

“You have a son…” You murmured, arms wrapped around yourself. “With Han?”

“With Han.” She nodded, settling next to you. “He…he’s gone now. It was half a year ago now. And it was Kylo.”

“Luke?” You asked.

She shook her head, blinking away tears. “Gone, too. About a month ago.”

Something broke in you when she said it. You’d known it was coming, you could feel it the moment you woke up, that he wasn’t there anymore. Your space boy was gone, and some piece of your soul crumbled along with him. Still, you asked, “Lando?”

“Is out there. Not sure exactly where. He hasn’t been spotted in a few years. You know how he was. Good at disappearing. But I’m sure he’ll pop up when it matters.”

“He always did.” You stared at the floor, tears falling from your eyes as you mourned your fallen. “M-my family. Did they get out in time?”

“Your parents died in protection of their subjects, the few refugees that managed to escape. No one has seen your brother since the attack.” She took your hand. “But Laesynda has been one of my bravest Admirals. And her son is a budding warrior in his own right.”

“I have a nephew.” You said, joy bursting through the surmounting grief.

“Soren. He’s nineteen.” She said.

“Is he here? Is Laecy? I…I want to see them.”

“They’re offworld on a mission, but they should be back to base soon. Within the next few days. They knew I was sending Rey and the boys to get you today, but none of us knew if the medallion was any good. All we had was hope that you’d be on the Falcon with them when they got back.”

“And hope was all we ever needed, you know.” You grinned. “Where did you find it?”

“I sent Poe to get it, four systems out. Took him a week to track it down. It was a longshot. A friend of a friend of a friend got their hands on it after years of searching.” She pressed her lips together, eyes serious as her hand touched yours. “I never stopped looking, (Y/N). I’m only sorry I couldn’t find it sooner.”

“Thank you, Leia. Seriously, thank you.” You said, fingers curling around her hand. “Whatever you need, I’m here. We…well we did it once. We can do it again. And that Rey…I’ve already got a good feeling about her.”

“I was going to ask you about that, actually. I was hoping you’d train with her. Once you’re settled. She’s just starting her journey. Luke taught her some things but…”

“Of course.” You nodded. “I’m sure she and I can help each other.”

***

After one of the mechs gave you a quick tour, you settled in the canteen, eating a rice bowl with some seasoned meat and veggies, sipping some iced tea. And then you just kind of sat there, watching as people came and went. You heard their whispers, saw their not so subtle points. And then, eventually, people stopped coming, the sky outside dark, the lights around camp clicking on.

The thought of going back to your bunk and laying down to sleep made you sick. Mostly the sleeping part. You weren’t sure what was worse, the thought that all of this was a dream, or that you would drift off even further, to when the Empire–First Order, you supposed–got the upper hand and took over the galaxy.

So you sat, listening to the crickets chirp, the footsteps of the occasional crew member strolling by, first watch heading to their posts for the night. You scrolled through the holo you’d been given, catching up as best as you could.

“Did anyone show you where your quarters are? I can walk you there if you’d like.” It was the pilot from earlier, the one with the curly hair and the impossibly warm brown eyes. “They’re not far from mine.”

“They showed me.” You replied. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’ve had enough sleep, I think.” You said with a tired chuckle.

“In that case…” He pulled out a chair. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“By all means.” You motioned him forward. “I never caught your name, flyboy.”

He grinned, meeting your eyes and offering his hand, which you shook. “Poe. Poe Dameron.”

Your face lit in recognition. “So I have you to thank for waking me up. Leia told me you’re the one that tracked down that pendant. I can’t imagine what you had to do to find it.”

He smiled. “It was tricky, but…definitely worth it.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m (Y/N) by the way. (Y/N) (L/N).”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, your Highness. Luke Skywalker was a legend, but…you were a fairytale.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, a smile tugging at the edge of your lip. “A fairytale, huh?”

“Right down to the tiara and magical powers.” He said, eyes soft as he admired you up close. You couldn’t imagine the stories he’d heard about you. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted this.” He reached into his pocket and set the pendant on the table in front of you, its pink and purple gem shimmering ever so faintly in the dim light.

Your hand glided across the table, fingers finding the metal token with ease. You lifted it closer so you could get a good look at it. One little metal trinket had made all the difference between whether you slept another thirty years or finally woke. Honestly, you wanted to chuck it deep into the woods, never think about it again, but mementos of your home planet were few and far between. Most of them had fit into one bag. So you accepted the gift, tucking it into one of the pouches on your belt.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’m really sorry we plopped you into another war, but…I’m really glad we have you. We need you. We need your help. If even half of what they said about you is true, you could make a real difference here.”

You mulled it over for a long time. Another war. You’d just begun to settle into the peace after the last one, and already it had been wrenched away from you. It felt impossible. The dread that ate at you every time you thought about it was nearly too much to stomach.

Regardless, you met his gaze, determination knitted in your brow. “That’s the plan.”

Kindle the Spark

You meditated instead of sleeping, sitting on a stump at the edge of the woods as the sun rose. You reached out for him. For Luke. You knew he had to be out there, his spirit, at the very least. And yet, there was no answer. Your space boy had all but abandoned you, leaving you to fend for yourself in this new galaxy you’d woken up in.

You tried not to be bitter about it.

As the sun warmed your face, you felt Rey standing tentatively at the treeline, eyes watching you.

“May I join you?”

“I was hoping you would.” You motioned her over to another stump, a few feet from yours.

She crossed her legs, perching herself on the surface. She had good balance, you noticed.

“So, where did Luke…leave off?” You asked, still not quite knowing how to talk about him. The image of him in your head, you were sure, was quite different from the Luke Skywalker she had known, the one she had trained with.

“We didn’t cover much ground, actually. He was…hesitant to train me. Or anyone, really.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that. It had been his dream. Your dream. Starting the Jedi again, training the next class. “Oh. Alright, well, then we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. We all start somewhere.”

“Something had happened with his class of Jedi. Kylo Ren was among them.” Her energy shifted the moment she brought him up. “It went very wrong. He blamed himself. Took that as a sign that it was time to end the Jedi.”

“Well it’s not. We both know that. I haven’t been here long, but I can tell. This Rebellion–sorry, Resistance needs us now more than ever.”

“It does.” She met your eyes. “So where do we start?”

Rey was a fast learner. Incredibly fast. You started with some basic drills. You didn’t have a saber, so you used a piece of a branch, playing a lethal game of keep-away through the treetops, where you kept the stick away from Rey’s saber as long as possible, encouraging her to not hit any of the other trees with it.

It was about intention, speed, aim, and of course, agility. And she was good at it.

After something like a ten minute chase, she finally sliced off the end of the branch, earning an impressed smile. You fluttered back down onto the grass, hands on your hips, breathing heavy.

“You’re good. Good reflexes.” You complimented. “You have a fighting background?”

She shook her head. “I grew up on Jakku. Desert planet. It was rough out there, but I don’t have any formal training.”

“We’ll take care of that.” You told her.

“Wow, that was…insane.” Finn complimented, accompanied by Poe, who met your eyes with a smile. “Think you could teach me next?”

You could tell he was joking, that he didn’t think there was any truth in it, but even just standing there, you could tell there was something about him, too. Some spark of potential. Your focus now was Rey, but maybe, in time, you could kindle his spark, too.

After all, you were barely in a position to have one Padawan, let alone two.

“Morning, ladies. Thinking about some breakfast, if you were interested.” Poe said, thumbs hooked through the loops of his trousers, button-up shirt unbuttoned just enough to get a good glimpse at his tanned chest, a silvery chain glimmering against his skin.

You forced your eyes away, meeting his instead. “Breakfast sounds good.”

“How’d you sleep?” He asked as the four of you started walking towards the canteen, where the breakfast trays had been rolled out. Eggs with diced peppers, ronto sausages, some assorted fruit.

“I didn’t.”

He sputtered. “I walked you to your quarters. I kind of assumed that meant you’d go to sleep.”

“Tried. Couldn’t do it. Meditated for a while.” You shrugged. “I’ll live.”

He didn’t look convinced.

You all walked through the breakfast line, taking your servings of food before walking over to an empty table to sit. Once again, the crew members surrounding you were full of whispers, eyes darting to and away from you. You wondered if your clothes were outdated, if you stood out that much, but in most spaces, the wings alone were enough to draw attention, even if you kept them folded down most of the time.

You dug in, the food flavors familiar. It was better than the rations you’d had in your Rebellion days, that was for sure.

“That necklace. What is it?” Rey eventually asked, eyes falling on the crystal hanging around your neck. Clear, and coming to a point.

“I was wondering if you’d notice it.” You chuckled. “This is a kyber crystal. It’s what gives a lightsaber its color and power. Luke didn’t know why I took an extra and…I didn’t either. But if we can’t solve the Mystery of the Missing Saber, I’ll have to try to make a new one. If I could find the parts, that is…”

“What was your saber like?”

“One of a kind.” You reminisced. “Gold hilt. It was made from my mother’s old bracelets. Cuffs like these that I welded into shape. Indigo blade. It was the coolest.”

“Sounds like it.” Poe said, eyes falling on you once again, searching you for something. You wondered if he was like that with everyone…

You spent the rest of your day wandering the base, reading through reports, familiarizing yourself with the war, with your enemies and allies.

Poe was a commander, apparently, according to his files. The best pilot in the Resistance, if not the galaxy. It suited him. And Finn had history with the First Order as a defected Storm Trooper. You were happy for him, finding himself. You wished more people in his position were able to do the same.

Prior to your arrival, there had been a battle on Crait. Heavy losses. The Resistance had reached out for help and…no one had come. You really did seem to be the last hope.

And that was the state of the Resistance. Supplies were running low, recruitment numbers were down…all of you had your work cut out for you.

You went to the hangar, where the pilots hung out. You looked around, introducing yourself to a handful of the other pilots. A guy named Temmin, who went by Snap, a girl named Tess. There was a mech hanging out, hair in long black braids, a pair of goggles strapped to her head. She introduced herself as Aspen. You could already tell she was trouble in the best way.

You met Rose, one of Finn’s friends, and some of her crewmates.

Everyone was nice, welcoming, grateful that you were there. You just hoped you’d live up to the expectations you could feel bubbling under their gazes.

You wandered for a long time, sleep calling to you now finally, the shock of the situation wearing off now that you were somewhat settled, but you ignored it. You still got nauseous at the thought of sleep.

A droid barreled towards you, full-speed. BB-8. Poe’s droid. He stopped at your feet, looking up at you.

“Oh. Hello again. Can I help you?”

He beeped a string of words and you laughed.

“You’re looking for me? Well, you found me.”

“Good work, Bee.” Poe chuckled, carrying a box under his arm, metal pieces clinking and sliding around. “There you are.”

“Whatcha got there?”

“Parts.” He replied, giving the box a noisy shake.

“Yeah, I see that. You building something?”

“No, you are.” He motioned towards the kyber crystal. “You built the first saber. I figured I’d see if it’s anything you can use, your Highness. Scraps, mostly, but…”

Your lip quirked up. “You don’t have to use titles with me, Commander. (Y/N) is fine.”

“(Y/N),” he repeated, voice soft. You liked the way it sounded when he said it. “You did some research, huh?”

“Of course I did. Had to get caught up. I had no idea the best pilot in the galaxy picked me up yesterday.”

He laughed, cheeks reddening. “Yeah, well, you should see me in an X-Wing.”

“I’d love to.” You took a step forward, looking into the box he’d brought you. “May I?”

“By all means. They are for you, after all.”

You poked around, looking through the pieces. With the kyber crystal and your bracelets thrown in the mix…there was definitely potential there. You looked up at him, impressed. “This is really sweet, Poe. Thank you.”

“Anything useful?”

“Definitely.” You nodded, continuing to did. Whoop, there it was. A power cell. Small and cylindrical. Looked like it would be about the right size. If it worked was another question entirely, but with that found, you had all you needed, more or less. “You ever built a lightsaber before?”

He laughed. “Can’t say I have. The only one I’ve ever seen is Rey’s.”

“Do you want to?” You met his eyes.

He laughed again before seeing the look on your face. “Oh, you’re serious. Look, I’m no Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be, but I could use an extra set of hands if you’ve got time. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

He pretended to think about it before saying, “Yeah, of course. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Is there a workshop around here?”

“This way.” He motioned, leading you through the base.

He pushed aside some curtains, leading to an empty workshop at the edge of camp. BB-8 rolled after the two of you, following at a steady pace. Poe set the box on a work table and you began taking out parts, organizing them, hands guided by what could only be the Force and your memories of building the first one.

You took off your bracelets, setting them on the table along with the kyber crystal, which you gently slid off of the leather cord you had been wearing it on.

Poe pulled up a stool for each of you and handed you a pair of goggles, which you gladly put on. He watched with eager eyes, curious to see what you’d do first.

You drilled holes in the corners of your cuffs so you could screw them into place later. The internal bits, you arranged mid-air, using the Force to line them up just so, following equal parts intuition and knowledge.

Poe stared at the floating pieces, watching as they fell into place. He offered his hands and you directed him where you needed him. He held the hilt in place while you wiggled wires, tightened components, nudging the kyber crystal just so, making sure it lined up with the power cell and the focusing crystals.

Your hands brushed against his, warm and calloused. He had a fighter’s hands. A pilot’s hands. They looked so right, cradling the beginnings of your saber.

You shivered.

“You still with me, (Y/N)?”

“Thinking.” You admitted. You chuckled, shaking your head. “I think I’ve got whiplash from how fast everything’s changed.”

“I can’t imagine.” He said, voice brimming with empathy. “You’re okay, though, right? If you need anything, we’re all right here. It’s gotta be a tough adjustment.”

“I’m okay. Part of me is still convinced this is an elaborate dream.” You shrugged. “I think once we get this thing built, it’ll ground me. Convince me that this is real. That…I’m here to stay.”

“Some sleep might not hurt either.” He suggested with a teasing smirk.

“Back to the sleep again.” You chuckled. “Seriously, I’m okay. And after this, I think you might convince me to finally get some. It’s been a…long couple of days.”

He grinned. “Good. We need you at your best. It’s been a quiet few days, but the quiet never lasts long around here.”

Poe held the hilt while you screwed it all together, double-checking everything, racking your brain for anything you might have forgotten, any piece that might have been missing. By some miracle, it seemed everything you’d needed had been in that box.

Then, finally, came the moment of truth. All that was left was to turn it on.

“Alright, you go stand over there. I’ll power it on.”

“Stand over there?” Poe asked, looking over at the doorway, where you had pointed.

“Yeah, if this thing blows up, I will not be responsible for killing the Resistance’s best pilot.”

He chuckled, walking across the room. “Fair enough.”

Once he was far enough, you pressed the activator and a brilliant magenta hue emerged from the hilt. You stared at the ray of light, the familiar hum of a lightsaber filling the room. You’d done it. You’d built a lightsaber.

BB-8 beeped in awe, his words mirroring the look on Poe’s face as he stared at the weapon in your hand.

“I’ve never seen one that color before.”

“Me either.” You murmured, powering it down and strapping the hilt to your belt, a movement that was just about second nature to you. “Feels right, though.”

“I can’t believe we just did that with a box of scraps!” Poe laughed triumphantly, finally walking further into the room again, standing in front of you. His hands settled on your arms, excitement on those handsome features of his, his touch warm and electrifying. “You built a lightsaber.”

“We built a lightsaber.” You replied, warmth blossoming in your chest, his face so close to yours that you were convinced he was going to kiss you. You could feel that he wanted to. Maybe not wanted to. But he definitely thought about it, about what it would be like to kiss a Jedi.

Instead, he let go, the smile on his face not fading. “We built a lightsaber.” He repeated, letting the words sink in. “We should go show Leia. She’ll be thrilled.”

So the two of you walked straight to Leia’s office and showed her. She was thrilled.

“What do you think the color means, (Y/N)?” Leia asked, staring at the light. She knew more than anyone else there the process of making a saber, the relationship you shared with a kyber crystal.

“New beginnings.” You replied, the answer easy as breathing. It was true. This new life, this new place, these new people. This saber would help you protect them. All of them.

Leia layered her hand over yours. “I think so too. This is good news. I’ll let the team know. If you’re up for it, we could really use you in battle.”

“I’m there.” You told her. “That’s what I’m here for, after all.”

“Good. Well, get some sleep,” she met your eyes. “Both of you.”

“I’ll try.” You promised her. This time, you were sure it was a promise you could keep. You could feel it coming already.

“I’ll make sure she does, General.” Poe said, motioning towards the door, a guiding hand settling between your shoulder blades. “Come on, your Highness.”

You tilted your head, giving him an annoyed smile as he ushered you towards your quarters. “Alright, alright…”

The walk there wasn’t all that long. You opened the door with a flourish of fingers across your keypad, lingering in the doorway. You turned back to look at him, his eyes soft in the dim hallway. It was late. Most of the camp was asleep.

“Thank you, for everything. I…didn’t expect this place to feel so familiar yet, but…It’s like I never left.”

He tilted his head, something bittersweet tugging his lip into a pout. “I wish we’d gone to find you sooner.”

“We’ll just have to make up for lost time.” You said. “Kindle that spark again, make people believe, show them that they can fight for what they love. That…that it’s worth fighting for.”

He nodded. “Took the words right out of my mouth. Well, (Y/N), please get some sleep tonight.”

“I don’t think I could fight it if I tried, at this point.” You grinned, meeting his eyes. “Don’t let me sleep for thirty years this time, alright?”

“I’ll wake you up myself tomorrow morning, if it’d make you feel better.”

“It would, actually. I think that would help a lot.”

“Well then. Tomorrow morning it is. We’ll grab some breakfast. I’ll bring you some caf.”

You smiled softly, chest swirling and warm. “It’s a date, Dameron.”

Wake-Up Call

Sleep cradled you like a lover that night, encasing you in total darkness. You didn’t even dream, just rested. You’d needed it.

There were a few minutes of quiet, sunlight streaming through your narrow bedroom window, where you just laid there, reminisced. It was different than your quarters had been in the Rebellion, but constructed from the same materials, made of the same parts.

Outside, you could hear cadets on their morning jog, loud mechanical noises from the various workshops, people moving parts and packages.

You wondered what time it was.

There was a knock on the door. “Wake-up call! Rise and shine!”

Poe. You smiled. He was true to his word after all.

“Coming,” you replied, rolling out of bed and walking to the door, still in a tank top and a pair of Resistance-grade sweatpants. They slid open with a whir, the pilot standing in front of you with a steaming cup of caf in each hand.

“Morning, your Highness. I trust you actually slept last night?”

“I did indeed sleep last night, thank you for your concern, Commander.”

He grinned, handing you a cup of caf, which you took gladly. If there was anything to be said about a Rebellion, it was best fueled by caffeine. “Good, I’m glad.”

“How did you sleep?”

He shrugged. “I slept alright. My roommate snores, so…”

“I don’t snore half as loud as him, for the record.” Finn chimed, walking over with Rey. He lowered his voice, whispering excitedly. “We heard you two built a lightsaber last night?!”

“Almost forgot about that.” You chuckled, picking it up off of your nightstand. “Give me a second to change out of these sweatpants and I can show you outside.”

The boys and Rey stood out in the hall for a second while you changed into your robes, wrapping a few belts snug around your body, slotting the saber into its holster, where your other one used to sit. It was a little different, the shape of it, the feel, but you would get used to it.

You did a quick once-over of your hair and outfit before opening the door again and facing them.

“Alright, let’s go.” You motioned, taking a long sip of caf and leading them out into the open air, unclipping your saber from your belt, activating it for them to see.

“I’ve never seen one that color before!” Rey marveled. “The two of you built that?”

“I gave her a box of scraps and she built that with it.”

“It was exactly the right scraps, to be fair.” You shrugged, deactivating it and putting it back on your belt.

Finn and Rey started wandering towards the canteen for breakfast, but Poe put a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, there’s some guys I want to introduce you to.”

“Alright.” You nodded, following him towards the hangar, where a few pilots were milling around, chatting and working on ship repairs. BB-8 rolled over, brushing against your leg on his way to Poe.

“Morning, buddy. Staying out of trouble?”

He beeped in response, earning a laugh.

“Morning, Poe.” Snap said, looking up at the two of you as you walked in together. “Your Highness.”

“Hello again. Good to see you.”

“You already met Snap?” Poe asked.

“I did some rounds yesterday, trying to learn names.”

“Everyone here is talking about it.” He chuckled. “A real life Jedi of legend, walking among us.”

“Oh I don’t know about that.” You shook your head.

“(Y/N), this is Jessika and Karé. The other two members of Black Squadron. Ladies, this is (Y/N).”

“Honored to meet you.” Jessika shook your hand. “I hope our Commander has been accommodating while you’re adjusting.”

“More than.” You chuckled.

“If you ever run into any trouble, we’ve got your back. Glad to have you on board.” Karé said, shaking your hand next.

“Glad to be here, ladies. Thanks for all you do.”

“Alright. Great. Breakfast?” Poe asked.

“Breakfast.” You followed after him, stopped in your tracks by the sound of something breaching the atmosphere.

A ship, engulfed in flame, coming in hot for what was shaping up to be a really rough landing. People started shouting, trying to brace for impact, but it became clear to you that this was a Resistance ship and there was someone important on it.

You jumped into action, sprinting, hands out in front of you, using the Force to slow its momentum, bringing it down to the ground gently, where a team of mechs and emergency response was waiting to put out the flames.

You let out a breath, heart racing as you watched the ramp lower. A woman came out, dressed in Mariposan garb, golden cuff bracelets shining on her wrists. A pair of wings fluttered behind her like a cape, their coloring similar to your own. Time stopped when she met your eyes. Her look of concern, of fear, melted immediately and she ran straight to you, arms wrapping around you tightly.

For a long moment, you just stood there in her embrace, sobs caught in your throat. You held her, letting the familiarity sink in slowly.

This was your sister. Your baby sister, Laesynda. And she was older than you now.

“Laecy?” You asked, voice thick with tears.

“Leia told me they were trying to wake you.” She said, pulling away so she could cup your face with both hands, looking you over. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. They…they took Soren.”

“The First Order?” You asked.

She nodded. “They intercepted us. I tried to stop them, but…Kylo…”

“We’ll find him, your Majesty.” Poe promised. He put a hand on your arm. “Leia’s calling an emergency meeting. Come with me.”

The two of you followed Poe towards the conference room. There were chairs on risers, arranged in a circle, at the center of it, a console. The higher-ups assembled with haste, Laesynda putting a hand on your shoulder before joining Leia with the Admirals and Generals. Poe sat with the pilots and Rey took the seat beside you.

Once everyone was accounted for, Leia started.

“The First Order has taken Soren prisoner. I vote we stage a rescue mission as soon as possible. Small rescue team. In and out. No more than two ships.” Leia said, weaving the pieces together with ease and precision. Your best friend, the princess of Alderaan had become a General, and a good one, too. It was awe-inspiring to watch. Her eyes fell on you. “(Y/N), do you think you’re ready?”

“More than ready, General.” You replied, sitting up straighter. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

“She can take my X-Wing. They’ll never be expecting her. I doubt they even know she’s awake.” Poe said, determination in his brows. “We have the element of surprise, we should use it while we can.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t fly an X-Wing. I’m not a pilot.” You said.

Leia thought for a moment. “Well, there was that one time.”

You almost laughed. “Okay, I have ridden in an X-Wing, but uh…it was a tight fit. We were in a pinch.”

Poe’s eyes lit up, a shocked grin pulling at his lips. “You and Skywalker crammed into one of those things?”

“We didn’t have much choice.”

“Well, I’ll try anything once.” Poe looked to Leia. “She and I can break in, find Soren, open a gate. Finn and Rey can follow in the Falcon.”

Chewbacca roared, volunteering himself as well.

“Then that’s settled. Laesynda, give them the coordinates. You’re dismissed.”

“I gotta suit up. Meet me in the hangar in ten.” Poe said, touching your shoulder before jogging off.

Laesynda walked over, taking both of your hands. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You’d do the same for me.” You replied, giving her hands a squeeze. “Besides, it’s about time I met him, right?”

“May the Force be with you, always.” She said, voice strong and true.

“And with us all.” You replied, giving her one last, quick hug before taking off towards the hangar.

Poe was there, loading up BB-8 in the back of his X-Wing, dressed in the iconic orange jumpsuit so associated with the Rebel pilots you had fought alongside. It suited him. Really, really suited him.

“Ready, your Highness?” He asked, motioning to the X-Wing. “Your chariot awaits.”

“Ready.” You looked him up and down, unable to fight the smile on your face. “You look good.”

He smirked, cheeks flushing. “What, this old thing?”

“Brings back memories, what can I say?”

Poe climbed up the ladder first, settling into his seat, pushing it as far back as he could manage. He reached up, offering you his hand as you climbed inside. You sat in the smidge of space between Poe’s thighs, wings tucked away as neatly as possible. Ever the gentleman, Poe let you lead, hands hovering.

“Can you reach everything? Am I in your way?”

“No, I’m good. I just…are you comfortable?”

“As comfortable as I can be, squished between you and the dash.” You chuckled, adjusting carefully.

“Hey, this was your idea.”

“Technically, it was Leia’s idea.” You defended.

“Here, could you…” He hesitated. “permission to touch you, your Highness?”

“Permission granted.” You said.

Poe pulled your back flush against his chest, scooting the seat up the tiniest bit so he could reach better. He tilted you slightly so your face was out of his way and he could see out the windshield. “There, that’s better.” He turned, face suddenly inches from yours, breath warm across your cheek. His cologne was sharp. Sandalwood. He gazed at you though those stupidly thick eyelashes. It was almost unfair, the way he looked at you. “You still good?”

Oh yeah, it was definitely bringing back memories now. That look in his eyes, the tugging in your chest.

“Yep. Yeah. I’m good.” You nodded, nose nearly brushing against his helmet. That inch between you felt like a mile.

“Good. Rey, Finn, how are we doing on your end?”

“Ready when you are, Poe.”

“Great. Ball’s in your court, (Y/N). You ready?”

You took a moment, clearing your mind, reaching out, preparing yourself for the journey to come. You touched the hilt of your new saber, as if to remind yourself that it was there. “I’m ready. Let’s go bring him home.”

Something Old and Borrowed

Poe rolled his X-Wing out of the hangar and onto the landing strip. You were seated comfortably in his lap. Well, as comfortably as you could be with the limited space.

“Alright, I need you to hit that switch.” Poe pointed, flipping three others in the meantime.

You reached up and flipped the metal switch with a satisfying click. Something whirred to life. You weren’t sure what.

He reached around you, arm wrapped tight around your waist so he could take the control rod. “This still good?”

“Yep. Feel free to push me around as necessary.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” He smirked. “Alright, Bee, punch it.”

BB-8 let out a string of beeps and then you took off into the air. It was definitely faster than Luke’s X-Wing. New gen tech, you deduced. It only made sense that space ships would get better in the thirty years you’d been sleeping.

You took a long breath, the rush exhilarating, especially when you were out of orbit and Poe shifted it into hyperdrive, the Resistance base fading to a mere blip miles and miles behind you. You let out a thrilled little laugh, bracing against the impact of that initial thrust.

“So he really never taught you how to fly, huh?” Poe asked, still obviously hung up on it.

“We were busy.” You shrugged. “I knew some of the stuff in the Falcon cockpit, and my aim is pretty decent with a blaster, but they never had me up here in one of these. I was better suited on the ground. I was really good at drawing fire so everyone else could do the important stuff. Jedi are excellent distractions.”

“I would argue the stuff you were doing was important, too.” Poe said, shifting the control rod just so, arm digging into your side ever so slightly.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve read the reports. Seen some of the archive footage.” He confessed. “There’s a reason everyone on base looks at you like that.”

“Like what?” You asked, looking back at him, coy smirk on your face.

“Like this, I’d imagine.” He whispered, eyes full of warmth, even through his tinted visor.

Your breath hitched, heart caught in your throat. “Poe…”

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking back to the windshield. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You shook your head, eyes scanning his features one last time before shifting forward again.

“What’s your ETA, Commander Dameron?” Leia asked over the comms.

“About an hour out from the coordinates, General. Any tips as to what we’re flying into here?”

“Star Destroyer. They’re out in the Shade system.”

Something in you sank, heart racing as you remembered the last time you had been there. How could you forget? After all, that was where you’d died thirty years ago.

“Do we know what they were doing out there, General?�� You asked, voice strained.

“Retrieving something of utmost importance.” Leia replied. “We can discuss it when you return.”

“Alright.” You said, deflating.

“What’s up with the Shade system?” Poe asked, watching your expression. “What are we flying into?”

“It’s where I died. And it was where they were trying to…revive Palpatine.” You explained, your shimmering scar seeming to burn as you did, memories of Insidia’s words, the malice in her tone, her blade buried in your hip.

Poe muted himself with a press of a button on the wall, muted you with another, giving you a moment of privacy. “You okay with this? I didn’t realize that was where we were headed.”

You nodded. “We’re not turning around. They’ve got my nephew on that ship. Never met the kid, but…”

Poe nodded. “We’re gonna get him back, don’t you worry about that.”

“What’s he like?”

“Soren? He’s great. Been on base since he was seventeen. Your sister just started bringing him on missions recently. He’s got a great shot. Good at repairs and maintenance. The mechs started teaching him how to fix ships.” He grinned. “He’s a good kid. He’s got the spark like the rest of us, wants to make a real difference out here.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.”

“He couldn’t wait to meet you, either. Grew up on stories about you.” Poe said. He smiled softly. “We all did.”

There was some comfortable quiet between the two of you. BB-8 piped up every so often with status updates.

“So how do you…fly this thing?” You asked, earning a smirk, Poe’s arm adjusting around you, hand still wrapped around the control rod.

“Thought you’d never ask. So, this controls movement mostly, pitch and yaw, affects my–our trajectory. Speed is this lever over here. That one is hyperdrive. The buttons on the control rod are our blasters. This one to aim, trigger to fire. Different adjustments for stationary and moving targets.”

“And what’s the one you had me flip earlier?”

“The air conditioning.”

You laughed. “Ah, yes, important.”

“Well, you know, I figured it might get a little muggy in here, two of us and all. I’m not used to sharing this cockpit with such a beautiful copilot. Or any copilot, really.”

BB-8 chirped in annoyance.

“I said in the cockpit, Bee, you’ve got your own compartment.” Poe retorted, sharing a look with you. “Droids.”

“Droids.” You agreed with a laugh.

It was more comfortable after that, the two of you chatting a bit until Finn, Rey, and Chewie finally came over the headset. You were getting closer to the Star Destroyer. You’d arrive about seven minutes before the others, try to get them a way in as quickly as you could, as well as a speedy escape route.

“We’re gettin’ close. You ready for action?”

“Always.” You replied. “You got your blaster?”

“‘Course I do. It’s gonna get ugly out there. Always does where Stormtroopers are involved.”

“As long as their aim hasn’t improved too much, I should be all set.” You chuckled.

“It’s never been great, in my experience.”

“Oh, never. I think there’s something wrong with their helmets. They’re not custom-fitted so a lot of them genuinely can’t see.”

“She’s right about that.” Finn said with a laugh. He was speaking from experience. “Can’t believe they haven’t found a solution for that after thirty years.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You got a plan?” Poe asked, trying to plot out his approach.

“Get me in there, pop the lid of this thing, and I’ll handle the rest.” You assured him. “I’m good at making an entrance.”

“Alright, works for me.” Poe pulled up on the hyperdrive and the stream of stars came to a halt, the Star Destroyer seemingly appearing before you. “We’re here. See you three on the other side.”

“Roger that, Commander.” Finn said.

Chewbacca roared some encouragement and then Poe maneuvered expertly past blasts from the surface canons, shifting every which way, doing a barrel roll, his other arm wrapping tightly around you to prevent you from falling up into the dash. After all, you weren’t wearing a seatbelt.

His speed alone was remarkable, but his skill was unmatched. You’d never seen someone fly like that before.

He whipped into the hangar, landing the X-Wing and popping the cockpit open. You put a hand on your saber, using the Force and your wings to propel up and out of the X-Wing, deflecting incoming blaster fires in a flurry of light. You spun down to the ground, skilled movements dispatching Stormtroopers as they approached.

You slashed your saber in a figure-8, returning any enemy fire right back to the senders, knocking them on their asses with a chorus of groaning.

In moments, there was a pile of Stormtroopers at your feet, a very impressed pilot climbing out of the cockpit. He unloaded BB-8, who rolled ahead of you down one of the hallways, following some kind of signal from Soren.

You felt a similar pull, but this one, you could tell, was the Force. It came from your chest, like a tether stretched down the endless hallways, leading you towards him, your nephew. Your family.

Poe gripped his blaster, a hand on your arm. “Bee says he’s this way.”

“He’s right.” You nodded, lightsaber still aglow in your hand. “I can feel it.”

You ran down stark white and black corridors. Maker, did it bring back memories…They were still using all the same designs, color scheme unchanged.

“Landing in four minutes. How are we looking, Poe?” Rey asked.

“We are looking great. She took out twenty Stormtroopers before I even got out of the cockpit.” Poe relayed. “They know we’re here, but we’re on the way to Soren now. Shouldn’t be long before we find him.”

BB-8 stopped suddenly in front of a door, letting you know that this was the one.

You reached forward, focusing on the control panel. It was a biometric lock, only meant for very specific people to get through. They obviously knew who they had their hands on, that this captive was an important one. You felt the mechanical pieces inside, feeling for the one tiny chip, and used the Force to trigger it.

The light turned green, door sliding open. You powered down your saber and hooked it to your belt once you saw the room was empty aside from Soren, strapped onto what you could only assume was a torture rack.

There he was, your nephew. His youthful features were weighed down by exhaustion and pain, blood trailing down from his temple.

“Brings back…memories.” Poe said with a shiver.

“Same here.” You said, walking straight over to him and undoing the restraints with a flourish of your hand.

You stood over him, waiting for him to wake. “Soren?”

Poe gave his shoulder a shake, his other hand on his blaster, eyes locked on the door. “Come on, buddy, we’ve gotta go.”

He stirred, eyes meeting yours through a thick layer of exhaustion. “That was fast.”

“Not fast enough, apparently. Sorry, kid.”

“‘M alright.” He insisted, struggling from the hold of the table. You helped pull him out. “Who are…?”

“I’m (Y/N). Your…mother’s sister.”

“Aunt (Y/N)?” He asked, eyes shooting open. “They…they found you.”

“Did you ever doubt us?” Poe asked with a chuckle.

“Didn’t expect you to be so…young.” Soren noted.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to be so old.” You replied, the boy standing in front of you only younger than you by roughly five years. It was odd, to say the very least, given that he hadn’t existed as of a week ago. “Or to…exist at all, really…”

“Mum and I were on a mission, looking for your–”

There was sounds of struggle down the hall. You watched as a Stormtrooper flew past the open door, thrown, very obviously, by the Force. Rey and Finn ran past after.

“In here!” You called.

They turned and joined you in the interrogation room. Rey held out another saber, gold hilt. For a moment, you thought you had dropped yours, but no, it was a different saber. As soon as your hand touched the metal, you could tell it was yours, your old one. What had happened to it in the meantime was a mystery, but it still fit so well in your hand.

You pressed the switch, its indigo glow stretching outwards, familiar to you. You’d missed it. Somewhere in your soul, you could tell it had been a long time since you’d held it.

“Your saber.” Soren said, completing his sentiment from earlier. “We figured you’d need it if you were going to help us take down the First Order, but it seems like you got your hands on another one…”

You powered it down, offering it to him. “Are you trained?”

He stared at it, flabbergasted. “What?”

“Can you use this?”

“I’m not a Jedi.” Soren said, shaking his head.

You felt it in him, Force sensitivity. But maybe he’d been too preoccupied with his budding membership in the Resistance to notice it just yet.

BB-8 let out a string of agitated beeps.

“Company.” Poe announced, blaster poised at the ready.

“We’ll talk about this later, then.” You assured him, powering up both sabers, the pink and purple filling the cold room with a warm glow. It was like both of you were standing there, your old self and your new self. You’d fought the Empire for years, it was time to give the First Order a taste of what they’d been missing in your absence. “I’ve never dual-wielded before, but…there’s a first time for everything.”

Poe laughed, triumphant, face lit in an excited smile. “I like the sound of that!”

Rey and Finn led the charge back towards the Falcon, where Chewie was keeping it warm. The rest of you followed, Poe blasting, ducking for cover behind pillars you passed, Soren right behind him.

You covered them, deflecting most of the blaster fire sent their way.

The hangar was flooded with Storm troopers. Chewie tried to shake as many as he could, but there were a few on top of the hood, trying to crack into it with a variety of weapons.

Rey handled the ones on the ground, hundreds of troopers doing their damndest to prevent your escape. Bless their hearts.

Your wings fluttered and you spun up onto the top of the Falcon, the five Stormtroopers there stopping to stare at you before redirecting their fire. You spun both sabers with ease, deflecting their shots down onto the troopers on the ground, taking out two dozen or so before they got the hint and stopped shooting.

One came at you with a large, electrified melee weapon. He swung at your feet, but you jumped over it, slicing through the shaft of the weapon before turning and slicing through his armor on the backswing.

You threw a saber at another, using the Force to draw it back in an elongated spin through the air, and then finished off the other three in a few quick moments.

“We’re all inside, (Y/N), ready when you are.”

“Tell Chewie to open the sunroof.” You said, deactivating your sabers and clipping them to your belt. You ran, dropping into a slide just as said sunroof opened beneath you. You dropped into the ship, pressing the button on the wall to close it again.

You strode into the cockpit, where Poe was hovering over the controls, his jaw dropping open when he saw you standing there, already inside. He shook it off, refocusing on the task at hand: escape.

“What about the X-Wing?” You asked before noticing it in flames at the edge of the hangar. Figured. “Nevermind.”

“And with that, we are outta here.” Poe settled into the driver’s seat, Chewie as his copilot.

They sped out of the hangar, weaving through blaster fire until finally, you were all out of range.

“Wanna kick it into hyperdrive for me?” Poe asked, motioning to the lever.

You leaned over him, hand wrapping around the metal handle. “When, now?”

He wrapped his hand around yours, shifting it backwards. “Now.”

The pilot lingered for a moment before taking his hand off of yours, eyes searching your face, as if to make sure you were real, that you weren’t really just a fairytale, especially after watching you in action, leaping around like the famed warrior Leia had always claimed you to be.

He’d believed it before, but he’d just seen it with his own eyes. To say he was starstruck did not even begin to cover what he was feeling.

And somehow, despite it all, you were so normal with him, still bantering, flirting even. Maker, he was in it deep, now.

He pushed it down, that bubbling, boiling, burning feeling, focusing instead on the expanse of space in front of him. He looked at you, forcing a casual smile. Any more than that, and he felt his heart might explode. “You were great out there, Princess.”

“So were you, flyboy.” You complimented. You put a hand on his shoulder, sending his heart racing. “I’m gonna go talk to Soren.”

“Yeah, of course. We’ve got it handled up here, right Chewie?”

Chewie roared, reaching out for a hug that you granted him, all laughs and smiles. “It is, buddy. Just like old times.”

***

The Millenium Falcon pulled into the Resistance base to cheers and applause, the team rallying down on the ground at a rather successful mission. Soren had been rescued, and there had been no casualties, aside from Poe’s latest X-Wing, but that was nothing that couldn’t be replaced.

You walked out of the Falcon alongside your nephew. You had spent the hour back to base getting to know him. He was a bright young man, funny with a dazzling wit and a kind heart. Laesynda had raised him well.

And, of course, she was standing there just outside the ship, pulling both of you into her arms as soon as you reached her.

It was so strange. From an outsider’s perspective, you could have almost been her child, his older sister. Instead, your family tree had been twisted. But in that moment, it was just nice, the three of you all together. Your little family.

Your sister, cupped your cheek with her hand, staring at you for the first time, really taking in the sister that had come back to her after all this time, her older sister that had become her younger sister.

“Thank you, for bringing him back to me.”

“Of course, Laecy. I’d do anything for you.” It had always been the truth.

“I see you’ve met your aunt.”

“She really is something, Mum. Used two lightsabers at once, took out nearly four dozen stormtroopers in five minutes! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I don’t think it was four dozen.” You replied, chuckling.

“Damn near that many.” Poe said, approaching. He was fiddling with his gloves, still wearing his flight suit, the bright orange causing him to stand out. Not that he didn’t already. His mere existence was enough to turn your head. “Admiral, is there anything else you need before I go change out of this?”

“You’re all set, Commander. Thank you.”

“All in a day’s work.” He grinned, eyes lingering on you as he walked back towards the pilot locker rooms.

“Seems the Commander’s taken a liking to you.” Laecy said with a girlish grin.

“I would say so, yeah. Unexpected, but…I’m warming up to it.” Your hands rested on your belt, where both sabers were strapped. It reminded you of your thought earlier. “Soren, would you want to come to training with Rey and I from here on out? It’s okay if I’m wrong, but…I just have this feeling that you could benefit from some Force work. I feel like there’s something there.”

He looked at his mother, as though asking for permission. She nodded, that knowing sparkle in her eye.

“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. It’s always been hard for me to tell, since you left.” Laesynda admitted.

“You think I’m…a Jedi too?”

“I think you could be, if it’s something you want to work on. It runs in the family, after all.”

“Then I’ll be there. I’d like to try. Help the Resistance however I can.” He said, eyes sparkling with an impossible amount of hope. No wonder Leia had prioritized his rescue so highly. That, and you were sure she wanted to send you on a test run. Make sure you hadn’t lost your touch.

He walked off towards the canteen for dinner, where the rest of the crew was beginning to wander, murmurings of a victory party beginning to spread.

“So, (Y/N), you promised when you came back you’d let me braid your hair.” Laesynda proposed, a certain shyness in her voice, like she was afraid you’d say no. Or maybe she was afraid you’d forgotten her final proposition to you all those years ago.

You smiled, reaching for her hand, which she gladly gave you. “I’d love that.”

So Long, Space Boy

You sat in your sister’s quarters, in a hall with the rest of the Admirals. She had a full-sized bed, quite a few things from home. In a small cooling unit, she had several glass bottles of sweet drinks. She offered you one with a smile and you took it gladly, enjoying the warm buzz of it.

She plucked a brush from the dresser along with some clips and an elastic to tie your hair off and set to work, parting off pieces and carefully weaving them into intricate strands.

“I missed you.” She spoke, breaching the quiet that had settled.

“I missed you, too.” You told her, and it was true. Despite the fact that it had only been a few days since you’d seen her, it still made your heart ache to know that she was offworld, not only alive, but older.

Older than you.

She’d been ten when you’d left with Luke and the others. And you’d blinked and now she was a woman, a few strands of silver mixed into the gentle waves of her hair, wrinkles beside her eyes. She had a son. She’d had a life. It hurt indescribably that you hadn’t been there for any of it.

“Tell me everything. Tell me about your life.” You told her, meeting her eyes in the mirror as she gently worked through your hair.

“Well, I was raised by the few surviving elders of Mariposas on a small settlement of us on Yavin 4. Not a lot of us survived, but…there were enough. I lived there for several years, met a man, got married, and had Soren not long after. Everything was…perfect for a while. Then, things with the First Order started getting worse. Leia touched base. At first, I thought I could stay out of it, but…that just was not an option. The First Order tried to recruit Soren at every turn. I couldn’t keep him safe anymore, so we found Leia, joined up with the Resistance.”

“What happened to your husband?”

“He’s undercover. Doing work underground. Last I heard, he’s safe. We hear from him every few months.”

“I’d love to meet him.”

“He’d love to meet you.” She replied, tying off the braid at the end, laying it over your shoulder. “Leia told me her plan years ago, to track down the last Healers’ Pendant, to wake you. I thought it was too good to be true, but…then she put Poe Dameron on the case. That boy doesn’t know how to give up. He’s one of the best.”

“Seems like it.” You agreed, chest buzzing at the thought. Poe had saved you. You knew that much. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I was going to say the same.” She laughed. You turned to look at her, facing her on the bed, just like when you were girls. You’d always had quite the age gap, but you tried to involve yourself as much as you could while she was young, unlike your brother, who couldn’t be bothered with bonding with either of you.

“Now, it seems you’re ready for that party the mechs were buzzing about.”

“Party? I don’t know about all that. Was this your scheme from the beginning?”

“You’re still young.” She said with a soft, bittersweet laugh. “You should enjoy it. Besides, a certain pilot could very well be in attendance. You never know.”

“Is he usually at those things?”

“On several occasions, he has been known to make an appearance or two.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.” You lied.

“Banthashit. Let’s go.” She stood, ushering you towards your room.

You unlocked it and led her inside, where you went through the clothes you had brought. Admittedly, there was not a lot you were working with. You’d packed light. But she pulled one dress, a long, flowing thing that looked like it had been hand-dipped in a sunset.

“This one. You always looked so beautiful in it.”

“It’s not…outdated?”

“It may be a little old-fashioned, but…I think that’s what they need right now. A little old-fashioned Rebel moxie.”

You laughed, holding the dress up to your frame, thinking about it for a long few moments before committing and changing into it, abandoning your Jedi robes for the summery gown instead. It wasn’t all that long, had some off-the-shoulder sleeves, and of course, the open back for your wings. It had been custom-made for you, a birthday or something, before you’d left to join up with the Rebellion.

You were glad you’d brought it with you.

Laecy plucked your delicate golden circlet from your assorted jewelry and gently set it on your head, her hand lingering against your face. Her lips pressed into a pout and tears welled in her eyes as she looked at you. “This is how I remember you.”

You choked on a sob, pulling her into your arms, gently stroking through her hair like you had done when she was a child. You may have looked the way she remembered you, but the Laecy you remembered was gone now, living on only in your memory.

She had grown up and you would never see her again.

***

Laecy retired to her room to work on reports, giving you one last shove towards the party you were still thinking of avoiding.

You could hear it long before you could see it, talking and music and laughter echoing over the hill. Poe was standing outside the canteen, pacing, nursing a cup of what you could only assume was Jet Juice, if that was still something they made for parties on these Resistance bases.

You approached slowly, second-guessing every step until his eyes finally fell on you and that face broke out into that infamous smile that had the girls on comms giggling and kicking their feet. You couldn’t say you blamed them.

“Didn’t think you’d come down here, your Highness.” He said, eyes raking down your body from the circlet perched in your hair to the dress you were wearing. He bit his lip. “I was hoping you would, though.”

“I’ve never been known to shy from a party.” You said with a chuckle. “Had quite the reputation in my day.”

He smirked. “Oh, I know. Shall we?”

Poe offered his hand and you considered for a moment before taking it, arm tucked behind his as he led you into the canteen. Cadets bobbed along to music one of the droids was playing. One of the other pilots was bartending, mechs crowded around a table playing Space Pong.

Another round of introductions broke out. You sipped Jet Juice from a cup as Poe bragged about your mission, recounting your acts of bravery, the way you made lightsaber wielding look as easy as breathing.

“You’re one to talk, flyboy. I’ve never seen a pilot fly like you.” You told him, eyes meeting his.

“You mean that?”

“Every word.”

Rose held up a box of what appeared to be a drinking game of some kind. Finn stood beside her, Rey with them, all of them unwinding. “Want to play?”

“Yeah, deal us in.” You said, giving Poe a tug over towards them. They had two couches on either side of a small, illuminated coffee table. You sat on the end, Poe in the seat next to you, his leg touching yours and his arm settling on the couch behind you.

“So how was it?” Snap asked, sitting on a chair he’d pulled up. “Cramming another person into an X-Wing?”

“Cozy.” Poe replied, taking a sip of his drink, arm hovering dangerously close to your shoulders. “Didn’t expect it to work so well, honestly.”

“Could have used another seatbelt, though.” You added. “I almost got a face full of windshield when this guy did a barrel roll. Good thing he’s got quick reflexes.”

“Oh so you got cozy cozy.” Finn laughed, eyebrow quirking at the look on Poe’s face when he said it.

“Had to reach the control rod somehow.” He shrugged, glancing over at you. “(Y/N) didn’t seem to mind.”

“Wow, you’re on a first name basis with the Princess of Mariposas?” Snap teased. “Must be nice.”

“After today, I think he’d have to be.” You said with a grin, tucking your legs up against Poe’s thigh.

Poe’s arm finally drifted from the back of the chair, settling around your shoulders as soon as you made a move closer to him. It was like he couldn’t stop himself. And when you met his eyes, you could tell that was the case. His gaze softened, eyes scanning over your face, down the intricate braid that sat on your shoulder. Somehow, you felt closer than you had been earlier, despite the fact that you weren’t literally perched on his lap this time.

His eyes flicked down to your lips and you thought he might actually kiss you, in front of your budding friend group. Part of you wanted him to. Instead, his eyes drifted out the window and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ummm…”

“What?” You turned to look. Standing at the edge of the woods was a blue, glowing figure.

Luke. It had to be.

Your heart flickered with something between elation and rage. He finally decided to make an appearance. How convenient for him.

“Maker. Alright. Great. I’ll, uh, be right back.” You said, unfurling yourself and brushing yourself off, suddenly self-conscious.

“You want us to wait for you?” Rose asked as a few more stragglers joined their circle.

“You can start without me. Just save me a seat.” You replied, giving the others one final look before turning and walking towards the woods.

From a distance, he looked like Obi-Wan, in a way, shrouded in a phantom hood, his blue glow eerie and awe-inspiring. When you got closer, it was clear. This was Luke, under that beard and long grayed hair. Your space boy had grown into an old man.

“You don’t look thrilled to see me, Princess.” He said, voice echoing at the edges, another reminder of the plane of existence that stood between the two of you now.

“I reached out for you three days ago. Might have been more thrilled to talk to you then.”

He chuckled to himself, sounding bitter. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” You asked, heart racing, a searing rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I…I’ve had the time to do the math, you know. It took Poe Dameron a week to find that pendant. You had thirty years. Pardon me for feeling like maybe you didn’t want me to wake up.”

“Walk with me.” He reached out, offering his arm.

You stared at it for a long moment, anger still bubbling beneath the surface. But you relented, taking his arm as best you could, and walking deeper into the woods.

Fireflies floated from tree to tree, illuminating the darkened moon. You remembered the glowing butterflies of your home planet. You wondered if they’d survived the attack, if any of the fauna had. You hadn’t really stuck around there long enough to find out.

“I wanted to. You have to know I wanted to.” He said, face shifting from his wizened older form to your space boy, eyes clear when they met yours, features identical to the way he’d looked the day you’d left.

“No. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t use his face against me.” You said, staring straight at him. Your heart ached. You motioned to him vaguely. “This Luke loved me. He wouldn’t have let me rot in a healing pod for three decades.”

With a sigh, he aged himself again, long silver beard replacing his smooth, youthful face. “I tried, but I couldn’t.”

“Tried to find it or tried to wake me?” You asked, jaw set on edge as you braced yourself against his words.

“Both, I…I searched the wreckage for days. Couldn’t even find one with the Force. I tracked down the elders after they’d scattered, I searched markets and spoke to smugglers and…every night, I dreamt of your life here. This was your destiny. This Resistance needed you and I knew I couldn’t stand in the way of it. So…I stopped looking.”

“It should have been my choice.” You said, words dripping with venom. “My whole life is gone! Don’t you realize that? You’re dead. Han’s dead. Lando is Maker knows where and Leia has been here alone, knee-deep in a Resistance that you were too stubborn to join! I could have been here! I could have helped train Rey so long ago. So many people died. So many.”

“I know…”

“I don’t think you do! You made one measly attempt to fulfill our dream and then hid in a cave for years!” You took a shaking breath. “My little sister is older than me now, Luke. She had to live her whole life without me. I should have been there for her. I should have been the one raising her. She should have had someone. Her whole family died and you left me there to sleep.”

He nodded, letting you vent for the first time since you’d awoken. “Anything else?”

“No, I think that about covers it.” Your wings flared behind you. You faced him, arms crossed, brows furrowed. “I wish things had been different is all.”

“I do too.” He agreed, eyes wandering back to camp. “And I’m sorry. Maybe someday, you’ll realize why it had to be like this. If I could have taken your place, I would have in a heartbeat, but…I knew you had to be here. They need you. They need you like this. It was always supposed to be you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “Maybe someday, I’ll understand.”

“You already do.” He said, tilting his head. “I loved you, (Y/N), with all my heart, but part of me always knew our destinies weren’t intertwined the way I wanted them to be. That you were supposed to be here…with them, with…”

“With who?”

He didn’t answer. “And I’ll always be here with you. Always. I’ll be here to guide you as best as I can. I lived my life. Now it’s time to live yours. Live our dream, bring up the next class of Jedi, just like we always wanted to.”

Another tear fell down your face. “I just wish I didn’t have to carry it alone. I was supposed to carry it with you.”

“I know, Princess. I…I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me. But I need you to be strong for them. For Leia. She needs you, they all do.”

You nodded, but didn’t say much else, your opinions on the matter still swirling before they settled. Maybe someday, you’d come to terms with it once the whiplash healed.

He walked you back to the edge of the woods, hand held in yours as best as it could be. You hugged him tightly, his phantom form manifesting physically for just a moment, just so you could say goodbye.

“Goodbye, Princess.”

You pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek, and then he faded, leaving you alone at the edge of the woods to think over everything he’d said. Your destiny was here, with the Resistance. You wiped away the tear trickling down your cheek, and turned back to the party, more than ready to finish your drink and take your mind off things.

The group around the table was laughing and talking, shuffling through the metal cards in the box, different challenges etched on each. Poe was sitting, deep in thought, the spot beside him saved by BB-8, who looked so silly up on the couch. As soon as Poe saw you approach, his focus jumped to you, searching you like you were a ship’s console, reading the flashing signals to figure out what was wrong.

He left the group for a moment, walking over to you instead, to give you a moment of privacy if you needed it. “How did it go?”

“Fine. Good. I…” you chuckled in advance at how ridiculous it was going to sound, but said it anyway, “I think I just broke up with Luke Skywalker. Or…he broke up with me. Kind of…unclear, actually.”

His eyebrows furrowed, mouth opening and then closing as he tried to find his words. “Are you…okay?”

You nodded, managing a hopeful smile. “I am. Help take my mind off of it?”

“Oh, I’m good at that.” He offered his hand, palm up, fingers splayed.

You took it, his palm rough against yours. Warm. “I know you are.”

You walked back over the couch together, where instead of whatever game Rose had pulled out, the group was now playing a very intense game of Never Have I Ever.

“Oh, right. If you’ve ever pet a bantha, worn a Stormtrooper helmet, been drunk on Coruscant, or snuggled with a Wookie, you have to take a sip.” Poe filled you in.

You reached for your cup and took a long sip from it. “I have indeed snuggled with a Wookie. Chewie gives very good cuddles.”

“Snap, your turn.”

“Alright.” He eyed up Poe and said. “Never have I ever kissed a Jedi.”

Poe shook his head. “Haven’t had the pleasure, myself.”

“Okay that feels very targeted. There were only two of us. Three if you count Yoda.” You laughed, taking another sip. “And we kissed each other back then, so…very limited pool you’re pulling from here.”

“Oh!” Snap laughed. You could tell he had been fishing for something else. “You and Skywalker.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, finally letting the burden of it go. It didn’t need to be a secret anymore, especially now, since it was over. Since he was gone. “Me and Skywalker. Worst-kept secret in the galaxy.” You looked at Poe, testing the waters a little bit. “Besides, what happens in the X-Wing stays in the X-Wing.”

He let out a laugh, shoulders shaking. “What she said. My turn? Never have I ever wielded a lightsaber. There. That’s at least three of you.”

“Three?” You asked, taking yet another sip of your drink. “Who’s the third?”

“Finn has some lightsaber history.” Rose said, swirling the liquid around in her cup.

“Really, that is interesting. We’ll have to get you back on that.”

“You’ve spent like a week here and you’re converting us all to Jedi.” Finn chuckled, reaching for his drink.

“Well someone’s gotta.” You shrugged, curling up against Poe again. His arm rested on the back of the couch, but you could feel him thinking about wrapping it around you instead. You kind of wished he would. You leaned closer to him, face inches from his, liquid confidence finally kicking in. 

His eyes found you, intrigued, watching your every move.

“You can hold mine if you want, you know. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”

His thick eyelashes brushed against his tan cheekbones. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hold what, your Highness?”

“My lightsaber.” You raised your eyebrows, heart racing under his intense brown gaze. “What did you think I was gonna say, Dameron?”

He smiled, tongue jutting over his bottom lip. You imagined them pressed to yours, and you weren’t sure if it was a vision or just a fantasy, the way they’d feel, the way he’d sound. You swore you could feel his stubble tickling across your skin, his fluffy curls threaded through your fingers, warm warm skin on yours.

You snapped out of it with a start. This was why the Force and alcohol didn’t mix.

He didn’t answer. “Your turn.”

“Right. Well, there’s a lot of things I have done.” You turned your attention to the rest of the group that was still sitting there, watching. “Never have I ever been inside a TIE fighter.”

A few people in the circle took sips, laughing and chatting amongst each other. You watched them all. This crew, this Resistance. Maybe Luke was right. Maybe this was where you belonged.

You glanced over at Poe, at the lovesick look that was already set deep in those warm brown eyes of his. You could feel it, stirring around in his heart. Had been since that first night in the canteen. Maybe even since the moment he saw you.

Yeah, maybe Luke was right about other things, too…

The Heirloom

You had something of a headache the next morning. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, given the sheer amount of Jet Juice you’d consumed the night before. You got some breakfast before training, sliding familiarly into your seat between Poe and Rey.

He quirked up an eyebrow at your sheer exhaustion. “You feeling alright, your Highness? Looking a little worse for wear.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya, flyboy.” You groaned, reaching for the cup of caf he’d gotten for you and drinking, not bothering to let it cool. The heat definitely woke you up.

“Some party last night, huh?” Finn asked, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

“You should have seen the afterparty on Endor.” You chuckled. “I was hungover for four days after that.”

“I’ve heard.” Poe chuckled. “That party lives in infamy among former Rebels, you know.”

“Oh I’m sure it does.” You grinned into the mug nursed between your hands. 

You tried to ignore the way he looked at you, that absolute warmth in his eyes, but you feared it wasn’t going away any time soon.

After breakfast, you and Rey walked out into the clearing, where Soren was waiting, trying to meditate on one of the stumps up there. He opened his eyes when you stepped on a twig.

“Aunt (Y/N). Good morning. I didn’t know when you wanted to start.”

“How long have you been out here?” You asked with a gentle laugh.

His cheeks flushed. “Probably too long, to be honest.”

“How’s the meditating going?” You asked.

“It’s hard to get my mind to be quiet.”

“It was hard for me at first, too. They used to tell me to just quiet my mind and listen, but sometimes it’s easier to just count.” You told him, sitting on the stump beside him, legs crossed, back straight. “Deep breaths. Close your eyes. Listen to the leaves rustle in the trees. You don’t have to feel anything right away. It’s not something you can push, anyway. All you can do is listen, and if your mind won’t be quiet, just count.”

“Count to what?”

“Up from zero. As high as you need.” You told him, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, listening to the rustling branches.

“What are we listening for today, Master?” Rey asked, voice smooth and even as she sat on the third stump.

“Just listening. Seeing what the Force has to say.” You replied, colors blossoming across the back of your eyelids. You listened, breaths long and even. Your focus was drawn to your heartbeat, steadfast in your chest.

You felt Rey and Soren beside you. You took another breath and felt your sister in her room, working on reports, Leia strategizing her next move in the war that had consumed her life.

You gently searched the others. The pilots, the mechs. Watched as Poe worked on a dilapidated X-Wing, sweat on his brow. BB-8 rolled past his feet. He glanced up the hill, where you were and suddenly, you disconnected, feeling like you were encroaching on his privacy. Some people didn’t take kindly to that kind of thing. You didn’t know the details, but you knew Poe had some experience with Force torture. Not that this was that, but you were sure he might feel a little weird about it, still.

You checked in on the rest of the camp, gently, and when you were done, you opened your eyes, the other two looking at you, ready and eager to learn.

You ran some basic drills, starting Soren with a stick and making him fence with you, also using a stick, both sabers still strapped to your belt. You did an agility course, testing his balance, his precision. He had a lot to learn, but it was clear you were right. He was meant to this. He was meant to follow your path.

***

A week passed. Then two.

Soren was progressing quickly, Rey even quicker. She was already moving bigger objects, but with Soren, you knew you’d have to start small.

You hauled a table out into the trees, along with a handful of trinkets, some rocks and other assorted parts no one would miss. You spread them on the surface of the table and encouraged Soren to stand at the end of it. You guided his hand to the surface of the table.

“Just what, move them?”

“Move one.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them will do.” You replied. “Don’t overthink it. This is the biggest hurdle. Once you can do this, you can do anything.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Then we keep working on the other stuff and come back to this later,” you encouraged, all positivity. Right now, you had the luxury of training him with gentleness. There was no pressure for you to have a third Jedi. Two was already double what the Resistance had a few weeks earlier.

Soren nodded, concentration furrowing his brows. He pushed and you could feel the effort behind his muscles.

Finn and Poe were standing at the edge of the field, watching somewhat curiously while you and Rey worked with your nephew.

There was a faint buzz on the air and then nothing. The rocks didn’t move an inch. Soren looked to you for help.

“You’re pushing.” You said, noting the discovery, not scolding him in the slightest. “And sometimes you do have to push, but…try pulling.”

“Pulling?”

You held out a hand, and instead of forcing the rock to move, you let it rise, gently pulling it up into the air, where it floated around a few times before you set it back down.

“Pulling.” Soren repeated, and you could tell he got it. He reached a hand out, movements more deliberate, less desperate. He took a breath, let it out, and then, slowly, the rock rose into the air, lifted only by his concentration.

He gasped and the rock fell back onto the table.

“Yes!” You pumped your fist, jumping, wings fluttering at the small victory. “Yes! You did it!”

“I did it.” He breathed, still in disbelief. “I’m a Jedi…”

“We’re getting you there.” You assured him, a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll need to get you fitted for some robes before you know it.”

“On that happy note, lunch?” Poe suggested, motioning back towards the canteen.

“Lunch.” You agreed. “They probably need this table back, huh?”

“I’ll take it back.” Rey assured, using the Force to lift it into the air.

“I was gonna do that.” Poe chuckled, hands on his hips.

“With the Force?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Obviously.” He laughed, offering his hand, but you thought for a moment.

“I’ll be right down. Just need a second with my nephew.”

“Alright.” Poe nodded, taking a few steps away, but lingering not too far.

Soren was all smiles, still in disbelief at what he’d just done. You hugged him, beaming with pride not only in him, but in yourself. You had done it. You’d trained him. You’d helped get him to this point.

“I have something for you. I think you’re ready for it now.” You told him, stepping away and pulling one of your sabers off of your belt, the older one, forged from your mother’s bracelets and a whole lot of love.

His eyes fell on it and his jaw dropped. He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t possibly…we got that saber for you. It’s yours.”

“It was.” You agreed. “It’s made from your grandmother’s bracelets. This saber…it represents family, legacy. You are my family. And someday, you’ll be my legacy. ” You chuckled to yourself. “I think that statement would hold a lot more weight if I wasn’t literally five years older than you, but you get what I’m saying. This saber is meant for you. Someday, we’ll find you a crystal of your own and you can make your own saber like the Jedi of old, but for now, I would be honored if you’d wield this for me.”

You handed it to him, wrapping both of his hands around it to ensure he’d actually take it and he did, staring at the gift and taking a long, shaking breath. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, biting on the end of a sob.

You pulled him back into your arms, comforting him until he was well enough to join the rest of you for lunch. When you turned to walk back to the canteen, Poe was there, that soft, impressed smile on his face.

He touched your shoulder, eyes saying more than words ever could. His hand slid to the middle of your back, just above your wings, gently guiding you as you walked together towards the rest of your friends.

Stained Glass Silk

You shot up in the middle of the night, sweat beaded on your forehead, heart racing from a particularly bad nightmare, the kind that made your wings burn and the scar above your hip tingle.

Insidia.

All signs pointed to her being dead, but that sure didn’t stop you from dreaming about her.

You stared at the ceiling for a while before slipping out of bed, putting on some slippers and walking through the dim hallways to the canteen. There were a few people milling around, but that was it in the dead of night, just a few patrols and custodians, holding the place together while everyone else was fast asleep.

In the kitchens, there was a pile of clean dishes waiting to be put away. So, seeing as there was no one else around, you set to work, putting silverware in their allotted slots in the drawers, unbending a few fork prongs and scrubbing at particularly stubborn spots on spoons, putting them back in the washer to run again in the morning.

“Never thought I’d catch a princess doing the dishes, but stranger things have happened, I suppose.” Poe said, leaning in the doorway, a smirk on that handsome face. “Can’t sleep?”

“Never can, these days.” You shrugged, tucking a few more forks away in their drawer. “And I used to do the dishes a lot, for your information.”

“Why’s that?”

“Chores are chores. Everyone’s gotta do them at some point. Used to help me focus. I liked making sure all the little stuff was done so people could focus on the big stuff instead.”

“My mom used to say that.” He smiled softly, taking a few steps further into the room and reaching for some of the smaller dishes, making sure they were all dry before moving them to the overhead cupboard they belonged in.

The two of you worked in quiet, the sounds of clinking dishes accompanied by the occasional brush of his hands on yours when you reached for the same piece.

“Nightmares?” He asked. “Or is it still…hard for you to go to sleep?”

“Nightmares, mostly.” You confessed. “Sometimes Palpatine. His voice, his…laugh.” You shivered even thinking about it. “Most of the time, it’s Insidia. I know she’s dead. They both are, but…sometimes that doesn’t help all that much.”

He nodded. “What happened? Before you…you know. They say you got stabbed with a saber.”

“I would have died if that was the case.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “No wonder I was such a legend, with info like that going around. No, I…” You moved the fabric of your sleep tank, revealing the scar that still sparkled against your skin, just above your hip bone. “She stabbed me here. Twisted metal dagger. The sparkling is from the healing pod. It’ll go away eventually. And then she…cut off my wings with her saber. You can kind of see where, that shiny gold line there.” You pulled your wings under one arm, closer so he could see.

He stared at it, gaze hardening when he realized just what you’d been through. “Did it hurt?”

You nodded. “Worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Just absolutely…white-hot. I blacked out and…well, you were standing there when I woke up. I guess I’m lucky, more or less. Most Mariposans don’t ever grow theirs back after an injury like that. I think the sheer time I spent in that pod alone is what forced them to grow back.”

He reached a hand out, as if to touch one, but drew it back quickly, suppressing his curiosity for fear of stepping over one of those unspoken lines between you.

Surely, he didn’t know what a statement that was, what it would mean for him to touch them. It meant…something more to Mariposans.

Still, you took his hand, meeting his eyes before gently pulling his palm against the surface of your wings. You let him adjust to the feeling before guiding his hand across them, watching the emotions flicker across his face, tingles running down your spine at his featherlight touch.

“Maker, they’re so…they feel like silk. I thought…well, they look like glass, so…” He whispered. “Can you fly with them?”

“Short distances.” You nodded, gazing up at him through your lashes. “You’ve seen the extent of it by now, I’m sure. They’re not meant for travel, more like branch to branch. We used to live up in trees.”

Poe nodded, listening to every word. His free hand rose to your cheek, calloused thumb skimming across your cheekbone and causing your breath to hitch.

One hand on your wings, the other on your heart, or so the saying went.

“They’re beautiful.” He said finally, but he wasn’t looking at your wings anymore. He took a step closer, the hand on your wing floating down to your hip, pulling you closer, chest nearly flush with his. “Your Highness–”

“There you are, Princess. I was wondering where you had gone. BB-8 said he saw you wander down the hall, so I took it upon myself to make sure you were alright, especially being out and about at this time of night.” Threepio explained, his sudden appearance sending your heart racing. Sure enough, BB-8 was there, too, rolling into the doorframe. “Although, I do admit, I did not expect to find you here as well, Commander Dameron.”

His head swiveled from you, to Poe, and back. BB-8 beeped out an apology.

“Thanks, Threepio.” You chuckled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, buddy. I’m alright. Just getting some dishes put away. I’ll head back to bed soon. And I’ll make sure Poe here gets to his bunk, too.”

“Oh, it is my pleasure! Have a good rest of your night. I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

With him gone, you looked back up at Poe, whose thumb was still anchored to your cheek. He shook his head, chuckling before letting it hang down towards the floor, shame brewing in his chest.

You lifted his face with a gentle hand, your feelings unspoken, but hanging there in the air, in your eyes. You knew he felt it, too.

“You know…if the nightmares ever get too bad, my room is right down the hall. We could sit for a while. Talk about it.”

“I appreciate it.” You nodded, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his stubble-covered cheek, just beneath the scar on his cheekbone. “Goodnight, Poe.”

He smiled, frozen by the simple gesture. His eyes sparkled in the dim kitchen as he watched you leave, your wings drifting like a cape behind you. “Night.”

Tags: @cap-lu20

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twelve of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is up!!! It's the moment you've all waited for-- the reveal. :000 They boys discover some things about themselves (things they once knew) and visit an unfamiliar place (a place that was once familiar.) Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

The group’s shocked silence lasted for two, maybe three seconds before it quickly morphed into chaos.

“That’s him! That’s the goat!” Mikey shrieked, pointing wildly. “That’s the goat who has Dad!”

“Leo! Call 911!” Raph commanded. Leo scoffed loudly.

“No way! I wanna kick this guy’s ass. Make Donnie do it.”

“What?! No fair! I’ve called 911 the last six times! It’s someone else’s turn!”

“You have not! I called 911 last time!” April protested.

“That one doesn’t count!”

“Well someone’s gotta--”

“Enough!” Goatman snarled, absolutely bristling, waving his arm sharply. The air around them suddenly felt colder and stiller, and Leo shuddered, gritting his teeth as his posture stiffened. “I am not here to listen to your silly arguments. I am here to bring you home, so you can finally fulfill your purpose.”

Leo gave a short snort of laughter. “Hm, yeah, tempting, but our Daddy actually taught us not to go with creepy sheep strangers, even if they offer us free candy, soooo…”

“What?! Candy? No! I’m talking about your purpose! The reason you were created-- to eliminate the human threat! Come with me, and I can unlock your full potential!”

“How many divine purposes have we got again? ‘Cause I’m starting to lose track,” Mikey complained. Leo rolled his eyes.

“Eliminate the human threat? Yeah, uh, maybe you haven't been paying attention, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re literally humans.”

The yokai paused for a moment. His face twisted, and he hunched his shoulders back before he gave a forced laugh. “Humans?” He echoed. “Humans?! Surely you aren’t fooled by those silly trinkets! You can’t possibly, actually believe…”

“Oh my god. This guy is, like, for real crazy,” April observed, raising her brows.

“No, you are fools!” He hissed in return. “Humans?! These ridiculous forms are completely fabricated! These are not your true selves! You are experiments! You are soldiers! You’re mutated turtles-- my greatest creations! The creations of Baron Draxum!”

“Baron Draxum? Okay, well, we’ll deal with him when he gets here… Oh… Oh-ho-ho wait! You’re doing that, like, sinister talking-about-yourself-in-third person thing, aren’t you! Oh my god, that’s rich!” Leo snorted.

“Hey! Only Raph can use the third-person!”

“I’m sorry, did he say turtles?” Mikey questioned.

“Oh my fucking god…” Leo laughed, clutching his stomach. “Turtles? I’m sorry, we’re mutant turtles?”

“This guy can’t be serious,” Raph muttered.

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure we would have noticed by now if we were reptiles,” Donnie scoffed, one hand on his hip. “Let alone subjects of some kind of biochemical experiments. Which I am intimately familiar with, by the way. Do you have any idea how many community gardens I’ve been banned from?”

“This can’t…” The yokai shook his head, a hand on his brow. “How could you be tricked by such simple magic? I will show you if I have to.” 

“Oh, I’d love to see that,” Donnie muttered.

“Come with me--”

“You are out of your damn mind if you think we’re goin’ anywhere with you!” Raph cut in.

“Maybe if you prove that turtle hypothesis thing you have going on, we can discuss it from there,” Donnie laughed, one brow quirked, sounding caught somewhere between exasperated and amused. Honestly, this whole thing was a little bit fucking hilarious. It was also fucking horrible and scary because their dad was missing and a magic criminal had them cornered in an alley, but like. Seriously. Mutant turtles? You can’t make this stuff up, dude.

Draxum sighed very deeply, scowling at their group.

“Very well,” he said, and he snapped his fingers.

Things became unfunny very, very quickly. 

If the air had become cold earlier, now it became startlingly hot, just for a moment, the alley rising up at least five degrees, and Leo heard this choked, startled gasp that he immediately recognized as his twin brother. At the same time, a blinding, almost familiar flash of white light overtook the alley, and Leo hissed, flinching away. 

When he looked back, he was horrified to find that where his brother had been standing just a moment ago there was instead some sort of green, scaled creature, their eyes slitted and their skin leathery and bumped, and he thought, what the hell happened to my brother? And after a moment of silence, all of them staring in dazed shock, the reptile flailed, floundered, held its own hands up to its face as if to examine them, and promptly began screaming. 

And Leo recognized his own brother's screams, so instead he was thinking: what the hell happened to my brother?!

“What did you do?!” Leo shrieked. Behind him, Mikey screamed, too, and he could hear April spluttering out an impressive string of curse words. He just barely resisted the urge to race over to Donnie’s side, to check if he was okay, (he’s not okay, he knows he’s not okay,) to try to help him, to fix it, because he couldn’t just turn his back on the enemy in front of them-- couldn’t ignore the very obvious threat.

“I simply removed the cloaking enchantment as he requested,” Draxum responded calmly. He even looked amused, almost, the very corners of his lips turning up.

“You what!? What the hell are you-- fix it!!! Turn him back!!!” Leo demanded, his voice rising with the very edges of panic, his pulse climbing ever-steadily higher the longer he listened to his siblings scream.

The other sighed deeply, tilting their head to the side. “Do you still not understand? Fine, then. I’ll show you as well.” 

Snap.

Leo wouldn’t describe the experience as painful, but it really wasn’t pleasant, either. He swore he could feel his skin being stripped away and reforming; it was like his skeleton itself was being rearranged, his entire body becoming fluid for just a split second before solidifying again in new places, new patterns, new spaces. An unfamiliar weight pulled at his shoulders, forcing his spine to bend, and his hands and feet fell in a way that now felt unnatural to him. His skin seemed to lay over his muscles differently now.

He was vaguely aware of Mikey screaming somewhere behind him a second time, echoing Donatello’s continued wails. 

“Guys?” April bit out, her voice high and frightened.

What the hell happened to him?

“What-- what did you do?” Leo repeated himself, his eyes wide, straining, because his vision was ever-so-slightly different than it had been a few seconds ago and he didn’t know how to adjust. He swore to god he was frozen in place. He wasn’t sure when he had ended up on his knees, but he was shaking so hard, he supposed he wasn’t surprised.

What the fuck happened to his body?

“Now are you convinced?” The yokai pressed. “Now, we will be going to my lab whether you want to or not. We can either do this the easy way or the hard way. I would highly recommend the easy way,” he hummed, giving a sharp sweep of his arms. Wind tugged at his back and Leo had just barely the presence of mind to glance behind him, his eyes widening in horror to see this huge expanse of black opening up behind him. 

Mikey-- (Mikey? They were small, they were wearing Mikey’s clothes, it must be Mikey--) yelped loudly, the inky cloud yanking him from his feet. April jumped, attempting to grab her baby brother, though she only succeeded in falling into him-- both of them swallowed up into the portal. Raph gave a strangled howl of protest, diving right after them, and Donnie was sucked up as well, disappearing from Leo’s sight. His heart thudded wildly in his ears. He could feel the magick yanking at him, trying to pull him in as well. 

But Leo had always been the fastest. 

Every shred of him was screaming to follow, to chase after his family, to go with his sister and brothers, but he tensed his muscles, his stance widening and holding firm as he set his sights back on the yokai towering before him. A tiny voice in his head whispered in his ears that following wouldn’t help--

No, he had to move forward. This guy was the one hurting them.

Get him.

Leo wasn’t sure if he had leapt forward or if he simply was there. Everything was moving too quickly for even him to follow, the blinding white of panic and rage eating hungrily at the edges of his vision, threatening to overtake him. Either way, he lunged, a cry of protective fury wringing itself from his chest.

 "Stay away from my brothers," he snarled, his own throat staggering painfully with the force with which he screamed out his warning, his hands flying forward to grab the yokai by his throat, slamming into him at full speed. He felt the alien velvet fuzz of Draxum’s skin beneath the tear of his fingernails (claws) even as the pair of them were flung from their feet. Gravity was stolen from them both, the portal behind them reaching out to consume them. 

Everything went black. For just a second, tumbling through nothingness, floating through the sizzling rush of magick itself, Leo couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything, all he could feel was the body of the yokai against him, struggling against his grip, attempting to throw him away. 

And then this bright, searing lavender light came singing through the world. It didn’t reflect or bounce; nothing was lit up by it. Leo still could not see himself, could not even find the outline of his own hands or fingers. But this brilliant, complex pattern of the palest, gentlest pastel purple lit up bright before him, swirling and twisting in foreign shapes, and Leo just barely recognized that the ribbon of runes they formed echoed the shape of the yokai he had just grabbed.

The body he was clinging to went limp.

The next second, the wind was knocked out of him as they made impact with stone, light coming streaming back into his universe. Leo found himself landing in a heap in their new location, the portal disappearing behind them. Oddly, however, the crash landing didn’t hurt near as much as he would have expected it to.

“Leo!” He heard Raph cry. Leo groaned, still dazed, looking around blearily. Where the hell were they? He glanced over at the yokai who he had yanked through the portal with them, only to find them in an awkward slump just a few paces away, completely limp and seemingly unconscious. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” Raph demanded, moving quickly to his side. Mikey was already all bundled up in his arms, shaking like a leaf and absolutely clinging to him for dear life like he was going to fall apart if he let go. And Leo couldn’t even blame him if he did. Mikey had always been the smallest of them, and Raph always the biggest, but Leo thought dimly that the size difference between them now was fucking bananas.

Jesus christ. Raph was fucking huge. And… spiky. Was he a goddamn dinosaur? What the fuck.

“I-- yeah-- I-- I think the goatman got knocked out--” He stammered, still reeling slightly, trying to collect himself, to gather himself, adrenaline still rushing through his veins like it was a racetrack. 

Somewhere in the background, Donnie fucking screamed, and Leo immediately forgot about everything else, his head whipping around. 

“Donnie!” He cried, on his feet in a second, rushing over to his brother’s side. He had no idea where they were, not having yet taken stock of the location. He was only dimly aware that they were someplace cold and dark, with stone and concrete above, below, and around them. Donnie had pressed himself up against one of the walls, his entire body rigid and his head bent forward, his arms fluttering wildly beside his head in such a way that Leo recognized he was fighting not to hit himself. Good job, Dee. The screaming continued, but every wail that wrenched its way out of Donnie’s mouth was short and grinding, repeating itself over and over like an alarm. It was fucking terrifying. Not for him, but for Donnie, because he could tell that they were completely, totally not in control. Just panicking.

“Hey. Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m right here, Don. It’s alright. It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m right here, hermano,” he tried to soothe, forcing his voice down, calm, steady. He knew better than to touch Donnie, but he would reach over just long enough to tap a button on the side of his headphones that he knew would flip the device into white noise mode. Donnie jerked slightly in response, and the screaming stopped, at least, but he didn’t relax. His arms still fluttered and flapped anxiously, and he shifted just enough to begin rocking back and forth, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth so hard that Leo was afraid he was going to hurt himself. His chest absolutely shook with the panicked, shuddering breaths he was taking, hyperventilating so hard that his entire body trembled in response.

“Come on, Donnie, it’s alright. It’s okay. We’re safe, Mikey and Raph and April are safe, we’re gonna be okay, but you’ve gotta breathe, dude. Can you try it with me? Like this? We’ve gotta calm down a little bit--” Leo pressed on because this was not his first rodeo. He wasn’t quite as adept at handling these things as their dad was, and at this point, Donnie was pretty good at avoiding meltdowns and panic attacks, armed with tools and tricks and years of therapy, but sometimes they were unavoidable and Leo had always known how to calm them down, always been able to step up and help, the same way Donnie could for him--

But Donnie wasn’t calming down. Donnie wouldn’t even look up at him. Rather, Donnie scrunched up harder, curled his lips, and fucking hissed at him.

And, okay, look, it wasn’t the first time Donnie had hissed at them. Donnie used to love to hiss at people when they were little kids, though nowadays he was more likely to express annoyance with declarations such as “groan” or “scoff” or “eye-roll.” But he didn’t hiss like this.

He sounded fucking feral. Even more than that, he sounded fucking terrified. He looked like a goddamn cornered animal, his eyes blown out and huge, the scaly skin that now made up his form stretched tight over shivering muscles and his lips drawn back over sharp, pointed teeth. And Leo looked down at his own clawed, three-fingered hand and came to a horrible realization.

He couldn’t help because Donnie couldn’t recognize him. They were panicking because they were in this crazy, fucked up body that wasn’t theirs, and Leo was in a fucked up body that wasn’t his, and looking at him was just a reminder of everything wrong. He was just scaring them more. His being here was just making things worse, and Leo’s throat tied itself in a knot, swelling up as the backs of his eyes pinched with the thought.

“April,” he called, his voice cracking slightly as he desperately turned to look for his sister. She wasn’t far off, watching from a short distance with obvious worry, and she blinked in surprise at the sound of her name.

“Help me.”

---

If Leo was being completely honest, he hadn’t even realized that Donnie wasn’t still nearby. The two of them typically stuck together like glue whenever they were at school. Leo would usually lead the way, and Donnie would trail after, with Leo doing most of the talking and socializing for both of them. And once Donnie got sick of whatever they were doing, he would simply drag Leo off to sit and read or work on some project or puzzle for a while, and Leo would oblige and keep him company. Donnie was always close by, and Leo wasn’t even aware that this wasn’t currently the case, too absorbed in his latest arts and crafts project, until he heard a telltale, high-pitched whine from across the room.

He was on his feet in seconds, abandoning the activity and his classmates to scuttle off in search of his twin brother. Luckily, he wasn’t too hard to find. Both because he was pretty loud, and also because their substitute teacher was crouched down next to him. She was nice enough, Leo thought, but not quite as cool as Miss Mitchelle was, and he wasn’t sure if Donnie liked her at all. It definitely didn’t seem like he liked her too much right now with how he was all balled up, and Leo wasted no time at all in planting himself physically between the two.

Donnie immediately gravitated towards his brother and Leo moved a bit closer in turn, giving Miss Substitute (he didn’t remember her name,) a very displeased look.

“He doesn’t like whatever you’re doing,” he declared firmly.

Miss Substitute’s expression twitched and faltered for a moment before it settled back into something patient and pleasant, though Leo still didn’t quite trust it. “Leo,” she said, “I was just trying to talk with your brother--”

“I can talk to him,” Leo assured immediately, not bothering to listen to the remainder of her sentence because he couldn’t imagine it would be all that important or interesting. He turned to face Donnie instead. “It’s okay. I can always understand him, ‘cause we have a secret twin language. We made it up. Only we can speak it,” he declared proudly, crouching down to lean in towards his brother, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Donnie was still whining a bit, curled up into a ball and shoved halfway inside of a cubby, his arms crossed protectively over his head as he rocked. And yeah, he was obviously upset, though Leo wasn’t completely sure why yet. As such, he got to work, conversing with his twin in the previously mentioned secret twin language.

… And.

Okay.

So.

They didn’t actually have a secret twin language.

But it was close enough! It wasn’t a language, per se, ‘cause it didn’t have words, just noises and chirps and trills and squeaks and babbles. But he still always got the gist of what Donnie was saying, and Donnie would get the gist of what he was saying, too, so it worked. Sooner or later, he could pretty much always get an understanding of what Donnie was meaning based on the inflection or tone of his noises, as well as calm the other down enough so that Leo could coax a couple of signs out of him, so Leo figured it was close enough to language.

Plus, the ‘language’ itself always seemed to kind of settle Donnie down when he was upset like this. Once Leo started humming and squeaking at him, Donnie gradually started to answer with his own chirps and clicks, and, little by little, Leo watched their twin’s body untense and unwind. Leo grinned, moving to sit properly by him, and Donnie moved closer, edging just a bit out of his hiding spot so he could shove himself up against Leo’s side instead, resting his head against his shoulder and settling in there, an indignant scowl still on his face.

Leo grinned, puffing out his chest a bit as he shot Miss Substitute a look. See? He told her so. He and Donnie always understood each other, no matter what, and he could always fix it when Donnie wasn’t feeling good! He was basically the best brother in the entire world. Confident that he understood the problem, he turned back to face Miss Substitute.

“He said you’re not doing the schedule right, and we’re supposed to do math right now,” he announced, crossing his arms over his chest. And he hadn’t even noticed, but Donnie was right, they did usually do math lessons during this part of the day-- not arts and crafts. “And also, he doesn’t like the paper fish we’re doing ‘cause the glue feels bad. So we gotta find something else to do,” he insisted. “‘Cause otherwise Donnie and I aren’t playing.”

Donnie nodded a tiny bit from behind him, and Leo beamed with pride. Understanding Donnie and calming him down wasn’t even that hard. He didn’t get why adults besides Dad had such a hard time with it sometimes. You really just had to listen to him. 

---

It took a while for April to calm Donnie back down, (or at least get him as calm as they possibly could be in such circumstances,) but she managed after a bit, his panicked breaths eventually dying down into something a bit more even and steady. Thank god. Mikey thought dimly to himself that he had never seen Donnie freak out so bad, but... he supposed he couldn't really blame him. 

He frowned a bit, looking down at his own, unfamiliar hands, and he curled up a bit more, his tail tucking in (oh my god, he had a tail,) as he clung to Raph's plastron (oh my god, Raph had a plastron.) And though it still held comfort, the fold of his biggest brother's arms, bundled up close and held there, this place that he had known his whole life... it suddenly felt foreign, too. Everything was hard and jagged and cold. And even worse-- it was unfamiliar. 

He kept staring at his own hands because he couldn't stop himself, and it made his stomach wobble. He wondered bleakly what his own face looked like because he had no idea. He wouldn't even recognize himself in the mirror. 

 Now that Donnie had finally settled a bit, though he was still curled up and pressed just against April's side, just barely not touching but still squeezed up small against her, Leo finally got up to his feet-- only to immediately lose his balance, falling over onto his back with a loud clunk.

"Leo!" Raph's eyes widened, his muscles immediately bunching up, ready to jump up and go grab his brother. Mikey could tell that he was just barely resisting the urge to scoop up all three of them and bundle them up in his arms and just hang onto them for a while. He had been sitting here long enough for Mikey to notice how fast his heart was beating. Mikey’s was keeping pace. Leo kind of flailed for a second before he managed to redirect the momentum to roll over onto his side, getting himself back onto his hands and knees. A wry, strangled laugh forced its way out of him.

"Alright. Well. Pro tip: center of gravity is weird now," he remarked dryly, his voice strained. "But the good news is falling doesn't even hurt anymore! So that’s great!"

It didn't get a laugh out of anyone. After a moment of hesitation, Mikey slowly wriggled his way from Raph's grip, making his way over to Leo's side. He didn't dare try to walk after watching Leo's attempt, noting that it seemed to be more difficult now without the rush of adrenaline to aid them, so he instead stayed in a crouch, sort of half-hopping-half-crawling over. Raph followed shortly after in a similar manner.

"Can I see?" He questioned softly, and when Leo didn't deny him, he leaned over slightly, moving his hoodie (which was now a very awkward fit,) out of the way enough so that he could examine the edges of his brother's new shell.

(Oh my god. His brother's shell. What kind of a sentence was that? What kind of weird, fucked up make-believe world were they suddenly in? Leo was his brother. He didn't have a shell. He had cool brown skin. He had bouncy blonde curls that Mikey had helped him bleach and dye a red streak in. He had vitiligo 'stripes' over his eyes. He had a bad habit of cycling through boyfriends and insomnia and a shockingly large vocabulary... but he didn't have a shell. He didn't have scales or stripes or claws or a tail.)

He looked anyway, running the tips of his fingers over the top of it, following the curve. He couldn't quite tell if he was feeling the texture of the shell, or just the texture of his own fingers, which were different than they had been; covered in scales, the skin thicker and rougher than it had been before. Bending his joints felt odd, and he couldn't help himself from doing it over and over, as if that might help him get used to it faster. 

 Every part of his brother’s shell was this cool, ocean blue, just edging on teal in some places, and Mikey thought to himself that, in the very least, it matched his life color perfectly. 

He swallowed hard and resisted the tears that were building up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry right now. He didn’t even know what he was crying about. Because he was scared? Because he was overwhelmed? He wasn’t very good at not crying, but he forced it down, his hands trembling a bit with the effort of it.

 "Does it look the same as mine?" He heard himself asking, his eyes flickering over to meet Leo's (which were now not something he recognized, looking more animal than person, though they still retained the same, familiar almond shape. The color, however, he realized, was slightly different. Leo's eyes were brown. All of their eyes were brown, so dark that they were almost black, but now, instead, Leo's eyes were mismatched; one of them dark blue, like water in a cove, like the sea at night, and the other dark red, like ink with blood, like black cherries.) 

"I dunno," Leo laughed, though his voice was still shaking. "I don't know what mine looks like."

"They're... kinda the same…" Raph observed from nearby, leaning over slightly to examine them both. His voice sounded kind of hollow, like he wasn’t really there. Sort of far-off. "I mean. The parts I can see. Mikey, yours is more... orangey. And bumpier," he said. "And yours is spotty. Leo's is kinda... stripey." 

"Yours is huge," Leo observed with a chuckle, glancing over at their biggest brother, who was always the tallest and largest by a wide margin, but now absolutely dwarfed the rest of them. "And... spiky. You're all spiky. And… and fucking huge, dude. You look like you have fucking paws. And your mouth is all..." He laughed again, scrubbing anxiously at his face with his hands. "You look like a fucking snapping turtle."

Mikey paused a bit at that, glancing over at the other.

Donnie must have said or signed something that the rest of them didn’t catch, because April spoke up next, clearly addressing him. "Uhm, no, yours is... uh. It's kind of flat? And..." There was a pause. "Oh, oh my god, it's, like, squishy!" She squealed, everyone else in the room jumping in response, before she tamped down the noise, biting her lip and getting a handle on her reaction. "Sorry! Sorry, I just. I just wasn't expecting that texture, that's all! It doesn't... feel like what I thought a shell would feel like, I guess."

"Are we different kinds of... turtles?" Mikey questioned, tilting his head to the side. He wanted to laugh at himself when he said turtles. I mean, seriously, turtles? Of all the creatures in the world, turtles? Why were they turtles?

"I guess we must be," Leo sighed, resting his chin on his knee. "We obviously look different." 

Mikey frowned, and he thought that his lips might be trembling if he had proper lips anymore, but he wasn't sure if he did or if they could tremble or what that would feel like if they did. Okay, fine. Now there were a few tears. 

"Does that mean we're not brothers?" 

A beat of silence followed.

"We're not," Donnie said, and quite frankly, Mikey was surprised to hear him speaking. Small miracles? Kinda…?

"Yeah, we are. Don't be crazy," Raph immediately refuted, his brows (er... brows? Place where brows once were?) furrowing together, and Mikey was desperately relieved to see that the space in between still wrinkled into a crease the same way they always did. "Of course we're brothers."

"Evidently, we're not even the same species," Donnie hissed out bitterly, drawing himself up even closer, even smaller, into a little ball. "It's literally impossible."

"Come on, Dee--"

"We're not even human!" Donnie snapped, hunching up his shoulders. "We're not even people!"

"Hey, look, come on you guys," April tried to soothe, holding up her hands as if to calm the group. "It doesn't matter if you're turtles! It doesn't matter to me. I love you guys no matter what--"

"Oh, wow, what a comfort!" Donnie scoffed, and April bristled.

"Okay, look, I am trying to be helpful! I know that this fucking sucks but you do not need to take out your nasty attitude on me!"

Leo suddenly laughed-- loudly, painfully-- tilting his head back and letting his shoulders slump so he could stare up at the ceiling. "Oh my god. Jesus christ. We're not people," he bit out in between his barely restrained hysterics, squeezing his eyes shut. "We're freaks, dude!"

"Leo, c'mon." 

"We're not even people!!!" He repeated. "Fuck. We never even had a chance, and we didn't even know it!... Oh my god, we’re such morons!!! Hahaha-- welp! This is it! Pack it in, boys, it’s all over!"

"Leo, chill. What are you even talkin’ about?"

"Did you know I was gonna go on T?" He questioned, turning around sharply, suddenly, to face Raph. "Me and Dad were talking about it. For, like, a while now. And I was gonna start T, finally. Do you know how much I wanted to do that? Do you know how long I've been waiting to get to do that?"

Raph frowned. "Leo... This doesn't mean--"

"How the fuck is that going to work now!?" He interrupted. "How is anything gonna work now? We're fucking! REPTILES! Raph!!!"

"I KNOW THAT!" Now Raph was yelling, too, and Mikey flinched a bit, hiccuping softly as he drew himself down, retreating slightly, halfway into his shell (oh my god, he can do that now?) "You think you're the only one who was lookin' forward to stuff? I was--" He cut himself off, breathing in deep and then letting it out slow, his jaw tensed.

"Look. I know this... sucks. But it's not gonna help to just throw in the towel right now and mourn shit that we don't even know is gone yet, alright? We'll... figure it out," he said. "We don’t even know what’s goin’ on, so let’s just… let's just try to figure it out first. Okay?" 

Leo frowned. He looked down and to the side, tightening his hands into fists, but he didn't have any rebuttal. After a moment, he took a deep breath, pulling himself up to his feet for a second time. He tottered for a moment, his arms windmilling until he found his balance and this time he stayed on his feet. He looked around the room for a moment before his eyes fell on the limp form of Baron Draxum, still crumpled in a heap some odd paces away.

"What do we do with that guy?"

All of their eyes snapped over, as though they had all just remembered that he was there in the first place.

"Did you knock him out, dude?!" Raph questioned, his eyes widening slightly. 

"No! I mean. I don't think so. Not exactly," Leo said. "It's, like-- he grabbed me and some sort of mystic-magic-whatever thing happened. He lit up with a bunch of symbols and he just... went down. I dunno what happened." 

"Well," Raph said, sighing deeply before he pulled himself to his feet as well, doing a similar rock and wobble to Leo before he figured out the new balance he had to strike, correcting his own footing. His long tail swung back and forth behind him, assumedly on instinct, to help. "We dunno how long he's gonna stay down, so we oughta find a way out of here and put some distance between us and him ASAP. We already know where Dad is, anyway."

"Maybe we can figure out where we are," Donnie mumbled bleakly, pulling himself to his feet as well. He seemed to struggle much less than his brothers did, and Mikey noted that his back rounded less than theirs. April got up as well, sticking close to his side, but perhaps hovering a bit less now. 

Mikey watched as his family rose up, one by one, finding their feet again. And something in his chest unwound and loosened again. A breath he hadn't realized he had been holding came tumbling out of him.

He didn't know his own face anymore. And he didn't recognize his brothers when he looked at them.

But they were still them. Already, Mikey was completely sure of it. And the change, while still terrifying, felt just a tiny bit less devastating. 

He hadn’t lost them yet.

Bracing himself for the coming challenge, he rose up to his feet as well. The unfamiliar weight on his back was more than he had expected and attempted to drag him down, and he stumbled slightly, nearly toppling over onto his back the same way Leo had the first time-- but Raph grabbed his wrist before he could, pulling him forward and correcting him, and Mikey was relieved to find his center of gravity once more. Usually, he would complain about his big brother stepping in, preferring to do things on his own rather than being 'babied' by his older family members, but...

 Right now, it was actually okay. 

"Okay. Let's do this." 

(They took about three steps before Raph yelped and tripped over his own tail.)

---

Though they had tied up the so-called "Baron Draxum" with whatever rope and other scrap they could find in this place, (the longer they were here, the more Donnie began to suspect it was a lab of some kind,) none of them were very confident that it would be able to hold him for very long, if at all, and so they all got to work trying to figure out an exit. But to call this place 'maze-like' was a bit of an understatement.

"This is the worst landmark ever," April hissed in frustration as they turned a corner, only to once again be met with a hog-tied yokai, face-down on the concrete. "We keep going in circles!"

"Okay, look," Donnie sighed. "I know we don't want to linger here any more than we have to, but let's look around a bit and see if there's anything useful lying around to get us out of here. Clearly just walking out isn't getting us anywhere." 

There was a chorus of grunts and mumbles of agreement from the rest of his family, and the group slowly fanned out, beginning their search. It was dark here, wherever they were. The ground beneath his feet was cold, with him and his brothers having already ditched and stowed their sneakers and boots after realizing how awkward and painful it was to walk in them with their new wide, two-toed feet. 

The space was wide and almost circular, with various tunnels branching off at different levels, all leading away to who-knew-where. Several desks and tables were scattered about the space, each surface covered in everything from charts to pipettes to oddly-shaped jars filled with oddly-colored substances. Donnie just barely resisted the urge to sit down and start working, or to begin snatching and pocketing things as he found them. Instead, he took a liberal amount of photographs of everything they found on his phone.

 His impulse control could only get him so far, however, and his eyes narrowed as they fell across a small, purpley-pink gem that lay on the desk, suspended within a small glass case. This certainly looked interesting... Geology wasn't really a passion of his, but something about this just seemed... intriguing. He couldn't quite place it...

 Surely no one would miss this, right? It was small! It would be silly not to take it, quite frankly, and he slipped it into his pocket as quietly as he could when he was sure no one else was looking. 

Now, if only he could find some blueprints of the tunnels... But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?

"So," Mikey said after a minute or so of them searching, and Donnie sighed internally. Of course, they couldn't expect him to stay quiet for that long. "If Raph is a snapping turtle, and me and Leo are turtle-turtles, then what kind of a turtle is Donnie?"

Donnie rolled his eyes, scowling. "Okay, well, first of all, do we really have to discuss this?" He hissed, immediately bristling. "I’d highly prefer we not address the proverbial elephant in the room, thank you! Second of all, 'turtle-turtle' is not a species."

"Yeah, but, like, we have turtle shells!" Mikey explained. "But April said yours is squishy. So what does that make you?"

Donnie sighed deeply. Talking about this made his skin itch.

"A softshell turtle, I suppose."

"A softshell?" Leo questioned, raising a brow. "That's a thing?"

"Yes."

"How do you know that off the top of your head?" Raph questioned.

"Some of us actually paid attention during biology classes," he responded dryly. And having a near-photographic memory did, admittedly, help as well…

"Whoa!" Mikey absolutely beamed. "That's so cool! Now we just gotta figure out what kind of turtles me and Leo are!"

"Well, I'd look it up if we had any service. And also if it was even close to being an appropriate time for us to waste our efforts on something like that," Donnie said with a roll of his eyes. He knew that Mikey was just distracting himself, finding a silver lining so he didn’t break down, but Donnie didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about how much of their entire lives was completely fabricated, about how--

He snorted, suddenly doubling over with laughter.

"What?" April questioned, raising a brow.

"I just-- I just realized!" Donnie laughed. "Our... our moms must be turtles! Fucking turtles!"

There was a beat of silence as this sunk in before Raph gave a similar reaction. "Damn! I guess you're right, huh?"

"Do you have any idea how much time I wasted in therapy talking about this?" Donnie squeaked out through giggles. "I spent so much time with Mossy talking about our mom and how she didn't want us or whatever the fuck and about the stuff she did to Dad and how I couldn't remember her, and she-- she was never even real! None of that ever even happened! She was just a fucking turtle, wasn't she!? We don’t even have a real mom!"

"Whoa! Mind... blown. I didn't even think about that..." Mikey gaped, his eyes wide. "This whole time I just assumed that our mom was probably the hotel lady..."

"Yeah, me too," Leo agreed.

Donnie blinked.

"You what?"

"Well, you know, that woman that Dad was datin’ right before he disappeared," Raph said. "And she runs the Grand Nexus Hotel, right? All the articles I ever read always mentioned her."

Donnie's eyes twitched. "You thought she was our mother?" He questioned.

"Well, that's who Dad was datin’ last! And for a long time, too. It'd make sense, wouldn't it?" Raph defended.

"Yeah. You didn't think that?" Leo said.

"NO! Why would I think that?!" Donnie was laughing again.

Leo huffed in offense, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, do you know something we don't?"

"Apparently!" Donnie exclaimed. "Guys, you've seen pictures of her, right?!"

"Well, yeah?" Mikey tilted his head to the side.

"She's pale as fuck!"

"So?"

"And our Dad is Japanese!"

"And? Donnie, what's your point?"

"We're black!"

"... Ooooohhhhh," all three of his brothers said, nearly in unison, after Donnie's argument finally sunk in.

"Oh my god," Donnie laughed, covering his face with his hands, scrubbing tears from his eyes. "You're all so fucking dumb..."

"I guess our mom would have had to be black. I mean. We got the Japanese half from Dad, but... I never really thought about where the other half came from..." Raph admitted, his mouth still slightly agape like he was still rolling the thought about in his head. 

"Wait a minute," April said, her hands on her hips. "I mean, yeah, all that makes sense, but if you guys have secretly been turtles this whole time, then why are you black?"

"Dude, are all turtles black?" Mikey questioned, his eyes widening.

"I cannot discuss this any further. I'll get a migraine and furthermore cease to function, as I am, and I cannot stress this enough, just barely suppressing the gravity of this whole situation right now," Donnie sighed, gesturing to himself as he turned back to the desk in front of him. "Did anyone find anything yet?"

"Not yet," April sighed, shuffling through some papers. "What even is all this junk?"

"I'm not sure. Some sort of research, it seems like..." Donnie mused, sort of thumbing through a book as he spoke, reading key phrases and chunks of text as quickly as he could and making mental notes so he could refer back to it later. He was more than happy to have something else to focus on, though this would admittedly be a lot easier with human hands. "But I'm still not sure where--"

Shhhh shhhh.

Donnie paused mid-sentence, his brows furrowed. He hadn't noticed that sound before now. He tilted his head a bit to the side, turning in its direction, trying to zero in.

"... Donnie?"

"What's that noise?" He questioned aloud, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

Shhhh shhhhh.

He knew that noise. He recognized it. Where had he heard it before?

Shhhh shhhhh.

... Water, he realized with a start. The noise was running water. Of course. How had he never realized this before?...

That's what he was hearing. That's what he had heard.

"Dee? You good?"

"Guys," he said, turning just enough to glance over in their direction. His face suddenly felt like glass. It was odd. "I think... I think we're in the sewer," he said. "... And I think we've been here before...?"

Before anyone could say anything further, a new noise filled up the space.

Skrrrtttccchhhhh.

---

"What was that?!" Mikey shrieked, immediately leaping behind his biggest brother to hide. Leo and Donnie were instantly gravitating to each other as well, falling into stance on instinct as they stood back to back, each covering the other. 

"It sounds like something scratching," April said thoughtfully, and true to her word, the same skritching noise clawed its way through the air a moment later, echoing slightly against the walls. "I think it's coming from over here!"

"April!" Raph hissed off a protest as she took off, heading in the direction of the sound. "We don't know what that is!"

"We will if we go look!" She chirped in reply. I mean, come on, what was the benefit of hiding over here instead of investigating? Weren't they curious either way? Besides, they were stuck here regardless-- maybe they'd find something helpful.

The noise continued as April searched, peering around corners and down tunnels, until, finally, she found her prize. Tucked inside one of the off-shoot tunnels, one of the many dead-ends that seemed to surround this space, was a proverbial treasure trove. A variety of odds and ends filled the space; various amulets and scrolls and chests and even weapons were leaned up against the wall or stacked up on the ground. In fact, a lot of weapons were in here. Was this some kind of a weird armory? Or a trophy room? What kind of sewer has a trophy room?

But most interestingly, she found the source of the noise. Inside a small, dimly lit orb, looking as though it were made of some sort of glass, or perhaps even light, was one of the oddest creatures April had ever seen, clawing sadly at the surface of its prison. It had ears like a chihuahua, pointed and too big for its head, with tufts of fur poofing out from inside, but huge eyes like some kind of a cat. Pointed tusks stuck from its mouth like a boar, but soft, downy yellow-and-blue fur covered its entire, squirrel-like body, complete with a fluffy, wriggly tail.

"AW, you guyyssss!" She called out. "Come look! It's cute!"

"April!" The guys were right behind her, with Raph leading the charge. "You can't just run off like-- jumpin' jack flash! What the heck is that thing?!"

"I dunno!" April said with a shrug, immediately making her way into the room, scooping up the orb so she could examine it, looking for a way to open it up. The little critter inside pattered about excitedly, its claws clicking against the smooth surface. "Help me figure out how to get him outta here."

"Are you sure about that?" Leo questioned. "No offense, but we have nooo idea what that thing is! Maybe it's, I dunno, locked up for a reason?"

"What? C'mon, guys, we've gotta help!" Mikey protested, turning on them with big, pleading eyes. Nice, April thought, with Mikey on her side she had basically already won. Suck it, middle children. "Plus, he was locked up by Draxum. So he can't be bad!"

"Yeah! Ever heard ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’" April added in.

"I'm not convinced," Donnie said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean, has anyone else noticed that pretty much everything else in this room is a weapon of some kind? Isn't that maybe a bit telling?"

"Aw, come on, Dee. Look at this face!" April insisted, holding up the orb to the others. The creature, to their credit, played their part, pulling an absolutely pitiful face which Mikey immediately echoed, turning to his brothers with watery eyes. 

Checkmate.

"Okay, okay, fine. Look, there's gotta be something in here that can help us bust him out..." Leo muttered, beginning to pick his way through the contents of the room with Raph, Donnie, and Mikey following suit shortly after. 

"Here, what about these?" Leo said after a moment, turning to face them with a pair of twin katanas in hand. "Think I could slice that bad boy open with these guys?"

April scoffed, clutching the orb close to her chest. "Uhm, and this guy in half, maybe!" She protested. "Can we try something a little less deadly, please?"

"Aw, come on! These are cool," Leo protested, grinning as he twirled them in his hands with a metallic shwing.

"You just like them because you always win at any swordsmanship event at tournaments," Donnie remarked dryly, grabbing a long wooden staff to hold in his hands, testing the weight of it. "... That being said, should we maybe grab some of these just in case?"

"Whaddya mean?" Raph glanced over at the other.

"Well, we haven't even made it to the Hidden City yet, and we've already been attacked once," Donnie reasoned, placing a hand on his hip and frowning. "So it wouldn't exactly be a bad idea to have some weapons on hand in case of an emergency." He spun the bo staff in his hands appraisingly a few times. "I mean, obviously this is a bit underwhelming, but I'm sure I could make some improvements once we got back home..."

"Sounds like a good plan to me! Look at all the stuff they’ve got!” Mikey cheered, immediately diving in, beginning to sort through all the various options they had in the room. He chuckled darkly, swinging a pair of nun-chucks in his hands. “These’ll do…”

“Yo, guys!” Raph called, waving to get his brothers’ attention before pointing to the very far corner of the room. “If we’re gonna take stuff, why don’t we take the glowy ones?”

There was, in fact, a weapons rack filled with floating, vaguely glowing weapons, tucked away in the shadows, which only made the glow all that much more tempting. They were simply begging to be taken.

Mikey and Leo, almost in unison, gasped, their faces absolutely lighting up as they raced over to join Raph. “Ooh, dibs on the sword!” Leo cheered, immediately snatching up the odachi and repeatedly striking poses.

“Hot soup! Check me out!” Mikey snatched up a bright orange kusari-fundo, absolutely beaming ear-to-ear. Raph was nearly drooling as he laid his claim on a pair of tonfas, beaming as he gave a few experimental swings. 

“They’re perfect! No one’ll mess with us now!”

“What about you, Donnie?” April questioned, tilting her head back to glance at the remaining brother. “Don’t you want a glowy weapon?”

“And add yet another unknown, uncontrolled variable to our current situation? I’m good,” Donnie scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’ve trained with a regular, wooden bo staff. I’ll fight with a wooden bo staff, thank you very much. You all have fun with your likely-radioactive weaponry,” he said, waving them off. 

“Here, April, I got something for you, too,” Mikey chirped excitedly, scampering over to present his find to her. “Ta-da!!! Baseball bat!”

It wasn’t a baseball bat-- it was a club. But close enough! April gasped in delight. “It’s perfect!” She enthused, immediately snatching it up, rolling it around in her hands and tapping it against the side of her shoe a few times. Ooh, and the weight was perfect, too. “And I think it can help us get little guy out of this ball thingie, too! Leo, come hold it still for me!”

 "Aw man, why do I gotta hold it?" Leo muttered in complaint but did as he was told regardless, kneeling down to hold the orb steady, taking care in the placement of his hands to minimize the chances of broken fingers.

 "Alright," April said, backing up a bit, her tongue sticking out from between her lips with focus. "This won't hurt a bit..." 

She swung the club back, taking care to temper her strength, and brought it down on the little ball prison with a satisfying crunch. 

"Did it work?" Mikey gasped, his eyes wide as he leaned over. The orb was not shattered nor laying in pieces; but the side of it had caved in considerably, a spiderweb of cracks blossoming from it, and a second later, it simply dissolved as if it had never been there in the first place. The creature that had previously been trapped inside cracked one eye open, having squeezed itself into the very back of its cage, flinching at the oncoming impact, gave an absolute trill of excitement, darting about in celebration.

"There we go!" April said, grinning wide, her hands planted on her hips. "See, told ya I'd get you outta there! That's better, right?"

The little yellow beast threw itself into her lap, wriggling with joy and nuzzling at her with an enthusiastic wag of its tail. "Okay, okay! You're welcome!" April laughed, giggling as she allowed the creature to clamber about in her arms, allowing it time to bounce about before it finally began to settle again.

"Any chance you know how to get out of here, little guy?"

---

Raph looked up from his phone and his tea at the sound of mail plopping down on the table, glancing over to examine the letters his father had just tossed over in his direction.

"For you," Dad remarked, sorting through the remaining mail from the day.

"For me?" Raph echoed, his brows rising up. "Who the heck is sending me mail?" Curiosity took hold immediately, and he abandoned the wrestling video he had been watching previously in favor of tearing open the letters on the table.

He was surprised to find college brochures inside. His father, however, did not seem all that surprised at all, even adding a couple more to the pile.

"It seems you are in high demand," Dad teased, smiling the tiniest bit. "I have received a few emails as well from recruiters recently."

Raph paused for a moment, rolling this idea about in his brain, trying to figure out what it meant and what it tasted like before he forced a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Guess they haven't seen my grades yet," he joked weakly. Dad hummed softly, pulling up a chair so he could sit down next to his eldest son.

"Nonsense," he scoffed. "Your grades are fine, Raphael. You've simply tricked yourself into thinking they're not by comparing yourself to others," he added, giving the other a knowing look. "And besides that, this is hardly the only thing that matters. I have told you many times that grades aren't everything. My grades in high school were terrible!" He remarked with a laugh. "And your career in sports is very impressive."

"I guess," Raph said, wrinkling his nose up a bit as he leaned over the table. Easy for him to say. He had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of colleges being interested in him when his three younger brothers were right here in the same damn house! Had they really meant to send these to Hamato Raphael?

Dad's hand moved to rub little circles into his back, and he nudged his son's teacup a bit. Raph agreeably took a sip, allowing the warm liquid to trickle down through his chest.

"I know you have not always enjoyed schoolwork, Raphael," Dad finally spoke again. "But you are not stupid. You may very well have the most common sense of any of my children!" He chuckled. "And you have many talents besides that. You are a remarkable athlete, and I know I do not have to drag you over to the trophy wall to prove this to you, but I will if I have to. You are only sixteen and you are already the captain of multiple sports teams... not just anyone could handle that! It is difficult to lead a team. But you have always handled this with grace. And teaching children! That is a talent in and of itself. That is no easy task. Trust me, I know," he said, smiling slightly. "But you are doing so well with your new job. And I am very proud of you."

 Raphael glanced over at his father, for just a moment, hesitating like he wanted to say something, but then biting it back.

"You don't have to go to college if you don't want to," Dad added. "If you decide that is not the path for you, that is fine. I won't be upset or disappointed. I did not go to college, either! But I would hate for you to not even consider it just because you don't think you're good enough for it," he pressed. "I know you've always said you intend to pursue a career in sports of some kind, but this is very much an avenue to achieve that if you'd like. Many professional athletes get their start through college sports, you know. And I can already name half a dozen universities off the top of my head who would be thrilled to have you on their team in a couple of years!"

He sighed softly.

"But you do not have to decide right now, my son. There is still plenty of time for you to consider all of your options."

Raph glanced over at his father, shifting a bit in his seat, before looking to the side.

"Uh. I dunno, Pops. I mean. I'm not good at tests and all that junk. I mean. College football could be good 'n all, but, uh..."

He hesitated a second, sort of scratching the side of his jaw, hesitating a bit. "I dunno. Maybe I could... I mean. We could look at it, at least. I was kind of wonderin’ about, uh. I dunno… Just, lately, I was thinkin' about... studyin' early childhood education, maybe?..."

[ next ]

[silverofthunder]

☆ body and blood ☆

🔻DRACOPIA SERIES 🔻

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader

summary: One night Reader meets a mysterious man at the cemetery and there forms an instant connection that is not easy to understand but they both embrace it.

content: 37.8k words || mystery (kind of), drama, fantasy, vampires, family stuff, romance, fluff, mentions of blood and killing, angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, some humor, SFW/NSFW...

parts:

watcher in the night (2.6k)

hunter's moon (3.1k)

heart's desires (2.6k)

(the beauty of) your world (2.8k)

the greatest temptation (2.9k)

downfall (2.6k)

a thought of forever (2.8k)

of decisions and right moments (2.8k)

bliss and fear (3k)

shadow of the past (2.8k)

confessions (2.6k)

where i belong (2.7k)

life eternal (3.8k)

➡️ also on AO3

.

finished on 29/08/2024

Wow, I did it. I really did it. I wrote a proper length, multichapter fic and finished it. This is a huge achievement for me, honestly, as long stories have never been my strongest suit. But I’m so proud of myself that I managed to keep this together at least some way. This is far from perfect but I think that this still might be my best work of all so far. This was supposed to be only a few chapter long thing, originally, but then everything got out of hand and then I noticed that the story really pulled me in and now we are here, 13 chapters later. This was supposed to be just a silly, little thing but grew to be so much more. It took a bit over 5 months to get here but I’m impressed how fast I really did this. Writing this has been an amazing, challenging and instructive experience. While I loved writing this, this also proved why I haven’t written anything this long before. It requires so much work so that you can keep everything together and not forget anything important. But I’m so happy I did this, went with the flow and saw how this turned out. Lastly, I want to thank all those who have read this, left kudos or comments (liked or reblogged this). Those mean so much. ♥