#because they also have plenty of info to embarrass him back and there's a child here

[golden-explosions-main]

🌼- *the flower nods, before asking with an excited and stary-eyed expression*

Do you guys like video games??

*with the same excited little kid energy as “do you have games on your phone”*

Flowey lights up as if he's been activated: "Frisk 'likes' video games, but I LOVE video games!" *He then proceeds to list all of the games he owns and then takes it further by rambling about his favorite game series, he rambles for at least five minutes until he catches himself and stops*

Flowey, looks to Frisk: "Now it's your turn,"

Frisk, caught off guard: "I'm not a big gamer like him, and I enjoy .... 'peaceful' stuff, like farming games and life simulators,"

Flowey: "Just be honest and say you like to pretend to be a god,"

Frisk: "No, because what I like to pretend to be is a farmer who's going pet my animals and romance and marry my favorite characters,"

Flowey: "Awful,"

[ilosttrackofthings]

I’ve decided to reread Harry Potter for the first time in a decade for Halloween (because reasons I guess) and here are my thoughts/observations as of finishing CoS.

I continue to hate Dumbledore. I’m definitely seeing him as more fleshed out, but that doesn’t make him better. Like, he’s really good with the kids, he clearly still understands what it’s like to be young and sympathizes with them in ways adults tend not to, it’s easy to see why Harry hero worships him. But that’s just the problem because understanding the kids also means he’s better at manipulating them.

It’s even addressed! Someone brings up that it almost seems like Dumbledore arranged everything in PS so Harry would face Voldemort and Harry, being an eleven year-old, defends him by saying that Dumbledore just knew he needed the chance to face him. Which makes sense because he’s ELEVEN, but anyone with critical thinking skills should be like “ummmmm...” So yeah. I still hate Dumbledore.

And guys it’s so obvious he was always gay! He wears a flower bonnet at Christmas! It’s S U B T E X T

The centaurs so clearly already know Harry’s gonna die and the first time it reads like they know he’s in danger or like he circumvents fate but NO it’s the future-future and my HEART

I never appreciated before how witty Snape is. His protection for the stone is a riddle and his final for the first years is to brew a forgetfulness potion from memory. And when Ginny’s taken to the Chamber, he’s the one who steps in and gets Lockhart out of the way. And he’s a jerk to the kids but we also see him being at least decent to his coworkers. If he could’ve just gotten over Lily, he could’ve had his own child to send to Hogwarts to torment Harry instead of having to work through Draco (who, frankly, is a little shit. I still love him but man does he make it rough).

The Improper Use of Magic office sends Harry a reminder that Muggles shouldn’t be exposed to magic via an owl that drops the letter on a Muggle’s head. Nice.

Dumbledore says in PS that he’s leaving Harry with the Dursleys in part because it will be better for his development; he won’t grow up knowing he’s this famous figure and get a big head or something. (Obviously this is a complete lie, there’s plenty of meta out there about this being not only because of the Lily’s blood thing but also because it’s a great way for Dumbledore to make himself a heroic figure in Harry’s life; regardless I’m still gonna tear it apart.) Except that Harry winds up with no idea how to handle his own fame. If he’d grown up knowing about it, he could’ve developed mechanisms to deal with awkward moments and people taking him off guard and all that uncomfortable stuff we see him struggling over throughout the books.

In CoS we see the teachers suddenly giving out points like Mardi Gras beads. In PS the kids had to do something exceptional to earn points but now they’re getting them just for throwing out answers in class. Which makes me think the teachers, after six years of Slytherin wins, were being stingy with the points to try to hold them back from a seventh year win.

Am I still bitter the House Cup was stolen from them in PS? A little less tbh. There’s an argument to be made Harry and co earned those points (even if it’s obnoxiously obvious that Dumbledore gave them just enough to put them over) but should they have been awarded at the feast already being held in Slytherin’s honor? This wasn’t like CoS where the feast was an impromptu thing immediately after the climactic battle. There was plenty of time in between to dole out those points without embarrassing Slytherin.

After spending a year blindly buying into Lockhart’s bullshit, Hermione will go on to out Lupin as a werewolf. I know Snape basically fed her all the info, but I really think the shame of being so utterly wrong about Lockhart (especially when the boys were right) really stuck with her.

Listen, I am trying to like Dobby here, he’s enduring terrible punishments and risking worse just to protect this child he’s never met, but his speech pattern is sooo much like Gollum’s and that is not helping.

Speaking of, based on everything that happens there’s no reason to assume Dobby doesn’t see Petunia take a swing at Harry with a frying pan and he still goes through with his “stay with the Dursleys” plan. Because that wouldn’t kill him.

Back in PS, after sending Norbert off to Charlie, Harry and Hermione are caught coming down from the Astronomy Tower by McGonagall. (Ron is absent because he was bitten by Norbert and needed medical treatment to avoid losing his hand.) In CoS, when Hermione’s petrified and McGonagall is taking Harry aside to tell him, Ron is almost an afterthought, only being brought along because he shows up. I’m just saying, McGonagall thought Harry and Hermione were making out on the Astronomy Tower and that they’re an adorable tween couple.

Tom: “You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father’s name forever?” But... But it’s there, Tom. It’s right there. In your new name. ‘Cause you made it out of the letters of your old name. You’re still carrying him around, Tom.

As I’m reading I’m mentally comparing these to what I remember of the films (I haven’t watched them since even before my last reread so I don’t remember much) and imagining a more faithful netflix series version. The only thing so far that I’d want changed from the way it plays out in the books is the Percy/Penelope revelation. He should’ve gotten a big reunion with her at the feast.

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean.  She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

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

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

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

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

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

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

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

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

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

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

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

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

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

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

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

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan’s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

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

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

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

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

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

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

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

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[supercantaloupe]

on Aelwyn Abernant, the Reformed Villain Squad, and redeeming teenage antagonists

an analysis on antagonist character development in Fantasy High. spoilers through sophomore year and (mildly so) the most recent roll20 oneshot. essay under the cut bc i am very long winded

the turnaround with Aelwyn in s2 is handled so well  i cant get over it. she was such a major antagonist in the first season and just. despicable. she had no pathos. we hated this bitchy older sister who tried to kill Adaine and her friends and raise an evil dragon, and when she gets knocked on her ass and thrown in jail, we cheer.

and then s2 fucking starts saying “hey she’s in jail still if you’d like to look into that” and pursuing that thread ends up being almost as comedic an idea as it is a reluctant one; it’s also quickly shunted to the background as soon as more pressing leads present themselves, to the point where we almost forget about her until Adaine is kidnapped and then the first time you see her it’s just. viscerally upsetting.

she’s bad. she did evil. she got what she deserved.

but she already got what she deserved. last season.

she got her ass handed to her by a bunch of 14 year olds including her little sister (how embarrassing!). her plans were thwarted. she got punched in the face and made fun of. she already got her punishment.

it just……immediately registers as over-the-top Wrong to be told “hey, remember that antagonist you beat last season? she’s still being punished for that, except it’s way worse than just going to mumple.”

and there’s that reminder that like…this is a teenager. a child. who has been manipulated and abused. which is a really fascinating look at this character we used to see pretty much unilaterally as a one dimensional bitchy villain.

i mean we got a more in depth look at Penelope’s and Biz’s motivations in s1 (Penelope being the popular rich girl sorceress obviously hungry for power and the alllure of the high school clout that is being prom queen, but also we know that her having to turn on her best friend Sam Nightingale as part of the scheme was something she was reluctant and not happy to do; and Biz being that predatory incel creeper type dude besides just a nerd with computers and a lack of social graces). and they were as much willingly active in the plot as Aelwyn was. yet in s1 they really never do bother to explore Aelwyn’s motivations. i remember after watching s1 but before s2 that was one of my biggest lingering questions: why tf was Aelwyn involved?

well. she was manipulated and abused. her terrible parents raised her in an awful environment that conditioned her to Listen and Obey and Behave and Be Perfect, and then Kalina helped cinch the noose around her neck with threats and coersion into the KVS Kaper and the NMK crown debacle. she doesn’t freely choose any of it; she’s coerced, manipulated, abused.

and she already got justifiably punished for her bad actions in s1. the torture is almost literal overkill. it’s just……there’s this immediate turnaround in sympathy and view of the character. on first watch, it’s viscerally upsetting to see her getting so brutally punished for actions she already faced consequences for, and on rewatch, it makes your skin crawl to know she’s being tortured for terrible things she had little choice in carrying out. and tortured by some of the very same people who coerced her to behave terribly in the first place, to add insult to injury.

and it’s still fucking frustrating when they rescue her and her memory gets reset and she goes back to her parents because it’s like “well shit, she’s evil again, and we just wasted all that effort for nothing” but it’s also sad cause we know she’s running back to her abusers and she isn’t happy about it but doesn’t feel like she has a choice. and it’s sadder still that what eventually inevitably gets her to turn to good for good (i.e. away from her parents) is just. a full dissociative mental breakdown.

(but then she survives and it’s gonna be good!!! until Adaine dies in her fucking arms. which is. almost funny. she’s been through so much shit and that isn’t something that Brennan would have just. preplanned. like a written in plot point. no, that was just an unpredictable consequence of the battle. what a juicy fucking moment. she’s been through All That Shit™️ and has finally turned to fight for good and her sister just fully dies in front of her. yeowch)

and she turns out okay in the end. she comes out the other side alive and whole and supported by her sister and her friends, with the hope of a future and recovery. there is an acknowledgement that A) she can and will grow from her mistakes and damage, B) it’s going to be really hard, and C) the post-s2 one shots both prove that she’s doing okay now. hell, she has a whole squad now of other former-teenage-villains-turned-good-guys. she has friends now, Ragh and Zayn, with common ground, and a secret handshake and everything. they’ve all grown from the mistakes of their past into better, happier, healthier people

and about Zayn and Ragh. we’ve seen a lot of characters, protagonist and antagonist, teenage and adult, PC and NPC do some really fucked up shit and get punished for it. but why do they get happy endings? why are Aelwyn, Ragh, and Zayn the only members of the RVS and not someone else like Biz or Penelope or Dayne? 

well, the latter two are dead by then; but then again, Biz and Ragh were also killed by the Bad Kids in s1, and subsequently resurrected. (Zayn died too, but was neither killed nor revived at the Bad Kids’ hands, so i’ll get to him in a sec.) and there are plenty of adult antagonists the Bad Kids face who are killed and left that way by the Bad Kids without second thought: Johnny Spells, Coach Daybreak, Captain Wicklaw, the Abernant parents (presuming Arianwen doesn’t survive in the forest for very long, which i doubt). why do some characters get second chances while others don’t?

in the case of Zayn, his death was pretty much out of the Bad Kids’ hands, and they later found out he was manipulated by Daybreak into being bad anyway because of his sad living situation. he was a pretty minor antagonist in the scheme of things, and when we re-meet him as a ghost in the s1 epilogue, he’s pretty obviously remorseful for his actions. and dying seems like a steep enough punishment to me for the shit he did to contribute to the KVX caper; returning as a ghost, free from the trappings of his unfortunate living life, he now has the room and freedom to grow into a better person.

in the cases of Daybreak, Spells, Wicklaw, and the Abernant parents: these are bad people who should know better. these are fully grown adults who actively choose to do evil. whether they think it’s the right thing to do or not (in Daybreak’s case), whether they think it will benefit them and don’t care about anyone else (in the Abernants’ case), or whether they don’t care much at all and are just doing shit because they feel like it (in the cases of Spells and Wicklaw), these are all adults who consciously make the decision to do terrible things and hurt other people. of course Johnny Spells, who is generally a punk thief and thug, is not on the same level of bad as Angwyn, who kidnaps and tortures his own daughters for political gain, but the point remains. these fuckers should know better. they’re grown ups. they had their chances to be good and they chose not to heed them. their minds are set on bad actions and they are a continued danger to other people as long as they are alive. when they die, the Bad Kids do their damndest to make sure it stays that way.

now, in the cases of Penelope and Dayne: these are teenagers who actively chose to participate in an evil plot. Penelope, Dayne, and Biz were all fully cognizant of what they were doing trying to raise KVX back to his former power. why? well, to some extent, we can only speculate. i suspect Penelope was just one of those Regina George bitches who is rich and popular and powerful and obsessed with power and popularity within high school as if that’s the end-all-be-all of existence (which, like, when you’re currently in high school, is a somewhat understandable worldview i think). Dayne being her boyfriend and a musclehead jock probably falls into a similar line of thinking. they are actively and willingly trying to cause harm, and teenager or not, must be stopped. they’re killed, anyway, during the Climactic Battle™️ anyhow; it’s not like the Bad Kids were going to gain anything at that point by keeping them alive.

now, Biz: Biz is the creepy Nice Guy incel type, sees woman as a prize he deserves to win, yadda yadda. he does, like Penelope and Dayne, actively choose to help KVX. there might be something to be said about his motivation the Bad Kids discover after the arcade battle by detecting his thoughts (that being to upload the captured maidens from the palimpsests to “call the shots” himself) is an altered memory; whether this was his original motivation from the start or not, i’m not sure. but the Bad Kids do kill him – and then resurrect him for important, time-sensitive information. and they beat it out of him – he gets two of his fucking fingers blown off. and Riz reattaches them once they have their info, and they realize his memory is altered. of course, the Bad Kids don’t know at this point that the altered memory was something he, Penelope, and Aelwyn had planned and agreed on and done to themselves, but this points to something important in my opinion: the Bad Kids, and the narrative/show as a whole by extension, acknowledge that external manipulation affects how guilty someone is in a crime.

which brings us to Ragh. Ragh, introduced from episode 1 as the meathead jock. Ragh the archetypical one-dimensional high school bully. Ragh who works with the harvestmen in effort to (ostensibly) end the world/provoke international war. Ragh, whose low intelligence but high loyalty and internalized homophobia led him to be fully swayed and blindly led by his coach and captain, who have actively chosen to do evil. Ragh who is killed in combat by the Bad Kids and resurrected for information, not Daybreak. Ragh, who the Bad Kids realize was probably not aware of exactly what he was being made to do and how bad it really was. Ragh, who by their kindness in sparing his life and directing him on a better path, becomes a well-rounded character and an active ally to the Bad Kids during and after prom, an invaluable companion during their quest in sophomore year, and overall a really good friend and person. 

(it might also be worth considering the case of Jawbone here, too, who started out a very minor antagonist in a fight but ended up becoming a major NPC because the Bad Kids talked to him, found out he came from an unfortunate situation and set of circumstances, and showed him kindness in offering the school guidance counselor position, a kindness that isn’t really owed but given anyway and ends up changing his entire life for good.)

and then, Aelwyn, whose case is already discussed above. so, why is the RVS what it is, why them but not others?

if you’re familiar with Avatar: the Last Airbender, you’re probably familiar with Zuko’s character arc, and how it’s often lauded as a masterful example of developing a villain into a hero over the course of a narrative. what makes Zuko’s arc so well done and exceptional is that he starts out as a kid in a bad situation under the influence of bad adults seeking to do bad deeds, but he later realizes the error of those ways, actively removes himself from that situation despite the difficulty and danger in doing so, goes through a lot of shit and reflects on his past mistakes and learns from them, and then actively chooses to fight for good in the end with the help of close, trusted friends, found family. 

this, i believe, is the same in the case of Fantasy High and its treatment of the RVS. its members, like Zuko, are all teenagers who came from shitty situations and were manipulated by evil adults to do bad. they are punished for their bad actions, and they learn from their errors and mistakes. with the kindness and help of good people, friends and chosen family, they are able to escape their abusers and bad situations and grow into their own people. and they actively choose to improve themselves with that help and fight for good.

Fantasy High, through the arcs of Jawbone, Zayn, Ragh, and especially Aelwyn, asserts that it is not your fault if you come from a bad situation and are forced to behave badly as a result. it does not pretend that you are absolved of any responsibility for those actions; quite the opposite, as even though they were externally manipulated into their evil actions, all of those mentioned characters face tangible consequences for their actions and later express remorse for their mistakes. but Fantasy High also asserts that even if you have made great mistakes in your past, even if you came from a bad situation beyond your control, even if you were manipulated and abused, with care and love and support and a hell of a lot of work and effort, you can improve your situation and find good, happiness, peace, you can thrive. evil adults who should know better don’t get redeemed. teenagers who aren’t coerced but actively choose evil don’t get redeemed. but abused kids deserve another shot at happiness. with enough work, and some love and help along the way, they can get there, even from the lowest imaginable point, from rock fucking buttom. it’s possible. 

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Here she is!!! I finally got round to drawing her again and I’m actually relatively happy with how she turned out. She is one of my favourite ocs and I love her to bits - I made her almost a year ago when I was thinking about some random EctoLoader headcanons and suddenly had the urge to give them a child...and so then she was designed :D I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post my initial designs as well because I really don’t like the look of my old art but you know why not:

Please keep in mind that these are quite old and um...not that brilliant but they were my first quick sketches of her and I ended up writing a whole entire backstory for her so yeah! (Now that I look back at it I realise I didn’t make her hair poofy enough in the new drawing...also the page ripped and I was really sad about that-) anyway here’s some info about her (under the cut because it ended up a little longer than I expected):

AH I forgot to say!! There are mentions of death and severe injury and other stuff like that in the backstory so please read with caution!

Name -> Yuna Makimi

Age -> 17

Quirk -> “Adapt” - her quirk allows her to adapt certain parts of her body to suit whatever situation she is in. A main example of this would be when she creates little pads on the ends of her fingers which pick up vibrations, enabling her to “see” her surroundings a little better. However she cannot use her quirk to restore parts of her body that are lost/severely damaged (like her legs + eyes).

Occupation -> Student at UA

Current status -> Alive

Family -> Mother (deceased), Father (deceased), Powerloader (adopted dad), Ectoplasm (adopted dad)

Likes -> Dumplings, sitting in flower fields, doing literally anything with her friends + family

More info + backstory:

So, like I mentioned, I came up with her when I was thinking about EctoLoader headcanons and one of these hcs is that after Ecto loses his legs they both go round and pay visits to hospitals and other places to visit the children/patients there - and so yeah.

Yuna was part of quite the loving family, her parents were quite strict but loved her to pieces.

They weren’t the richest of people, and didn’t get along with the rest of their family for whatever reasons, but they were fine together - just the three of them.

That is until the accident that completely changed her life.

At the age of 8 she was caught up in a nasty villain attack as they were driving through the city and their car was completely destroyed. Her parents died at the scene and she was immediately whisked to hospital with very severe injuries.

She lost both her legs and almost all sight in her eyes, her parents were dead and she had nowhere to go, and at such a young age she felt so lost.

2 years passed and still nobody wanted to take her in, they said it would be “too much responsibility” to look after someone like her. And so at that point she had given up on all hope if someday being in a loving family again. Only 10 years old and her life had completely crumbled to pieces.

That is until one day PL swings by on one of his visits and meets this small child who looks as if she never smiles. He speaks to her and she slowly became less shy of this small man that sat in front of her. He decided to visit more often (he was made aware of her situation by one of the nurses that looked after her) and told Ecto all about this sweet little girl who he’d met who was in need of a better life. And over time they contemplated taking her in as their own - they weren’t sure yet but they had thought about it.

One day PL came with a surprise. He had put together a pair of prosthetic legs for her that she had mentioned to him before that she wished she had and that wasn’t all, they mentioned that this time Ecto came along too. She was absolutely overjoyed. She had heard about him and looked up to him a lot, he inspired her to keep going, even though she had lost her legs.

After discussing it with each other, they asked her whether she would be happy to come and live with them, and join a loving family once again. She was taken aback by the offer, as no one had even considered looking after for 2 whole years, but she realised that she was finally offered a normal life again and she was oh so happy with that...and so they adopted her and it was the best decision they ever made.

They helped her get used to her new home and she slowly got more and more comfortable with her new life. Ecto helped her with her therapy, guiding her when she felt lost and confused about what she’s doing. PL helped by tweaking little things about her prosthetics that could help her, and created little items to support her in her walking and her sight. They helped her discover new ways of using her quirk to allow her to be more aware of her surroundings and to help her “see” (she can’t use it to see fully, it just helps her to pinpoint the movements and positions of the objects/people around her a little better).

Soon enough, she was happier than ever, and when she was old enough she brought up her decision of wanting to go to UA. They weren’t sure whether or not she should, for her own safety, but she insisted that even with her disabilities she wanted to try her best at becoming a hero just like them in her own way...even if others believed it was barely possible. And so they allowed it. They taught there anyway so if anything were to happen they would always be close by.

She made a bunch of amazing friends at UA and learnt to handle her quirk in many different ways - expanding it to help her in various different situations. Her classmates would always be there to help her when she needed it but all believed that she was one of the strongest out of all of them - this really made her emotional because it wasn’t something that she ever expected to hear - and hearing this really made Ecto and PL happy, because they had watched as this tiny helpless girl had grown up to become strong, happy and incredibly loved.

And that’s my “little” backstory for her! Sorry its a bit sad and all that but it wouldn’t be one of my backstories if it wasn’t some form of tragic....:/ Anyway have some random headcanons for her->

She cannot ride in a car unless she is holding someone’s hand, this is pretty self-explanatory.

She loves jokes and stupid puns, they make her so incredibly happy it’s unbelievable.

She also loves flowers - they smell nice.

She isn’t entirely blind - she can just about make out shapes and moving objects but without the aid of her quirk she finds it hard to tell the difference between what might be a person and what might just be a large object.

She loves to sing and dance, and she has a beautiful voice, however she gets embarrassed if she gets caught.

She is always happy to spend any sort of time with her dads because with their jobs as heroes, free time can sometimes be very hard to come by.

Sorry how absolutely all over the place this is, I have plenty more headcanons and info about her, but I think I’ve rambled on for quite long enough now! (Plus I kinda just want to post it now because the more I look at the drawing the less I like it-)

Anyway, I hope you like her! She is one of my favourite characters that I’ve made and she makes me very happy. Hopefully, I’ll draw her some more :)

~Eclair

[moonlit-han]

my favorite flower ↠ han jisung

(gif by @han-jisung)

genre: fluff, florist!Jisung x barista!reader word count: 2k warnings: none request: Sort of? Enjoy, Sara! a/n: credit to @junhuisflower​ for the idea for this fic~

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio✧

*✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jisung was having a dreadful day.

The florist where he worked was overrun with people buying their significant others flowers for Valentine’s Day, even though it was still a week away, and they all insisted on their bouquets being impeccably arranged and be-ribboned. Those who bought the little trinkets the store offered, in addition to the large array of flowers, wanted them wrapped nicely—with a gift receipt included, please, if it’s not too much trouble. It was also rainy and cold, which meant customers kept tracking water and mud into the shop, making the floor ever so slightly slippery. He’d already dealt with one child slipping and the subsequent meltdown, and really didn’t want to go through that again. And, to cap it all off, he had a headache, which had started around 2 pm and would not go away.

Since a holiday was fast approaching, Jisung was working later than usual and had a break before the evening rush. He decided that what he needed was coffee and lots of it, preferably with several shots of espresso to keep him awake and to quell the pounding in his head. So, he threw on his coat and scarf, kicking himself for not remembering a hat nor an umbrella, and headed across the street.

As soon as Jisung entered the small, cozy cafe, he relaxed. The sharp smell of coffee and the sweetness of baked goods mingled tantalizingly before his nose, and a lazy smile spread across his face without him even realizing it. He joined the mercifully short line to the counter, thinking that he could really go for something simple, as long as there was plenty of caffeine in it. Preoccupied with his phone, Jisung didn’t notice he was at the beginning of the line.

“Hi, what can I get for you this evening?” a light voice asked. After a pause it said again, “Hello?”

Jisung’s head shot up, looking a bit sheepish, and he blinked. A beautiful young woman stood in front of him, head cocked to the side and waiting to take his drink order. Suddenly, his day had gotten a lot better.

“I- Sorry. Um, could I have a medium latte with an extra shot of espresso, please?” Jisung said, trying his best to seem casual when, in reality, he was practically shaking.

“Sure, that’ll be ready in a few minutes at the counter to the right,” you said as Jisung paid and went to stand to the side.

He knew it would be rude to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Jisung was instantly drawn to you without prompting nor reason. You were the prettiest person he’d ever seen, and he was friends with Hyunjin, whose delicate features usually drew the attention of every person in a room. Maybe it was your smile and the way your eyes sparkled. Maybe it was the way the loose strands of hair fell around your face. Or maybe it was just the mellifluousness of your voice. He could barely think. Oh no, he really needed to keep it together since he was in public.

Jisung went to the counter to retrieve his coffee once it was ready, and tried not to yelp as his hand brushed yours. He scurried out of the cafe as quickly as possible, not wanting to embarrass himself anymore than he already had.

The next morning, Jisung returned to the little cafe across from the florist. He went back the day after that, and the next, and even the next day after that. Without fail, he was there at 8:30 am to get his latte and sometimes a bun. He never stayed long, since he had the shop to open, but it was nice to have this new routine. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t gone there before. By the fifth morning of him going to the cafe, you knew his order and even had the coffee almost ready.

“Morning!” you said brightly, “Same as usual?”

“Yeah, and a bun, too, please. Any flavor is fine!”

“Sure thing! Also, what’s your name? You come in here all the time and I can’t believe I’m just now asking,” you wondered.

“Oh!” Jisung was surprised you’d even ask. He was just a customer, no one special, right? “My name’s Jisung. Han Jisung. You’re Y/N, right? I noticed your name tag and all.” He stopped before he could say more, not wanting to admit that he’d noted your name the first day he saw you and committed it to memory.

“Yep, I’m Y/N,” you said, “And you have a lovely name. It sounds like the wind blowing through willow leaves. I like it.”

Jisung blushed, not used to compliments, especially from a pretty girl on whom he had such a crush. “Th-thank you. I like your name, too.”

You finished swirling steamed and frothed milk, espresso, and caramel together as Jisung squirmed on the other side of the counter.

“So, you work at the florist, right?” you said. “Has it been as busy over there as in here? I feel like I’ve seen at least twenty couples of high schoolers going on awkward coffee dates just in the past week.”

“Oh my god, it’s been crazy. Everyone wants special flowers and we only have so many because, wow, it’s the middle of winter. People just don’t seem to get that flowers have to grow and that takes time. The rain hasn’t been helping moods, either. Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear the rants of a frustrated florist.” Yet again, Jisung’s mouth had tried to run away of its own accord. “Those high schoolers must be annoying, though—I can’t imagine having to deal with them. At least my customers are mainly adults.”

You laughed, and Jisung thought he’d never heard anything so free and beautiful. “It sounds like a busy week for you, too! Yeah, they’ve been a bit . . . loud? Constantly here?” You handed Jisung his coffee and one of the special currant buns the owner of the cafe had made just that morning. “Here you go, Jisung!”

“Thanks, Y/N. Good luck with the high schoolers.” Jisung took a sip of the coffee. “Oooh, caramel! Thanks!” he said, appreciatively, meeting your eyes and praying that you wouldn’t notice him blushing while he paid.

“Well, at least they have dates for Valentine’s Day,” you said, looking directly at Jisung. “Good luck with the last minute flower orders. See you tomorrow, then!”

Jisung smiled in response and made his way to the door. Had you been trying to hint at something? It was the day before Valentine’s Day, after all.

Throughout the day, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about you. How, despite only seeing you six times in his entire life, did he manage to have such a big crush on you? How?! As he helped customer after customer who wanted roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and every other fancy flower they could find, Jisung wondered which flowers would suit you best. Certainly something happy and carefree, yet strong and beautiful. You weren’t one for opulence—he could guess that much. Maybe sunflowers or tulips would do.

During his lunch break, Jisung went into the refrigerated room that held the flowers waiting to be brought out into the shop proper. He wanted to make you a bouquet, and it needed to be perfect. Jisung walked up and down the row of flowers in buckets, trying to find complementary blooms for one large sunflower and four deep crimson tulips. Every so often, he’d stop and bring a flower to his nose or hold it next to the sunflower and tulips. He finally choose a few fern fronds, and sprigs of baby’s-breath and feverfew. The white and green would set off the deep yellow and red nicely. The bouquet almost seemed to smile at him, the colors were so warm and bright. Just like you.

Jisung set the flowers down on his station, arranged them to his satisfaction, and carefully wrapped protective paper around the bouquet. He even tied a deep red ribbon around the paper to better highlight the tulips. Pleased with his work, he continued his break and the rest of the afternoon with a light heart. When it came time for him to leave that evening, Jisung gathered his things and the bouquet, and steeled himself. If he didn’t do this now, he guessed he’d never be able to bring himself to do it again.

Jisung stepped into the cafe, hiding the bouquet behind his back. You looked up from the book you were reading, since, somehow, there was a lull in the steady stream of customers you’d had all afternoon. The smile on your face when you noticed it was him gave Jisung the extra courage to walk up to the counter.

“Jisung!” you exclaimed. “You’re back! What’s up?”

“Um, well, I wanted to give you these,” Jisung said, only a little nervously. He handed you the bouquet, hoping you’d like it. “You’re really pretty, Y/N. And, you said you didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to go on a date with me! I understand if you don’t, since we’ve only seen each other a handful of times, but it’s always nice to have company, right?” Jisung finished, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Thank you!” you said earnestly. “H-how did you know these are my favorite flowers?”

“I guessed?” Jisung’s blush became more pronounced and he glanced away before meeting your eyes again. “You’re my favorite flower, and you’re always so cheerful—but also steady and strong—so I thought sunflowers and tulips would be perfect. I hope that wasn’t too forward . . ..”

“Jisung, this is perfect,” you said, beaming at the young man in front of you. “I’d love to go on a date with you! You’re always so sweet and, uh, you’re pretty cute, too.”

The look on Jisung’s face should have been distilled for future use as a remedy against sadness, he was so happy. “Really? You’ll go out with me?” he asked, still not quite believing it.

“Of course—how could I resist being courted with flowers? Oh! We should go ice skating!”

The next evening, Valentine’s Day, Jisung met you at the outdoor ice rink. You’d brought hot tea—you had enough of coffee at work—to fend off the chill. He was glad to have a chance to just stand with you in comfortable silence as you watched the other skaters. You were easy to be with, and didn’t feel the need to talk all the time, which immediately endeared you to Jisung even more. When the two of you did speak, it was all the more meaningful because you shared what you really cared about: books, music production, the cutest small animals you could think of, etc.

Jisung hadn’t been skating in years, so he laid himself at your mercy to help him stay upright on the ice. It also gave him the excuse to hold your hand for long stretches, but you didn’t seem to mind either. It wasn’t long until he got his feet back under him and was skating smoothly.

As the two of you skated around the ice rink, the snow started to fall gently as other couples laughed and spun around you. You looked up at Jisung. He had his head tilted up to the sky, much like a sunflower, and was catching snowflakes on his cheeks and eyelashes. He had a blissful smile on his face and paid no mind to the strands of blond hair falling into his eyes.

“Jisung?” you said.

“Hmmm?”

“If I’m your favorite flower,” you mused, “then you’re my sunshine, right?”

Jisung’s eyes flew open and he skidded his skates so the two of you stopped. “Yes, of course,” he murmured as he wrapped you in a tight hug, and, surprised as you were, you hugged him just as tightly. When Jisung drew back slightly and looked at you, a gentle smile touching his eyes, you leaned up and kissed him. It was just a light touch on the lips, but it felt as warm and sparkling as the first truly warm day in spring when the sun breaks through clouds to dispel any lingering tendrils of frost or cold wind. Everything just seemed so right with Jisung—you couldn’t explain it but the feeling was lovely and you wanted it to stay. After all, a sunflower needed the sun to grow and the sun needed things on which to shine.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Cyrano Who?

Commissioned by the fantastic @likearumchocolatesouffle! Commission info is here!

~

“He doesn’t like me,” Rabiya muttered, bouncing her tennis ball off the wall.

“So?” James asked, scribbling in his notebook and glancing at her often. He was still having trouble describing her eyes.

“So… I feel like he should.” Rabiya threw the ball extra hard and dented her wall.

“Hey, easy!” James protested, reaching out to touch her arm. Rabiya stopped and turned to look at him sullenly. “Do you even like him back?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes,” she replied forcefully, frowning. “I mean… I think I do. He’s nice, and handsome, and rich, and mom and dad like him...”

She sounded utterly unconvinced. That hurt, but James didn’t say that. If Rabiya wasn’t attracted to Geoff, who was quite a few things besides nice, handsome, and rich, then what could she see in James, who was depressing, ugly, and poor?

“Maybe you just have to get his attention,” James suggested, a little weakly. “Do something that will interest him.”

“Like what?” Rabiya snapped. “He’s at the same law office as me, he reads the same books as us, and that’s it.”

James frowned, wracking his brain. The best he had ever done to attract a lady’s favor had been… “Write poetry?”

Rabiya finally laughed and punched James’ arm. “That’s your answer to everything!”

“Sometimes it works!” James protested.

“True, true.” Rabiya stopped laughing, and stared into the middle distance, thinking. James knew better than to interrupt her thoughts. Instead he listed every brown gemstone he could think of, trying to match her eyes. Sweet Rabiya, with her beautiful brown eyes and brown skin and her favorite shimmering purple hijab…

Suddenly, her face lit up, and she whirled on her cushion to grin at James. The gleam in her eyes scattered his thoughts, and instead of longing, he felt the excited dread he usually felt when she had a grand scheme.

“You write the poems,” she told James.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“You write them! We’ll say they’re from me, but you’ll be the writer! You’re better anyway.”

“Rabi, you know I can’t write poems about guys!” James protested, feeling his face flush. She was the only one who knew he was bi—and also the only one who knew he was worse at talking to guys than he was with girls. “And I don’t know him.”

“Ah!” Rabiya raised her hand, holding up one finger as she grinned. “But you will know him. You’re going to the company picnic with me, aren’t you?”

“Well… yes...”

“And Geoff has said he will be there, with his sister!”

“Rabi, I think I know where you’re going with this...”

“Get on her good side. Use your Adorable Face. We both know girls are suckers for your Adorable Face. Talk to her, be friendly, ask about her relationship with her brother, and glean as much info as you can. Geoff told me she’s talkative; all you have to do is encourage her and ask questions!”

Put that way, it sounded relatively simple. James swallowed hard. The pure glee on Rabiya’s face made him long to write another poem about her. Finally, he sighed. Anything for her. “Alright, fine. When do you want me to start writing?”

~

The first poem was insipid and lacked depth, but Rabiya said it was perfect and slipped it to Geoff the day before the picnic.

The picnic itself was… well, stressful. A bunch of mature adults in mature clothing, teenagers in mature clothing that they were obviously uncomfortable in, and small children in comfortable clothes perfect for playing in the dirt and woodchips. The adults spoke—whined, really—about youngsters these days and the cost of champagne and politics. The teenagers talked about school, teen drama, and politics. The children just ran around on the playground shrieking and laughing.

James felt even more uncomfortable than the teenagers. He was only twenty-one, but that was too old to talk to seventeen year olds. It was also too young to be taken seriously by the older adults. And his one nice outfit was a little tight and he couldn’t help adjusting it constantly. He knew he should’ve begged his mother for a new shirt at the very least.

Rabiya was cool and effortless, chatting with lawyers and doctors and CEOs as if she’d been doing so for years, despite also only being twenty-one. It was probably because she was tall, and looked damn good in a dark purple suit and an even darker hijab. James felt severely outshined, which wasn’t unusual.

Geoff and his sister were standing at the other end of the veranda, also looking out of place. Geoff’s locs were pulled back in a ponytail, and his face was set in a pleasant smile, but from the way he fiddled with his cup, James guessed he was bored, or nervous. Seeing the glazed eyes, James chose bored.

Geoff’s sister was not dressed like the other women. Her hair was wrapped in a bright yellow-and-red scarf, and her dress was of a fluttery fabric in red, yellow, and green. She stood out, proud and bright, lounging on the veranda pillar with a champagne flute. No pastels or jewel-tones there. James found himself thinking immediately of how the warm colors gave a rosy tint to her dark skin, how the green on her dress suggested ever-present life in the fires of the universe, how—

They both saw him staring. He looked away quickly, blushing furiously. There was nowhere to run, though. He had a drink, nonalcoholic punch; he had already had a few snacks, he didn’t want anyone to glare at him for going back to the snack table; and Rabiya was so engrossed in a conversation about private versus federal prisons that she barely noticed him.

James felt very alone and forgotten.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He jumped and spun, and the hand gripped his bicep to keep him upright.

“Hey, hey, sorry about that,” Geoff said, smiling. He had a very nice smile, his hand firm and warm as James steadied. His voice was nice, too; soft and smoky and still with a Jamaican accent. “You look a little bored. I’m Geoff.” He held out his hand to shake, and James returned the favor.

“I’m James,” he answered, ignoring how his hair flopped in his eye. Again. He really should’ve gotten it cut a while ago. “Um. I came with Rabiya.”

He didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but Geoff’s face lit up anyway. “Oh, Rabiya! Yes, I know her. She’s fantastic. If you came with her, you must be her friend the poet.”

James blushed. “Yeah,” he said softly.

“Do you want to hang out with me and my sister? We’re both tired of talking to the old people.” Geoff made a face, and James smiled. Well… maybe he could write a few poems easily enough.

Geoff’s sister hadn’t moved an inch, but when Geoff introduced James, she smiled and shook James’ hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice lighter than James had expected. “I’m Marie. Want some champagne?”

“No thank you,” James replied. “I don’t drink.”

“Good,” she said cheerfully, “’Cause this stuff tastes like pi—”

“Company,” Geoff interrupted. Marie stuck her tongue out at him.

It was actually quite nice, how quickly James relaxed with these two. They were funny, and kind, and Marie teased Geoff constantly. They had both read plenty of work by Maya Angelou, who was the only poet allowed in James’ parents’ home, and Marie had plenty of recommendations for Jamaican poets that James eagerly noted in his phone.

“My dad is pretty bad with poetry,” he admitted in a small voice, “And my mom can’t read English very well. I translate the English orders usually.”

Geoff and Marie nodded in understanding, and didn’t push the issue with the usual questions that made James feel small and sick.

He didn’t need to use his Adorable Face. The conversation was so natural that he picked up plenty of information without even meaning to. Then all three of them went on Facebook on their phones, and the siblings sent James friend requests. He accepted them so fast Marie laughed, but instead of feeling embarrassed, James just felt relieved. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind his daily haikus.

Rabiya glided over, and all three of them greeted her with pleasure. The catering had come and gone and everyone else was eating by the time they realized that several hours had passed. There was only one open spot big enough for the four of them, close to a table of loud children. James felt terrible upon seeing the spread of food, and only took one ham-and-cheese sandwich and a scoop of potato salad, while Rabiya, Geoff, and Marie loaded their plates. They all took their seats, and before any of them could take a bite, one small child leapt up from his seat, pointed right at James, and started making squealing noises like a pig.

The other small children laughed. James blushed so hard his face hurt, and he didn’t touch his food, even when the boy’s mother snarled at him about manners. Rabiya said softly, “James, really, it’s okay,” but he just shook his head and mushed his potato salad around. He hadn’t been hungry, anyway.

Around 8PM, the picnic broke up. James was glad. The small children had continued making pig-noises at him, no matter how many times parents or his friends told them off sharply. He felt sick and tired and the more he realized what bad company he was being, over something small like kids being kids, the more guilty he was.

When he and Rabiya climbed into Rabiya’s car, he was close to tears. Rabiya hugged him, and said quietly, fury in her voice, “Those fucking spoiled-ass brats. I’ll get you a smoothie. We can play Mario Kart for a bit before you go home.”

James nodded because if he refused, Rabiya would be sad, and he didn’t want her to be sad.

The smoothie helped, and he realized with another pang of guilt that most of his being upset was because he actually had been hungry. Rabiya’s parents were having another shouting match and didn’t notice them slip upstairs to her room.

James felt better after playing Mario Kart and telling Rabiya everything he’d learned. She teased him when he went on at length about how well-read Geoff was, but this kind of teasing he was used to. He could smile and pretend it didn’t hurt.

When he got home, his father was drunk and asleep, and his mother was painting again, some of James’ poems. They hugged, she gave him some soup, and he went to bed.

~

Poetry is hard.

James was used to filling up pages and pages trying to describe nature or emotions or Rabiya, but trying to write about a guy he barely knew was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Finally he decided to write about his voice. It had been a lovely voice. Very sexy. James emailed the poem to Rabiya, she printed it out and doodled some hearts and flowers, and then she slipped it to Geoff.

This was the point where James realized Rabiya actually wasn’t interested in Geoff.

He’d read her poetry. It was fantastic. Her love-poems were moving and her prose was spectacular. But… she could not draw up the emotion to write one of these poems for Geoff.

“I told my parents I was sending Geoff poems, because they were badgering me about marriage again,” she told James heavily over the phone. “They seemed pleased.”

“Are you pleased?” James asked.

She sighed. “James, let’s not go there. I’m tired of discussing it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

The more James forced himself to consider Geoff and write up as many passionate poems as he could, the more baffled James was. How could Rabiya not be interested in Geoff? It was very confusing.

One night, James was on Facebook, scrolling through some of the poetry groups he’d joined, when someone messaged him. Thinking it was Rabiya, or maybe Carl back in California, James opened the message without reading the name.

It was Geoff.

Hey, James! I have a conundrum and I was hoping you could help me. I keep getting these poems in my mailbox at work and I think they’re from Rabiya.

James’ stomach dropped.

I like them a lot, she’s an awesome poet. But I was hoping, can you help me write back to her? I’m not good with poetry. I’ll pay you if you’d like!

James took a deep breath, swallowed hard, wondered why he felt so anxious and sad, and answered.

No payment necessary! If it’s Rabiya, I’ll definitely help you out.

I insist. What’s your Paypal?

When they had negotiated the terms (which was really just Geoff wearing him down and offering him ten dollars a poem), James wrote up a poem to Rabiya’s lovely writing skills and emailed it to Geoff. Geoff thanked him, paid him, and they talked about other things until midnight. James was sorry to stop talking to Geoff.

The next day, James was finishing up his latest editing gig when Rabiya called him.

“Someone put a poem in my box at work!” she started right off with, sounding panicked. Not excited, not gleeful: truly frightened. “I swear I thought no one saw me put one in Geoff’s!”

“Hey, hey, chill a bit,” James cut in, trying for a soothing tone. “I’m sure it’s fine. What did the poem say?”

Rabiya recited it, but her frightened tone sucked all the warmth out of it. James felt awful all of a sudden. She was scared—of reciprocation? Of it being so soon? Why? He didn’t know if he should ask.

“Do you want me to stop writing poems to him?” James asked, startled to realize he didn’t want to.

Harsh breathing on the other end of the phone, and a hard swallow, then Rabiya replied shakily, “No. No. This is fine. This is fine, this what we were aiming for. God, James, I’m sorry, I’m just… I don’t know why, but I started crying, and it wasn’t happy-cry. I was genuinely scared, and I don’t know why, and that scared me more. He shouldn’t know yet.”

“Who else would put poems in his box about how wonderful he is?” James replied. “You’re the only nice person there.”

“Melody is nicer,” Rabiya retorted, uncertainly.

“But does she have access to his box?”

“No. She’s also seventy and has grandkids.”

“So you’re the most likely person.”

“I… yes.”

“So it probably wasn’t hard. It’s okay, Rabiya, we can stop if you’re scared.”

A whimper, and then she said, her voice almost a wail, “I hate this! I hate trying to make people like me! Why can’t I live alone and be a boss-ass bitch lawyer?! I don’t want love!”

James blinked, and stared at the poem on his wall that his mom had painted and illustrated. Not one of his; one by his grandfather, who was actually a published and renowned author back in China. Almost a prayer, asking for strength and heart and freedom. James had needed it often in high school, and he suspected he needed it now, because he really didn’t understand—but he had to. For Rabiya.

“Then… you don’t need it,” he said slowly, trying to think past his own bewilderment. “If you don’t want love, and it scares you, then you don’t need it. You don’t even need to get married.”

“My parents,” she sniffled, and James saw the second biggest facet to the problem. “They want me married off, fast. But I don’t want to. We’re still kids, James. We have legal responsibilities, but we’re kids.”

James frowned worriedly. “Could you… marry someone you at least get along with? Not me,” he added hastily, startling himself. “I do want love. But you could, I dunno, sift through some people and agree to marry and you can keep it open. Your parents will be happy, and won’t be after you about it, but you’ll be happy too, because it’ll be more business than love.”

The sniffling was quieter. Then Rabiya asked softly, “Do you think that would work?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“...Do you have the next poem ready?”

~

Six months later, James realized he was well and truly fucked.

Rabiya had insisted on tapering off the poems a few weeks after her scare; James had agreed. Geoff had called him, and asked worriedly if Rabiya was alright, and if he should stop commissioning poems for her; James soothed him and said she was just going through a rough patch, and that probably all sympathy should be kept to a minimum, because Rabiya was just like that. Geoff had sighed, thanked him, hesitated, then asked James about his work. So they’d talked on the phone for a few hours, and James had found himself laughing, and being sad that they had to hang up.

Loving Rabiya didn’t feel like this. Loving Rabiya felt like passionate despair and pained yearning, knowing she was too good for him and if he confessed, she wouldn’t want to be his friend. Talking to Geoff felt… nice. Like something he could do every day.

Marie messaged James on Facebook to say, If you break my brother’s heart, I’ll break your nose.

What? It’s not like that! He doesn’t like me like that!

Hmph.

And she’d logged off.

But now, every few days, James and Geoff would meet up, and hang out. Sometimes Marie came along, and James was happy to see and speak with her, but he couldn’t help being a little grumpy, because Geoff was less candid around his sister. When it was just the two of them, they talked about all kinds of things. Movies, visiting family in other countries, books, video games, work. Geoff liked to knit; James sewed a lot of his own clothes. It was… enjoyable, to spend time with him.

He told himself he was researching for his next poem. He knew that wasn’t it.

Rabiya was getting jumpy. They would go out to movies or clubs or their favorite frozen yogurt shop, and one minute she’d be laughing and talking easily, and then the next she’d be tense and fidgeting. James couldn’t figure out what was wrong. It hurt, that she wasn’t comfortable around him anymore.

Finally, one day after playing Mario Kart, she asked him abruptly, “Do you like Geoff?”

“Yes,” James replied, puzzled. “He’s a great guy.”

“No, I mean do you like-like him?”

James opened his mouth to say no, then closed it. His face began to burn. Rabiya sighed—in relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she said, and patted his arm. “Then you won’t mind if I marry him and you come live with us.”

“What!” James squeaked, looking at her in horror. “What, that’s—what do you mean?!”

Rabiya snorted. “You told me once to think of marriage as a business transaction,” she reminded him. “So, I talked to Geoff about it.”

“When?!”

“Oh, a couple months ago.”

Months. James’ stomach dropped. Months. He’d been blissfully unaware, falling in love with Geoff and writing poems for them both, and they’d been talking about this for months.

Rabiya looked at him, and her face clearly showed sudden guilt. “Oh, James,” she said, and tried to hug him. But James didn’t want to be hugged, he didn’t want to be—comforted. He felt—betrayed, and he wasn’t sure why or by who. So he stood up and walked away, still staring at her, shocked.

“Months?” he said, quietly, and his voice was shaking.

Rabiya’s arms were still outstretched, and now she looked just as upset as he felt. “James—I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you—we both did. But it didn’t seem right. We both love you, okay? Just—you’re my best friend, and he loves you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him.” But it was weak and shaky and he still felt cold and alone.

Rabiya stood too, slowly, her arms falling to her sides. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. He didn’t want to see her guilt. He’d start wanting to forgive her, and that just wasn’t right. He looked down instead. He was hugging himself. He hadn’t realized. God, he just wanted to disappear. This was just too much. The two people he loved most, letting him believe this fiction of them both trying to woo the other, while they plan a marriage, and just like that, she drops it like a bombshell and breaks his heart.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she sounded like she was trying not to cry.

James couldn’t think of a response. So he left.

~

Geoff called him three times that week, leaving voicemails that got more and more frantic, until the last one sounded like he was crying. Marie sent James a message on Facebook saying she was so sorry, she hadn’t known, she’d yelled at Geoff and he really was sorry. James didn’t reply to her.

He sat in his room, quietly, staring at the poem on his wall.

Mom left him dinner outside his room. He took showers when he knew his parents were asleep. He refused to talk to anyone until he had thought this through completely.

About ten days after Rabiya had told him that, James sent both her and Geoff an email asking them to meet him at the diner that all three of them used to go to. He got agreement from both of them within minutes. He tried to feel something about that, but he was already feeling a lot of things.

Fear. He was afraid. And hurt. But he’d thought about it. And he thought he knew what to say and do.

He got to the diner first, and sat in a booth at the back, precisely placed so neither of them would sit with him. They arrived together. He only knew because, since he was staring at his glass of water, he didn’t see until they both slid into the seat across from him.

He raised his head and looked at them both. Neither of them looked like they’d slept well. Rabiya’s eyes were red. Geoff’s hair wasn’t as neat as usual. They both looked scared, and hopeful.

James would’ve cried, but he’d already thought it all out, and he no longer had tears for this.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, deciding to get the hardest question out of the way first.

“Because it… it didn’t feel right,” Geoff answered, haltingly. His voice was rough, like his throat hurt. “I figured it out after the first few poems you sent me to give to Rabiya. You have a really distinct style, and… and I didn’t know what to do. Marie has already smacked me for not just asking either of you. And then we started hanging out, and...” He blushed and looked down at the table.

“I wasn’t thinking about the love part,” Rabiya admitted softly. “Because it just… didn’t seem important. I thought, well, hey, you two loved each other, if we did this then you two would be happy and everything would be fine. I didn’t think about if it would hurt you. I’m sorry, James.” Her lip trembled and two tears escaped her, as she stared at him. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

James nodded, and went back to staring at his water. That made sense. Rabiya didn’t know that he loved her, and he had been the one to suggest the business line of approach. She was one of those people who was so focused on the goal (get married and get her parents off her back) that she sometimes forgot about others on the way (like James). And Geoff… well, Geoff was hesitant. Didn’t like to make the first move until he’d thought about it hard, and then sometimes it was too late. He had told James, and demonstrated, that he was the opposite of impulsive.

And James was a fool for thinking they wouldn’t team up behind his back.

But they had considered him. They had decided that they would make room for him. It was just Rabiya’s poor word choice, bad timing, and James’ own fear that had made the moment a botch.

“You should have asked,” he told them both.

“Yes,” Geoff said simply. “We should have. And we are sorry.”

Rabiya swallowed hard, and asked softly, “Can we try again, James? Please?”

James had already known the answer to that. He reached out both hands, and Geoff and Rabiya grabbed one each, tightly. “Yeah,” he said, raising his head and managing a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

~

The wedding was great, and James just smiled softly as Geoff and Rabiya led the dancing. It had been about a year since their talk in the diner, and he sometimes worried that he would, at any moment, be thrown to the wayside.

But that hadn’t happened. They’d all three moved into an apartment together, and James had found out that Geoff was an excellent kisser. Rabiya had made obnoxious kissy noises at them until James threw a crumpled piece of newspaper at her. They might all have been drunk.

Ostensibly, the master bedroom was for the engaged couple, and James had the smaller one. In reality, Rabiya had shoved them both towards the bigger room and told them to “work out which side of the bed is whose”. James still felt a little odd, sharing a room, but cuddling in bed was great, and sometimes Rabiya would come in and drape herself over them and eat rice crackers while they all three watched She-Ra or The Last Airbender or even just some crime drama that Rabiya and Geoff would thoroughly eviscerate from a legal standpoint. James loved those days.

Geoff was very much his mother’s child, in that he insisted that James stop skipping meals out of shame. Since the meals were uniformly delicious, James found it easier to accept this new rule. When cuddling, Geoff would sometimes end up with his face smooshed against James’ soft tummy, and James could never help feeling such a strong surge of love that he almost cried. After years and years of people taunting him, there was someone who appreciated him—all of him.

So James watched the wedding from the sidelines, and didn’t even care when people gave him their fake condolences that the woman he loved was getting swept away by someone else—by a better man, though they didn’t say that.

He just smiled and thanked them and drank his soda contentedly.

After the wedding, when they made it back to their apartment and divested themselves of their wedding finery, Rabiya called, “Dibs on first shower!”, grabbed a towel, and darted into the bathroom. James shrugged and Geoff sighed morosely. There was glitter on his face.

“You knew what you signed up for,” James teased gently, putting his arm around Geoff’s waist. Geoff grinned and wound his arms around James.

“Yes, I certainly did. May I have this dance?”

Swaying to Geoff’s lazy humming, they danced slowly in the living room. Their wedding dance. James wondered if anyone had ever been as happy as him in this moment.

[raineydaywrites]

Nesting Chapter 13

on ao3 (x)

Fic Summary: Taako and Lup are determined to kick ass at going to university, even though their childhood education was anything but traditional.

Then, Taako finds himself in a situation that threatens to undermine all their hard work.

But there's plenty of university students that have kids! Really, this is just another chance to show how much better they are at everything they do- they can definitely manage to graduate and raise a kid at the same time.

Chapter summary: The IPRE crew is starting to come together!! This is pure fluff.

Chapter: Once he'd started showing, it didn't take long for stretchy and flowy clothing choices to be his only real options. He wasn't yet stuck with only pregnancy clothes, would be able to fit into some of the stuff he'd already owned for a little while yet, but he was getting there.

By now he'd basically stolen a good percent of Lup's stretchy and flowy clothes as well, finding himself frustrated with the decrease in his wardrobe options. She'd let him for the most part, with only the occasional annoyed look instead of any confrontations about the matter, which he was very grateful for. He didn't want to feel self-conscious about the way he looked now, but every once in a while the thoughts popped up and being able to wear mostly clothing that he'd already liked instead of generic pregnancy clothes all the time was helping with that.

Random people around him were starting to notice. He could tell. Very few of them had said anything quite yet, because it was rude to assume and all that, but he noticed the way that people's eyes would catch briefly on his stomach, or they would offer him a seat or whatever without saying anything.

He appreciated the seat thing, honestly. His feet and legs had hurt a lot recently, which he hadn't expected so early in. He still had so much time to go; both he and the baby still had a lot of growing to do, so the discomfort was sure to only get worse from here. Sitting down as much as possible made that a lot better.

Being clocked as a pregnant person by strangers wasn't making him as dysphoric as he'd feared. It happened sometimes, but he could handle it for the most part. He could accept being seen as feminine at times, as long as it wasn't the only thing people saw him as ever. So he was getting by.

No, for the most part, it was just weird. This whole thing was so personal and private, and yet so many people knew about it without knowing a single other thing about him. Taako had always been a bit showy, but that didn't mean that he wasn't also a very private person. He liked being the center of attention when he was in control of it.

He wasn't in control of almost any of this.

Wasn't all bad though. Kiddo had started moving around a lot more- they weren't really kicking yet, which Lup was incredibly disappointed about, but Taako appreciated the fact that the movements weren't hurting him, so as far as he was concerned, baby could wait on that as long as they liked.

It was weird to feel someone moving inside of him like this, but it was nice too. A reminder that he hadn't messed them up. They were here, they were alive, and they were active.

The morning sickness wasn't completely gone, but it had diminished severely and now his biggest appetite problem had jumped to the opposite side of the spectrum. He was hungry all the time, and sometimes for really weird stuff, but at least that problem was one he was more comfortable handling. Now that he could cook again without fearing that he'd quickly lose anything he got down, he had this shit taken care of. And if he didn't have whatever he was craving, he could just transmute it from something else. He pitied the poor fools who couldn't, who just had to deal with it some other way.

He and Lup had turned in their applications for the planar exploration expedition a little bit ago, and now the only thing to do was wait. Taako had wondered if he should disclose his pregnancy in the application. The only thing worse than getting turned down for the expedition would be to be accepted, only to be told that they wouldn't send someone pregnant on a mission like this.

But in the end, he decided not to. There wasn't a set date for the mission yet, at least, not one that they'd revealed to the applicants or the public, so it might not even be an issue by then. It would definitely take months for them to make their selections, and probably a fair amount of training time after that, so there was no point in giving them a reason to doubt his capabilities before they even really considered him.

He really hoped that Lup would get the opportunity at least. If he couldn't go, the next best thing was for his sister to get the chance. She had insisted that she wouldn't go without him, but he refused to be the reason that she missed out on an opportunity like this.

But Lup had equally refused to leave him alone when he was heavily pregnant and soon to give birth.

They'd ended up managing to compromise that she would stay if the mission date would overlap his due date, because he didn't exactly love the idea of going through those experiences alone either. He'd really been trying to avoid thinking about the entire idea of labor, because he knew it would be one of the most painful experiences of his life, and that was both terrifying and unavoidable.

"The shit I'm gonna go through for you..." Taako mumbled to himself- mumbled to the parasite, more specifically, because he wasn't normally the type of guy to talk to himself when no one else was around. If only because he had very rarely been in a situation where he had no one else around.

He was sure he'd heard somewhere that babies could hear stuff at some point, but he had no idea when. He'd thought about looking up stuff like that, but it kept slipping his mind.

He'd only ended up looking up one of those 'how big is my baby' sites once, because it had made his hormones go absolutely wild and he'd turned into an absolute mess, crying about how tiny the little guy was. He had been very glad that Lup had not been in the room with him, because even though he knew she wasn't going to judge him, especially right now, she still would have found it very funny, and he'd have felt embarrassed about it.

He was a stone-cold bitch, not a sap who cried over cute things!

It was different though, when his hormones were acting different than usual,- when it was his cute thing.

He was allowed to think his own child was cute! He just didn't want anyone to think that he couldn't still be a badass while also loving his kid! He's a multidimensional being, he's allowed to feel both things!

He let one hand rest on his stomach over where the baby was fluttering around while he checked the mailbox.

He hadn't expected anything interesting, so he went still with surprise when he pulled out two envelopes from the Institute- one bearing his name and the other with Lup's.

He would wait for Lup to get back before he opened them. They should do this together- he didn't want to do it without her anyway, no matter what the results were. If they were good or if they were bad, he would figure it out with his sister by his side- as they always had been.

Still, despite his determination not to open the letters without Lup, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about it.

The envelopes were rather thin. Was that a bad sign? Would they have sent more information if they'd been accepted? The two envelopes were about the same width, which could either mean that they'd both gotten the same results or that there was no extra info for people who had been accepted to the next phase.

Which basically meant, he still had absolutely no idea of what the results were, just as he always had. The only difference now was that he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He tried to get some homework done, but it quickly became clear that that was a lost cause. But he couldn't seem to get invested in anything else either- nothing fun, nothing productive- he just sat at the kitchen table, one leg bouncing anxiously as he waited for his sister to get home.

Her class should be done by now, what the hell was she doing?

When the front door finally opened, he shot Lup an exasperated look, and asked exactly that.

"I went for coffee with Lucretia," Lup said, frowning in mild confusion.

"Ugh, gods, of course you pick the absolute worst time to go on your first date with her," Taako groaned. He may have been low-key encouraging them to spend time together, but he hadn't expected it to backfire on him like this.

Lup blushed at his words, and Taako rolled his eyes as she sputtered, "It's not like that! We're friends!"

So apparently, even the silver lining he'd thought he spotted for a second there was taken from him.

"Did something happen?" Lup asked, putting away her bags without even looking at him. She had gotten used to the fact that Taako could be extra irritable than usual with his mood swings, and since he didn't look hurt or sad or scared or anything, she figured it was probably no big deal.

"We got the results from the Institute!" Taako announced, and Lup spun to face him, her eyes going wide.

"What? Oh my gods, gimme!" she said, reaching grabby hands out towards her brother.

Taako handed it over to her, already ripping open his own, finally.

His eyes quickly skimmed the letter, past the formal niceties to figure out what he actually wanted to know.

 You are invited to the next round of selections. An interview-

Having parsed the relevant part, he looked up to Lup with a huge grin on his face, and felt it grow bigger when he realized that she was giving him the same smile.

"You got into round two, right?" he asked anyway, needing to make sure.

"You know it!" Lup said, delighted, holding up a hand for a high five that Taako immediately returned.

"Me too, natch," Taako said, casual, as if he'd never doubted it for a second. He pulled Lup into a hug, even though that had been getting harder to do recently.

Gods he hoped they'd planned this thing for a time when he could actually go. He was already starting to show by now, and it would only get more obvious as the interview date neared, so he could hardly hide it from them.

Not that he'd ever try to keep it from them completely. He couldn't hide it forever, and it would only piss them off if they found out after they'd actually offered him a spot. And for all he knew, it could be hella risky for the baby to leave the planar system, and he really ought to ask the experts first instead of crossing his fingers and hoping for the best. He couldn't risk hurting the kid for an opportunity that he knew he was good enough to get again in the future. Going on the very first expedition would be a dream, but it would still be amazing to go on any expedition.. It would be a disappointment if he had to wait, but not one worth hurting his kid over.

Still, he'd have preferred to get in at least a good first impression before breaking that bit of news to his hopefully future employers. He knew that he could be a bit of an acquired taste, but he could do a good first impression when he tried. This wasn't going to help with that. They probably had a tone of applicants who weren't PR nightmares in the making. Taako was good, but he wasn't sure he was good enough to convince them to risk the press tearing them apart over sending a pregnant person on a potentially dangerous mission.

Nothing to do about it now though. He'd go, and he'd make his best case for himself, and they'd make a decision. All he could do was try his best to convince them that he was absolutely irreplaceable.

-

Lucretia had asked to come visit the weekend before their interviews were scheduled. She'd seemed really excited about something over the call, and Lup and Taako had news to share as well, so Lup told her she could come over now if she wanted to.

Taako had rolled his eyes at that, as if he wasn't also excited to boast about being invited to the next round, just as much as she was.

Even if Lup had admitted to herself that okay, maybe she had a bit of a crush of Lucretia, that didn't meant that everything she did around the other girl was a sign of that! She wanted to hang out with a friend and get praised for what a good job she and her brother had done! That's it! She just liked having friends and being complimented!

When Lucretia arrived, she was wearing a bright yellow sundress, and Lup couldn't quite take her eyes off of her. She looked really good in it.

See, now that was the kind of thing that Taako had a right to tease her about- even if she really hoped he'd ignore it instead of tormenting her with it.

Didn't seem like that was all that likely though, given the shit-eating grin he gave her at the look on her face, before greeting Lucretia with, "Looking good, Creesh!"

"Thanks!" Lucretia smiled at him, tossing her hair a bit and posing cutely, which was absolutely unfair. "It's finally getting warmer out so I couldn't resist."

"Hey, when you look that good in something, why try to resist at all, right?" Lup said. That was probably too strong a compliment. "That's my attitude, at least," she added. It was true- Lup knew she was hot and she enjoyed showing that off- and hopefully it would make the first thing she said less incriminating.

A slight blush had taken over Lucretia's face at the continuing compliments, and considering how hard it was for a blush to show on her dark skin, she must have been pretty affected by it.

Gods, Lup had to do something about that. It was weird how Lucretia could be so confident in some ways and so insecure and withdrawn in others. She was clearly proud of her work and her skills, but in social situation, she turned into a nervous mess. Lup found it equal parts endearing and exasperating.

"So what's this big news?" Taako asked, breaking the silence and prompting Lucretia to perk up in excitement, back to confident once again.

"I've ghost-written a few biographies before- I don't think I told you guys that, but anyway- and so I earned a reputation, of sorts and I was invited to apply as a chronicler for a really interesting project soon, and I just got the news that I've been officially chosen!" Lucretia announced, giddy with excitement.

"That's awesome!" Lup said, high-fiving Lucretia, and Taako echoed the sentiment and offered a thumbs up from his position on the couch. "What the project?"

"I'm not supposed to give out too many details, but it's a kind of exploratory mission for the Institute," Lucretia explained.

"Wait- you mean the one to explore other planes, yeah?" Taako asked.

"Yes- how you do you know about that?" Lucretia asked, tilting her head like a curious bird.

"We applied as arcanists for the mission," Taako said, voice trying to project 'casual and sure of himself,' but slowly getting more and more excited too. "Got past the first round of approval and we're going in to interview next week."

Lucretia's mouth popped open in surprise, before splitting into another wide grin. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nah, babe, totally serious," Lup said, bouncing on her toes eagerly. "They haven't made final selections for arcanists yet- obviously- but it would be so cool to go on the mission with you!"

Lucretia nodded eagerly. "Of course. I hope you get it!"

Taako stood up from the couch with a tiny bit of difficulty that Lup and Lucretia pointedly didn't comment on to give Lucretia another high five, and then offering another to Lup as well, just for the hell of it.

"How come you get to know already?" he asked, mock annoyed. "Must be saving the best for last."

Lucretia just giggled, too happy to take any offense to that. "I think probably there are fewer writers who even applied than there are arcanists. Like, a lot of writers are probably much happier not going out on brand new ships with experimental technology into places we've never been to before. Not that I can understand that at all. So it's easier to narrow us down than the narrow down all the people who have literally been studying to do exactly this."

"Okay, we have to get chosen now, Ko. This whole setup is just getting better and better," Lup said.

"For sure. I am not going a couple months without either of my best babysitters," Taako said.

"You think I'm gonna be super good at babysitting, Koko?" Lup raised an eyebrow. "You realize I know jackshit about babies, right?"

"My cheapest babysitters," Taako amended.

"I am not watching your kid for free, even if they are my nibling," Lucretia immediately denied, shaking her head. "Knowing you, they're going to be a handful, and I demand payment in food, at least."

"Yeah, my cheapest babysitters, like I said," Taako insisted. He paused a moment, as another thought occurred to him. "You think they'll let us bring the kiddo if we promise not to let 'em bother everybody else? Like, they'd have three separate family members to wrangle them; I'm sure we could work something out."

"No?" Lucretia said. "I mean, like, that would be ideal, I admit, but I don't think the people arranging this mission are insane. No offense."

"I mean, totally worth a shot though, right?" Taako turned to Lup. "Worst they could say is no! You miss 100% of the shots you never take!"

"That is never gonna happen, but yeah, we can ask," Lup said. "You never know. I mean, Creesh, you say they're not insane, but isn't this whole concept a tiny bit insane? If you think about it?"

Lucretia shrugged, grinning, not letting any worries that this wouldn't work out dampen her excitement. "You know, I suppose you have a point. Ideally, this mission isn't being led by people with such poor decision making skills, but if it is- hey, silver lining, we all get to go together!"

"Yeah!" Taako cheered at her willingness to go along with the goof. "That's the spirit!"

Lup laughed so hard she thought she might fall over. Gods, as much as she loved Taako, she was realizing that having more people than just him around was even better. She hadn't realized how isolated they were until recently. She didn't actually need anybody but Taako, but it was kind of nice to have them anyway. Her family was getting bigger with at least the addition of the baby, and maybe she could even count Lucretia as family too, indirectly at least.

It had always been her and Taako against everyone else, and they could handle that. But getting a few more people on their side wasn't a bad thing. Far from it. It was the best thing.

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Smut: Homemade

Length: 8.2k

AO3 Link

Prompt: Omega mommy Tony and alpha son Peter who finally starts his rut. Tony ends up pregnant, and Tony loves feeling the life inside him, that feeling amplified by knowing that the pup(s) have part of Peter in them. When Tony starts lactating, Peter likes to nurse while he fucks his mama, caught between the safe, warm, feeling he gets from drinking from his momma and the desperate, near-frenzied mindset he gets fucking him.

Ive been MIA. Lack of motivation + IRL stuff = one very sad mads. So I finally finished this mommy kink fic yayy. Also using this as a fill for Starker bingo, X-ing out my Incest square 😱 anyone curious about my card can see it in the AO3 post.

Notes: ABO Dynamics, Incest (normalized sex setting), Omega Tony, Alpha Peter, intersex, marathon sex, knotting, breeding, impregnation, pregnant sex, lactation, ruts, lingerie, and so much mommy kink

Note 2: Not explicitly stated but throwing in the underaged warning here.

Also before anyone jumps me for breast feeding info/correction, I was too lazy to do a thorough research into this so I'm tweaking it in this omegaverse lol

💗💗💗

Tony's actually in a meeting when he gets the text.

It's from Happy, his loyal but too serious bodyguard slash chauffeur.

Boss, i just dropped the kid off at the house. He literally begged me not to tell you, but he isn't feeling too well. - HH

Tony frowns at the message and thinks for a half second before he shoots a text to his son.

Hey, kiddo. How's class going? - TS

There’s silence for a few seconds before his inbox is flooded in Peter's usual lightning fast but short sentence texts.

…

...Happy told you, didnt he

im sorry, i wasnt feeling good

They said I should just go home

And I told Happy not to tell you

he promised but I guess he lied

I'm fine, really just need to nap.

Sorry, mama.

It's the last line that gets him because lately, Peter has been trying to stop calling him mommy or mama. he wants to be more formal, more grown up and just call Tony mom, but it slips when he's feeling particularly vulnerable.

Meaning his baby needs him right this instant.

Tony excuses himself from the meeting and texts Happy to bring him home. Smart man, the beta is already waiting for him when Tony strolls out of the building.

He makes it to their home in Queens in record time but doesn't text to let his son know. Peter, despite being a clingy child, has some guilt about pulling Tony away from his job. The omega doesn't know where it comes from since he has always reassured his boy that he would move mountains for him.

Tony loosens his tie, slipping off his shoes when he enters their home.

There's a scent neutralizer in the air so the omega can't tell from scent alone if his son is in distress. Scent neutralizers in the ventilation but the walls aren't soundproof. The only ones that are soundproof are Tony's bedroom for… reasons... Not that he needs it. The omega hasn't had a partner for heats or otherwise since Peter was a baby.

He approaches Peter's bedroom and pauses when he hears sounds from inside.

A soft moan. His hand stills on the doorknob before he decides to knock.

He gets a soft yelp and the sound of something crashing on the floor. Tony raises a brow but schools his expression when Peter cracks the door open.

"Mama?" Peter whispers incredulously. He licks his dry lips and blinks too rapidly. "Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting…?"

Normally, Tony would have a sassy reply instantly but something… It's… It's hard to pinpoint really, but the scent is familiar and it makes Tony's insides clench and his legs feel weak. He hasn't responded like that in so long and the last time–

Tony's eyes widen when the realization hits. It's all processed in less than a second and his instincts surge to life inside him.

"A little birdie told me you aren't feeling well," Tony says coyly, leaning closer.

He gets more of that scent, spice and musk… Knows by the way Peter's lips quiver that he's catching his omega mother's scent at the same time. Peter's eyes dilate, the pupils expanding and eating up the brown of his irises. Brown eyes that he shares with his omega parent.

Does Peter even know what Tony's scent means?

If he's presenting today, the deeper notes in Tony's scents might still be a mystery. In that case, his body would be responding but Peter wouldn't know, consciously, why he's so aroused. Why Tony's scent is turning him on so much when just yesterday, his nose only registered comfort and security.

"I told Happy–" Peter groans, "Mom, I'm okay, I just need a minute."

Tony smirks but when he tries to nudge the door open, Peter holds it steady, a soft whine of, "Mama, p-please–"

He abruptly stops talking when Tony caresses his cheek, subtly posing his wrist right next to the boy's nose. He's feeding his presenting boy the scent of a viable omega. It's a dirty trick but he just wants to help and possibly ease his son's suffering.

"Baby, I can smell it," Ton says gently, "You're becoming a man… An alpha."

"Mama…" Peter groans, breathing the scent in with greedy lungfuls of breath.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Tony encourages his son to speak honestly.

Peter swallows, so unsure, but he whimpers when Tony continues stroking his cheek, soothing and arousing at the same time.

"It does," he admits, "but… but… I…"

Tony's poor baby is struggling.

"Do you want Mama to help, darling?" Tony coos to his son. "I can make the hurt go away."

"You can?" Peter looks at him with wide eyes, full of trust and innocence.

It makes Tony's heart beat so harshly against his chest. His body responds too, but he's already been dripping slick since he smelled his son's arousal. The scent of an alpha in entering a rut. It's even more potent for a first time presented. It's even more arousing that it's his baby boy, his sweet Peter.

"Open the door, baby," Tony encourages, "I'll help you feel better."

Peter's breathing escalates, his body practically vibrating with unspent energy. Tony can read all the signs and more slick drips out of him when he does.

His sweet Peter is going to be such an amazing, good alpha.

His son opens the door and Tony almost sinks to his knees right then and there. If he thought Peter's emerging scent affected him before, it sends his head spinning. It's intoxicating.

Alpha… alpha…

Tony breathes it in and takes a few seconds to acclimate himself. Then, belying the struggle he's feeling, Tony saunters into the room and promptly sits on his boy's bed, crossing his legs. It helps to hide the trembling and the urge he has to just lay back and offer himself as a rut toy for his son.

Peter, sensing the change in his omega mom, hesitates when he turns.

It's obvious why. His erection is tenting the soft pajama pants he has on and he's trying to hide it behind his hands. There's a light flush on Peter's cheeks, such a pretty pink that Tony wants to snuggle the boy close.

"Well," Tony smiles and it's a sultry thing, an expression that Peter's never had directed at him. It makes his son push out even more pheromones, trying to lure in the omega teasing him. "We're not gonna solve your problem with you all the way over there. Come closer, baby."

Peter does step closer then takes another until he's standing right in front of Tony. The omega gently eases his son's hands away.

"Need to see what I'm working with here, kid," Tony tells him.

Slowly, he tugs his boy's pajamas down, letting the fabric drag over the erect length. His son's flesh is uncovered, slowly, like a grand reveal and Tony's mouth fills with saliva with every inch he exposes. He guessed the size a bit, just from the outline, but that doesn't compare to what he sees.

Tony knows right away that Peter has a pretty cock. The flesh itself is flushed a gorgeous pink, just like the blush on his cheeks. The girth isn't something to scoff at. It looks like his presentation hit Peter like a truck, giving him all the tools needed to be an alpha stud despite still being Tony's baby boy.

The omega eyes the loose skin around the base. For a kid who hasn't popped his first knot, Tony can already tell Peter's knot will be massive. When the band of his pajamas finally slips over the tip, Tony's breath catches when the entire thing is freed. It's so hard that it springs up but the weight of it is too much to curve up against Peter's belly. His son's cock bobs in the air, all flushed and needy, drooling for his omega mama's touch.

Tony takes a moment to admire it. A soft sound catches his attention and he looks up to see Peter's embarrassed face. The blush has only deepened and the color has crept down Peter's neck and chest, disappearing beneath his shirt.

"You've grown to be such a big boy," Tony murmurs, rubbing circles on the hard jut of his hip.

"Mama…" Peter whispers, a tiny bit embarrassed. But there's a hint of pride there like he can't help being happy that Tony compliments him so.

"It's a good cock," Tony assures him, "You'll make plenty of omegas cry on this thing…"

Another soft embarrassed sound then his sweet son admits, "I don't… don't really want any other 'mega, mom…"

His son is such a sweet boy. Tony feels his heart twist because Peter's always been such a good boy, always thinking about his omega mama, always so sweet and kind. Some young omega will steal Tony's sweet boy away and that's… that's life.

Tony doesn't say such things though. They'll come in time. For now… He'll take what he can get and teach his son what he wants to know.

"What do you think…?" Tony says casually while he wraps his hand around Peter's cock. "Think you can hold out for me, kid? Or are you feeling sensitive…?"

He gets his answer as soon as he gives the firm cock a single stroke. It twitches wildly in his hand, drops of precome beading up quickly at the slit. It drips down the flushed head and just as quickly, another drop forms. It keeps going, fat cloudy drops that gather and overflow so that it drips steadily.

"I…" Peter whines, hiding his face behind his hands again. He peeks through his fingers, "I don't know…"

Tony tries to be gentle but his baby isn't too far from his first orgasm by another's hand.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Tony tells him as the boy shuffles closer. His hand works over Peter's erect cock, jerking him off with firm but quick strokes. "Let it out, little alpha… Let it out for mama…"

It doesn't take more than a few strokes before Peter's body grows taut. His cock twitches and pulses in Tony's grip, balls drawing up quick. Tony doesn't stop and soon, his son is bucking up his hips, soft gasps and a cut off "Mmph…!" before Peter spills all over Tony's hand.

The load his son releases is so much… 

"Fuck, baby," Tony says, astonished at the sheer amount of come, "you were really backed up, hmm? You should ask for mommy's help if you need it... Don't want my baby getting so frustrated…"

Tony milks it all out of Peter, massaging and encouraging the soft little baby knot at the base of his cock. He ignores the fact that his son's come makes a mess, some of it getting on his designer suit and dripping all over.

Peter slumps against him, sinking onto the bed. His head falls on Tony's shoulder and he buries his face against his Mama's arm.

"Isn't this wrong, mama…?" Peter asks softly.

In that quiet, whispered sentence, Tony hears all his boy's doubts and fears. Tony can't bear to have his kid upset, so he tips Peter's face towards his and gently, lovingly, kisses the boy on the lips.

Peter's brown eyes, so like his own, widen but he doesn't scramble back. If anything, he melts into it, hands twitching at his sides, wanting to touch but unsure of where to place them.

"I love you, baby," Tony tells him. Then he smiles a bit wryly, "You love me too, don't you…?"

For a second, Peter looks a bit offended at the question before he eagerly nods, replying, "Of course, I do, mom."

He nuzzles Tony's cheek then brushes his nose against his jaw and then his neck…

"You're perfect… my perfect mama…" Peter tells him, "I love you so much… There's no one I'd love more than you…"

Tony melts and tugs Peter down onto the bed with him. The young alpha curls up against his side while Tony kicks off his ruined pants. Since those are already gone, he strips off his suit jacket and the vest beneath. As he's unbuttoning his shirt, he feels curious fingers trace along his underwear.

He looks over his shoulder, raising a brow at his touchy feely son.

Peter gives his mama a shy smile, "It looks nice on you…"

Tony looks down, grinning at the hot red lace underwear he's wearing. He hasn't had an alpha in years but he still likes to feel sexy beneath his clothes. He's also glad he wore something nice since Peter seems to love it.

"Thank you, baby," Tony says leaning down and kissing the top of his head.

He leaves his shirt on but it's entirely unbuttoned. Tony is, perhaps, a bit eager but Peter certainly appreciates it. He tilts his face up, lips puckering a bit in expectation. Amused but not willing to turn down the request, Tony takes Peter's lips in another sweet kiss.

He's practically leaning over his son when he feels Peter's cock swelling against his thigh. The joys of having such an eager and young alpha…

Peter had just started getting into the kiss when Tony pulls away.

"Mama–" Peter protests but Tony shushes him with a finger to the lips. When his boy pouts, Tony takes his finger away and pecks him on the lips.

"There's no rush, sweetheart," he tells Peter, "But hmm… How about we make you a real alpha, hmm? Would you like that…?"

Peter's wide but eager eyes are answer enough and yet, he seems conflicted.

Tony reads him easily and kisses him softly.

"Still think it's wrong?" He raises a brow.

Peter's eyes are wide and even though he shakes his head rather enthusiastically, there's still that tiny bit of doubt that shadows his face.

He wraps an arm around the boy's shoulders and gently eases Peter down on top of him. His legs spread to accommodate his son, knees cradling the boy's hips.

Peter's cock presses between his legs, firm flesh poking and dragging along his clothed pussy. It makes Tony shiver in anticipation.

He reaches between their bodies, leading his son's cock where he wants it… The tip nestles against the fabric, precome wetting the lacy material.

"Pete… You're my baby," Tony says. Their eyes lock, alpha and omega, mother and son, as Tony teases him. He rubs against his son's cock, dragging the wet tip up and down along his slit. Even with his panties in the way, it's such an intimate feeling.

He nuzzles against the boy's cheek, purring, "Part of you should always be inside me… So, do it, baby, it's okay… Put your cock inside mommy."

He wants to do badly, Tony could see it. His eyes are hooded and his lip caught between his teeth. Tony only knows he's breathing because they're pressed close.

Peter's so close to getting his first taste of omega pussy.

"...What if I'm bad at it…?" Peter mumbles then, the last thing holding him back.

He can't take his eyes away from Tony though and the desire is there… Oh God, Tony hasn't felt this kind of mutual attraction in years. His baby alpha is just so eager but so worried about disappointing Tony… It's just so sweet, so typical of Peter.

"You're a Stark, aren't you?" Tony gently teases, "Being great is in your blood."

Then Tony smirks, a confident grin that trembles when he feels Peter's hips shift forward, seeking the warmth of his body.

"Besides…" Tony murmurs as he pulls Peter closer. "I'll teach you, baby… Don't worry…"

He squeezes the alpha's cock, stroking along heated flesh. It's dripping again, so much precome and fluid, his son's cock naturally providing lubrication so it could penetrate any tight hole.

Tony's pussy clenches, slick and wetness just dripping right out of him. This entire time, he's been so focused on Peter that he's been holding back his own wants. But this… He knows it's going to be amazing.

He's so wet and his own little omega cock is stiff and aching. It's nothing compared to how his insides clench in anticipation, eager to be split apart and seeded thoroughly.

Screw the fact that he hasn't bothered with birth control in years, there's always the after morning pill. Unless…

"You wanna be safe and use a condom, baby alpha…?" Tony asks. He hates it though, loves knowing his partner is bare inside him, but if his son wants it…

Peter looks torn and says forlornly, "Do I have to…? I haven't…"

"You really should but since it's your first time…" Tony gives in easily and then, pulling his panties aside, exposes the tight little hole of his pussy for penetration. He notches the wet tip right there and murmurs, "Push in a bit, Pete…"

His boy complies and oh… Tony groans at that initial stretch, his son's fat cock nudging its way inside…

"Mama…" Peter gasps, a strangled sound as he gets his first taste of Tony's omega pussy.

His hands fly down to Tony's hips, fingers clamping down. Once the tip is swallowed down, Peter's control frays and splinters, coming undone as his hips buck up. It's harsh and uncontrolled as the alpha tries to shove into Tony's tight body.

"Mama… mama .." Peter almost pleads but Tony's a bit distracted himself.

The omega is caught in the sensation of his pussy being split apart. In his younger days, sex was easy and he was used to it. It's been… years and Tony's definitely not used to it. His tight little pussy struggles to even take Peter's cockhead and Tony breathes through the stretch.

It's not unpleasant, it's just a lot… Especially with Peter trying to greedily fuck the rest of his length inside without giving Tony time to adjust.

"Mama… I can't… gotta…" Peter's words are incoherent babbling but actions speak louder than words. With a sob, Peter forces the rest of his cock inside his omega mother's pussy.

To Tony, it feels like the breath is punched out of him. He grips his son's broad shoulders and his entire body shudders, clenching down tight on Peter's cock.

It feels so good after the initial push that Tony's body goes limp. His son covers him, dark ravenous eyes staring down at him from above.

"It feels… so good…" Peter groans, eyes rolling back, and yet… he's staying so perfectly still like he can't move. Or refuses to.

Tony gazes up at his son with hooded eyes. His pussy clenches on the thick length, tiny little hole tight from lack of use. As he lays there panting, split open on his boy's cock, Tony has a feeling that he won't be left empty now that Peter's had a taste… He knows how alphas get and the look in Peter's eyes tell him the same thing.

There's this dazed look in Peter's eyes. His mouth trembles in pleasure and his entire body strains with the need to move.

"It's okay, baby," Tony encourages, wrapping his legs around the boy's waist. "C'mon, Pete… Move… I can take it… was made to take it…"

"Mama…"

It's breathed out like a prayer before Peter shudders. He squeezes his eyes shut but starts to move, hands clamped down bruisingly tight on Tony's hips as he chases after his own pleasure.

He fucks his mama with clumsy but eager thrusts. Tony welcomes every single one, moaning into his baby's ear and encouraging him with filthy words.

"Your cock feels so good, baby…" Tony says breathlessly. "Tilt your hips like– oh, fuck, yes… Like that, baby. Oh– yes, just like… that…"

Peter tries his very best to please Tony, but being so inexperienced, he can't help but come fast. He tries to warn his omega mommy but the words get caught in his throat.

"Mama…!" Peter shudders as he empties himself inside. 

He unloads with a groan, pushing deep inside and spilling so carelessly into his mother's unprotected womb. The body under his grows so tight that it steals his breath.

"You're knotting, Pete, oh… oh, fuck–" Tony groans when he feels his son's knot start to swell.

It happens quickly, the knot filling and rubbing against Tony's insides until it's too large to pull out. His son is lost in the pleasure, completely overwhelmed as he dumps a nice thick load inside.

The realization that he's knotting comes as a surprise even though Peter knows that it logically happens. His mama feels so impossibly tight around him and it's hard for him to formulate a thought, much less words.

Thoughts about pups and the dangers of unprotected sex don't even register to the rutting alpha. All he knows is the amazing feeling of his come rushing out of him and shooting out… The way it leaves his mama so wet, he could feel it… His come crowding around his sensitive cock as the knot keeps it all plugged inside.

Tony shivers when he feels his son's cock pulse inside him. His eyes slip closed for just a moment and he images it… Peter's alpha cock inside him, white spilling everywhere as his son breeds him.

He's not on birth control and the omega shudders at the terrible thought. His son knocking him up. His hand trembles as he pets Peter's back, fingertips grazing up and down as the young alpha continues to pant against his neck.

"Mama… I'm sorry…" Peter groans when he finally realizes what he's done, "I came inside…"

That dirty wrong feeling grows and his pussy clenches down, milking every drop from his son's cock.

"It's okay, baby," Tony tells him. He turns Peter's face towards his and kisses him to show he's not mad or upset. "I've always wanted to give you a little brother or sister…"

It's said mostly as a joke, as something to show Peter that he isn't mad about it. But then Tony feels Peter's cock twitch violently inside him and he wonders…

"You like that idea, baby…?" Tony says out loud, eyes searching his boy's face. "Like the idea of knocking up your omega mommy?"

The sound Peter makes would be embarrassing any other time but Tony finds the high pitched whine cute. It tells him how badly his baby wants it… Wants to knock his omega parent up.

Tony sighs, feeling deliriously happy that their desires are in sync. He's been holding back, worried that Peter would just want some practice… But now…

"Move your hips, Pete…" Tony instructs. "You got your omega caught on your knot… Gotta keep rutting… Even if it's sensitive… Keep– Oh…"

His son obeys and moves flawlessly, burying his face in Tony's neck. The knot holds true and Tony groans when he feels it tugging against his hole but it's… It's so good…

Peter's youthful enthusiasm comes through. Even though they're still tied, he fucks Tony relentlessly. The knot only allows him an inch or two to move but that's all he needs. His thrusts are harsh and deep as he ruts into Tony's pussy, churning up all that good potent come that he's deposited inside.

Then without instruction, Peter pulls up to his knees, his strong hands dragging Tony's lower body with him so that the knot doesn't get tugged too harshly. Tony's back arches to get that perfect angle and he's seeing stars when Peter starts to hammer inside him..

His son's loud pants and cries of "Mama…!" continue as fucks Tony stupid in his childhood bed. Tony doesn't even need a hand on his own stiff little cock before he's spilling all over his stomach, clear useless drops of omega come spurting out. Peter continues to fuck him, rutting wildly in a way only newly presented alphas can.

Distantly, Tony realizes that the knot has softened… But then Peter whimpers, unhappy when his sensitive little knot slips out and is followed by a flood of his come.

"Baby–" Tony groans but Peter turns him onto his stomach before he shoves back in.

"Again," Peter growls. His cock spears right in, fucking into the sloppy wet insides of Tony's pussy. Then he murmurs, as though apologetic for his tone, "Please, mama… I need it… need mommy's pussy…"

Tony groans, pushing up onto his knees.

"Go on, P-Pete," he allows it, his entire body shaking from the force. "Go ahead, baby… Take what you n-need…"

"Thank you," Peter groans, "Thank you… It's so good, mama… So good… Wanna come inside again… Gonna do it… Gonna come inside mommy's pussy… Get every drop..."

"Do it, baby," Tony urges. "you can, you can… Come inside…"

It becomes clear that Peter isn't thinking of making it good for Tony, not when his thrusts are so rough and uncontrolled. He's just chasing after his own pleasure, hips rabbiting against Tony's ass as he roughly fucks in and out. 

He's utilizing his strength, his speed… His youth that allows him to keep him. His cock is just a blur of motion with how fast he's fucking in and out. It feels too good to stop...

Tony can only imagine just how pink his ass and thighs are from how harshly Peter's fucking him. The sloppy wet sounds make it all the worse… There's come dripping down his thighs, come being fucked back into him, come ruining the sheets beneath them…

Alphas come so much and Tony's son wasn't an exception.

Tony can feel his son's knot again. The initial knotting happened so quickly and Peter had settled deep in his body when it happened.

Being fucked like this… Even while the knot's too small, he can feel it. It pops in and out, pushing and pulling against his hole and it's a sensation unlike any other. 

Tony feels every tug as it grows and grows. He relishes the sensation, knows when his son is ready by the way the thrusts shorten… It's Peter using his freshly fucked hole… Using Tony's body to stimulate the knot so he can come again.

Unrefined and unused to sex, Peter doesn't realize that he's let the knot grows too big until he tries to push in and it's– It's too big.

Tony wouldn't let any other alpha do this, but it's his son and he wants Peter to just enjoy it. H wee can handle a bit of pain, he tells himself.

"D-do it," Tony groans and has a second to brace himself when Peter complies. He pulls back so that the very tip is settled against his opening then he shoves in with a snap of his hips.

Peter grunts while Tony whines, the knot being forcefully shoved in. Another load is deposited and he feels the way Peter spurts inside him, that thick alpha cock pumping away load after load… Trying it's best to fill him up so he gets knocked up.

Tony lays there flat on his stomach, his son pressing him down as Peter purrs, content and satisfied after coming inside twice.

The rut is in no way over but there's some downtime.

Tony grunts as he tries to nudge Peter onto his side. His boy is affectionate and acts touch starved like he can't get enough. He runs his hands over the omega's sweat damp body.

"Can we do it again…?" Peter asks, kissing the back of Tony's neck. His knot is probably ten minutes away from softening and he already wants to fuck his omega mommy.

"As many times as you want, kiddo," Tony says despite wondering if he'll survive his son's rut. "Do you wanna try my ass…? You might like it better."

Peter goes quiet for a moment but Tony doesn't notice. He's too caught up in the afterglow, relaxing in his son's arms as he considers taking the next few days off.

He shivers when Peter's fingers slip between his legs. It's a curious touch, exploring Tony's body in a way he's never had a chance to.

Tony remembers being that young and curious so he lays there, humming whenever a particular touch feels good. Peter's hands on him are almost reverent and it's so feather light when he skims over his omega cock.

Those same fingers skip south, so hesitant, as though Tony would scold him at any moment. They grow a bit more confident when he doesn't, but to Tony's surprise, Peter just rubs around the swollen flesh where his knot is locked.

"Wanna keep doing it here…" Peter murmurs, "If I can… If mama lets me… Wanna keep doing it here…"

Maybe it's not all talk, Tony thinks when Peter mouths against his neck. Tony tilts his head, sighing in pleasure when the alpha runs his tongue over the sensitive skin there.

His natural inclination is to tease the boy with his new obsession but instead, Tony trembles in excitement. He presses his hand over his alpha son's curious fingers.

"Okay, baby," Tony permits, "Mama will let you do it."

----

He should've remembered that his son was very much like him. If he had, Tony may have thought twice about giving Peter free reign over his body.

Paired with a newly presented alpha's determination to breed, Tony finds himself in quite a predicament.

He's not as young as he used to be and he realizes this when Peter shows himself to be quite insatiable. Peter doesn't even bat an eye after going three rounds. 

It helps that those rounds are short. The kid has a crazy amount of stamina in the sense that he can keep going and going and going… But he doesn't last very long during those times. At least, not yet. Peter has plenty of time to build up his experience and by the fifth time, the sensitivity had dulled so he lasts a bit longer.

The rut is harsh and demanding. Tony feels every thrust, every desperate attempt to knock him up. The amount of seed that Peter spills inside him in obscene and so much of it spills from Tony's leaking hole when the knot softens and his son pulls out.

No matter how much is wasted against the sheets, Tony knows there's more than enough left inside him. He wonders if it'll kickstart his own cycle but the thought is a fleeting one. Peter consumes all his time and attention.

It's a fuck fest. A marathon. A full blown alpha rut. And rutting alphas only have one thing on their mind. Fucking and breeding an omega.

Lucky Tony, he's the one who volunteered and gave permission. He loves his son, how could he not?

Tony doesn't regret it, not even when he feels like he's full to bursting. He marvels at the noticeable bulge Peter's come has given him, but this… Letting Peter run wild, it isn't sustainable. Tony would become an incoherent mess, fucked out and his son would probably still rut him, still keep fucking him until the urges were sated.

The omega switches tactics.

In the shower, he redirects the alpha cock to his ass instead of his sore pussy. Peter whines at the change, wanting another chance at his pussy but Tony is firm.

The thought is forgotten either way when he feels Tony's insides grip his relentless cock. It's a different kind of heat, but it's still Tony, still his mama gripping him tightly. He hammers in with stuttering breaths and gasps that echo in the shower stall.

Peter takes control. He pushes his omega mama against the slick shower tiles and fucks his ass with rough jerks of his hips. To his rut crazed mind, a hole is a hole and he's already dumped several loads in his omega's pussy. He could enjoy this for now...

The newly presented alpha finds he's as enamored with Tony's ass as he is with his pussy. The water washes away what they've done but It doesn't lessen Peter's urge to breed his own omega parent.

Unsurprisingly, the next attempt is shortly after.

One moment, Tony's reaching for something in the bathroom cabinet, the next, he's bent over the counter. His son grips his hips and a nice thick cock slides inside him. By now it's familiar and even though it aches, Tony grips the counter. His back arches into an enticing curve and it shakes with every harsh thrust.

All efforts at cleanliness are ruined when Peter comes inside him again. His fist is wrapped around his knot, preventing it from slipping in and at the last second, he pulls out. Warmth spurts of semen spill over Tony's ass and his lower back and even the omega feels his face grow warm at the claim.

The next two days pass in a blur.

Tony's meetings are canceled and Peter's first rut absence is accepted by his teacher.

His instincts run wild and Tony indulges him, taking the role of a mate and letting the alpha sate his urges in any of his holes.

And when the rut ends…

They're both exhausted and utilize the hot tub to soothe their sore muscles.

What occurred between them doesn't end when Peter's rut finally ebbs away. That's made clear when Tony slips into his son's lap, groaning in part pain and mostly pleasure when Peter's cock stretches him full once more.

They haven't used a condom once during the entirety of Peter's rut. It's not surprising to Tony when weeks later, a pregnancy test proves that he's carrying.

He wasn't even in heat when Peter knocked him up.

Tony takes his son out to dinner and surprises him with the news.

"Pregnant?" Peter's eyes grow wide with disbelief, "but you weren't even in heat, mama…"

Tony pecks him on the cheek.

"That's right, kid," Tony says with a proud smile, "Who knew that my Peter was such a stud? Knocking up his mama out of cycle."

He winks at the abashed alpha but there's a glow that sparks inside his son. Pride. Happiness. A mix of the two.

He touches Tony's flat tummy through the suit.

"I'm going to have a little brother or sister," Peter says in awe.

"A son or daughter," Tony adds. "It is your pup."

"It's my pup…" Peter echos, a bit dazed. "Mama…"

"Maybe you should start calling me Tony," the omega encourages but Peter's lips pucker a bit at the thought.

"You'll always be my mama though," he protests.

It makes Tony smile and he pats his son's hand.

"Aren't I your mate now too?" Tony teased, "Or are you going to leave your poor mom to do all the baby stuff?"

Of course, that brings so many protests and stuttering denials that Tony has to admit he was joking. He soothes his son and tells him, "You'll be a great daddy, Pete."

The alpha is in a daze for the rest of the dinner. There's a goofy but endearing smile on his face and he treats Tony with so much care and gentleness.

Tony makes sure to put an end to that. He's newly pregnant and his libido shoots up. There's no room for gentle, not now, and he convinces Peter of this in the car ride home.

The alpha doesn't need much convincing. Knocking up his omega mommy does things to his head, strokes his alpha ego to new heights and he wants Tony now more than ever. Wants to fuck him again, to remember just exactly how he impregnated his mommy.

Happy is the unfortunate victim as the limo driver but the partition, at least, gives them some privacy.

Tony rides Peter in the car, legs straining as he bounces up and down on that thick, wonderful alpha cock that got him pregnant. His son's cock. Peter holds him steady and one hand rests possessively over the non-existent bump.

Even if there's no physical evidence there yet, they both know there'll be a new Stark in under a year.

Peter begs Tony to let him do it again. He wants to breed his mommy after they have their first child. He doesn't want to stop putting his babies in Tony's tummy and Tony has half a mind to indulge him.

Instead, he kisses Peter oh so sweetly and teases him with a, "We'll see, baby. Maybe if you keep your grades up, hmm?"

Peter maintains a 4.0 GPA in his studies which isn't surprising given the fact that he's a Stark. The incentive was the main driving force though. He has an omega mate and his mama, all in one and while Tony still isn't allowed to touch a pan in the kitchen, he takes care of the alpha's other needs.

The omega's body starts to fill out, becoming softer and readying itself for motherhood. Tony laments at the loss of his trim and fit figure once the suits no longer fit, but every time he looks in the mirror, he's reminded.

He's carrying his son's baby. Inside his belly, there was a tiny bit of Peter and himself.

They talk about it and wonder. Would the baby be a girl or boy? Alpha? Omega? Beta? They didn't care what designation the baby came out with or what was between their legs. The baby was Peter's and Tony's and that's all that mattered.

Instead, they debate about what the baby would have from each parent. Peter's soft brown hair? Or Tony's darker thick hair? Peter's paler skin tone or Tony's Tanner complexion?

Regardless, they both already loved their little peanut.

The weeks pass and people take notice.  It's obvious to anyone with a nose, but the betas have put two and two together. They see Tony's tummy start to swell even more and  there's something soft and beautiful about Tony like this.

Peter is in love with the changes..

He worships his mama's body with kisses and words of adoration which Tony decides, makes up for the changes.

Every night and morning, he runs his hands all over every inch of his mama's body. He presses his ear to the now noticable baby bump and speaks quietly to their little Peanut.

"I did this…" Peter smiles when he caresses the  baby bump.

"Scoundrel," Tony quips, "This isn't how I raised you!" He drops the act and sighs when Peter nuzzles his chest.

His chest has changed, growing softer along with the rest of his body. It's natural and he knew it was coming. It had happened when he was pregnant with Peter.

"How big did you get when you had me?" Peter wonders as he nuzzles against Tony's soft chest.

He tweaks a nipple gently, knowing his mama's been complaining about soreness. 

"Not too big," Tony admits, "Maybe a handful? There's a couple of photoshoots I did at the time."

Peter has already seen them. His mama looked breathtaking in them. The photographers had played up the more feminine aspect of omegas, dressing Tony in ballroom gowns and long flowy pieces that showed off his modest chest. 

Simply… breathtaking.

He still likes to hear it from Tony. How big they grow is really genetics. Tony himself never grew that large when he was pregnant with Peter.

Tony massages his aching chest, pressing fingertips down lightly around the tissue. He notices Peter's watchful eyes and smiles.

"This isn't my first time," Tony reminds him, "And I've gone into milk before, even before I got pregnant."

That's something Peter hadn't been aware of.

Omegas can produce milk even outside of pregnancy, Peter knows. He just didn't know that Tony has tried it at some point.

"You did?"

"Mhmm," Tony says a bit proudly. "Takes some training but omegas can do it as long as there's someone that wants it."

The comment sticks in Peter's head… His mama making milk for… a boyfriend? An alpha friend? He takes over massaging Tony's chest and the omega lets him, melting against the bed and pillows he's propped upon.

"Would it be okay…" Peter murmurs, "if I…?"

A slow, teasing smile curls the corner of Tony's lips.

"You want a taste, little alpha?" Tony says outright.

Peter blushes but nods. "As long as it doesn't take away from peanut."

Tony waves a hand then features Peter to come closer. "Peanut will be fine. Our bodies adapt if there's a demand for more and…"

There's a twinkle in Tony's eye.

"Maybe you can help me out?" Tony purrs.

The mood shifts and Peter, after becoming intimately aware of his mama's increased libido, grows excited from the tone.

He curls up against Tony's side, one hand still massaging his chest. It goes from clinical to sensual, Peter's fingertips sweeping over sensitive skin.

"Anything, mama," Peter murmurs.

Tony turn Peter's face so he's nuzzling against the soft swell of his chest. "The more stimulation these get, the faster I'll come into milk. Help an O out, will you?"

Peter happily does so. He licks and sucks with his mouth while his hand massages the omega's chest. Tony hisses at the sensation, fingers curling into his son's soft hair.

There isn't any milk that day, but he's sure that it'll come soon.

Sex grows more difficult when Tony's belly grows but they're both determined. More often, they fuck with Tony on his side and Peter against back. It's the perfect position to let Peter touch his belly as he's fucking in and out of Tony's pussy. He still knots, still releases his come inside even though it serves no purpose for now.

Peter takes to his new task with great enthusiasm. He's always been an affection boy but now, he touches Tony freely like it's his right. Like he's Tony's alpha and mate.

His new favorite position is side to side while facing each other. He likes to suck on Tony's nipples, loves feeling Tony's swollen belly press against his body. It's the best feeling in the world and Tony can't deny that he enjoys it greatly, as well.

It's during one specific session that Peter finally gets a taste of his mama.

It's slow and gentle, Peter being more cautious the larger Tony's belly grows. He pushes in and out in a leisurely rhythm, his thick alpha cock already slick with his previous load. His stamina has grown and he's learned so, so much that he's even a bit cocky about it. He knows how to make Tony moan, how to tease the omega. Knows how to make him shiver with just a few words.

Beyond that, he knows what his mama looks like spent and fucked out. He's memorized the curve of his lips when he's gasping, learned every sensitive spot that has Tony clenching the sheets between his fingers.

He sucks in Tony's sensitive nipple, nursing like he once did when he was a small pup. There's a burst of sweetness that spills across his tongue. It surprises him so much that he pulls back, milky drops slipping from his lips.

There's a lingering sweetness in his mouth and it evokes a feeling in him. He was too young to remember nursing from his mama but it's still there, this feeling of safety and love.

Peter licks up the drops and purrs, pressing even closer to take the omega's nipple back into his mouth.

Tony groans when he feels the milk let out, eyes turned into slits while he's watching Peter lick it up. He feels the suction and it brings such sweet pleasure to him, it makes his back arch a bit. His grip tightens in Peter's hair and they continue that way.

Peter's mouth on his nipple, the milk continues to flow steadily with every suck. At the same time, Tony's pussy squeezes around his son's cock, massaging, and begging for another knot.

"Mama…" Peter groans when there's no more left. "It's so sweet… Mama's milk… I want more…"

He then switches to the other nipple, leaning up a bit to get to it.

His mouth latches onto Tony's nipple, eyes slipped closed as he focused on how sweet his Mama's milk his. He almost feels jealous that his little pup would get this for however long.

Tony drifts in a haze of pleasure but his hips hitch needily. Maybe with some training, he could come from just Peter nursing on him, but for now, he wants to get fucked.

"Baby," Tony groans, "C'mon, do it… how I like."

Peter looks up and pull off, leaving the nipple wet from his mouth and peaked in the cool air. The alpha notes the way Tony's eyes are hooded and his mouth is gasping, wanting.

"Love you, mama…" Peter tells him before he starts to hasten his thrusts.

"Love you–Oh!" Tony moans, tossing his head back. "Ah, that's perfect… Perfect…"

A glance down and Peter's eyes rest on Tony's chest, his nipples firm and puffy from the alpha's mouth. A single drop of cloudy milk drips from one nipple and Peter chases it as it slips down Tony's chest. He licks it up with his tongue, running the flat of it up so that he can take it back into his mouth.

Judging by the way the omega moans, Tony approves of it. His fingers curl in Peter's hair again as the alpha fucks him.

Tony floats on a haze of pleasure as Peter fucks him. He can feel the knot– His son has gotten good at holding it back but with his first sample of omega milk, it's like Peter has lost his inhibitions. His hips fuck forward as he sucks and sucks, greedily drinking from Tony.

The knot grows and grows, slipping inside at the very last second. Peter licks up the very last drops while his cock spurts inside his mama.

And like a good boy, he shares the sweetness with Tony, kissing him deeply.

"How was it, baby?" Tony murmurs when they're knotted.

"Mama tastes so sweet," Peter replies, nosing against his neck. "Was it good…?"

Tony kisses the top of his head.

"It was perfect, Pete," Tony tells him. "My perfect little alpha."

----

Tony has to buy new clothes.

His belly grows even larger and his chest is bigger than when he was pregnant with Peter.

"F-Fuck–!" Tony grunts while Peter fucks into him from behind.

He had been making something simple for breakfast. His instincts demanded to, feed and do all this domestic shit that Tony never cared for, so he tried pancakes. It should've been easy but Peter had come down and seeing his mama trying to cook for him had really turned him on.

Or maybe it's just an excuse to walk up behind Tony, pull his pants down, and slip right into his wet pussy.

The stove is off now and the pancake mix barely has barely cooked, but it's all ignored anyway. Peter just fucks and fucks, eager and hungry for something other than food.

He, at least has the decency to avoid knotting but then Tony's left with a steady deluge of come dripping down his thighs.

"You're gonna be late for class," Tony pokes Peter when the alpha pulls his pants up. "Late and hungry."

Peter gently turns him and nuzzles against his chest, squeezing them gently.

There's a suggestion in his eyes and Tony sighs, giving in. He leans back against the counter and Peter swoops in, tugging his Mama's shirt off before taking a nipple into his mouth.

"How did I raise such a smart ass," Tony wonders but there's a fondness in his tone.

Such encounters only become even more frequent. Peter ambushes him in the shower, in the tub… He has no shame in showing off his pregnant mama and no shame in asking Tony for milk right after school.

And it's become such a routine that Peter has Tony on his cock shortly after.

"These are you fault," Tony says when he models a new maternity bra.

They've grown a size larger and while it's still no where close to what beta women would have, they've become fairly large for an omega male.

Peter only hums, stepping up and testing the new bra to see how easy feeding would be. It's easy access and they have another round right there in the dressing room. Outsides turn a blind eye to it.

It's the Starks, after all.

Tony finally gives birth the next month. They hadn't asked for the gender, wanting it to be a surprise.

Peanut turns out to be a sweet faced little alpha girl and already, she takes after her mama. She has dark hair and an inquisitive gaze. She has Peter's mischievous nature, however.

Morgan had been hiding her alpha brother who surprised them all when he was delivered with an indignant wail. Soft brown curls and wide eyes, this one was the spitting image of Peter.

Peter had been wide eyed, staring at the two new Starks. His two pups. Their pups, his and his mama's.

"Overachiever," Tony teased him, "Not one, but two pups. What am I gonna do with you, Pete."

"Ah…" Peter chuckled, "My calc teacher told me I aced the final?"

"Of course, you did," Tony laughs, then gently hands over their youngest to Peter's arms.

He kisses Peter's cheek and whispers, "Congrats, alpha. On the exam and becoming a daddy."

[rivetgoth]

OC #4 - Vittoria Marcello

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AH okay here we go, my next OC, I know I’m going slower than I’d originally hoped but what can you do, slow progress is still progress and I have a lot of stuff going on in the rest of my life as well right now, but here’s another gal of mine. She’s the other protagonist of my novel.

Vittoria is Giovanni’s sister, I talked about him before so I figured it made the most sense to discuss her next. Admittedly I can’t really tell all of her story without spoiling my novel some but it’s fine, I still wanna be vague as possible and in a perfect world my novel will get more traction than just the handful of people reading these, AND hopefully my biggest supporters would wanna read my novel even if they have a basic idea of what happens in it hehe. Anyway, like everyone else so far she’s from my alternative universe in the 2080s.

Basic info is that Vittoria is a heterosexual cis woman in her late twenties. She’s the youngest daughter and youngest child of the Marcello family, and although she has seven older siblings her only full brother is Giovanni, since they share a mother, although he’s seven years her senior. As I mentioned before, the Marcellos are the owners of the Marcello Candy Company, a corporation that pretty much has the monopoly on the pharmaceutical industry due to their drug-infused and heavily addictive candies.

Vittoria was named after her father, Vittorio, which was a last attempt by her mother to hopefully convince Vittorio to accept her as his own. The truth is Vittorio had not wanted another child, having already found Giovanni a disappointment and blaming his wife Camilia’s genetics (because his elder children are so perfect - I’ll discuss them later, some of ‘em are important), and when Camila got very sick during childbirth and, despite the riches of the Marcello Empire she was mysteriously unable to be cured, fowl play was suspected to be involved, but nobody was ever caught or exposed. Camila named Vittoria in hopes that Vittorio would see her as his child and want to raise her with pride, but this didn’t really work, and Vittoria spent a large portion of her childhood almost entirely alone. All of her siblings were significantly older than her, and not only did Giovanni have plenty of his own issues to worry about, but he felt a great deal of resentment towards Vittoria, blaming her for his mother’s death due to the fact that Camila’s death was officially ruled as complications in childbirth. Vittoria had no one around but servants given measly raises to watch over her, and by the time she was as young as four she had made a habit out of trying to sneak off, although she was always caught and returned.

Unlike Giovanni, who was forced into homeschooling, Vittoria was allowed to go to school, although it was a very prestigious private school that bored her to death. She tried again to run away while there, and this time pulled off a multi-day disappearance, but when she was found, her father, frustrated with the negative press that her sneaking off had caused the company, threatened to pull her out of school and keep her homeschooled and under house arrest with her brother if she pulled something like that again. So she sucked it up and got through grade school, although she grew increasingly standoffish and cold to others around her. Her largest solace came from art of all kinds, although especially dark and provocative art, art that gave her an outlet for her frustrations and anger. She loved loud abrasive music and weird looking art that used lots of contrast and lots of dark colors. She ended twelfth grade with no friends to speak of, although she quickly decided to pursue university as her next step in hopes that it would give her what she needed to find a profession of her own and escape her father’s house once and for all.

But Vittoria found herself in a new dilemma, which was that very little actually brought her much joy anymore. Depression had kicked her ass hard through school, and by the time she was in college (which her father paid for, something that frustrated her to no end as she was aware that she was still entirely stuck in his debt and helpless without his assistance) she had very little motivation or interest in anything. She switched majors a few times and eventually settled in on art history, because of her aforementioned love for art, although this decision angered her father, who told her she would be able to do nothing of use and find no success out in the world with a degree in art history. Scared that he was correct, Vittoria ended up giving up halfway through her degree, dropping out to instead jump correctly into business, still using her father’s funds as a startup. She started a fashion line, then a makeup line, then a perfume line, all of which she felt no connection to whatsoever, opting to go with easy, mainstream, and accessible products in hopes of generating sales rather than focus on anything that she cared about. With each of these expeditions, she quickly lost any sort of interest or passion and sold the companies for very little, which quickly led to her creating an image for herself in the public eye that she was unable to finish or stick to anything.

Vittoria grew older and still had little to show for herself and her efforts. She was still trapped in her father’s home with no direction, desperate to prove herself but lacking any sort of support system or internal confidence or drive to get anything done and scared of failure. Her only other sibling still living at home was Giovanni, who she wanted nothing to do with, and seeing his life plateau into a steady stream of nothing, just lounging around and living on his father’s money, terrified her. She finally decided to pull herself together and dip her toes into the music industry, since music had remained one of the few things she loved through everything, although she wasn’t entirely sure what direction she would go in these endeavors, and if she would actually have the courage to explore the darker themes and sounds she liked so much.

After announcing her intents and beginning to contact record companies, Vittoria heard back almost instantly from Anubis, the Rock God of Death, an aging, extremely famous and successful, as well as extremely mysterious, industrial rock musician, who was also the owner of Embalmed Records as well as the Golden Jackal Nightclub. Anubis, in his mid sixties at the time, offered her a partnership with Embalmed Records. Soon after, Vittoria and Giovanni were kicked out of their father’s house, disowned for their incompetence and constant embarrassment of him and his company. Vittoria would accept Anubis’ offer, and learn that he had much more in mind for her than only a simple contract: He wanted her to be his personal protégé. Vittoria accepts this offer and begins to train under his wing, which is where a majority of her story within my novel takes place. Over the course of the novel they also become lovers.

I want to be a little vague here, because I don’t want to wildly spoil every aspect of the novel now, but in the end, Vittoria undergoes some pretty extensive body modification that leaves some large scars on her body and her organs rearranged inside of her, and Anubis dies under tragically under mysterious circumstances, leaving all of Embalmed Records to Vittoria for the taking. She now runs the company as the CEO of Embalmed.

Vittoria ends up in a relationship with one of her employees (who she met before she took over, when she was still training under Anubis), named Cosmo Halloway, who will definitely get a post as well. He’s sort of a musical renaissance man (and the frontman of the industrial metal band Heat Pit) and he adores her. He helps her manage the Golden Jackal.

Vittoria and Giovanni view themselves as polar opposites, and in the way many of their issues manifest, they are. Giovanni overeats and Vittoria starves herself; Giovanni is an insomniac and Vittoria spends most of the time depression-sleeping. Giovanni loves color and elegance, Vittoria loves blackness and harshness. Giovanni’s trauma manifests in a very childish nature and he tries to suppress any negative feelings inward, while Vittoria tries to be mature and lets out any negative emotions on others, constantly lashing out and yelling at others around her. However, they have a lot in common as well, including both loving art and finding solace in it, both struggling deeply with identity issues and insecurities and finding a sense of self, and both having serious long-term trauma related to their family circumstances. She likes to commission artists to draw portraits of her, because she has a great dislike of herself and struggles so much with her own identity, and conceptualizing herself through how she’s depicted through the eyes of artists gives her a more solid sense of self. She hates sweets, mostly due to her family’s involvement in them. She drinks a shitton of black coffee to try to stay awake but still tends to fail and oversleep. She loves dark colors, leather, and silver. She has a horrible temper and is typically very cold and can easily turn aggressive, although this is something she gets marginally better at as she takes over Embalmed and becomes more assertive in her control of the company.

I love Vittoria. I think she’s a really fun character and she’s spent a LONG time in development, I’ve reworked her a huge number of times because she began as a very vague concept (actually, she originally was a guy and her entire character was hugely rewritten to be a woman early on in development lol) that I’ve spent a long time evolving to fit the role of protagonist in my novel. I have a lot more about her (and Giovanni) I’d love to share, but like I said, I don’t wanna give away too much about the novel!!

[storytime-hoe]

Tough Love Ch.11

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: Hope you all enjoy this one! It’s a sad one I would say and we get some background info about Emma’s past. I kinda just made that part up without putting any forethought into it so it might be a little rough.

Previously: Ch.1         Ch.2       Ch.3       Ch.4     Ch.5      Ch.6     Ch.7       Ch.8       Ch.9       Ch.10

It took me a few more weeks to recover from the bullet wound. I hated sitting around in my room, unable to go out on runs with the others. There were a lot of mouths to feed and I wished I could do something to help out. I had been a scavenger and looter from the beginning, so I obviously couldn't hunt down or track anything to eat like Daryl could. I really felt useless.

And that wasn't good for me because every day that went by that I wasn't able to be of any help, the more my thoughts started to become poisoned. I couldn't help but feel like a burden all the time like every other fucker here who had everything brought to them on a silver platter. It wasn't good for me or my mindset and eventually I slumped into a depression.

I used to have these periods of depression all the fucking time before the turn of everything. I lived in a shit trailer park with my mom and little brother. I would feel the crushing responsibilities of taking care of them both, even though that should not have been my fucking job, and I knew I would never surmount to anything more than a doublewide. I would end up just like my damn mother, and I couldn't stand her most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I loved her, but fuck was she hard to love. She never held down a job, so my waitressing gig was all that brought in money for us. We kept our bellies full, which is all that we could ask for, but when we did have a little extra money for luxuries, Mom would blow it all on booze or gamble it all away.

As much as I hated her for her lifestyle, I saw myself becoming the exact thing. I already had my interest perked with gambling, but unlike her I still had some self control. Waisting money wasn't all on her either. I had to have a few smokes back then. Now those were what really got me through the dark times, that is before it became acceptable to chop down rotting humans, which is what I really needed to do if I was to get out of this slump.

When the day came that I could lightly run on my leg good enough, I made the decision to go out on my own. I took a gun and a backpack and marched myself straight towards the gates without anyone saying anything to me. That was to good thing about looking like a pissed off bitch all the time, people steered clear of you and never questioned your actions.

I thought I was going to get out free of curious minds until I heard the pesky little boy shuffle up behind me.

"Where are you going?"

I stopped in my tracks with a deep sigh. "I thought you might be happy to see me leave, Carl?"

The boy wasn't looking at me when I turned towards him, he kept his eyes trained on the gun at my hip. Rick had confiscated gun rights after he heard that Carl had shot an innocent boy in the fight against the Governor. There was some dark shit going on in his head, that was for sure.

"Well, don't get your hopes up too high. I'm coming back."

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Good."

My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Good? You want me around now?"

His expression was hard as he looked at me with a drawn brow. "Are you sure going out alone is a good idea? Daryl said we aren't sup–"

"I know what he told everyone," I interrupted with more anger in my voice than I'm proud of, but when it came to Daryl making rules for me I couldn't help it. "Listen, kid. Can you just keep quiet about this?"

"How long will you be gone?" He peered up from under his hat, interrogating me like the mini sheriff he was. There was no mistaking the worry in his words, however. I guess I really had grown on the little guy if he was actually worried about me.

I gave him a lopsided smile and said, "I'll be back before sun down. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I always am."

"I just think taking someone with you might be a good idea." He motioned back to the prison. "Michonne usually goes out around this time. Can't you just wait for her?"

I shrugged it off. I could've waited around, but I needed to be out on my own again. It was strange how I had sworn to be by myself for the rest of my life and then I was suddenly part of this group that was seeming to grow every minute. More and more people were brought in through the gates and it was becoming overwhelming, especially since I had not been able to escape. It was also exhausting trying to make everyone feel comfortable around me all the time. I tried being nice and smiling and to not be annoyed, but the more I tried the worse this stupor I was in got. For just this day I wanted to go out on my own and scream and hack down the dead and just feel what I wanted to. Not to mention how fucked up I was about what Beth had told me about Daryl liking me. I wanted my mind to shut the fuck up for a day, and the only way to do that was to be alone with a knife and some Walkers.

"How about I just meet up with Michonne once she heads out? I won't go far until she joins me."

He looked skeptical. This damn kid was always seeing through me.

"I promise," I lied, giving him a not so gently pat on the cheek, making a light smacking sound as I did.

Without another word I walked out of the gates of safety, ignoring the pang of guilt I felt about straight up lying to a child. Poor thing didn't deserve to worry over me so much.

I swallowed hard as I practically ran into the tree line, going much much farther out than I had intended. I really had wanted to stay rather close incase something did happen to me, it was my first day out after all, but being the mindless creature that I was I couldn't control the sense of freedom that swept me up and carried me through the trees.

I felt alive, like nothing could touch me now. I was an invincible motherfucker out here once again. An invincible motherfucker who was slightly lost.

It took me well past nightfall to see the lights of the prison shinning through the trees once again. I expected to walk back in unnoticed. To go straight to the newly fixed shower house and wash away the sweat and grime that I had accumulated. I expected no one to really notice or really care that I had been out passed when I claimed I'd return. But boy was I fucking wrong.

Whoever was keeping watch in the tower must have alerted everyone that I was approaching because inside the gates I was greeted by an angry looking Rick with Carl marching up behind him.

"You ratted me out," I accused the kid instantly.

"Carl did the right thing," Rick began, his voice reminding me of the tone my school principal would use when I got in trouble. Wow, what a throw back.

Just like back in school, I rushed to explain myself and make up a few excuses along the way. Talking myself out of trouble was a gift of mine. I had done in the previous world and in the current one on multiple occasions. I remember getting caught red handed looting some camps, but with a few well placed tears and a convincing story, people will let you get away with anything.

"I said I'd be back aft–"

"You also said you'd meet up with Michonne," Carl interrupted me before I could even get started.

Rick looked back at Carl and pointed at the prison door. "Why don't you go inside. Keep Judith company."

He wasn't too pleased that he was about to miss my scolding, but I was sure as hell happy he wouldn't have the honor. How embarrassing was this? An adult woman who was about to have a her ass beat because she went for a stroll. Pathetic.

"We were worried sick," he began after Carl had gone. "People were out looking for you."

I shook my head. "They shouldn't have been. Don't risk other lives for me. I didn't mean to scare everyone, but I needed to take a day by myself. This whole 'living in a community thing' is new to me."

"You're one of us now. We get concerned where the safety of one of our own is involved. Whether it be you or any of the others, going out alone isn't an option, especially if you just recently recovered from a serious injury. There are plenty of people who, I think, would be willing to join you anytime you wanted to go out."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I reframed. This was a load of horse shit. "I don't need any permission to go where I want to. Hell, I could walk out forever right now if I wanted."

"That's true," his tone was much calmer, but the disappointment in his eyes ate away at me. "But it'd hurt an awful lot of people to see you go."

His eyes bore into me, making the guilt wash over me just before he turned to walk back inside. I had always been so petrified of losing people over and over again, that I had never thought about how they would feel if I was the one to disappeared. Beth had become a close friend, she would be heartbroken, I'm sure. More than she was when her boyfriend died that one time on a run. She hadn't been blinked an eye when she heard the news, but she was just unfazed by shit like that now. I saw the real sadness in her eyes when she would tell me about people from the past, it weighed her down like it did any other person. Carol too. I would chat with her some nights. She had all sorts of people that were taken away from her, we all did, and when she talked about someone like her dead daughter, the hurt was as strong as if it had just happened that day.

That's the thing about loosing people. The pain never really goes away. It chips away at a piece of your heart and that piece never fucking comes back, it's just gone.

I had been one selfish bitch to risk putting that hurt into anyone. God, Daryl would lose his fucking mind if I never came back. Or I assumed he would after how he had worried about my leg healing. He was really keen on being my protector after what we had gone through together, probably because he felt bad for me. Either way he no doubt was worried shitless when I was out alone. I cursed myself for doing that to him. Sure, he drove me crazy sometimes, but I never wanted to hurt him like that.

The cool wind blew hard against me and I went to take my first step towards the door to find Daryl. I owed him an apology, it was the least I could do. But before I got anywhere the door slammed open and out came one wound up Dixon.

I hadn't seen him in days, but he wore the same look that said "I'm going to fucking kill you". Why had I missed that look?

"The hell were ya thinkin'?"

Coming at me like that was not the best move. My defensive walls were up in a second and I was in his face yelling in a heartbeat.

"I was thinking I needed a minute alone. Sorry it got your panties all in a twist to see me enjoying myself instead of wallowing in a cell all fucking day."

"I would've gone with ya," he started, his eyes flashing with a hurt that I instantly wished I could fix. Why the fuck couldn't I calm down and explain everything to him like a normal person. I needed to tell him how depressing the prison was getting and that I know he wanted what was best for my by making me rest for weeks but that didn't stop the fact that I was losing my damn mind. But of course I wasn't that type of normal person.

"I don't think you understand what alone means." I wanted to keep the fire in my voice, but it was flittering away at a rapid pace. I felt like shit and he was making me feel worse about what I had done by the second. I cowered under his harsh stare slightly, my arms crossed over my chest in a lame attempt to make me look bolder.

"I don' think ya understand that ya coulda been fuckin' killed." He was still yelling at top velocity despite me backing down, his voice a graveling husk. I think he expected a heated argument from me like always, but I was in the wrong on this and I knew it. I know when to admit that at least.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't expecting a genuine apology, so he was taken aback by it. It took everything in me to swallow down my pride and continue. "I didn't think it would bother everyone like this. I didn't realize you all cared so much."

His throat bobbed with a swallow. I wished to fucking God that I could read what was going on in his head, but he hid it all so well. "Yeah," he huffed out, nodding his head slightly. "Our fucking mistake."

There it was, another piece of my heart breaking away.

I really fucked up this time. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to scream at him that I was fine and I wouldn't do it again and that I cared about him more than I was even comfortable with. I wanted to get over myself and wrap my arms around him like I had so many nights ago during my panic attack.

I didn't want to loose a friend like Daryl Dixon. I never wanted to hurt people like that. I didn't realize I had the power to hurt anyone anymore until Rick had told me so. I only wished I had realized it sooner.

I didn't want this hurt that pounded in my chest, not only from my own broken piece, but because I had been the cause of a piece of Daryl’s heart cracking away too.

Except maybe this time I could put the pieces back together somehow. 

I doubt it.

***

Taglist:

@daryldixonandfrogs @jodiereedus22 @xchrisxevansx

[lollytea]

Some Moomin OCs! (Above art by @ask-artsy-oncie who was sweet enough to draw my kiddos!!)

My original thought for Moomin and Snufkin’s future together was that they would have no children, as canonically Snufkin has made it very clear that he’s not sure if he likes kids. However, Moomin was kinda tricky to think about. He does come from a family that’s famous for adopting any lonely little creature that seeks a home. So, maybe this sort of thing is in his nature. It’s possible that when he’s older and more mature, he may wish to start a family of his own. 

( A ton of stuff under the cut about how Moomin and Snufkin decided to adopt them and some info/HCs focusing each of the kids individually.)

When Too Ticky shows up at their doorstep with three escapees from a rotten ol’ children’s home, the couple are hesitant but welcome them with open arms regardless. While she was willing to care for them herself until she found them a permanent home, she had urgent business to attend to (invisible moose turf wars up south.) and left them in the care of Moomintroll and Snufkin for a week or two until she returned. 

Moomin becomes fond of the children almost immediately. They’re a handful, obviously, but their spirit is incredible. He begins to feel quite comfortable and content in this parental role and even though he tries not to show it, he’s devastated when Snufkin reminds him that they’ll be leaving soon. He’s come to realize that he does want children but is also aware of how Snufkin feels about it. He would would never want to force him into that sort of thing if it’s not what he wants. 

Meanwhile, Snufkin has been thinking. Though Moomin has been doing his best to hide his feelings on the matter, Snufkin knows just how attached he is to the kids and how upset he’ll be once they’re gone. He’s in a difficult position here as his conscience is reminding him repeatedly that Moomintroll had always let him choose the life he wanted. He let him wander whenever he pleased and never forced him to stay. Would it not be worth it of Snufkin to return the favor and not stand in the way of what Moomin wanted out of his life?

They discuss it one night after putting the children to bed and they let themselves be honest. Moomintroll adores the kids and wants to raise them. But under no circumstance would he ever pressure Snufkin to do the same. Because he loves Snufkin.

Snufkin admits that he feels uncomfortable with the title of Papa. He likes the kids, he wouldn’t mind sharing a home with them and spending time with them and watching them grow. It’s just that thinking of himself as a father makes him very anxious. But more than anything, he wants Moomin to do whatever makes him happy. Because he loves Moomin.

So, an odd sort of agreement is reached but nonetheless, it’s an agreement both are happy with. Moomin will adopt the children. They will be Moomin’s children. Snufkin will continue to be Moomin’s husband. They will all live together in the same house and they will all love eachother as families do. But the children will not be Snufkin’s. At least not now. If he’s ever ready to be a father alongside Moomin, the kids will still be there. But there’s no rush. The agreement is silly, of course but it puts Snufkin at ease. 

It doesn’t happen right away, but within a few years of raising the kids, Snufkin finds himself warming up to the idea.

The Children

Torben - The Witch. Oldest of the three children, Torben is extroverted, witty, charming and a true rowdy boy at heart. He has a hard time juggling responsibilities with immaturity, as while he’s a fiercely protective and nurturing older brother, he’s usually the driving force of mischief that tends to get them all into trouble.

- Is excellent at annoying Moomin. Not that he doesn’t love his papa dearly and vice versa but that boy is the most prominent reason that the poor ol’ troll is going grey. Despite this, Moomin always trusts him with the job of taking care of his siblings. It’s the one thing he has 100% faith in him in. Maybe they’ll cause a bit of mischief but at least he knows that with Torben, they won’t be hurt.

- When he first came to Moominhouse, Torben suffered from frequent nightmares. He was five years old at the time and having cared for his siblings alone until then, he had a hard time accepting that he could finally relax. It was Moomin who pulled him into his lap and sang him back to sleep every night. Nowadays, Torben is very embarrassed about these memories and it’s a silent agreement between himself and his papa to keep it a secret

- Absolutely Idolizes Snufkin. Ever since he was little, Torben has been enthralled with the stories Snufkin tells from his youth, and wants to be just like him one day. Naturally, Snufkin receives an earful from Moomin the first time they have to collect Torben from a holding cell. Not that Snufkin would say it but he was beyond proud that day.

- Torben adores music. Instruments, singing, dancing, he’s invested in all of it. Another reason he looks up to Snufkin so much is his talent with a harmonica, which he eventually teaches to Torben. As he gets older, he picks up a wide array of instruments, his favourite being the violin. If there’s ever a party/social gathering at Moominvalley, either Torben planned it himself or he had some part in it. You will most definitely see him encouraging everyone to dance once the party gets into full swing too.

- Makes his own clothes. Enjoys knitting, sewing, crocheting and embroidery. Cloaks, coats, ponchos, hats, gloves, quilts, whatever he pleases, all decorated with the most showy of patterns. Moomin jokes that they could never survive hibernation without Torben’s blankets to keep them warm.

- Wants to smoke like Snufkin but Moomin won’t let him until he’s older so he just carries around an empty pipe to pretend to puff on and look cool.

- Grows to be far taller than his Papas and his siblings.

- Isn’t aware of his witch heritage just yet. He learns in his early teens by pure accident when roaming though the woods and encountering an older Alicia. She tilts her head at him curiously, commenting that he bears a striking resemblance to a witch she was friends with long ago. With a little encouragement from her, they manage to find some trace of magic in him over a cup of tea. He realizes with great fear and great excitement that there’s been this whole side of himself that he went all these years without noticing.

- Moomin is shocked by this development while Snufkin takes it in stride, saying that it’s no wonder Torben would always nick his hat as a small child. Every witch needs a hat!

- Though Alicia handles most of Torben’s witch training, Snufkin also pitches in by teaching him how to read tarot cards. Meanwhile Moomin tells his son that it’s okay if he believes in the cards but if they tell him to leave home before he’s ready if he catches a certain amount of fish or something silly like that, then they’re wrong!

Birch - The Woodie. The middle child. Two years younger than Torben and three years older than Essi. Primarily the voice of reason among his more reckless siblings. However, he is still a child and loves a good adventure and a laugh every so often so he’ll usually tag along without question. While the trio have been thrown in jail several times, it’s worth mentioning that there’s plenty of times they haven’t gotten arrested and Birch’s quick thinking is usually to thank for that.

- Birch is quite the introvert. Calm, reserved and a bit shy around strangers. But that does not stop him from having a tongue sharp as a pinprick when he’s around those he’s comfortable with. He’s good with a snarky retort to any of Torben’s comments and will gladly dish them out at any opportunity.

- He and Torben bicker constantly. They are always a word away from launching at each other into a full blown wrestling match over the kitchen table. They disagree on all trivial things. They’re also best friends and there is no force in this world that can tear the brothers apart.

- Keeping Essi safe is usually their top priority but Birch often forget that he’s also a younger sibling and Torben is always looking out for him too.

- Likes to collect the things he finds, especially funny shaped rocks and seashells. He’s always carrying around a little pouch to store his treasures. The shelves in his bedroom are packed tight with everything he’s gathered over the years, which he polishes every day.

- Doesn’t like affection from just anyone but will allow it from his family and actively seeks it from Moomin. His papa gives very good hugs and Birch often finds himself needing a specific kind of comfort that only Moomin can give him.

- He’s cleaner than the average Woodie, bathing twice as regularly as is required of him. He then has to scrub the shedding moss he left in the bathtub.

- The little flower patches that grow on his body tend to wilt and fall off during the colder months and burst into bloom again in Spring. The older he gets, the more flowers he accumulates.

- Birch is a dreamer. He’s the musing, pondering sort who likes to fall away to his own imagination. He likes reading and enjoys writing and while he’s tried out a variety of different types, such as stories, plays and memoirs (at Moominpapa-…or rather moomingrandpapa’s insistence) he finally finds that he’s best suited for poetry.

- When Birch and Snufkin first met, his future father was sceptical. Seeing a Woodie child again brought back a mix of nostalgia and an instinctive urge to back away before the confounded little one imprinted on him like last time. And true, while as a young child, Birch was a lot more touchy and clingy but much to Snufkin’s relief, he had an obvious favouritism towards Moomin.

- Snufkin was astonished as Birch grew older and it became clearer with each day that they had a lot in common. Birch often needed his space too, he needed alone time, he didn’t like large crowds and he got grumpy when he wasn’t left alone when asked. And while his siblings didn’t always get that, Moomin and Snufkin understood and allowed him his solitude when he needed it.

- One year, Birch’s heart tells him he needs to leave. Not forever but just for a bit. He doesn’t understand the urge but every inch of him is suddenly screaming “we need to go!” and he has no idea how to react to it. Eventually, he realizes that this is the exact feeling Snufkin always described as he hugged them goodbye every winter. It was something he simply needed to do.

- He’s very anxious about telling Moomin, knowing how family-oriented his papa was and how worried he could get over his childrens’ wellbeing. But once he finally works up the courage to announce his plans over the dinner table, his two papas share a shocked look but the response from both of them is surprisingly supportive. Moomin explains that if it’s what he must do, then do it. Though he had never gotten that feeling himself, being with Snufkin so long has given him a lot of insight on wanderers and the way their souls are. Snufkin says nothing on the matter but Birch catches his smile from across the table and the proud gleam in his eye.

- Birch is the first of the children to go a winter without hibernating. He’s not entirely sure if he’ll do this every year but maybe once in a while would be nice. When the time to leave finally came, Essi clings to him and weeps as Birch holds her close and assures her that he’ll be back again in no time. He can tell Moomin wants to burst into tears too but he holds himself together as not to hold Birch back. Torben is doing the same thing but Birch suspects that more on account of his own self-pride.

- For his first time vagabonding, it’s not as nerve-wracking as he thought it would be. He’s alone of course, but every so often he and Snufkin would cross paths on their respective journeys and share a campfire and talk into the night. It’s only every few weeks but it’s comforting to know that no matter how vast the woods seem to be, his father is out there somewhere. And he doesn’t always need him there. The peace he gets in the weeks between is quite nice. His journal bursts with poems in a way it never has before. Birch believes he might do this again next year.

Essi - The Mumrik. The baby of the bunch. An exploding ball of sunshine and an unstoppable force of nature fused into one tiny form. Often considered the second generation Little My due to how small and rambunctious she can be. That being said, while the similarities are certainly there, there are plenty of differences between the two in the personality department. Essi was put on this planet solely to have fun and play and love, love, love with every beat of her heart.

- Essi has never spoken a word in her life but that doesn’t stop her from having plenty to say. Since she was a baby, her family has caught on to her way of communicating which she does through her paws, facial expressions, whistling, body language and the thump and swish of her tail. Her tail tends to be reserved for her more intimate sayings. When referring to Moomin for example, she bats her tail twice against the nearest surface, producing a little ‘pah pah’ sound.

 - Has absolutely no idea how to pace herself. Essi bursts from the house every day to go play, her brothers in hot pursuit and once she’s out, she’s go, go, go. Never stops running, jumping, climbing, swimming, fishing, whatever. She can never make it home on her own as she’s always burned out and snoring in the meadow by sundown. Torben carries her home on his shoulders.

- Does not like baths and prefers to simply groom herself. However, she falls in the river at least once a day when trying to swipe for fish. Snufkin believes that to be an adequate form of bathing. Moomin disagrees. He also does not appreciate it when Snufkin helps Essi to hide when Moomin is hunting her for bath time. Meanwhile, his husband and daughter consider this quite a fun game.

- Is extremely cuddly, especially where Moomin is concerned. He hardly gets a chance to sit down without Essi hopping on her papa’s stomach and curling up to the warmth of his fur, purring happily. When content, she’ll knead her paws and when affection is being demanded, she will bash her head into Moomin’s nose to receive the cuddles she wants.

- While Birch sometimes finds her nonstop energy annoying/draining at times, Essi looks up to her big brother unconditionally. She doesn’t understand his rock collection or why he’s always writing or locking himself in his room but he’s good! He kisses her scratches when she gets hurt and he hugs her, even if he doesn’t want to and shares his lunch with her he tells really good stories! He even includes more knights at Essi’s request. She tries to thank him for everything he does by bringing him dead bugs but for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem to like it.

- Torben dotes on Essi and he always has. Whether it be by tickles or funny voices or throwing her up in the air, he loves to make his sister laugh. And when Birch isn’t in the mood to join in their nonsense, they make an excellent crime duo. He’s not the greatest influence sometimes but he loves her. He also doesn’t enjoy dead bugs as gifts, which Essi can’t wrap her head around at all.

- Like Snufkin, Essi has an inexplicable bond with nature. She attracts beasts of every sort, who have followed her home on several occasions. Though of course, she isn’t half as annoyed as Snufkin. She’s absolutely delighted by all her new pets! She’s on the lookout for a dragon of her very own though. Like the little one from her papa’s stories. She is a knight after all and what’s a knight without a dragon. (Birch tends to leave out the part of his stories where the knight slays the dragon. Essi is far happier with the interpretation of them being best friends.)

- She found an old sword washed up by the riverbank once and it has become her prized possession. Her family have tried everything but simply cannot talk the little one out of giving up her sword. Torben believes she’s entitled to keep it under the ‘Finder’s, Keepers’ rule. So, she has a sword now and that is that.

- It took Snufkin a while to accept being a father. At first, he didn’t want anything to do with that title at all. Of course, he lived with them, they were his home, he cared for them but it was always Moomin who was the father. Snufkin was just Snufkin. They called him by his name. That’s all he was and all he wanted to be. But one night, he was feeling particularly night owl-ish. Moomin had retired to bed and Snufkin was sitting by the stove, basking in the heat. Silence was then disturbed by the pat pat pat of little feet down the stairs. A tearful Essi, stricken by a bad dream, was welcomed into Snufkin’s arms as he gathered the child into his lap. Little paws going wild as she recounted it all, she was finally soothed by Snufkin’s stroke of her hair and the way he rocked her back and forth. All was quiet, as she began nodding off against his chest, when her tail batted once, then twice, against his leg. ‘Pah pah’ His breath hitched. But he said nothing. There was nothing to say, really, as everything seemed to click in that moment. He hugged Essi tight.

[startofamoment]

please come in and just sit here for a while ♥

Jake’s laughing so hard, Amy’s sure he’s going to wheeze himself into a poorly-timed asthma attack. The last thing they need right now is to have to call for backup while he fumbles with his inhaler.

“Alright, alright,” she grumbles, her cheeks warm with embarrassment. “So a double date with a young Al Gore at the Louvre isn’t the most plausible. But you asked for my dream date– you didn’t specify it had to be realistic!”

He snorts, but she shoves him in the shoulder before he can devolve into another laughing fit.

“Aw, you gotta give yourself some credit, Santiago. A date like that could totally happen.” He pauses, amusement clear on his face. “Just remind me to tell your future boyfriend to invest in a time machine.”

He ducks before she can shove him again, and just like that he’s doubled over and full-on giggling once more.

“Like your dream date is any less ridiculous,” she huffs.

He swipes at his eyes and coughs, taking a moment to settle his breathing. “Oh, I’ll have you know my ideal date is plenty realistic but dare-I-say still very romantic? The Jake Peralta boyfriend experience is quite intoxicating, thank you very much.”

She raises an eyebrow but nods for him to go on. For sheer curiosity’s sake, if nothing else.

“I’m a simple guy. I don’t have to go to a fancy museum or whatnot to have a good time. All I need is a few fluffy blankets, chairs and stuff for structure, way too many pillows, maybe some of those fairy lights to set the mood… You following me here, Santiago? I’m talking me, my boo, and the most epic pillow fort you’ve ever seen. We’ll sneak a laptop computer into the fort and put Die Hard on, duh, and then it’ll be candy and cuddles from there on out.”

She hums, vaguely impressed but not at all ready to admit that that does sound like a respectable stay-at-home date idea. (She’s even further away from acknowledging that she maybe also thinks all of that with Jake specifically sounds more than ideal.) “Movie night in a pillow fort, huh? Never took you for someone into textbook rom com dates, Peralta.”

“Hey, I like cuddles and warm blankets! They make me feel safe,” he shrugs, then shifts to smirking and waggling his eyebrows at her. “Besides, a pillow fort is the perfect place for a good ol’ make out sesh. Seriously, by the end credits, my date and I would totally be–”

“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and stop you there before this gets wildly inappropriate. Still technically work hours, Romeo.”

He sends her another cheeky grin before raising his binoculars and redirecting his attention to the warehouse they’ve been monitoring. She refocuses as well, filing this new fact about her partner somewhere in the back of her head – to be compartmentalized and hopefully forgotten, along with her mental catalogues of Weirdly Cute Things Jake Has Done and Shirts Jake Has Worn That Make His Arms Look Good.

“Are your eyes covered?” She asks, glancing behind her to triple check before unlocking her apartment door. “No peeking until I say so, okay?”

Jake scoffs but keeps his hands over his eyes. “Ames, if this is your way of easing me into blindfolds and bondage, let me tell you–”

“Oh, hush. I told you, I just need to make sure everything’s ready.”

They step into her entryway, with Jake following closely behind her then staying put when she tells him to.

Amy makes quick work of depositing her bag and shoes in their designated places, hanging up her coat, and running to get the string of lights plugged in. (She’d made sure the whole setup was prepped even before going to bed the night before, but she’d intentionally left the fairy lights off lest she be schooled by fire marshal Boone of all people.)

She surveys her living room – or what used to be her living room and what now is an organized mess of sheets strewn over dining chairs and pillows lain on every available surface – one last time before taking a steadying breath and turning back to her boyfriend. “Okay, Jake, you can look now.”

He drops his hands to his sides, and Amy watches as his expression morphs from confusion to wonder.

“Oh my god. Is this– It’s– Holy shit, it’s a pillow fort!”

He sheds his jacket and toes his shoes off as fast as possible, tripping over his socked feet to scramble into the makeshift entrance, half-squealing and half-rambling like an excited child the whole way. Amy laughs, already starting to feel pleased with herself as she crawls in after him.

“Amy, this is amazing! Did you put all of this together on your own?” He’s beaming, eyes shining with unbridled joy. In the few seconds it’s taken her to settle in against a strategically-arranged pile of pillows, he’s managed to wrap himself up in one of the three fleece blankets she’d prepared for them to use. (She’s going to have to do so much laundry this weekend.)

“Mhm,” she nods, hoping she’s coming off cool when actually she’s buzzing with giddiness from the inside out. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? I love it!” He falls back onto the thick floral comforter lining the floor beneath them, closing his eyes and making a satisfied hum before looking at her again. “Not to be weird, but you are making teenage Jake so happy right now. Like, I for realz would spend hours trying to imagine how my fort would look like and this– yeah, this is pretty darn close. The only thing it needs is–”

“Snacks? Check under that couch cushion.” She smiles, pointing to the spot beside his arm.

He sits back up then lifts the pillow in question, gasping loudly. “Gummy bears? Fruit Roll-Ups? One, two, three… seven types of chocolate, and even the Mexican candy from the bodega near the precinct? Amy, I–” His face shifts to something between bewilderment and awe, sending another surge of nerves through her. “I don’t know what to say… This is literally my dream date. How did you know?”

“Well, it’s... kind of a weird story. You’re going to laugh.” She stops, looking down and tucking her hair behind her ears while she searches for the right words to say. She’d known, logically, that it was much more likely he’d forgotten about their random conversation way back when, but a part of her had just hoped he’d remember so she wouldn’t have to explain herself like this.

“Come on, Ames. I promise I won’t laugh,” he says gently, nudging her leg with his foot. “I swear I really only want to know how you somehow read my mind. I mean, I know my school counselor said I should’ve kept daily diaries back then but I absolutely did not, so there’s no way you broke into one of those. Did I drunkenly blurt out my mushy teenage fantasies at Shaw’s the other week?”

She shakes her head, fiddling with the hem on the nearest pillowcase. “Not last week or at Shaw’s. I don’t expect you to remember this because it was at a stakeout a few years ago, but we’d talked about our ideal dates and you’d mentioned movie night in a pillow fort, so…” Her voice trails off as she digs underneath yet another blanket for her laptop and DVD copy of Die Hard.

She almost cringes when he doesn’t respond immediately, and it takes all her courage to get herself to look up from the loading screen.

He’s got that boyish grin on his face, of course. (It’s not fair that she still finds him ridiculously attractive, even when he’s obviously over the moon at her expense.)  

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” she says, pouting.

“I’m not! I’m just–” His grin widens into a smirk. “ So, so glad I finally have proof you’ve liked me for ages. Wow, Ames. You’ve been holding onto this piece of info for years, just waiting until you could finally put it to use, huh? That had to have been at least three years ago by now, right? Gosh, Amy, I had no idea–”

“Shut up and eat your candy,” she grumbles, throwing a packet of fruit leather his way.

He snickers but doesn’t say anything more as he tears into the plastic and bites into the chewy candy. The tips of her ears burn just the same, with her lack of an outright denial loud and clear in the air between them.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says brightly, laying a sticky kiss on her flushed cheek. (The brand new pet name isn’t lost on her at all, but she’ll unpack her feelings about that another time.) “I’ve most definitely liked you for way too long, so at least we’re even.”

[archivepolarisornah]

The meeting | Hayden

A walk around town always done him some good to regain control of his temper whenever he few off the handle. The incompetence of some of the men under the rankings almost astounded him if it didn’t already infuriate him to no end. Hayden slipped a cigarette into his mouth and sparked a match to light it, drawing in a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his damned soul. Passing the other establishments in town, he headed towards the social hub of Mount Olympus. He approached all sorts of commotions coming from inside and out of the bar and drinks flowing meant money was steamrolling in. Hayden finished his smoke and made his way through the parting sea of customers to the front of the bar.

James had a habit when it came to having a free day, and that was enjoying a drink. However, he couldn’t recall things being this busy last time he came to check out the club. Rather it was pathetically empty that very first time that he even ended up leaving early. This sudden change was both unexpected and unwanted. He found himself sighing as it took ten minutes to even get a bloody drink now. His patience was running rather slim.

Should have gone for a drink at home. He muttered to himself, inaudible throughout all the noise. As he turned, drink in hand his eyes crossed with a particular individual. He gave him a simple nod. He knew too well that respect is something earned, and it wasn’t like him to be impolite without reason.

Hayden walked straight behind the bar and was handed a drink by one of his lackys. He must admit, they’ve been trained well enough to give him something without him even asking. He stood back and watched the crowd growing around the bar. Drinks and money being exchanged like rapid on the stock market.

He spotted James and gave him a respectable nod. He had nothing against the man and they’re paths never quite crossed enough for them to ever become more than acquaintances but Hayden wasn’t going to burn bridges unless he had good reason to.

Deciding to step in and intervene, Hayden lifted up the side of the bar and motioned for James to come in. There was a separate space in the back for people that wanted to drink and socialise in peace without the drunken animals surrounding them. He figured he owed the guy the gift of keeping his sanity instead of leaving him around screeching customers and blaring music.

James couldn’t help but roll his eyes as the customers pushed and yelled and most of them were drunk way too quickly. He couldn’t believe that one of them just finished a beer and already clung to one of his pals as if they were love-struck teens. Oh lord.

He did, however, get distracted when Hayden returned the nod and James smiled, seeing he got a drink himself. Hayden had quite an air around him that just either scared you, made you immediately respect him or lured you in.

When he made a movement for James to follow, James did just that. Wondering if the air was also reflected in the way Hayden talked to others. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand that air. But it certainly made him curious.

“Well this is certainly a lot more quiet.”

Hayden turned and leaned against the bar now that they were away from the rowdy crowds. “Yeah, this area is for business people and the fair few that I believe deserve peace and quiet to enjoy a drink.” he shrugged.

Reaching into this pocket, he pulled out a cigarette and lit one up, breathing out a cloud of smoke “Smoke?” he asked, holding out his packet to offer James one out of courtesy.

“So what brings you into my bar, its not often you’re seen around here. Those employees of yours finally drive you mad?”

“It certainly looks like a great place to hold discussions.” At the Neverland hotel, that would be his office, and that at times lacked the professionalism since Tina and Peter decided they could walk in at any time. He should consider putting a lock on that door. For his own sanity as well.  “Then I certainly am glad to have received the believe I belong to those people.” He smiled.

“Yes, though I smoked more when I was younger.” Age started to catch up on him and he’d try to lessen.

“You reading minds now?” He couldn’t contain an eyeroll but eventually had to nod. “Threw Tina in the pool so the tantrums are worse. Peter is well Peter.”

“Well you certainly put it to good use, it makes me want to expend my own office.” James couldn’t help but smile. Fun guy that Hayden, pretty easy champ to talk to huh? “Of course, ever since I was a child I knew that I had to earn money.” Not everyone got to knock on daddy’s door asking for help when in trouble. “Been with a certain crowd in my youth, you got to start somewhere.” Especially as an orphan.

“Guess you can do stuff like this as well.” He inhaled deeply just to blow out some smoke and to inhale it. “Back in the day that used to be a thing, smoke tricks such as the ghost inhale.” He rolled his eyes. “We don’t remain forever young but old habits don’t die easily.”

He rolled his eyes. “To be fair I could have done worse than throwing her in a pool while jumping along-” He could have dropped her alone. “And you know her she is a trouble maker. She thought she could flirt with me to turn me into an embarrassment. She was also pretty drunk.” He shrugged. “The water sobered her up quite quickly.”

“Smoke tricks. There’s a throw back that shows our age” he smirked “Nothing wrong with ageing. Whiskey and wine age well” he shrugged and motioned to his bartender to bring over the bottle and leave it next to them.

“Wait you jumped with her?” he asked “Why is she complaining, you jumped in too.” He didn’t see the problem but then again he also knew that if he did that to Megan that she would hit the roof “Trouble maker is a terms I’m most familiar with thanks to Megan.” It seems like James and himself had the same issue with trouble making staff “Well you were being considerate sobering her up.”

“Yes, we are officially ageing well.” James returned the smirk. “With age comes wisdom, after all, can’t say the kids at my place have plenty of those.” He nodded. “Can’t say no to a good whiskey.” He was more hard liquor than refined wine, but he could appreciate both.

“Didn’t know if she could swim.” He would have to jump after her if she couldn’t. “Because it’s Tina?” That should be reason enough, she could complain about anything if it included James. “How is Megan doing?” He didn’t care in particular but it wasn’t bad to keep this small talk going. “True, I’m a nice guy after all.” He wasn’t always but one could say he improved a little from the time when he was fresh out of the orphanage.

“Couldn’t agree more.” he said raising his glass “I can’t speak for you’re lot but I can assure you, mine definitely don’t.” he replied, taking a swig of his drink. He poured them both another glass and placed the bottle to the side of the table.

“You didn’t know?” he repeated, a smirk crossing his face. He wasn’t going to lie, it was funny. Hayden figured that it wasn’t James’ fault that Tina didn’t find it funny, but he sure as hell did. “Megan is Megan. Too sarcastic for her own good and a pain in my ass.” he shrugged. She was of no concern to him but the deal they had is what tethered them together. “Isn’t that what employees should thank their employers for after all. We’re considerate people.”

“Well, I can’t say I hate it when people agree with me. I feel like at work that’s a rarity. And one of the issues of the agreement is working in itself. I swear the amounts of times I want to kick out Peter is rather pathetic, but I can’t abandon the kid.” He sighed. “He got lucky to have a roof and food above his head without paying rent- I know if I request it from him he’ll just run away and I am not in the mood to chase his ass.” Honestly, if it wasn’t for Tina he wondered if he would have been this patient with him.

“I wasn’t sure no, and the little princess seemed like she was scared so, safety first I suppose.” She was as red as a lobster and cursed his whole being. It was fun, though the anger afterwards wasn’t. She could be so moody at times, and then she would surprise him by lowering her walls. “She is a trouble maker.” And yet he was fond of her. “Yeah, I found her phone number on the floor - seems like someone threw it away. Well, I suppose we both know the pain in our ass when it comes to working then?” A tiny smirk came on his lips.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, I’d say we are the most considerate people in the whole joint.”

“That’s true. The down side of working with idiots and kids.” he shrugged “Kids these days will never know the value of money and hard work. We didn’t get things handed to us and nowadays most of them expect everything to be given to them for free.” Hayden’s age truly showed at times, even he had to admit that.

“Fair enough. At least you cared enough to give a thought about the girls safety. That was more of a thought than I would have given about it.” To be honest, Hayden would have let anyone who annoyed him enough to drown but he figured that most people had a conscience. “I’d throw it away too” he muttered “What’s working if you don’t have one employee that’s a pain in your arse. Unfortunately all of mine are”

“Touché.” For a moment his guilty subconsciousness slipped to smee. Well, the issue with the man was he was way too gullible. “Sometimes I wished I had a new addition to the staff, someone who is both capable and you know doesn’t treat me like a villain simply because I’m an adult male. Seriously, for someone who pays these dimwits, they truly lack respect.”

“Of course I care, I lack staff so if she drowns that would seriously be an issue.” He rolled his eyes. It was because he fancied her, and he absolutely hated it, especially with her recent betrayal. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be happy if my info was just laying on the ground honestly. And hey all of mine are as well, maybe Smee isn’t but he doesn’t make work easier.”

“Well if you find one, let me know when you start seeing pigs fly because that will be when the miracle happens that a new addition like that joins the workforce” he smirked “They all lack respect because they expect everything to be done for them or they expect to get to the top of the world with minimum amount of effort.”

“You’re not wrong there. Can’t be down a staff member this time of year” he shrugged “Idiots, James. They’re all idiots. We’re stuck having to spoon feed all these kids when its about time they grow up and take responsibility for their jobs and actions”

James couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t see why Neverland isn’t the most-” He couldn’t come up with the correct term. Fishy? He shrugged. “Well you do make a fair point, I don’t think we’ll get an addition to our staff anytime soon.” He sighed deeply. “They do. It’s like they think they owe the place yet when you threaten to cut their earnings they think it’s unfair. Though I wonder I’m just paying them for the work they do. One of my staff members takes a nap. Peter basically lives in Neverland sitting on his lazy ass. And smee, Smee gets seduced by Tina and the idiot falls for pretty much everything she says.”

He emptied the whiskey Hayden had poured in for him in one go. The burn felt nice against his throat. “They are. I didn’t become a boss so I could become a babysitter.”

[khrow-shinku]

The Great War S22B

D&D 5e Campaign

The Great War

Aravari The Fresh Queen of Aeldari

The following events happened in the middle of session 22.

Uncle Visit 1st day

Ara visits her uncle as she has plenty of questions. She asks her uncle if her father was just paranoid his whole life or if something had changed because she was always taught by him that his old tribe was after him for abandoning the code and not being an assassin. Her uncle responded informing her that he wasn’t paranoid. Until her fifth birthday the tribe was after him, it wasn’t until then that leadership changed when their family ousted the old leaders. He could have come back at any time after that and rejoined the clan and been their blacksmith. Could have even brought his family with him. The clan had sent someone to inform him of all this however her father was so skilled at his ability to hide his tracks that by the time they found him he was buried. That is when he personally investigated his brother's death and found out about her, her stillborn brother and her mother and the life her father had made for himself.

Ara then notices a hole in all this, how did you see me at two if you didn’t know I existed until after my father died? He reaches into his pocket and hands her what appears to be a mirror with the domerian crest on it. She notices that it isn’t a normal mirror but a scrying mirror. He then responds I would see you in that when I would check on my younger brother although I wasn’t sure who you were until I started doing my investigation after his death. Since then I have used it to look after you and yes that dragonborn who killed those demons was because of me, that was actually your other uncle.

Ara then drops a bomb on him and tells him that her father is still alive and tells him about everything that happened in Dustreodan and her father transforming from a spider and being younger than he ever was as her father and appearing to be in his prime. Her uncle chuckles when he sees the embarrassment and sexual confusion at seeing her young father naked. She showed him the page with the coordinates and date. All he can see though is the coordinates nothing else appears on the paper for him. He agrees that all maps only show an ocean there however there are fairy tales of a magical island existing in that region too though no one has ever found it. Wanting to be prepared for her journey there she asked her uncle to send out some guys to go look into the area and any islands that may or may not be there.

The two of them begin discussing her parents in more detail as he had also done his detailed background checks and record keeping. Turns out Ara’s mother, Bekari, once banged a Terrasque named Bob.(Yes the one from earlier in the campaign). She also found out that the capital of her father’s country shared the same name as the name on the coordinates on the paper her father left for her. Uncle filled her in that it had mysteriously vanished one day leaving a crater and after that the country was sold and sold again which is why the clan now lives here in Aeldari for the most part and set up their organization to run out of here. He also had a feeling she would end up coming here eventually. He then went on to tell her that her father was originally posted in this country to run this branch and that is where he had first met her mother however as royalty she and him of course did not travel in the same circles. After her mother had left and given up her throne five to six years passed and then her father received a letter. After reading it he destroyed it and abandoned his post knowing it would cost him his life and cause his clan to hunt him down. After more discussion about things her uncle informs her that their deities would never revive him in such a way going so far as to make him younger. However it does sound like the work of a group of mages that had worshipped her mother. Turns out the year he left was the same year mom was dealing with that family in the burned down town she had found before. Ara informed her uncle of a theory she had come up with after comparing things that they both had found out. She believes her mother was killed by the dragolich because he saw her as a threat. A mother’s love is a powerful thing, he was likely afraid that she would come to save the son that had died and was now alive. Fearing this he had her killed. At least that is what Ara is thinking now anyway.

The conversation then shifts to the fact he has protected her and kept watch over her for years now, as has her father even after his death. Ara gave him a puzzled look. He went on to inform her that the dragonborn who killed those demons in front of her party and tested her before was her other uncle, who then appears out of the shadows and says hi. He then informs her that her working at the brothel was no accident. Her father had been in talks with Resnoa for years. He knew what she was and where her path would lead her. So he set up Resnoa’s brothel as a safe place for her to explore her true identity. Resnoa was one of their assassins, at that time she too appeared out of the shadows and said hi. Ara gave her a hug and had a brief convo and asked her to move the brothel with the girls here for obvious reasons, she was kind of queen and while she intends to uphold the deal she had with Resnoa she also has a country to run so she needs the brothel to be here. Ara then says she might know someone else who was a part of her fathers group and calls for Thefa to appear. Thefa, not knowing Ara knew how to do this yet, appears in the middle of the room naked in a bathtub. Thefa gets out of the tub. Ara's youngest uncle covered Thefa with his cloak. After which the bathtub teleported to the middle of a field where a farmer stood there confused. While talking with them she discovered that Thefa’s body is the secret treasury for the country. Inside her chest is a vault with all the money the country needs and uses to run. She had been saving it up slowly while traveling with Ara, she had been replacing Ara’s platinum with fake platinum and putting the real inside herself for their country.

Her uncle then brought out three boxes and told Ara to choose one. Ara asks him some questions trying to gauge what choice is the best choice. Only info he gives her is that this was a test everyone in his company has gone through including her father. After much thinking she remembered what her father had always told her,  that the quality of material went wood, pearl, iron when she was growing up and never explained why. So she chose the iron box. In it was a stone written in abyssal that she couldn’t read so she put it back in the box and took it with her. After that they said their goodbyes and Ara left.

The Next Day with swordsmith Hashimoto

Ara was awakened early and escorted out before the sun had even risen. Outside of the castle she met Hashimoto who pointed at her and told her to come with him. She followed him to a building that turned out to be his forge. However there were tools there foreign to her despite growing up around her father who worked in a forge. They are magical tools that draw on the life force of the one who wields them. They were made by Bekari for her son to use when he took the throne. Ara was shocked by this and said son? She was pregnant before she gave up the throne? What happened to him? She left while still pregnant. The child was raised by its father because something had caused an issue with her. Knowing there is only one person who would know anything about her mom’s life at the time she called out Thefa’s name. She questioned Thefa about why her mother would start a new family and not go back to the son and baby daddy she already had. Thefa explained that she was a surrogate for a man and woman who couldn’t have children. That while yes it was technically another half brother to her it was the result of a signed contract to be raised by the man and his wife. A deal your mother made for certain resources she needed to flee. Ara’s grandmother had intended to steal Bekari’s life essence to regain her youth and maintain her control over the country. To avoid this Bekari handed over the country to the two men she did and left to the country of Criecia to birth the child per the contract and gain the resources she needed to run from her mother. Ara asks why would she run instead of simply killing her mother for being clearly evil or at least having ill intentions.  Thefa explains that Ara’s mother was too weak to challenge her mother. She would never have won. Thefa informs Ara that her grandmother should be dead and in the mausoleum under the castle. The spectral butlers are relatives that her grandmother has leached life off of, none are former rulers. There are over a thousand of them there. The only reason the spectral people could leave the castle grounds is because Thefa did, they are bound to her as much as they are the castle. If Thefa wanted to she could summon them elsewhere however she prefers not to. Satisfied with things for now Ara tells Thefa she will ask her more about this later. Thefa leaves and Hashimoto says so are you ready to continue? Ara nods.

Hashimoto hands Ara the first tool and Ara feels like it bites her and then a stream of blood runs from her down the tool and becomes an ingot at the bottom. He then hands her the second tool and Ara begins to feel slightly weaker as  a flame runs down the whole length of the tool with the largest portion of flame on the opposite end. Hashimoto asks her to calm down and control the flame. Even if she isn’t a pure succubus she should be able to turn it down a bit as it is too hot as it is a deep blue almost black flame.  Hashimoto is constantly referring to her as “child” the whole time showing the age difference between the two. Hashimoto says I’m sorry if you can’t control your life force yet to control the flame most succubus can be much younger than you, had you been raised here you would be able to. Ara responds saying she was taught to control magical flame but controlling her life force is new for her. He explains to her that they are very similar and walks her through how to find her life force and gauge it and control it. After a while he has her controlling the flame and making it a midnight black and it is much hotter, so hot that even Ara can feel the heat a little. He walks Ara over to an anvil looking thing and she places the tool with the flame under the anvil and she places the ingot down on the anvil. The anvil itself starts to glow and the ingot seems to resonate with it and Hashimoto begins hammering and folding the ingot until he makes it into an unsharpened blade nearly as long as Ara’s body.  After doing over 2000 folds he tells her to lift the blade off the anvil before removing the flame she does so however she is exhausted as it has been her life force sustaining this flame for the hours and hours it has taken to do this. He has her lower the blade in a horse trough of water. He takes the flame bearers tool from her and puts it on his bench then takes the metal bearers tool from her and has her sit down. After he tells her that her part in the process is done. It will take its final form as he continues his part in the process. He also tells her she will see it before her coronation takes place and then has guard carry Ara where she needs to go, which is to give her speech to her people at the colosseum.

The next day Ara visits her uncle again.

Ara goes to continue talking to her uncle about things and finds out that there are other locations involved in the things that are going on other than Lunarias and Gaia. Ara sees Seerii and says hi to her as she goes through her uncle’s office and out a door she didn’t notice in it before. After a little bit of talking Ara goes to leave her uncle and let him get on with his work. Before leaving he tells her to see the receptionist that he has left a gift there for her. At the receptionist she is given a bag with her and Angra’s names on it.

[tasha-writes]

Time Turning- GeorgexOC

Set during the Cursed Child. Rowan is an auror and is usually in charge of storing and destroying dangerous objects. When she tries to destroy the time turner she is sent back in time. Some background info about Rowan, she married George, was Fred and George’s friend throughout school and is Draco’s childhood best friend.  

It had been less than an hour since my friends had left, but I had crossed the Potter living room so much I was probably halfway to wearing a hole in the carpet.  “Ro,” George said tiredly from the couch, “you pacing isn’t going to bring them back any faster.” I halted my horizontal trail and turned on my heel to face him. His red hair was ruffled, and there were bags under his eyes, he looked as bad as I felt.

“I know, it’s just,” I sighed, “this is my nephew and my godson! Not to mention they’re only fifteen, when I was their age I was running around playing pranks with you and Fred!” My voice cracked a little on the last word, but I wasn’t on the verge of tears, which was an improvement.

George raised an eyebrow, “If I remember correctly when you were fifteen you were also defying the Ministry of Magic and fighting Death Eaters,” there was a hint of laughter in his tone, he thankfully hadn’t reacted to the mention of his twin.  I sat down next to George and curled into his side.

“When do you think they’ll be back?” I asked quietly. His response was interrupted by a loud crack behind us. Before he could respond a loud crack came from behind us.

George grinned, and suddenly he looked about 5 years younger, exactly how I felt as the weight of the day’s stress lifted off my shoulders.  I jumped over the back of the couch, feeling much like a teenager again, and rushed for Scorpius and Albus. I pushed Draco out of the way and pulled the two boys in a hug.  “Oh Merlin, thank god you two are alright!” I pulled back a little and placed a quick kiss on their foreheads before bringing them back into a tight hug.

“Don’t squish the poor boys, Rowan,” George had a wide grin on his face when I turned my head to stick my tongue out at him but did release the boys from my death squeeze. It was good timing too since they were starting to turn purple.

       “Now that you’ve gotten that out of the way, we could use your help with this,” Draco said, holding up a golden object. The time turner. Albus and Scorp’s faces soured at the sight of it.

“Of course,” I said as I straightened. “I’ll take it to my vault when I leave, but first, these boys need some hot cocoa.” I glanced at my fellow adults, “On second thought, we could all use some of my Grandmum’s famous hot cocoa.” On the way to the kitchen, I passed Draco, and h smoothly slipped the time turner into my hand.

   I sat the time turner on the counter before pulling out the ingredients, when I waved my hand they began mixing themselves. Once done the cups began floating and little flames manifested beneath each of them.  While the milk heated I began examining the turner. Deciding it would be better of destroyed than in my vault I placed it on the floor and slipped my wand out of my sleeve. “Reducto”  I murmured.

A streak of magic flew at the time turner and shattered it, then, without warning it rebounded and hit me. Instead of hitting the wall of the kitchen like I had expected, I found myself flat on my back. Above me were two identical faces with freckles and red hair. Suddenly I was an eleven-year-old again, that naive little first year on the train. Too small to be taken seriously, not strong enough to lift my own trunk, just staring up helplessly at two of the same jokers.

I was hit with the absolute wrongness of the situation, there shouldn’t have been two faces, there shouldn’t have been George and Fred. The last time I had seen my husbands twin I was seventeen, and he had been lying still, lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall.

“Fred?” My voice was a broken whisper. The twins looked at each other, and then back at me in unison, an act I hadn’t seen in years. A sob almost escaped me, but I wouldn’t let it escaped my clamped shut lips. Realising I was still lying down my face flushed red. I slowly stood, brushed the dirt off of my clothing and examined them. They, George, looked so much younger. The time turner certainly worked.

“Who are you?” I squinted at their faces, the one on the right had an extra smattering of freckles near his left ear, something exclusive to my husband and the only thing that allowed me to tell them apart. I never told them how I did it.  

“It” I paused and took a deep breath, hoping this interaction wouldn’t screw up the timeline, “it’s me, Rowan.”

George leaned closer to me, “You don't really look like look like Ro, though. Plus she always flinches when I get close to her.” I couldn’t argue, fifteen-year-old me would have violently flinched away to widen the small distance between us. I had just realised my feelings for him the year before and was still adjusting to it.

“People do change George, “ then under my breath, “and I’ve certainly had plenty of time.” Tentatively I told them, “I’m the Rowan from your future, there was an... “ I searched for the words, “incident that caused me to end up here.”

“So does this mean you’re over George?” Fred asked. My eyes blew wide with shock.

“What?”

“Recently you, well our you, always freak out when George gets too close to you, and whenever Georgie isn’t looking you make goo-goo eyes at him, it’s disgusting.” George looked as shocked as I did, I didn’t realise I had been so obvious. “I do have eyes you know.

      I felt my face heating up, a little late to be embarrassed, “You liked me?” George asked, his own face was assuming the colour of a tomato.

     “Well, like,” I corrected quietly.

      “I guess. Since the version of you I know still likes me.” was he, pouting?

I quickly debated with myself whether I should tell him or not, would it spoil our future together or make it that much better? It could really go either way, but did I really want to chance it? Then again he had started acting differently halfway through the year, this could have been why.

      “Nothing’s changed, George. I still like you,” ‘like’ didn’t exactly cover how I felt for him, “ and it would be bloody sad if I didn’t,” I said teasingly. A quick glance at my watch told me had almost been five minutes since I arrived, the next thing I said had to make an impression, “I mean, we are married after all.”

  And then I was back in my sister-in-law's kitchen, just as I had left it. It seemed almost no time had passed. I was glad to be back safe but did regret not being able to see the looks on the twins faces.

On the ground in front of the time turner the cause of the entire situation lay unbroken, “Vault it is then,” I muttered to myself.

   “You know, I always wondered what that incident was,” A voice said from the doorway. There was my husband, a wide grin plastered on.

      I rolled my eyes, “You are so annoying.”

      “But you love me anyway, and it would be bloody sad if you didn’t.” He said, throwing my own words back in my face, which I buried in my hands.

      “I can’t believe you still remember that?” My voice was muffled by my hands. George’s shoes made soft clicking sounds on the kitchens tile floor as he walked towards me.

      “And I can’t believe you still get embarrassed,” he said tugging me up from the ground and pulling me into a hug.

      “George tell me something,” I spoke into his chest, “Did you kiss me that day because of my visit,” I asked. I felt his arms tighten around me.

      “Partly, I had been working up to it since I saw-”

      “Me and Fred at the Yule ball,” I interrupted.

      “After that, you started acting weird and I decided against it. Then future you came, and Umbridge found Dumbledore’s army. The three of us made the plan with the fireworks and Fred,” his voice cracked on the name, “and I started planning the kiss.”

      I pulled away and looked up at him, he was so damn tall. 5’8 compared to my 5’1. “And you never thought to tell me any of this?” I asked.

     “Well, I didn’t know how it happened so there wasn’t much to tell,” He shrugged. I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Behind me, the Hot Cocoa had finished.

     “Well now instead of a story to tell me, I guess it’s one for Darcy and Orion,” I stepped back and with a wave of my wand, the cups began floating towards the living room. George and I followed them out.