#it feels very obvious to state but the more effort i put in a fic the better the first line is now that i think about it

[severeweatheralert]

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Thanks for tagging me @jianghuchild :D

I'm going to cheat and do 11 fics because I've posted 11 and leaving off The Long Way Home feels so weird.

1. The Long Way Home: All of Tokyo was dark. 2. Cannon Fodder: Hisano sat behind his desk, in his basement office, and regretted once more that he didn’t have a window to stare out of. 3. Bloodlust: First they drag him in front of Hatter, a cocksure lunatic who doesn't seem to know how to button up his shirt. 4. Neither of us were good people: ‘You’re going to do it,’ Chishiya tells the nurse. 5. Freelance: Niragi’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to fuck your drug dealer. 6. Road to Nowhere: The sea lapped at the honeycomb cliffs of Ikitsuki Island with a rhythmic normalcy that almost could have fooled Val. 7. Teeth: Niragi is seven years old when his grandmother dies. 8. Bad Habits: Nagase is coming to Busan. 9. Call of the Void: Niragi doesn’t fully appreciate the absurdity of the situation until the door of Chishiya’s bathroom clicks shut behind him. 10. Warmth: It’s february. The winter cold pours in through the windows, despite the double glass, and the sun spills in through the gap between the curtains. 11. Icebreaker: Niragi lays on his stomach on the roof of an office building, peering down the scope of his rifle.

Huh. I find it a bit hard to see a similarity between all of these, though most of them do seem to fit the general fic vibe I was going for with each story, in hindsight. I think I either drop some sort of (semi)shock value statement (Tokyo is dark? Chishiya's forcing someone to do something? Dying grandmother? Niragi's relationship with his drug dealer?) and hope that drags the reader into the first paragraph, OR go for vibe immediately and just do a full description ("cocksure lunatic" is a favourite tbh). Though some of these you could slot into both categories (Call of the Void, Road to Nowhere?).

More analysis in the tags I couldn't help myself

Thanks for tagging me! I'm never sure who to @ for these kinds of things but if you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[temis-de-leon]

Demon Brothers as Single Fathers

What if the brothers already had a kid when MC first appeared in the Devildom?

Characters: demon brothers, gn! kid and gn! MC

Masterlist

CW: lesson 16, death during childbirth mentioned, but there's nothing explicit. Some brothers are better fathers than others, but they all love their kid with a passion. Romantic interest towards MC at the end

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Lucifer

There´s no way he’s having a kid with a random woman. I already posted a headcanon regarding demonic pregnancies, stating them as difficult, so my guess here is that he had a long-term relationship and his partner died during childbirth.

Of course, he’d cope with her death just like he coped with Lilith’s: hiding his feelings. He had his sister’s room hidden in the House of Lamentation without any of his brothers knowing, so it makes sense that he’d hide everything regarding his former partner from everyone, including his child.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he loves that kid, but he is who he is. A strict parent that wants his family to be perfect, obedient and loyal to Lord Diavolo. His child might get an obvious special treatment, but they still have to reach their father’s standards.

All of that, mixed with the load of paperwork he has to take care of on the daily, makes bonding time very limited.

When MC arrives, he makes sure they know not to bother the kid, his threats visible to anyone with eyes.

We know MC, however. They meddle and they become friends with most of the brothers very easily, so it’s understandable that the kid wants to get close to them too.

Lucifer tries really hard to break that friendship, not trusting MC at all, but the more effort he puts in that task, the more effort his kid puts in disobeying him. And we all know Satan is helping them just to anger Lucifer.

It all reaches an end when MC frees Belphie from the attic.

The kid doesn’t understand the situation, why their new friend is all bruised and bloody on the floor and why their uncle is laughing in such evil way.

Lucifer only gets how much his kid loves the human when he sees their distraught over MC’s death and their tears of relief when MC reappears in perfect conditions.

Time passes and the family is whole again, granting the kid a new feeling of happiness and comfort they’ve never felt before. Lucifer feels obligated to rethink the situation when he sees that.

Then comes the last day of MC’s stay at the Devildom and he knows he’ll regret not showing his desire of deepening their relationship before they leave.

His kid and his brothers are not the only ones that need MC anymore.

Mammon

I kind of imagine him having a child with a one-night stand, to be honest. For the sake of this fic, the other parent is not in the picture, but Mammon loves kids, so there’s no doubt he’d keep his own.

And oh, how much he spoils them. He saves money just for them. Does he go right back into bankruptcy after that? Yes, but the intention is there, you know.

I also think the brothers would use the child to blackmail him, like “you’re such a scumbag, Mammon, you’re going to disappoint the kid”. A dick move, but they are assholes to Mammon most of the time.

And then comes MC, rocking Mammon’s world and, by extent, the child’s.

No matter how old the kid is, they can sense their father’s love towards the human. It’s almost painful to see and it brings so much second hand embarrassment, but Mammon’s happiness makes everything worth it.

Especially when MC starts to defend Mammon from his brothers’ insults.

The kid promotes themselves from child to matchmaker. 

They spoil their uncles' plans with MC so they can spend time with their father, boasting Mammon’s confidence and telling MC how good he is and how good of a couple they’d make.

At first MC thinks it’s pure childhood innocence, not suspecting the kid is acting on ulterior motives, but Mammon knows what his kid is doing.

He tries to defend his status as too good to be interested in a mere human, let alone date them. Of course, the child sees right through his bullshit.

No one stands a chance against his little hellspawn, not even him.

Suffice to say, MC and Mammon establish their relationship long before the year ends.

Leviathan

I love Levi, I truly do, but c’mon guys. I doubt he has any friends outside the online world, let alone a partner; we can all agree he’s a virgin. So, for him to have a child, I think he would’ve had to be either really lucky or unlucky (depending on how you see it), meaning that his brothers took him out of his comfort zone so he could lose his virginity and he left that one girl pregnant.

I think the mother wouldn’t have wanted to be in a relationship with him, leaving him more reclusive than ever. He needed his brothers’ help to lose his virginity and now not even the mother of his child wanted to stay with him? Yeah, he’s not leaving his room ever again.

It’s difficult for him to bond with the kid at the beginning due to the lack of knowledge on how to take care of a child and the kid being born out of a loveless meaningless one-night stand.

He watches and buys anything family-related, finally understanding that the way he became a father doesn’t have to influence their relationship, so he steps up really quick.

Don’t worry, the brothers offer their help the whole time.

They spend most of the time in his room, bonding over anime, manga, videogames and cosplay, especially about TSL. He also forces himself to get out of his room more often for the sake of his kid, even if it’s minimal.

He still distrusts MC when they arrive, not paying them any attention, but he has to reconsider a little bit when he sees the kid so interested in them.

The whole TSL quiz happens and he’s surprised to see not only Mammon and Beel helped MC, but his child too. He feels betrayed and irrationally mad at all of them for an hour or less, just until the kid insists on MC’s genuine interest on TSL and convinces him to give them a chance.

After that, their friendship develops quicker than anyone could've ever anticipated, as well as Levi’s crush on MC.

Another kid that evolves into a matchmaker, although their methods are more dramatic due to being based on anime and manga.

The rest of the brothers have a lot of fun witnessing the whole thing.

Satan

My man has contacts, he knows people all around the kingdom, he fucks. I’m not sure if the child came out of a long-term relationship or a one-night stand, but his contacts definitely have something to do with it.

His whole mission is to treat his child better than Lucifer ever treated him.

No baby voice at all, what nonsense is that? When he reads to them at night he uses different voices according to each character, same as when they play.

The type of parent that wants to respect his kid so much he kind of treats them like an adult. Full conversations and everything. More like monologues, actually, but Satan is patient enough to wait for his kid’s answer, even if it’s a babble.

Cats everywhere. Toys, clothes, bedsheets… You know the drill.

Overall, Satan puts his whole heart into his child’s development.

And when MC arrives, he’s only curious about them because Lucifer is on edge. He’d prefer if his child was left to their own devices, living their life in peace with no human bothering them for no reason.

Then he swaps bodies with Lucifer.

Boy oh boy.

The moment he sees his child running to his brother instead of him, he’s spitting fire. MC intervenes just when the kid starts to get scared, something he’s extremely grateful for.

After the pact is made, both him and the kid see MC in a completely different light, but he doesn’t think about taking them out on a date until his child trips and falls while playing in the garden.

MC tends to them, dries their tears and cleans their bloody knees before using some cute bandaids on them. Cat-themed bandaids.

How could he say no to that?

Asmodeus

One-night stand one-night stand one-night stand one-night stand.

One-night stand? YES.

I’m surprise he doesn’t have a legion of children, Hercules style, but oh well, what do I know.

I like to think the mother tried to stay, but Asmo is a certified narcissist who loves spending time with himself and who’d also love the idea of having a mini him running around, ready to try new clothes on every opportunity and match him.

It’d be difficult to stay in a family like that, with a partner that monopolizes the child’s time so selfishly. It’s bad, but I could understand if the mother chose to leave. I don’t even know if Asmo would care, given that it was a one-night stand with no feelings involved, and he’d probably believe himself to be enough.

Asmo is as dirty minded as ever and he still has various relationships, but he tries to tone down really hard, at least in front of his kid.

They’re partners in crime above all, their chemistry is insane. ‘Don’t talk to me or my son ever again’ type of relationship.

Although the kid doesn’t have Asmo’s charming powers, they’re cunning. Doe eyed with a shiny glare and a brilliant smile, who could say no to them? Sometimes they even fool their own father.

Both of them are pretty superficial, but kind-hearted at the bottom of their hearts. It just takes some time and effort to see that.

The kid treats MC the same way Asmo does, although they have no ill intent, they just want to be like their father. So when Asmo starts to show some interest in MC, pursuing a friendship, so does his child.

Partners in crime, remember? It doesn’t take long for the child to act coy and cute, turning MC’s interest to Asmo. Again, no charm nor manipulation, but a little help from an innocent hand never hurts anyone, does it?

Beelzebub

I don’t have a single idea where the child came from, but if there’s something I’m sure of it’s that they’re each other’s best friend.

Beel takes them everywhere, in his arms, strapped to his chest or sitting on his shoulders, he doesn’t care, but they’re together all the time.

Scared to his very core of losing them, but tries not to be overbearing, trusting his brothers to take care of them when he can’t, mostly Lucifer and Belphie.

They're the most important reason to control himself, Beel feels guilty when he lets loose and scares his child. Seeing your father eat a column can’t be pleasant, after all.

Another one that ignores MC when they get there, preferring spending time with his child. Now more than ever, since Belphie apparently went to the human realm as an exchange student.

When he breaks MC’s wall and they’re forced to share his room, he’s introduced to the dilemma of whether letting them sleep in Belphie’s bed while he shares his own with his kid or letting them sleep in his bed, with his kid in Belphie’s and him on the floor.

He’s very reluctant to let anyone but his twin sleep in the other bed. His nightmares lessen when he shares his space with the child as well, so Beel’s very conflicted.

MC offers to be the one sleeping on the floor, something he immediately refuses, so he finally agrees to let them both sleep in his bed while he’s on the floor.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

It isn’t until MC defends him from his own brother that he starts to think of them as a true friend. He trusts them with his kid and he even feels okay leaving them alone while he’s out doing his own things.

Days after MC goes back to sleeping in their room, his child confides in him how much they miss having the human with them and Beel can’t help but agree.

He asks for his child’s permission before taking MC out on a date.

Belphegor

Had the child with a situationship, but the mother thought he would be too absent to be a good father. She tried to leave with the kid, but Belphie insisted on keeping them. Being one of the Avatars of the Devildom, he had the upper hand.

As much as he tries to be present, he can’t help but fall asleep most of the day, so Beel takes the role of second father. Still, Belphie wants to be in the same room as his kid all the time, even when unconscious.

He’s able to enter other people’s dreams, so his favourite way of bonding is at night, interrupting his child’s nightmares and transforming them into beautiful dreams where they can do whatever they want to do.

He even made versions of Lilith and Beel for them to be together during those dreams.

Kind of entitled, to be honest.

Belphie is a brat and so is his kid, but the child at least has the benefit of the doubt.

When Lucifer imprisons him he’s ready to destroy the house. The only way he can talk to his kid now is through dreams and even then he isn’t sure what to tell them. In the end he decides to let the kid be, but he’s always on edge, trapped, not knowing what’s happening until everyone goes to bed.

MC’s presence feels like a gift. A pathetic gift, but a gift nonetheless.

He asks about his kid and he seethes when MC tells him they’re becoming friends, how much they like spending time with the child.

He focuses so much on revenge that he doesn’t even realize what the kid could think of him if he carried along with his plans; how they could feel when all of it is done.

Killing MC is satisfying and leaves him wanting so much more.

That look from his child, his own blood, takes it all away.

Why are they crying? Why are they hiding away from him? Trying to reach MC’s corpse despite Lucifer’s words or Beel’s grabbing hands, screaming in terror when uncle Mammon doesn’t answer their questions.

Then MC reappears, looking as perfect as ever, and Belphie is overwhelmed with relief, convinced that maybe his kid will stop looking at him that way.

But that doesn’t happen.

He sleeps with Beel that night, feeling lonelier than ever, hands aching and reaching for a smaller body that isn't there. He can’t find them in their dreams when he falls asleep and when morning arrives and he goes to the bathroom, he makes sure there’s no blood under his fingernails.

It takes days before his kid can even look at him without that angry pout on their face. They tell him they’ve been sleeping with MC, listening to their advice so they can mend their relationship with him.

Ever since then, Belphie can’t help but blush whenever MC is in the room.

.

.

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Tagging: @deepestartisanhumanoidshark

[jean0farc]

— SERENA —

( Il Dottore X Fem! Reader )

SUMMARY

After backing out from The Doctor’s major experiment whose goal was to instill archon-like abilities within you, he decides to come up with a malicious plan forcing you to thank him for his efforts.

Little did you know, Collei, a fellow participant in Dottore’s experiment, felt curious as to watch along.

WARNINGS

RAPE/NON-CON. Unethical Experimentation. Aphrodisiacs. Sex Toys. Collei being a voyeur.

NOTES

Your name in this chapter will be Serena, hence the title.

This chapter has a fem! reader.

Before I see people complaining about underaged characters being involved in this fic, I would like to point out that Collei isn’t going to be subject to sexual matters here.

She’s just going to be a voyeur, in some way.

Don’t like, don’t read applies here! I’ve seen comments saying Collei is going to be involved with Dottore when she isn’t!

To those idiots who have given hate comments, first of all, fuck you. I’ve stated in my profile several times that I won’t be writing NSFW posts for underaged characters or entities present in my fics.

NSFW under the cut!

The Fatui hideout was akin to a black, gothic medieval castle in the harsh, angry winters of Sneznhaya—with its pointed triangular shaped rooftops and asymmetrical windows, the place was deemed highly unconventional to visit especially when the cold prevailed. But there existed at least eleven Harbingers and Fatui Agents who monitored the site for any possible intruders or attackers.

In the hideout’s interior lied a highly organized laboratory which had all sorts of equipment, weapons, artifacts, and tools needed for undergoing experiments.

And there you were, knocking on Dottore’s office for further assistance.

The door let out a slight creak as it opened, revealing his tall frame before you.

“What seems to be the matter, Serena?” Dottore inquired as he poured a cylinder of slime concentrate into a beaker.

“I….I don’t feel so good, Doctor. Ever since you injected me with those slime secretions mixed with liquified crystal chunks, I’ve been having a bad fever for a whole day up to now.” you said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Aw. Hmmm…..I guess I can find a perfect remedy for that, but it would probably take a while.” Dottore said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Here, try this.”

“What is this, Doctor?” you inquired.

“A solution I developed from preserved slime concentrate without the liquified crystal chunks. Scientifically speaking, I made a minor mistake in my research thinking crystal chunks would actually grant someone powerful Electro-Charged abilities. Unfortunately, they caused the exact fever you have now.” Dottore replied.

“B-but Doctor….”

“I want you to drink this solution as it will be beneficial for your fever.” Dottore said.

You gently took the test tube and took a sip.

“Go on.” Dottore simply nodded.

You slowly drank the contents of the solution, feeling it’s thick, gooey texture as it filled your throat. It tasted quite sour. “Thank you.”

“Was it too sour for your taste?” Dottore asked.

“Quite so.” you replied, gulping one more time.

“Very well then, all you have to do is get some much awaited bed rest.” instructed Dottore in a professional manner.

You nodded. “Okay, Doctor.”

Leaving the lab, you found your way into the guest rooms right around the corner. Things made you wonder how they would make guests sleep in the basement, knowing residential homes would put those rooms on the top floor. But this is a hideout after all, so it would be obvious that they put every bedroom in the basement to establish a sense of secrecy from the public eye.

An hour passed. You suddenly felt hot, your cheeks feeling flustered as sweat began to grow more apparent. You didn’t know what to expect of the situation that befell you, but you can only hope that this isn’t anything fatal. The Doctor toying with you is the last thing you ever wanted, considering you placed great trust in him as your savior.

Being a sufferer of Eleazar, things haven’t been quite the easy way for you since you had to deal with its symptoms. From numbness in the skin to the formation of dark, hardened scales in your body, things have been quite rough for you as your clumsiness made it risky to just do whatever you deemed necessary. Cooking, for example, is something you dared not do, for accidents may happen when your Eleazar attacks.

Little did you know, you could see black scales appear on your wrists signifying that your condition worsened. You felt your feet grow numb, and it could feel as if you were about to fall down any moment. You didn’t know what to do, your state suddenly changing into that of panic. While you didn’t want to blame the Doctor for his continuous experiments on you, you just had to. You didn’t know why you chose to place full trust in him knowing he made a mistake in his research.

“Serena!” Dottore called out from the upper floor. “Would you mind entering the lab, please?”

You were reluctant to pursue Dottore once again, but this time it could be another treatment he came up with. Getting up from the bed, you had to make your presence known.

“Coming!” you replied, shouting.

Rushing back into the lab, you caught Dottore forming a smirk on his face while staring at the test tube, seemingly impressed with his new creation. That being said, he turned to you and beckoned a finger signaling you to come closer, so as to inject you with the substance.

“May I inquire what that is for, Doctor?”

“Think of this as some sort of follow-up injection….you drank the syrup I gave you earlier, but that alone isn’t enough.” Dottore said. “I’d like to think of its chemicals being that of a god’s remains. This will be crucial in making you an archon’s equal.”

Dottore continued speaking as he pierced the needle onto your skin, cooing. “Now, now…. Relax, my dear. You know I won’t be leaving….not when I fully get what I wanted from you.”

“Huh? Ow! Argh! It hurts! Doctor! It hurts!”

Dottore chuckled, earning a look of suspicion from you.

“It’s just fun seeing you react to even the slightest tinge of pain an injection could give you. I wonder how you’d react if…….”

You had to butt in and alert Dottore about his sudden change of subject—from curing your fever to actually making you a prototype of a god.

“But Doctor….We’re talking about my fever here..I want to know if this solution would cure it! Please…..The heat is unbearable…..”

“Worry not, my dear. When you become a god, it shall render you immune to all diseases, including Eleazar.” Dottore told you.

“Really, Doctor?” you asked in retaliation.

“I promise you so, my dear. You don’t have to suffer from your illness, or any other anomaly, for that matter. There’s only one last thing we need to perform on you to ensure your body is indeed fit for the other experiments done for you.”

“So, Doctor, this isn’t over? There’s still plenty of experiments to be performed on me?” you asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Dottore replied.

“T-then….I’ll just refuse to be a part of those experiments! I-I don’t want to be experimented on any further…..sorry…”

A change in Dottore’s face made itself clear before you. You were FUCKED. You immediately got up from the chair, only to be stopped by Dottore’s heavy hand on your shoulder.

“What did you say?” Dottore said softly.

You froze in confusion at the sudden change in the Doctor’s facial expression. “….Did I say something wrong? I just said……”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Dottore scoffed. “You know what? You’re being incredibly ungrateful, Serena. Backing out from my research just like that? I just can’t believe your utter lack of faith in me. Here I am trying to cure you from your said fever as caused by your Eleazar, and this is how you repay me?”

“B-but it wasn’t my intention to-“

Dottore leaned closer to murmur in your ear.

“You agreed to be a part of this experiment for a reason. And you’re planning to take yourself away? That I cannot allow, especially for my favorite little subject….”

Dottore began to fondle your breasts with one hand, sliding his other hand below until he reached your intimate area, ‘squishing’ it with all his might.

You moaned involuntarily, covering your mouth in retaliation.

“Hmmmm….as I thought.” Dottore purred. “It doesn’t matter how much one tries to resist the physical pleasures given to them, no matter what, they just always seem to like it.”

“L-let go!!!” you protested as you took a step backward.

“What’s the matter, doll? Scared? Aw….poor baby can’t take what’s been given to them.” Dottore cooed.

“I only partook in your experiment to cure my Eleazar! Not feeling these symptoms of being in heat!” you replied, backing away. You rushed your way out of the lab by finding an exit, and there it was. Upon touching the doorknob, you could feel the power of Electro course through your veins, earning a slight sensation of electrocution to occur. You winced in pain and took a step backward, protesting once again.

“It won’t open!! Why???!!!” you exclaimed.

“Because I made it that way. So no one would be able to intrude on us.” Dottore sneered.

“Nooooo!!!!!” you continued to unlock the door, only for it to cause another type of short circuit that shocked your body once more. In an attempt to get away, you could feel Dottore’s arms wrap around your breasts from behind, circling his fingers around your nipples.

As a last resort, you elbowed him with all your might, causing him to wince in pain.

“You brat…!!!!” Dottore exclaimed. You tried to run elsewhere, but you were grabbed once more as he carried you to a metallic table. He let you lie down on your back, letting you feel the cold of the metal upon your skin.

In retaliation, you got up, only to be stopped by Dottore as he injected another substance that would render you unable to speak. “There, there. I don't want to make things harder for us both, hm? I like you. Not only are you fit enough to become a god that could rival the archons in terms of power, but you…you’re perfect for me, Serena.”

“But-but you promised!!!” you said, feeling your tongue fall slowly numb from the anesthetic given to you.

“Promised what? I never gave any promises to save you fully from the beginning, dear. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“You promised to cure me….my….myyyy…mmmm….” you said as your tongue fully grew numb, rendering you unable to say anything that came into mind.

Dottore chuckled. “Promised a cure? For what, dear? You have to be more specific. Oh wait, you can’t speak…..Aw. What a pity.”

Dottore brought out a remote control, enabling Electro-powered chains to secure your hands and prevent you from leaving. “Stay still, dear. I’m about to bring something special to test out.”

“Arghhh!!!!! Hah!!!!!” you protested.

“Tsk. So stubborn. Worry not, dear. When this is all over, I’ll send you back to Fontaine, okay?”

Your face was angry in disbelief, your body wanting to escape the cold laboratory. Sounds of the chains echoed across the area as you protested for your life, even though you were already rendered helpless.

It was at that moment when Dottore pulled out a knife, cutting past the fabric of your clothes to reveal your swollen breasts, belly, and lower body. He took out every single cloth out of the table, earning another angry scream escaping your mouth.

“Hush, doll. I’ll be taking care of you. And you’re going to be a good girl for me, yes?”

You shook your head.

“Tsk.”

Dottore walked to the cabinet to bring out a classic rechargeable clitoral stimulator.

Returning to you, he leaned closer to murmur something inaudible, yet filthy. “I’m going to ruin you so bad you’ll even forget this is all a part of our little experiment.”

“Arghhhh! Hghhhhh!” you wailed.

Placing the hole of the stimulator over your clitoris, Dottore activated the toy, earning an involuntary moan from you. Dottore has studied enough about female anatomy to know where the right places were, and knew how to prepare you before getting over to the main course—to have him inside you.

The toy ‘pulled’ and ‘sucked’ similarly to when someone goes down on you. With each thrust inward, you let out a slight “ah!” here and there. That was only the first level, which meant that the intensity wasn’t at an all time high. Dottore was extremely satisfied with the way you were reacting, so far as to rub his crotch in arousal with his other hand.

“You’re taking this toy so well, dear Serena.” Dottore purred. “I’m sure that if you’ll have me inside you, there’ll be some way to have this dick in you with less effort.”

Dottore set the toy’s intensity level to a max, earning a loud moan from you. Your clit felt like it was going to twitch from the overwhelming stimulation dealt upon it. Your crotch felt wet, and that you were going to cum very soon. You slightly moved your cunt back and forth to the hole that ‘suctioned’ your clit, fighting back the urge to thrust your cunt in and out of the suctioning hole with full force.

“Humping the toy right back, are we, hm? Naughty girl.” Dottore murmured closer into your ear.

“Ah! Ah!”

“Filthy slut.” Dottore sneered once more. “Give into it. Feel its power.”

“Ah, hah!!!!” you screamed as you rocked your hips into the toy, grinding against it not because you wanted it, but because you needed it. You needed to get off.

You felt yourself coming close, gasping for air as Dottore held the toy closer to your clit.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

You let out an “Agh!!!”, signifying the climax has overtook your senses. Feeling your newfound orgasm, you continued to rock your hips onto the suctioning hole in hopes of feeling the after-effects of your high. You sighed in relief after getting what you wanted.

“Seems that my dearest subject has been very sensitive to external stimulators, let me write that down on my medical observations.” Dottore said as he grabbed a notebook with a pen attached to it from beside the table.

“Doctor!!!” Collei called out, rushing to the lab only to discover it had been locked and enclosed with an Electro barrier. She can’t get in, yet can see what was going on inside. She saw a small sneak peek of your naked form with Dottore scribbling down his observations in a notebook. “Doctor?”

Collei froze, watching you by the door’s small glass window. Dottore ensured the walls of the Fatui hideout were soundproof, which means that he couldn’t hear anything outside of the lab.

Upon returning the notebook to the table, he faced you to the front and pulled your legs forward. Without warning, he unzipped his pants, taking out his half-hard cock in the process. This made your eyes widen in surprise as you continued to protest even more despite your ability to speak rendered impossible.

“There, there, my dear, now it’s time for the main course.” Dottore sneered. “I promise this won’t take too long, I just wanted to…..test how many gods we can create with our children given your ability to bear a child.”

“Urghhhhh!!!! Arghhhhh!!!”

“Aw. Poor baby not consenting to becoming a part of my research? Well…..” Dottore laughed. “It’s not like you could do anything as of the moment, huh, Serena?”

“Arghhhhh!!!!”

Dottore ignored your pleas as he spread your legs wider, rubbing the tip of his cock across your clit with an intention to tease it. Before you knew it, he pushed his cock into your vagina with one quick thrust, causing you to yelp in pain.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Dottore mocked. “You’re really this inexperienced, are you? Mmmm…..you’re perfect for me.”

You had no defense against Dottore this time. All you had to do was feel his dick stretch past every inhibition your body had, feeling every burn and ache. Sliding his dick in inch by inch, it took two minutes before he could finally be completely inside you. The pain suddenly developed into pleasure, Dottore letting out a hum in satisfaction with your body’s compliance.

It wasn’t long until Dottore started bucking his hips, thrusting back and forth with a slow, practiced motion. Dottore was standing up in front of the table, which meant that he needed to have more control over his balance so as to not have his legs shake in the middle of the do.

Collei from outside the lab could see a sight of Dottore rocking you from outside, a look of concern taking over her face.

“If only I could get into the ear of yours to whisper such filthy secrets I have in store for you,” Dottore spoke. “….I would have done it sooner.”

Sounds of skin slapping filled the air as he took his sweet time enjoying those beautiful whimpers of yours. Your tits bounced up and down which just fueled Dottore to moan in reaction to seeing your body give into his own needs.

“Such pretty tits my little test subject has.” Dottore said as he gasped for air, “Had this place not been a lab, I surely would have taken you in and pounced on you right there and then.”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Hm? Surrendering yourself too soon? Aw….but we’re just getting started.” Dottore cooed as he sped up the pace of his hips.

“Mmmmmmhhhh!!!!!”

“Mmmm…..seems like we’re getting closer, my dear.”

He was right. You were close, he was close. For a quickie, he need not waste his time any longer. He grabbed your hips hard, pulling them closer, so far as to leave red marks on them. You moaned in return, bucking your hips right back subconsciously. You’ve been feeling quite frisky lately, perhaps as a side effect of the drug that has been injected into you.

“My, my…..” Dottore chuckled, gasping for more air as he sped up the pace of rocking his hips in and out of you. “Eager for a little challenge, are we?” The two of you were thrusting into each other at this point as Dottore was getting close.

“Mmmmmhhh…..looks like I’m gonna……” Dottore moaned. He slightly slowed down, awaiting his release as you groaned in pleasure. With one sudden rush, he moaned once more along with you, his seed filling you to the brim.

After Dottore finished inside you, he grabbed a handkerchief, wiping his dick. He stared down at you while he reached for the remote control, deactivating the Electro-powered chains that stopped you from running away.

You could feel your tongue reverting to its normal state again, the numbness disappearing. With that, you were able to speak again.

“Treatment….Doctor. How’s…..the treatment….” you said as you panted hard post-orgasm.

“Your Eleazar symptoms have already subsided.” Dottore said. “You just needed to get off to cope with the side effects of the cure, since it contains chemicals similar to an aphrodisiac.”

“I see…..thank you….Doctor.” you said as your naked frame fell asleep on the metallic table.

Dottore unlocked the door with a simple remote control that deactivated the power of Electro. Leaving the lab, he stumbled upon Collei who happened to have watched the whole thing. Looking down at her, she attempted to run away only to be stopped by Dottore.

[crystal-overdrive]

I was thinking about where I might go with the political aspects of Towards Tyranny and was trying to figure out where exactly Tav stands, so I took the political compass test as her! I think this could make a really fun tag game, to take the test as your OC and compare it with your own, but asking people to out their politics feels a little rude, so I'll just say if you come across this and fancy doing it, go for it and tag me so I can see!

Tavarina

Economic Left/Right: -1.0 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: 2.0

I did suspect she might come out on the left despite the regime she supports. The "Waterdelvian values" she is accused of having are to do with business regulation and her unwillingness to turn a blind eye to the black market situation in BG. We've seen her twice now seize private businesses, once in a propaganda effort and another in an attempt to protect the people from Bhaalist chaos.

She uses a lot of populist rhetoric but uses really is the key word. Prior to taking the Grand Duke position she was definitely pro Lord's Alliance and now is only really using a stance against it to gain power. Power, of course, is important to her, and believes (or is being pushed to belive) in a militaristic state. I expected her to come out more Authoritarian, but I suspect her love for the arts and education is pulling that down. She was an academic for a decade and therefore has a propensity towards public funding of these things. I'd like to retake this once I've finished the fic; I expect we're going to see her drift further towards the top right of the scale as her corruption continues.

Gortash

Economic Left/Right: 4.38 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: 3.23

This came out surprisingly moderate, but I think that's because his politics don't map well to modern day political movements. I clicked strongly agree for a one party state, but also on same-sex couples should adopt: the man is bi! (and Faerun doesn't have the same issues with patriarchy and homophobia as we do). So I think there's some averaging happening here. He's interesting politically, because he's clearly authoritarian right-wing but he's not a conservative. He wants to usher in a new age, something for the people, but only those people who claw their way up for it. He's very pro-business, in the Banite manner thinks that those who can take should do so. For him, his use of technology lets him - the Steel Watch gives him a large degree of control over the population. I think techno-fascist is the label I'd put on him if I had to.

He fucking hates the Lord's Alliance because he doesn't want anyone challenging his vision and doesn't belive really in any regulation, let alone regulation from outside of BG. Though environmental issues are not the same here as in Faerun, I put him staunchly against anything environmental considering the way the Iron Throne affected the sea in game.

Also...conquering the sword coast...obvious imperialism...bad... (I literally forgot about this in the first version of the post it's only like his entire deal)

Tav vs Gortash

A large part of Tav's story is her coming around to Gortash's way of thinking, so I expect we'll see her drift further right and authoritarian, but as it stands I think they might be on a path for clashing politically. Allowing Tav to seize the Bash rather than executing it's editor and letting it continue to run as a business was a compromise on Gortash's part, and he told Tav that what she did with the Dept. of Drains and Underways was non-Baldurian. If she pushes any harder on regulation and government control there's going to be a problem.

They line up in use of authority, technology, surveillance and propaganda. Elevating some above others is not something Tav is against, but she leans towards education, experts and, possibly subconsciously, social class, where Enver really is about pure money and power.

Me!

Economic Left/Right: -7.13 Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -5.64

Surprise! I'm a massive lefty! Not going to go into my exact beliefs because this isn't a politics blog, but I am interested in talking about how my own political feelings are expressed in the fic because recognising and utilising the self in writing is probably the biggest thing I've learned from my postgrad studies.

So I originally took the test because writing Towards Tyranny was actually making me concerned about my political position. Tav is like barley two-steps removed from a self-insert: me if I'd never learned about the concept of class privilege, probably, and I was finding her political scenes alarmingly easy to write.

Her decline is influenced by how pointless and difficult it can feel to want change sometimes. I know a lot of people who sort of blame every problem on capitalism and say they want revolution (I don't know if this is a joke or not, being horrible at reading people is another self-insert trait Tav has lol) but aren't doing anything tangible about it. They often use "no ethical consumption" as a get-out-of-jail-free card and for a long time I was staunchly against this. I know individual change doesn't do much, but I felt it was at least valuable to live in a way I agreed with, it was the only way I felt moral. I reused and recycled absolutely everything, I was vegetarian trying to go vegan and I was donating to hunger and environmental charities. I tried to limit my consumption as much as I could. I was (and still am tbf) obsessed with my phone that has right-to-repair and fairtrade components.

But the vegan thing kind of broke me? It wasn't necessarily that I found it hard, but that I had to watch everyone else eat their meat and wear their nice new clothes and basically enjoy consumption while I was opting out for, what exactly? I didn't feel like I was making a dent in anything, changing the world, saving it, I was just depriving myself for some moral position that no one else cared about. My feelings on the environment are very much informed by my spirituality and I had some difficulties in my path where I felt I was pushed towards the darker aspects of my faith and away from nature-worship (guess what else inspired the fic 🙃) and that just added fuel to the fire of "why fucking bother". The material aspects that are depicted in the fic - the gifts Tav is given, the nice clothes, good food, imported goods - are really an expression of this. I'm still kind of in that place, I'm eating meat again and buying luxury skincare and I don't really know how I feel about it, but I think the ending of the fic is going to be very much dependent on where I eventually land with my environmental politics and my spirituality.

(Man, I wrote way more than I intended to here. I guess I needed to get this out aha.)

[gottawritesomething]

Cry 'Havoc!'

Chapter 3 of Pride cometh before the fall (Gale FIC) (3/?)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 4.5, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Isabel breaks into Gale's Tower for tea, that's it. Send Tweet.

TW: Allusion to Mystra

Wizards of the Coast and I are nemeses, so there is a lot of non-5e-compliant magic stuff

________________________________________________________

"“I cannot believe her. How dare she? She, she…ugh!” Gale threw up his hands. 

“Not to state the obvious, but this is what happens when you invite a stranger to your home,” Tara replied simply. At this point, Gale couldn’t help but feel she was right. What did this girl think she was doing?

________________________________________________________

The day of tea arrived faster than either Gale or Isabel had expected. Gale, for his part had made a valiant effort in cleaning the tower; the selected rooms almost looked like a conventional place someone might visit. The morning of, he’d decided to concentrate his attention on the food for the afternoon. Tara lazily watched him from her perch on a kitchen shelf as he bustled back and forth between the pantry and the oven. 

“Forgive an old tressym for prying further, Mr. Dekarios, but this does seem like an awful lot of effort for an acquaintance. I know you do like to put your best paw or, in your case foot forward on impressions, but certainly, this woman must already know of you and your many talents. Why such a fuss?” 

“I think you mean why such a fuzz, Tara.” Gale retorts, his head inside the oven. 

“I certainly do not!” Tara looked peeved. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you’d made a friend. A proper mortal friend.”

Gale smiled knowingly; Tara had been particularly insistent about him branching out recently. The more time he spent in Mystra’s presence, the less in-common he felt he had with the mortals going about their day-to-day. 

“I don’t know if I’d describe her as proper…And I have only just met her; I will remind you.” Gale had returned to his erratic darting about. 

“All the same, I am thrilled for you. Furthermore, we’ll get to see her magical prowess on full display today.” Tara looked strangely smug

“What are you referring to Tara?” Gale asked suspiciously

“Oh, I assumed you’d intentionally left the tower wards in place.”

Gale’s face drained “Why didn’t you say something? What time is it? What if I don’t have time to disarm them? Tara!” 

“If she is timely, she should be arriving shortly,” Tara said, licking her paw absent-mindedly.

~

Isabel had found the tower with relative ease. Though ‘tower’ seemed to be a bit of a misnomer, it looked more like a very tall townhouse. Though the location was lovely, right along the water facing the ports. As she neared the base of the building, she noted a glowing purple figure next to the entry door. 

“Good afternoon, Gale of Waterdeep would like to welcome you to his illustrious home. He greatly regrets being unable to greet you in person, but I can assure you he will come to fetch you shortly once he’s contended with a minor predicament.” The Project Image of Gale remarks cheerfully. 

“May I ask what the predicament involves?” Isabel knew she was overstepping, but curiosity had gotten the better of her. As it often did. 

“Suffice to say there were some ‘barriers’ to making the tower a more welcoming place for visitors.” 

At that point, Isabel didn’t need much more information but decided to push further to confirm her suspicions. 

“Did he leave the protection wards in place on the tower?” she asked.

The projection looked at her warily. 

“At this time, Gale of Waterdeep is ensuring you have a safe and enjoyable visit.”

“While that is extremely thoughtful of him, tell him to leave them in place. I will find my own way into the tower.” Isabel knew she was being impertinent, and she also knew that Gale could see and hear through this projection as though he was standing beside her. 

The smile on the project had become strained. “I must strongly advise against this course of action. The protections placed on this tower were hand-crafted by Gale of Waterdeep, Waterdeep’s foremost archmage. Any attempts to breach the tower will be met by your inevitable failure and possible harm. Please wait here for Gale.”

“I appreciate the forewarning, and IF I fail, he’s most welcome to sweep in to save me.” Isabel gave her most charming smile and turned on her heels. 

“Again, I must insist -” The project started; Isabel waved her hand coating the figure in darkness. 

~

“I cannot believe her. How dare she? She, she…ugh!” Gale threw up his hands. 

“Not to state the obvious, but this is what happens when you invite a stranger to your home,” Tara replied simply. At this point, Gale couldn’t help but feel she was right. What did this girl think she was doing? He’d thought she contained many traits but blatant stupidity was not one he’d noted. He knew, as he’d thought she did, that however talented she was, they were not matched in ability. Attempts to break his warding could cause her harm, if not worse, for some of the more complex ones. She’d blinded his Project Image, so she was at least clever enough to know the spell allowed him to see her. But some spell trivia was not going to save her. No, that would have to be him.

He stood up from the table where the tea had been carefully laid out. And stalked to the window, glancing out, hoping to see her walking away from the tower if good sense had won out. He blew air from his nose, frustrated. He’d find her, probably a step or two past his door, and send her promptly on her way. He cursed himself for being so trusting. Mortals did like to test their luck. 

Behind him, the scones in the oven began to burn.

~

Isabel did in fact, know that there was no way she could break the wards Gale had put in place. She had instead decided to rely on what had gotten her through school with wizards. Creativity, an encyclopedic knowledge of spells after-effects, and most importantly, a considerable understanding of how wizards thought. It wasn’t their fault, she reasoned. Their casting necessitated linear procedures and clear rules. As a result, they tended to assume others would approach problems and solutions as linearly as they applied them. She suspected that were that ever to change en masse, rogues might be out of the job. 

She stretched, checked the darkness was still covering the projection and began to wander around the bottom of the tower. First, she had to pinpoint where the kitchen was most likely to be. He likely had wards against teleporting, mist, and phasing, she’d reasoned, so those were out. As she gazed up at the tower, she noted a window near the top that appeared to have steam or smoke rising out of it. She cast fly and took off towards the window, hoping very much for her sake that it was not laboratory smoke. As she grew nearer, she hugged the wall as close as she could, not wanting to be spotted, and recognized the smell of burning pastries. Excellent. 

She had surmised that, like most, wizards expected attempts to breach their towers to come from the entry or the roof. As such, most wards would be oriented in such a way to reflect that mindset. Additionally, (she very much hoped) they had been calibrated on the direct impact of a spell. The appearance after a teleport spell, the mist form solidifying, etc. Cast, result. Most wards she’d encountered focused on those two steps. She was angling exclusively for the third step, resolution.  

~

Gale had sent out Tara and an Scrying Eye to look for Isabel when he hadn’t immediately found her in the entryway. He still maintained hope that she’d perhaps given up and gone home. He was stewing in self-pity when he heard a great grinding noise coming from his kitchen wall. He swung his head, seeing the edges of a corridor attempting to open up in the side of his tower. 

“Did you honestly think I didn’t ward against a Passwall?” Gale shouted through the layer of wall still remaining. 

“I was positive you had, actually.” He heard a muffled response. He considered peeling away the ward that was preventing the wall from fully opening, but the embarrassment he’d suffered was already too grievous. Gale was feeling exceedingly vindicated, with just a touch of relief that she’d not been skewered on a trap below.

“So shall we have tea through 3 feet of stone for the next hour until the spell fades?” He asked smugly. Again, a muffled shouted response. 

“No need; I’ll be with you shortly!” With that, Gale watched the edges of the corridor fade, marking the dissolution of the spell. She’d given up. As Gale had suspected, she would. He stood, leaned out the window to call to Tara, and turned back to the wall. Where Isabel now stood leaned against it. 

“That is not possible,” Gale said incredulously.

“Not to argue, but clearly, it is as I am here.” Isabel was clearly at war with herself as her smugness seeped through her attempt to placate him with a smile. 

Gale strode forward. Was this an illusionary copy of herself? Had the corridor been an illusion?

If he had not been so incensed, he might have noted that the woman looked vastly more put together. Her copper curls pulled slightly back, framing her face; she’d traded her plain black serving robe for a deep green velvet robe corsetted with brown leather. He might have allowed himself to notice those things if he wasn’t containing his fuming. 

“How?” He asked simply; other words may have been harsher than he’d liked. 

Isabel’s eyes betrayed she’d realized she’d pushed him too far. 

“When the passwall spell resolves, it was designed to prevent people from being caught inside the generated tunnel. So it deposits them to the nearest safe surface. I had also ended my fly spell, so outside the tower would have sent me plummeting down, so as far as the spell was considered, inside was the safest place it could place me.” She carefully explained. 

Gale was impressed. He didn’t particularly want to be. But as he considered her plan's mechanics, he felt the anger slowly draining away. He wondered if he would have thought of such an approach. He breathed out slowly, letting the tension slide from his shoulders. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Isabel mirror his relaxation. 

He allowed an uneasy smile to return to his face. 

“That was an unorthodox approach, but you did manage to gain entry. However, I must insist in the future, if I ask something of you, know it is for your safety and not my vanity, and please comply.”

She looked down at her robes, brushing them off. She nervously met his eyes again. 

“That seems like a fair request. I apologize.”

Gale gestured to the seat across from him. Isabel strode across the room and took the place indicated. 

~

Isabel still felt a bit like she was buzzing. She knew that sometimes she pushed the boundaries of rules or flaunted authority, but she rarely felt poorly about doing so. She liked to think she often did it to prove a point, highlight a hypocrisy, and only occasionally to prove she could. But she felt genuinely terrible. He’d invited her to his home, and she’d immediately beset him. She was somewhat shocked that he’d allowed her to stay. They had been chatting for a few minutes about her time in Waterdeep and his time at Blackstaff, and the anger seemed to have faded. Her nervousness, however, had not. She glanced around the kitchen, which was gorgeous and well-stocked. Dark cabinets lined the walls, and a lovely brick oven warmed the room. The smell of the burnt scones (which Gale had apologized profusely for) had faded leaving a woody, old library smell. She suspected he might have a few in this tower. As she turned back to him, she heard a soft rustling from the window. And glanced over. 

She’d heard of tressyms before but had never gotten the privilege of seeing one in person. Isabel rose to her feet careful as to not startle it. She assumed it was Gale’s familiar but despaired at her lack of knowledge on Tressymspeak. She knew the tressym would be able to understand her but they could not converse. Carefully she bowed to the cat perched on the window. 

“Ah yes, Tara this is Isabel, and though I am sure she appreciates the notion there is no need to bow.” Gale chirped cheerfully

“I showing deference to the owner of the tower.” Isabel whispered, testing the waters on teasing. 

“Hmph, it appears she hasn’t died. So that is an improvement over what I expected.” Tara said, eyes narrowing. 

Isabel took a step back startled, she didn’t think tressyms could speak common. 

“Don’t be surprised dear. Some of us, are capable at conveying our intentions and communicating properly. Present company excluded.” Tara mimed a swat at her. 

At this, Isabel looked properly ashamed. Meanwhile, Gale looked pleased that Tara could scold even this tempestuous influence of a person. 

The rest of the lunch continued enjoyably, Gale confessed to some of his wilder days at Blackstaff as Isabel relayed incidents of Wild Magic gone awry. She’d gotten a hearty laugh from Gale by describing an unfortunately timed surge at a friend's wedding resulting in a displaced best man and an invisible ring bearer. 

Gale had gone on to describe his connection to the Weave. That there was nothing else in the world he could ever imagine himself doing. That it consumed his every waking thought and motivation. That every form of art paled in comparison, that at any given moment he could feel the essence of the arcane whispering in the breeze. At that point, he’d looked expectantly to Isabel. 

“I understand you cast with the Weave so you must be familiar. But does Wild Magic feel the same?”

There was such a shine to his eyes that Isabel couldn’t bring herself to dampen his perception of her relationship with the Weave. In truth, she had extreme respect for the Weave as a structure and infrastructure of which magic could be accessed but she’d prefer a physical painting to a conjured one. And Wild Magic was nothing like the Weave. 

“I think the clearest explanation I’ve seen is Wild Magic feels like standing in the center of a raging river. Everything moves fast and with such power, your focus is always on preventing being swept away. Everything around you changes with the rapidity of the current, there are no landmarks to commit to memory, no rocks to cling to.” Isabel began.

“Fascinating. I’ve read that particularly skilled Sorcerers can harness Wild Magic in a manner of speaking.“ Gale prompted her, seeking more details. His enthusiasm was incurably contagious. Isabel felt a smile forming as she leaned in to match his energy. 

“It requires extreme self-knowledge and trust in your ability while knowing your limits. You’re never going to shift the current but you know how to angle yourself to impact the flow downstream. Not getting bowled downstream alone takes a strong sense of identity and an unwillingness to lose yourself.” 

Gale leaned back in his chair musing. 

“For myself, the Weave acts as a brush dancing upon the canvas, a concert between the corporeal and the ineffable, unreplicable in feeling no matter the consistency of the result.”

“If you’re not a wizard what is your occupation then Isabel?” Tara interrupted, and both Gale and Isabel turned to look at her.

“Oh, I am… an Archeologist. Of sorts…”

“Mhm, and you don’t live in Waterdeep? Where do you call home then?” Isabel knew an interrogation when she saw one. 

“I tend to travel, I seldom stay in one place for long. My research tends to be fairly hands-on, so I go where I am needed. I actually procured a Pradler's Portable Room rather than continuing to maintain housing in all the cities I visit.” She offered. Pulling a large gold key from her robes. 

“If I recall you simply place a tiny doorway down and use the key to grow it to full size. Then unlock a door into a demi-plane. Am I correct? I’d considered an attempt to create one for traveling. You must give me a tour on your return to Waterdeep.” Gale’s eyes glistened. Isabel smiled encouragingly at him. With a start, she realized how late in the day it had become. She rose from the table.

“Speaking of visits, this was a lovely one but I’m afraid I must prepare for my departure tomorrow.” As she prepared herself to depart, words began to tumble from Gale’s mouth in rapid succession. 

“Of course, apologies for keeping you. Though I insist if you would be interested in a full-time position in Waterdeep, I would be happy to assist you. Perhaps another teaching position at Blackstaff? The curator at the Piergeiron Museum owes me quite a favor, I could introduce you. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a spell exhibition by the Sorcerer at The Field of Triumph perhaps they’d be interested in your talents.” He took a quick breath in. “Regardless, feel free to alert me when you’re next in town.” His tone had smoothed out returning to it’s normal cadence. Tara perched on his shoulders as they led her to the entry. 

“And here is the landing which you miraculously missed visiting.” Gale smiled cheekily. Isabel shook her head.

“Thank you for tea. Good evening to you both.” As the door swung shut Isabel heard a whispered indignation from Tara. 

“Did you think to mention she was a beautiful, this ‘friend’ of yours?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Gale whispered back. With that, Isabel took off into the night.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, (Next Chapter)>Chapter 4, Chapter 4.5, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

[blackkatmagic]

oh my god your new fic will kill me dead. and you even chose the arcana tarot for it!!! yeehaw im so excited!!!!! the hanged man is there bc he chose to do so. willingly knowing you must suffer / sacrifice before things can get better. that you chose this card for the very first chapter when granta meets the clones, that he’s curious and intending to seek them out more, makes me think that this sacrifice is coming up later in the story, like without fully realizing it now granta is choosing to walk down this road, and at the end of it will be the tree. what he will sacrifice / let go of then is up for grabs— could be a foreshadowing to his shift in mentality and goals, bc we know they will care for each other and granta is nothing if not loyal and will do anything for those he loves, including letting go of his father’s revenge and plans for his own life that he has so dearly clung to so far. or knowing how dangerous the war is, it could be a sacrifice in the much more literal sense. yikes but also 👀.

and then the hanged man could be fox! the imaginary of him on the precipice, deciding if he will jump or not, was peak cinematography. fox, the rope is in your hand, the tree is right in front of you. what do you choose to do? upright reading makes me think that fox’s big decision is outright stated— will he decide to kill palpatine? will he walk down this road, knowing what it will mean? (what will it mean? ordinarily killing palpatine is a fun holiday for everyone!! but bc the tag /emperor fox/ is there and his eyes are gold, and you’ve already said this is a much darker fic than usual….. god the hype is real!! im so curious to see what will happen but im also a little but anxious lol will the clones turn against him?? is that the sacrifice he will make? god i hope not but also 👀) and in this case the hanged man can also be read reversed— either fox is putting a whole lot of effort into something and nothing comes out of it bc bigger forces are flowing against him, or we have come to a forked path, and fox knows what he must do, but he is resisting doing it. i feel like both in this case are true. you must decide to move forward, and you know what you have to do, fox. will you do it?

hi yes i love you this made my day

The Hanged Man was almost the title of the whole fic, tbh, because it's very much a representation of the main themes/main characters in a lot of way. The obvious one is definitely Fox, though - he's the beloved sacrificial lamb, except it's his choice and his path and he's going to choose it no matter how much blood he has to spill to put his feet on it.

[thelordofgifs]

hi! while I hate to enable procrastination, I am... kinda doing the same thing and would love to read a dissection of the stabbing scene 👀

also for @that-angry-noldo, @aurorafaann and an anon!! Ty all for indulging me hehe <3 (and sending procrastination solidarity!)

Ok SO. Preface that I figured out the stabbing would occur only after writing part 12 - hence why part 13 foreshadows it very heavily and parts 11-12 more lightly. This is also why I feverishly wrote and published parts 13 and 14 very close together; I was gripped. consumed. I had a VISION. For this reason, the stabbing scene is not actually my best work ever. But! I did put a good amount of thought into it and, a week+ later, I think it holds up.

(This is also a good point to say that I genuinely did not intend to write a really mean cliffhanger and then not update the fic for ages. And I am sorry about that. Frankly, the stabbing felt like an excellent twist and I was worried about how to move the fic on from there without somehow destroying the emotional arc of the last few parts, but I've managed to work it out in the past couple of days which is cause for celebration!)

Anyway, we start out the stabbing scene with Maglor, who has not been having a very fun time lately, just glad to see his big brother again - uncomplicated gladness, for an instant at the end of part 13, but now he slips into his normal mode of feeling Guilty and Inadequate and starts to apologise to Maedhros for losing the Silmaril. But Maedhros is deep in the whole delusional episode situation and reacts oddly to Maglor's apology - which Maglor notices pretty much immediately:

Maglor has made Maedhros his chief study for many years.

He looks at him, now, and understands.

Subtext: Curufin is an Idiot who does not notice thingss but Maglor is a very good brother and we love him <3

Then there is the quiet refrain of Maglor's Rules For Dealing With Maedhros In A State: he is very careful with him, trying not to startle him or contradict him, making sure not to touch him. He is doing everything right! It's just that Maedhros has been spiralling so badly that that isn't enough.

Sidenote, but: I love writing Maedhros and Maglor interactions. I am in the silm fandom to write Maedhros and Maglor interactions. They are my bread and butter. This is the first time the two of them have met since Part 3, the first time they've had a proper conversation since Part 1 (!!), and so in addition to having obvious plot significance I really wanted this scene to depict some of the essential elements of their dynamic as I see it. So: Maglor's guilt, a dollop of mutual caretaking, all that endless complicated love, and! a thing I like to do! Mirrored dialogue!!

OKAY now I get to talk about the dialogue in this scene, which is my favourite part of it.

The boys' last conversation in the silm is one of my favourite pieces of dialogue, like, ever. It has so much tragic weight behind it; and the way their lines build off each other, reflect each other, is just perfection. Maedhros: "Who shall release us?" Maglor: "If none can release us..." To me this sets them up as foils for each other SO perfectly. When I write them I try to incorporate a little of this dynamic - they are both good with words, they like to debate with each other, and they often good-naturedly turn the other's words back on them.

I couldn't do this overtly in the stabbing scene because, frankly, I was in a possessed haze and wasn't thinking that deeply about it. But it did come through a little: "No doubt it amuses you," Maedhros says, and Maglor responds with, "Nothing that hurt you could ever amuse me." (Also, more subtly: "If none of it was real at all--" -> "It was real, Nelyo, I promise.")

More intentionally, Maedhros and Maglor are using very different registers of speech in this scene. Generally in tfs I don't make too much effort to make dialogue sound Tolkien-esque, as I do in my other fic; part of the tfs style is rooted in informality, so that Fingon can make a veiled sex joke to Curufin, and Mablung can casually say "Sure is" in response to a question. Maglor is adhering to this "standard style", so to speak: he uses contractions liberally, splices his commas, and so on. Maedhros, on the other hand, is speaking very formally: no contractions, a slightly more archaic way of constructing sentences: "If he lives" vs the more modern "if he's alive". This is deliberate! They're speaking Quenya in this scene, the language of their childhood, but while Maglor is using casual, familiar tones, Maedhros has reverted to very formal, classical Quenya - the sort that's one step removed from being a language solely of lore. This is what Maedhros spoke in Angband (Sauron is a language enthusiast, after all!) - a conscious effort to demarcate himself the High King of the Noldor, and the son of the world's best linguist. But because he's in such a bad place he is also swinging between registers, dropping in contractions on occasion, stumbling over and repeating his words as he grows more overcome.

I do humbly think Maedhros went OFF with dialogue here actually. "You have overstretched your hand, Sauron. He cannot be both dead and alive. You will have to pick one." and “Well, then, which is it? If he is dead then you are only a wraith wearing his shape. If he lives – and – and none of it was real at all—” and "I do not, I do not want this anymore. It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." HE'S SO UPSET

Another thing that's impossible to get through in English is the use of formal vs informal second person: unfortunately in modern English, "thou/thee" sounds hopelessly archaic, so I couldn't have Maglor use it without breaking the casual and familiar vibe I was going for with his dialogue. But, in my head, he is thou-ing and thee-ing the whole time, whereas Maedhros is using the crushingly formal "you" instead. A little of this came across, hopefully, through Maglor's repeated use of Maedhros' childhood nickname: he calls him Nelyo in pretty much every sentence he speaks, whereas Maedhros, importantly, does not address Maglor by name even once.

Okay I just spent five paragraphs talking solely about dialogue WHY are you people indulging me like this. Moving on. In terms of actual plot... well, I think how well the scene works depends on how overt you found the foreshadowing in earlier parts. Did anyone predict that Maedhros would attack Maglor? If so, I imagine a lot of the mounting tension in the scene is kind of pointless. If not... the fact that Something Is Wrong is hopefully obvious from the start; the reader knows, unlike Maglor, that Maedhros has been having a terrible time of it. By the time Maglor has failed a couple of times to make any headway in convincing Maedhros, I was intending you to grow steadily more stressed. And

(It's worth noting that, with the exception of the twins, Maglor and Curufin are the two sons of Fëanor who most resemble each other: they have the same colouring, and they're both slighter than their brothers, with the same long skilful fingers.)

(It is not implausible that a shape-shifter, tired of impersonating Curufin, might switch to Maglor's form without too much difficulty.)

This small break from the close, limited Maglor POV that most of the scene is in, to give a quick glimpse of what's going on in Maedhros' head, was intended to Freak The Reader Out. Maedhros has literally just planned to kill the thing impersonating Curufin in Part 13 - if he is now starting to suspect that it's here with him, that killing it is the key to breaking the illusion, shit is getting serious.

Maglor gets out of bed. MAGLOR WHY ARE YOU GETTING OUT OF BED. He is almost afraid of Maedhros. MAGLOR BE MORE AFRAID OF MAEDHROS.

Maedhros says, "It was – it was not so terrible, when I could still pretend – but now – you are only taunting me now, doing this. Let it end." He has spent some time debating whether or not he prefers the illusion to the reality of his captivity - and he wasn't sure - but now that Sauron is mocking him with the image of his dead brother, he has decided enough is enough.

Maglor's bad leg gives out. Before he can fall Maedhros catches him, putting his right arm around Maglor's waist.

This is partially cute. Maedhros still has his big brother instincts, even like this! He isn't going to let Maglor fall!

But alarm bells were intended to be Extremely Ringing here. Maedhros puts his right arm around Maglor. His left hand is still free. His left hand is still free–

And Maglor, who is still just absolutely not realising how much danger he is in, responds to this extremely worrying statement by saying, "Thank you, Nelyo," - was he not LISTENING?? Maglor!!!!

Then, of course, Maedhros stabs Maglor, Maglor's instinctive response is to comfort him (do I need to get back on the "Maglor is an excellent brother" soapbox or can we take that as given), he sings him a lullaby - callbacks to Part 1 and the Carcharoth encounter, Maglor has sacrificed himself for Maedhros more than once in this fic - before just sitting down to die. That was a clear image in my head for a while: Maglor sitting in a pool of blood, singing quietly, Maedhros' head in his lap and the Silmaril in his hand, and then the orc-horns sounding outside for extra cliffhangeriness. In fact this is probably my single favourite image of the fic. I just love them ok.

This is SO LONG and so procrastinatey but also an extremely fun exercise actually!! I am now fired up to go and work on part 15.

[noco7]

Do you think RR Noah felt kind of OOC?

I could speak for hours about RR Noah. There's a lot that bothers me about him in that season, that's more than just him being "OOC." And it's more than just n*mma.

But yes, he is OOC. It's stated in canon that Owen finds Noah's actions strange. He sees Noah staring at Emma, and it's so strange that the only explanation he can come up with is "maybe he has rabies." The fact that n*mma is unnatural is not only lampshaded, but honestly the point. Noah is acting strange! Because he's in loooove. And "love makes you do strange things" !!! Which isn't completely untrue, but that means you have to assume Noah was in love with Emma as soon as he saw her. Which uhh, doesn't quite make sense, considering Noah has always been the "unimpressed" one.

N*mma's like a self-insert fic. Noah, stoic cold Noah, took one look at her and suddenly he can't take his eyes off her. Suddenly he's doing everything to help her win, everything to be near her. And well, that works when your Y/N, when it's a fanfic and the people reading already want to believe. So the point isn't to be accurate, but to present the most promising fantasy. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's not the writing you do for a TV show, when you're trying to convince people who's never seen this ship that it makes sense. (And especially not the writing you do when you also have to convince the audience that the guy in it isn't gay.)

But Noah's decline in RR is more than just N*mma. There's the fact that they set up a promise in the first episode and broke it. There's the fact that his character arc is a circle. There's the fact that RR as a season doesn't really suit Noah's strengths. And yeah, there's the fact that n*mma was poorly written.

So let's walk our way through this.

1) Noah says in the first episode, that he is going to focus on WINNING. "Every reality show I've been on, I lost. This time, no excuses, no distractions." I am bolding this because it is very important. Noah wants to win. This is a little strange for Noah, but it's good, and its easy to fill in the reasons. He's tired of losing is the obvious one. Maybe he needs the money, maybe it's a New Years resolution. It's be great if the show told us exactly why he's taking the show serioudly, but it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

The important thing is he's finally going to TRY. Right? Right?

Nope. The challenge in the 2nd episode is to pick out five specific spices. Noah says "just give us the five closest to you." 🤦‍♂️ This wasn't even his own plan. He copied Dwaynes. Like... what happened to trying? What happened to wanting to win? And then makes Owen eat the resulting mess, so again. What effort is Noah putting in? Where's the try? BTW - one of the spices he was supposed to identify was cinnamon. CINNAMON. How does he not know what cinnamon is? Like at least try to get one right. (Honestly, this whole challenge sucks? Only white people would think identifying spices is a challenge.)

There's also a challenge where he has to memorize an Icelandic phrase. Just one phrase. Somehow he fucks this up. He's supposedly a smart guy, and he fucks this up.

It's like the writers forgot that his character existed beyond snark. Noah is supposed to be a smart guy. Why can't he memorize one phrase? He's also supposed to be Indian ... like from, you know, India, the place that's known for its spices? Hmm. I'm not saying he has to know every single spice, but it feels fake that he doesn't know one.

Again, what happened to trying? What happened to "focusing on the cheddar?" aka the prize money? What happened to attempting competence?

So when I say they set up a promise in the first episode and broke it, this is what I mean. They set up an idea and completely forgot about it, to the point of making Noah dumber than he rationally should be.

2) So remember Noah in Island? He wasn't really a character till the dodgeball episode, where he refused to help his teammates, made fun of them, and gets eliminated for it.

Now think of Noah's last episode in RR. He refuses to help Owen with the Komodo dragon and gets himself flattened by a pile of rugs. And you think "oh well now he can't help because he's stuck, poor baby." But he can help himself because he does when Emma calls him. But he refuses to on his own, or when Owen calls out to him. And they get eliminated because of it. So once again, Noah refuses to help his teammates and gets eliminated for it.

Which makes it sound like it's not OOC, he's just a really flat character. And that's sorta true, but the RR version is WORSE.

Noah never made a promise to win in Island. And the teammates he was refusing to help - he didn't know them. They were strangers. And above all, he didn't directly cause their loss. Sure, he was deadweight, but the team could have won without him if it weren't for Harold.

But in RR, the person he's refusing to help is Owen. His best friend. The nicest person alive, the guy who did everything for Noah when Emma dumped him. He's refusing to help his best friend win, and making sure they lose. Why? Because he's decided he doesn't care about the game anymore, now that he has Emma. Great, but OWEN'S STILL RIGHT THERE.

Despite the narrative trying to tell us that Noah is a nicer person because of Emma, he's still clearly selfish AF. You could even say he's gotten WORSE now. And that really fucking sucks.

So when I say Noah's character arc is a circle, I mean it. His selfish actions have not changed, despite three years, a girlfriend, and the nicest best friend in the world.

3) RR as a season doesn't suit Noah. What do I mean by that? Well, RR is a season where everyone is divided into pairs that rarely interact with each other. It's not that they never interact - the Icedancers and the Cops rivalry is unmatched, but that they don't do it all that often. It's more coincidental to run into another group than anything else. At least that's the vibe I got.

But Noah is a character who thrives off being mean to a variety of people that he's had time to observe. In WT, Noah got to make fun of Tyler and Izzy and Alejandro and Sierra and Heather and Chris, all people he knew pretty well. Noah doesn't know the people in RR. And the only ones he gets close to are Owen, his girlfriend, and his girlfriend's sister. The latter two are off-limits to insult, so Owen gets stuck with all the mean things.

And this doesn't work, because Noah's best insults are ones that are either make you say a) 'nah, he's got a point though" b) "ayy get them, they deserve it" or c) "why would you say something like that lmao, what's wrong with you?"

A is him dissing Alejandro, B is Chris, and C is the dodgeball episode.

But him being mean to Owen is none of those things. Owen isn't a bad person, and although he makes mistakes, none of them are deserving of harsh criticism. Especially considering Owen is supposed to be, you know, his friend. And Owen is more capable than Noah this season, so it just lands flat. The only thing you can take away from Noah being mean to Owen is that Noah is an asshole. And true... but. Not in an interesting way.

By limiting Noah to just Owen as his main target of snark, it makes him seem like an asshole. Which is actually okay imo. Noah's a shitty person, and I like watching shitty people. But there's nothing gained from it in the show. Owen practically never calls him out on being shitty. In fact, even though Noah lost him the show and made everything more difficult, Owen remarks that "he's just happy to be with his lil buddy." Bruh... can someone save this man? Please? Sweetie, you deserve so much better.

There is ONE moment I'd like to highlight that challenges this. One episode, Noah is required to perform air guitar on stage. He's reluctant because he finds the whole thing embarrassing and his crush is watching and omg does Noah have stage fright? Is he shy? haha it's kinda cute and actually believable. Owen points out that he needs Noah to do it anyway, asking Noah to be his "hero." And Noah... does. He goes out there, he air-guitars away, and it's a really good moment. It shows Noah's flaws, how they affect the people around him. It's great to see Owen stand up for himself and confront him, and it's lovely to see Noah respond and change his stance to help his friend.

And then he refuses to help his friend a few episodes later. So... ehh. Good job, hero.

4)N*mma. I think what's wrong with N*mma is that TD writers are incapable of writing a woman being the romantic initiator unless they're crazy - Izzy, Sierra. Otherwise, the woman should ALWAYS be approached by the man first. The man should always be making the first moves or the first flirtations. After all, to keep tension in a relationship, there needs to be a question of "will they get together." And what man WOULDN'T want a girlfriend? What guy would ever turn down a gf? Whereas a girl can ponder and wonder and think "oh i don't know him that well, oh im not sure." But no one ever extends that waiting period to guys. They're just expected to always be down for women.

But Noah isn't an "average" guy. He's antisocial. He doesn't flirt, he looks down on romance, and he's never expressed concern about getting a girl. And he's never, ever, put in effort to woo someone. Never! Noah is very anti-effort. King.

But hey, TD needs to write him in a romance, and the only romance they write requires the guy to simp for a girlboss. So Noah starts simping for a girlboss. I must admit I don't think the idea of Noah simping is complete trash. But it needs to be worked up to. Or at the very least, denied until Noah can deny it no longer.

(Also when has Noah being into girlbosses? I know TD is into girlbosses, since they've written, like, 50, but Noah? Noah's has shown nothing but disdain for Courtney and Heather. Also there's the fact that Emma tries to cut Noah's hair against his will with a fish? And talks about marriage and family like... 2 days into their relationship? I'm confused why that isn't a turn off to Noah. He's the one who warned Owen about Izzy, right? He's the one who made fun of Sierra for being stalker? So why is he into it now? Answer me Fresh)

Anyway.... it's like Total Drama doesn't know the meaning of "gradual." And tbf, with 32 contestants and a half hour show time, it's hard to write a slow burn. They don't have the time for it.

Still, they could have done better. The easiest way to fix N*mma, imo, is to just rip off Pride and Prejudice plotline. Emma already has a kid sister. Like, imagine Emma and Noah dislike each other had first, mean sarcastic nerds that they are. They dislike each other, Noah has a crush on her but is hiding it, and is pushed to confess by Owen.

Doesn't work out because his confession sucks because Noah has ZERO social skills.

N*mma take some time off, Kitty falls into the ocean or smth, Noah rescues her, and Emma is like "wow ur a good nice person after all" and Noah's like "i just had to save her, i couldn't let her die" and then they kiss or smth. Like come on Fresh, why didn't you go with that? Pride and Prejudice is in the public domain!! Like no one was stopping you.

All in all, if N*mma had to be written, it should have been like I said, or Duncney style. Noah should be allowed to be mean and grow from it.

And that's what's wrong with N*mma. Noah is mean but does not grow from it. He gets Emma regardless of how he treats Owen. They're completely separate things. His struggle to get Emma to like him has LESS to do with Noah, and more to do with Emma's own issues. Like you're telling me Noah's in a relationship, and he's NOT the problem? He should have been the problem. Ughh.

So when I say N*mma was poorly written, I mean that it has insta-love, that Noah does not act like himself in the relationship, and that Emma doesn't make him a substantially better person. (I know he gave Jake the rings, but he doesn't help his own bestie in the end, ... so its rlly hard to say he's grown.)

Tl;dr Noah in RR is forced into a romance plotline he doesn't fit, and ditches the self-improvement plotline that we were all rooting for, ending up in the same place as he started. Noah's romance should have served to highlight his character growth not BE his character growth. It's peak TD writing, honestly. He betrays his team for his girl like Trent did in TDA. He falls for her as fast as Duncan did for Gwen in WT. And the way he treats Owen, his supposed friend, somewhat resembles how Leshawna chose to view Heather in WT. Sad.

[anouri]

hey! im kinda into marauders but i don't interact with a lot of the fandom besides reading fics--if you're comfortable, could you elaborate about whatever unnecessary hate writers have been receiving? /nf np

hey anon! firstly, i recently reblogged (tagged under 'to reference' but it's right before me answering this ask too) an entire masters thesis that is highly relevant and likely more articulate than i could ever explain this topic. i've only gotten the chance to skim it, but it seems like a good jumping off point for discussing this topic.

secondly, i am very much not an authority on this. i've thankfully not been subject to the hate that others have, so none of this is firsthand accounts, i've only been witnessing this happen to other people

thirdly, other people have articulated similar topics prior to this, some of which have been firsthand victims to the hate. i'm not going to point them out or tag them directly on this post because i don't feel comfortable just sending an anon that may potentially be hostile toward them (of course, you seem lovely and asked your question very nicely, i just like to err on the side of caution), but if you are truly curious you can put the effort into scrolling back on my page and you'll likely see that i've reblogged some of these takes

ok. so after i said all of that, this is what i personally have gathered: readers of fics have essentially been harassing writers for a whole myriad of reasons, but the primary one i've seen crop up is that the reader doesn't like something that the writer included in their fic, whether it be a ship or the subject matter of the fic. the thing is, in these instances that i've seen, the fics have been properly tagged most, if not all, of the time, meaning that the reader went into the experience knowing it would take place. for example, readers clicking on a fic tagged 'Angst', then complaining that it is too angsty. or clicking on a 'Dead Dove: Do Not Eat' fic with 'Murder' tagged and the Graphic Violence archive warning, then harass the writer for including such horrific violent acts in their fics. which is madness. this is reaction seems to be particularly popular with fics that revolve around subject matters that one might see as morally reprehensible in real life

essentially, it comes down to people not wanting negative experiences or morally reprehensible things to be depicted in fics; they see that this is being written about, and they attack the author for being a horrible person and for condoning these things. i'm sure this thought process derives from a multitude of things, but it's absolutely puritanical. fiction is meant to depict the entire range of the human condition, including the horrid. if you (general you, not you, anon) don't want to read about these things, then you can exclude these tags from your fic search.

but the thing is, this isn't just people reading something and attacking. it seems to me as though people will see a tag or relationship they don't like and attack the author based on those, even without reading the fic.

which is why i think that everyone needs to repeat to themselves "depiction =/= endorsement" until they can get it through their skulls. people who are attacking fic writers for depicting something, and therefore being horrible people for 'agreeing' with that thing only serves to show how this generation's ability to separate underlying narrative and the obvious plot is feeble at best. horror movie directors aren't being targeted because they've depicted something horrid, no one is telling off the writers of american horror story for having lady gaga and matt bomer murder a slew of people and drink their blood in a weird orgy thing, but we're going to attack fic writers for similar (sometimes even more innocuous) things?? make it make sense.

their line of thinking reminds me of how there are some books banned in more conservative schools in the united states, simply for their political nature or for depicting homosexuality or 'untraditional' relationships. it's just-- i don't understand why they think censoring is a good thing. we don't need censorship, because censorship can always be turned around to yanking away depictions of things that are truly morally neutral (queer relationships, for example) simply because a small subset of the population believes it to be reprehensible

there's also the whole drama of the complicated nature of having underage characters (often in canon-compliant marauders fics, i think) having sex and/or age gap relationships, and people being riled up about that. i really don't feel like getting into it, but i'll just say this: we don't see people chiding tv shows for depicting teens having sex, so i don't know where this double standard has come from (it's funny bc i think the people attacking are probably fans of call me by your name. i need them to think about that for longer than 10 seconds)

in the end, none of this should matter anyway, because fic writers should be writing the fics for themselves not for the readers to consume. but the readers that are perpetuating this hatred don't seem capable of understanding that this is the case

and now i'm realising how much i've word vomited. sorry anon, you unlocked the floodgates on accident. but i hope this explained at least some of it, from my perspective. other people will likely have different perspectives on the subject as a whole

[karama9]

Responding to Anonymous Reviews

A bit of context: I’m currently writing a Legend of Zelda fanfic where Link is a non Hylian black guy and Zelda is a transgender woman. I knew going in some people wouldn’t like either, but it’s gotten to the point I feel like Link in Tears of the Kingdom, where nobody recognizes him except the bunch that absolutely hates him.

I just posted chapter 4 and I have no comment on AO3, and 4 reviews on fanfiction dot net. Of the four: one (1) is nice, two (2) are hate and one is sort of neutral in a ‘don’t like it so far’ kind of way.

The two hate ones are anonymous, so I thought I’d answer here to get the answers out of my system.

First one: Guest chapter 1 . Nov 12

This is disgusting...

Response:

You posted this in response to the prologue, where all that happens is the characters being introduced and a bit of world building. If you find that disgusting, you're projecting.

Second one : X from Aumsville chapter 1 . 2h ago

And as long as Link refuses to accept he's a male instead of forcing himself to be something he isn't the master sword will forever be cursed knowing Link is messed up in his heart. He is no longer worthy of even breathing in the same space as that sword which knows better.

Response:

(sigh) The fact you didn’t read the story is not surprising, you’re obviously a transphobe. What really elevates this to another level is how you managed to read a very short summary that explicitly states that Link is a person of color and Zelda is transgender, and come out of it thinking this is a story where LINK is transgender. Congrats, not only are you hateful, not only do you devote time to expressing that hate to random strangers, you also can’t read.

More context, and a request:

This story came about because of two things.

One, I found out at some point that white supremacists were trying to use the Triforce as one of their symbols. It got me thinking, and I realized, like many other people, that Nintendo was not doing a great job of representing other races than white coded Hylians in Hyrule. I say this with a lot of love for the franchise, but although things have improved with the two most recent games, both the lack of color and how the other races are treated are notable flaws in the franchise. I wanted to make a story that addressed that with a Hero who was NOT a white Hylian. I made him non Hylian so it would be a significant thing for the in-story characters, I made him black so it would be a significant thing for the readers.

Two, JK Fucking Rowling. I have a loved one who is transgender, which maybe is making me more likely to notice things, but I think unless you’re really not paying attention, it’s pretty obvious that transphobia is on the rise. Several years back, the trend was improving. Things were getting better, people were becoming more accepting, at least in our neck of the woods. Now? Now that a ridiculously famous and rich author has been devoting time, money and energy to making people hate transgender people more and reject their identity? Everyone else who feels the same way feels more empowered to speak out and act out, the feeling is becoming normalized (more so) and things are getting worse again.

I was inspired by a trans female character in Supergirl, who inherits powers that ONLY go to female members of her family, because I loved the idea of the magic, the universe, unequivocally saying that YES, she is a woman. I wanted to do the same for Zelda, so I made her transgender, and she’s a Princess of Destiny.

So, basically, this story came about because I wanted a fix-it fic for Hyrule since I can't fix reality. I’m putting a lot of time and effort in it in the hope that it will eventually catch on and actually circulate enough for people who would get some joy from it to find it.

So far it’s not working.

SO, I have to ask a favor of my followers and mutuals. Please help me spread the word a bit about this story. Getting pretty much only negative feedback is disheartening when you’re trying to do a good thing. Don’t get me wrong. I am personally enjoying writing the story. I like the characters I created, I’m happy with the plot, etc. But unlike some other stories, the idea was never to write this one just for me.

Please reblog this, or when I post a chapter, and help the story get some visibility.

Links to the story:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51450898/chapters/130021738

fanfiction dot net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14296946/1/All-That-Hurts-Us

[shads-shipposts]

Cards and Comfort: Anachronism Snapshot

Admittedly, my fic Anachronism is a big ol' mess. Truly, it is in shambles (just like my mental state). However, some scenes are relatively put together. Such as this one that I wrote back in late 2020 during a depressive episode. Other than some very minor tweaking, this hasn't really been touched. But I want to post something with the KaraCrew, and thus y'all get this lovely little thing. It isn't much, only 1.3k words, but there is a truly abysmal lack of KaraCrew content that isn't tied to Tintin, so this is my remedy. A self indulgent comfort fic staring my oc Shadow and sailors Neil, Hobbs, Geitch, and Eckhart (pilot in brown clothes). As Anachronism takes place before my Clone Wars series, Shadow is 19 here. For obvious reasons, they don't sleep near the rest of the crew and usually crash in Tom or Allan's cabin since those two have their own rooms.

Enjoy~

CW: Language, depressive episode, worries of being a burden.

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

Halting just shy of the open doorway, I swallowed hard. What if they got mad? What if they sent me away? What if they let me in but were passive aggressive about it? Hell, that last one would be even worse. 

But it would be even worse to sit in Tom’s cabin alone, thoughts spiraling out of control. 

I’d just have to take the risk.

Stepping into the doorway to the rec room, I blinked against the light and scanned the room to see who was there. Eckhart, Geitch, Neil, and Hobbs. At least it was two of my favorite sailors aside from Tom. 

It took them a while to notice me, but Eckhart’s eyes finally raised and the man did a small double take. “Kid? Thought you were asleep?” 

At his comment, Neil and Hobbs twisted in their chairs to face me.

“Hey, Shortie. Whatcha doin’ wanderin’ ‘round this late?” Neil asked. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said with a shrug, arms wrapped around myself as I braced against the rolling of the ship. 

“Kevin botherin’ ya? I’ll send ‘im off if ya need me to,” Neil offered. 

I shook my head. “Ain’t that. Just restless. Y’all mind if I sit in and watch?” I asked tiredly. 

They glanced at each other and I worried they would refuse. Well… guess if they did the top of the wheelhouse was an option. 

“Nah, c’mon ov’r ‘ere,” Hobbs said, jerking his head at the seat between him and Neil. 

My shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks, you won’t even know I’m here,” I assured them, walking over and sliding into the seat between the two men. Taking care not to brush any of them, I slowly exhaled. Best not to draw any more attention to myself than I already had. 

The card game continued on, but I could tell they were occasionally glancing at me. Well, good thing I couldn’t really feel worse than I currently did. 

Neil bumped my elbow and I moved it to give him more space. Surely I wasn’t taking up that much room. Compared to the AB I was pretty damn small. He called me “Shortie” for a reason. 

He did it again, but moved slower and didn’t so much bump my elbow as nudge it. Beneath the numbness and crushing exhaustion, curiosity sparked. What was this man up to? 

When his elbow brushed mine again, I left it there. He pressed his against mine but continued on with the game. His skin was quite warm, and despite the small area of contact, the touch sent a feeling of ease through me and slowly forced the tension out of my shoulders. A strong leg pressed against mine, further driving away the agonizing emptiness. Releasing a long breath once more, I shifted closer to the man. I waited, tense, for him to move away but he stayed where he was. Giving a mental ‘fuck it’, I leaned against him. 

The men must have been subtly watching, because they immediately commented on my unusual behavior. 

“Hey kid, what’s eatin’ ya?” Geitch asked from across the table. 

It took some effort, but I managed to raise my eyes to his. “Eh, I’ll be fine in a few.”

“Wasn’t the question,” Eckhart remarked, raising an eyebrow.  

“Aye, somethin’s buggin’ ya,” Hobbs added, twisting in his chair to look at me while still hiding his cards from Eckhart. 

I dropped my eyes. “Nothin’s wrong.” 

“Bullshit.” Neil nudged me with his leg. “You don’t mope like this.”

I shook my head. “Y’all don’t get it. Literally nothing is wrong. My brain just… malfunctions at times.”

“Malfunctions?” 

“We got a happy chemical our brain is supposed to produce. Sometimes my brain says ‘Fuck you, chemical machine broke’ and quits on me for an hour or two. It’s jacked enough already, but it can get really bad,” I managed.

“Sounds like hell,” Geitch commented. 

I huffed. “No shit, man. Fuckin’ sucks ass and swallows.”

The men chuckled. “Least you keep your foul mouth,” Hobbs teased, punching my arm. 

“Oh, that gets worse durin’ this.”

“Good outlet,” Eckhart laughed. 

“Guess it can be,” I shrugged, before sighing and dropping my eyes to the table again. 

The weak reply seemed to sober the men a little. 

“Should we get Tom?” Geitch asked, shifting to get out of his seat. 

“No!” I yelped, panic spreading across my face. “Last thing I need is to burden more people with this.”

My fearful response only got them more worried.

“You clearly aren’t doin’ good, kid,” Neil pointed out. “Wouldn’t Tom help?”

“He’s on duty right now. I’m not botherin’ him,” I stressed, shaking my head. “Just… can you get back to the card game? I’d have stayed away if I knew I’d bother y’all this much.”

They exchanged glances with each other. 

Shit, I knew I was bothering them! I shifted and went to slide out of the seat to leave them alone, but Neil’s heavy arm across my back and shoulders pushed me back down into the seat. 

“Ya aren’t botherin’ no one,” he growled. “Said ya can stay, so sit.”

I held his gaze for a moment before settling back into the chair. “If you’re sure.”

“Wouldn’t say it if we weren’t,” Hobbs remarked, shifting back to face the others at the table. 

“Y’all ain’t the type to hold your tongues on anythin’ that’s for sure,” I huffed, salt forming a crack in the prison wall. 

Neil squeezed my shoulder. “Right.” 

I expected him to remove his arm to continue the game, but the heavy limb stayed where it was, fingers tapping absentmindedly to the faint music playing over the radio.  

Slowly exhaling once more, I hesitated before shifting so my side rested against his. The faint rhythm of the radio coupled with the creaking and rolling of the ship coaxed me further and further towards sleep again.

But would I be safe sleeping around them? They were sailors after all. Even if I was fairly close now with Neil and Hobbs, and none of these men in particular had done anything sketchy, I just couldn’t be 100% sure. Could pretend to be asleep and see how they react.

Closing my eyes, I waited a few moments before letting my head roll to the side against Neil. 

“They fall asleep?” Neil asked. 

“Not so loud, idiot, you’ll wake ‘em up,” Hobbs hissed. 

“What do we do?” Geitch asked. “Carry ‘em back to Tom’s cabin?”

“That would also wake them up,” Eckhart pointed out. 

“I’m comfortable, just leave ‘em and let ‘em sleep,” Neil said, pulling me closer to him. 

“Softie,” Hobbs teased. 

“Am not.” 

“Look atcha, lettin’ the kid sleep on ya.”

Neil snorted. “You’d do the same.”

“They’re kinda cute when they’re asleep and not threatenin’ us with violence,” Geitch commented with a short laugh. 

“Hey, they’re nineteen,” Neil growled. “You’re thirty two. Back off.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, cockhead,” Geitch shot back. “You know I see ‘em as a sibling, same as you! Didn’t mean anything weird by it!”

“Hope not,” Eckhart said. “They’re not asleep. Saw them twitch at your comment.”

The men were quiet before Hobbs ventured, “Kid? You sleepin’ or not?” 

“I’m tryin’ if that’s any consolation,” I muttered. 

“Figured ya passed out since you’re pressed against me like this and ya aren’t cuddly awake,” Neil said, adjusting his arm.

“Just go back to the game and let me doze. Warmth and pressure helps keep the sad at bay,” I mumbled. “And I do like hugs, thank you very little. I just don’t know the vibe for them within this hotbed of masculinity.” 

As Eckhart snorted in amusement, Hobbs asked, “Can ya even sleep with us talkin’?”

“Right now no. So start gamin’,” I huffed.

“Sir yes sir,” he chuckled. 

I rolled my eyes. “Smartass,” I muttered, situating myself again. Exhaling slowly, I closed my eyes and let the low music, swaying of the ship, muted voices, and warmth and weight of Neil’s arm lull me back to sleep. 

I just hoped Tom wouldn’t freak when he got back to the cabin and I wasn’t there. 

[thefanficmonster]

Infatuation

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s not a secret that Corpse prefers taking care of his hair himself rather than going to a hair salon to get it trimmed and/or tampered. However, he only has so much knowledge of how to properly do it without having to obliterate his budget. Luckily, his girlfriend comes to his rescue.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for the incredibly fluffy request! I’ve been very pumped to write it and now here it finally is - so sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but I still hope you come across it and give it a read! Love, Vy ❤

“Um, what are you doing?“

I just walked into Corpse’s apartment to find him barricaded in the bathroom, giving himself a hair appointment. We were supposed to have a chill night in watching movies, but it seems to me like those plans will either have to be delayed or canceled, given the chaotic state both Corpse and his bathroom are in. I mean, how dumb was I to expect he was actually doing his hair justice when he told me he styled it himself? Why didn’t that immediately raise an army of red flags in my head and lead me to question his methods?

I’m honestly quite jealous of Corpse’s hair. It’s always so soft and silky and no matter how much or how little effort he’s put in it, it always looks good: either evidently carefully styled or boyishly messy, it leaves me with heart-eyes regardless. But to see him massacre it like this, it makes me wish I could report it as a crime.

“Ain’t obvious?“ He sounds rather frustrated and I feel at least slightly better due to this fact. He deserves to be as frustrated as I am by the sight of the crap he’s doing. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to wait for me for...a little while. I just need to get this under control and, um, clean the mess. Sorry for ruining your night like this, babe. I-I really wasn’t planning on it to take this long but I forgot to buy one of the products and I thought I could wing it without it but...I very clearly can’t so...“

“Please, stop talking. I don’t need to know what sins you’ve committed - if I do I’ll probably have to give you the silent treatment for like a week or so.“ I call out to him as I quickly skip over to the kitchen to leave the food I bought on my way over before returning to the bathroom and carefully taking a step inside, mindful of where there are hair strands on the tiles. Even severed, his hair is beautiful and I have a ton of respect for it - ok fine, I adore it. Corpse definitely doesn’t appreciate it properly. I walk over to the shower, reaching out to the two shelves inside which are lined with different types of hair products. “Oh fuck...“ I let out the whisper without even realizing it because I’m so stunned by the brands I see on those shelves. “Corpse, um, what the actual fuck?”

He turns to me, eyes wide and terrified because of my menacing tone. “What? What is it?” His gaze searches the spot where mine was just pointed at, looking for anything that could’ve provoked such a reaction from me. Seeing nothing but the hair products, he meets my deadly glare yet again, “What’s wrong?”

Alright, this man-child needs some serious help

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.“ I say, stomping towards the exit of the bathroom, “You’re gonna stay here and wait for me to come back and don’t you DARE, even touch your hair, let alone bring a pair of scissors or any chemical near it. Copy?“

“Copied and pasted, ma’am.“ He salutes me, knowing better than to ask questions when I enter my commander role. There are quite a few things that set me off into this bossy-ass persona, and hair mistreatment is most definitely one of them. Thing is, Corpse doesn’t know that. Well, he didn’t know that, pretty sure he’s guessed it by now.

Feeling myself soften at his obedience and trust, I give him a smile and a wink over my shoulder as I go to grab my bag and leave the apartment to complete my mission, “Good boy.”

                                                              *  *  *

“Isn’t that a lot better?“ I ask, gently running my fingers through Corpse’s freshly cut, washed and dried hair. I’ve spent a good five minutes just smoothing through it with my fingers. I bet he’s expecting me to say ‘my precious‘ at any moment now, and trust me it’s tempting, but I still don’t, I won’t give him the pleasure of predicting my actions. Wow, we’ve really reached that level of being familiar with one another that I predict that he’s predicting what I’m gonna do next. While I’m a guessing game for him, I tend to think of myself as more of an open book. You just gotta be fluent in the language it’s written in to understand it.

I’ve gone off-topic, my bad.

“Yeah, you’re a lot less scary now.“ He tells me, his hand finding mine in his hair and taking it to his lips to place a kiss on my knuckles.

We’re positioned so that we’re in front of the bathroom mirror with Corpse seated in a chair in front of me and I’m for once in my life towering over him from behind. Our height difference was threatening to be a hinderance in my work on his hair, but we easily figured it out.

I can’t help but laugh, “You know what I meant.“ I curl one of his already curly strands around the pointer finger of the hand that’s still wandering around the soft dark curls while the other remains in his gentle hold, resting on his shoulder.

“And you know what I meant.“ He shifts in his seat to look at me directly, not via the mirror, “Since when do you have a hair infatuation?“

I roll my eyes and retract my hands, defensively folding my arms over my chest, “It’s not an infatuation with hair, dummy. It’s an infatuation with your hair.” I correct him, doing quick work of styling the stray strands that fall over his forehead and eyes. “I really like your hair, you already know that. I can’t handle the thought you’re doing such a shitty job taking care of it.”

He shrugs, furrowing his brows, “Hey, I was buying top-shelf products, cost me a fortune every month, my hair was being treated like royalty.”

I roll my eyes once again, “High price doesn’t always equal high quality, Corpse. Did you ever stop to read what was in those products?” I don’t let him answer, I don’t need him to confirm what I already know. “Even if you did - which you didn’t - you wouldn’t know what each of those ingredients do to your hair. You see, taking care of hair, especially hair like yours, takes patience and knowledge. It’s practically an art form. It’s not like you can just buy any product that has ‘suitable for curly hair’ on it. There’s a lot more to that.”

It’s only after I finish my monologue that I realize he’s looking at me with amazed amusement in his gaze, almost like a parent listening to their kid talk about their wish of becoming an astronaut. “Since when do you know so much about hair? You’ve been using the same shampoo and conditioner since I know you and now you wanna lecture me on hair care?”

I raise an eyebrow at him, exasperated by his stubbornness on the matter, “Who said being consistent with your hair products is a bad thing? You know, frequent changing of brands has the potential of being damaging as much as aiding.” I explain with the most amount of patience I can muster, now taking over the parent role myself, “And as for your previous question, I know so much because my mother is a hairdresser.”

His eyes widen in surprise. I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to recall if I’ve ever told him this before.

“How come I don’t know that?“ He asks finally after a long moment of silence. “Why haven’t you told me?”

“You ask that as though I just tell you things like that on the regular. Did you also want me to drop the info that my dad’s a mechanic in passing conversation about video games? Cause that’s a little hard to shoehorn in....“ He cuts off my sarcastic rambling with a brief peck to the lips. He’s the only person allowed to shut me up, and only like that. Anything else will earn him either an earful or a silent treatment. 

Just kidding....unless...

“So, does that mean you’re continuing the family business?“ he asks when he pulls away, “I mean, you’re technically my personal hairdresser now.“

I furrow my brows playfully, “Wait, what? Since when?”

“Since I hired you approximately an hour ago.“ He beams up at me, satisfied that I’ve fallen in his trap.

“And what about my payment?“ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He looks to be contemplating for a second before he stands up from the chair, taking my hand in his leading me out of the bathroom, “Well, each appointment you’ll give me a different price, Miss Y/L/N. But, considering today was your first day, I choose to pay you with dinner.“ He sends a wink my way, laughing when he’s met with an unamused expression on my part as I stop in my tracks, causing him to halt his movements as well.

“You really plan on paying me with the dinner I bought?“ I raise an eyebrow at him, freeing my hand from his so I can put both my hands on my hips for the complete 'I’m far from impressed’ look.

“Yeah...? Problem?“ He asks, faking nervousness and guilt as he closes the distance between us, once again returning to the default of towering over me instead of it being the other way around.

“Several actually. First of all...“ I raise my finger in the air accusingly, ready to go off but the arm that wraps around my waist and lifts me off the ground causes my words to die down, evaporating in a frightened squeal, “Corpse no!! Put me down!“

Of course, he ignores me, carrying me into the living room while I don’t know whether to thrash or stay as still as possible. 

Tsk, so much for gratitude

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[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.

[hyunjilicious]

fwb [s. stan/c. evans/h.cavill]

A/n: DO NOT ask me why I wrote this. I have no idea why I did this to myself, but I thought I’d share anyway!

Summary: no matter how you put it, a catching feelings while you’re in a fwb relationship isn’t good! (SMUT, FLUFF, angst?) 9.2k

Warnings: threesome, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, slapping, daddy kink, size kink, degradation, humiliation, oral, pain kink (+/- some dubcon), submission, cum play... issa lot ok? don’t read if any of these make you uncomfortable!! 18+ 

This is a standalone fic, and not part of any series. However, come talk to me about it, please!! Tell me what you thought!! And don’t forget to reblog in case you enjoyed it!!

"Last question-" the interviewer announced. She turned around the papers in her lap and placed them to the side, before she intertwined her fingers and looked up at you with a devious grin on her lips. "I have to ask this, Y/n. We all need to know, who's your favorite? Superman or Captain America?"

Of course you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at the question she came up with. It was fair to assume you hadn't been asked this before for the sole purpose of avoiding a scene, but the lady standing in front of you seemed overly pleased with herself. Unlike Henry and Chris, who were seated on either side of you. Even if you didn't actually turn to look at them, you could feel their glares throw daggers. Anticipation floated in the room, and judging by the way they just softly chuckled or refrained from making any kind of comment, you knew how anxiously they were awaiting your answer.

"I-" you said, before bursting into laughter.

"Even I would choose Superman," Chris joined in, placing a hand on his chest for emphasis. "Dude's got X-ray vision. He's faster than light, he can fly. He's the real deal" he raised his palms, ready to accept his defeat.

"See-?" Henry butted in, and you giggled, more to yourself, at the game they started playing. You knew very well it was nothing but a big, fat, obvious trap. "Superman's got all of those, but Captain America still manages to save the world time and time again, without superpowers. I think that makes him greater"

Oh, how screwed you were.

"So, Y/n?" the interviewer pushed, ever so obviously satisfied with the tension she created, "Who will it be? Steve or Clark?"

In turn, you looked at both of them. Henry was smiling his ass off, waiting for you to say the wrong name, while Chris seemed to be lost in thought.

"Ugh, ok" you took a deep breath, and glanced into the camera, "I'm sorry, but I'm Team Cap. I gotta be."

Whereas Henry accepted the defeat with stride and sweetly mentioned he couldn't ever blame you for choosing Captain America, Chris was ecstatic. He didn't even try to hide his excitement, the chair nearly breaking under his energetic jolts of pride. 

After a few more unimportant comments were made, the interview ended and the lights were turned off. You all hopped off your seats and walked over to the buffet table, your conversation still going strong.

"Really, Y/n? Cap?" Henry taunted, his voice low and mocking, right against your ear lobe as you popped a cheese stick into your mouth. "This guy? Why did you have to do me like that, hm?"

Henry placed the tip of his finger under your chin and elegantly prompted you to look up at him. 

"I don't know, man" Chris laughed from somewhere behind you, "I think I own fair and square, Cap is just the better superhero"

Henry scowled, glancing at the blonde, over your shoulder. His ice cold eyes made the salty treat get lodged in your throat, and you had to pull away from him in order not to actually choke. "Relax-" you said, raising your hands in defeat as you started walking towards the door, "It's not like I chose between the two of you. That would've been a whole other deal"

"Wait what-?" Chris deadpanned, "What does that mean?" He added, hurrying to follow you and ask for further details.

Needless to say, the subject wasn't dropped until quite a while later. People swarmed you, papers had to be signed and pictures were taken as the employers from all levels of the building gathered outside your dressing room hoping to meet some of their favorite superheroes. It was all a buzz and about 2 hours later, the three of you were finally able to leave, making a beeline from the back door of the building, all the way over to the car that was waiting for you.

You ended up on the backseat, again between them, but this time the atmosphere was relaxed. Your blood only started to boil when Henry asked for the partition to be rolled up. As soon as the space inside the car was divided and you were given your privacy, Henry grabbed your chin and forced you to face him.

"Think I forgot about earlier?" he questioned, his devious grin wide enough so that his perfect teeth became visible. 

You giggled and forced yourself out of his hold. Shuffling around the seat, you threw one leg over his thighs and sat down in his lap. Henry looked you up and down, remotely displeased with your attitude but he didn't complain.

You grabbed his cheeks into your palms and pushed yourself up against him, his face now inches away from your chest. "And what are you gonna go?"

He wasn't about to let his guard down, "You're acting all bratty now, but you'll regret that later, baby"

"I doubt that" you teased, bending down to tenderly kiss his sweet lips, "What could you possibly do that I won't like?"

"Wish you hadn't asked that" Henry laughed, his whole frame shaking against yours. He grabbed your ass and squeezed harshly, pressing you closer to him.

"I'm scared" you joked, trailing your lips along his cheeks, knowing just how crazy you could make him. 

"Y/n" Chris warned, "Today I'm on your side, but even I can tell you're pushing your luck"

Even if he didn't necessarily manage to deflate your attitude, you plopped down from Henry's lap and resumed your spot between them. The atmosphere didn't get any denser and the topic of conversation swiftly shifted to rudimentary randomness like what food should you order once you got home or whatever plans either of you had for that night. You subtly avoided the word 'date' when you told them you'd be meeting with a friend, and breathed out relieved when they didn't pressure you for details. That was a conversation to be had between 4 walls and with no prying ears.

Once home, your home - they came over, you casually opened the door and meant to make your way inside as if nothing was wrong, but Henry, just as previously stated, had other plans.

Securing a strong hold around your way smaller frame, he lovingly leaned down over your shoulder, "How are you doing, love?" he nonchalantly asked.

His scent overwhelmed your senses, and despite knowing where this was going, you tried to play it off. "Good, you?" you smiled, sinking into his arms.

"We need to talk"

"Do we?" you laughed, but managed to do absolutely nothing in terms of impressing him.

You knew just how much he loved it when you asked for it, and this was not something he'd ever let slide. "Come with me, darling," Henry cooed, gently guiding you into the bedroom.

You followed him without showing any kind of resistance, turning around in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck. You stumbled backwards down the hallway, sloppily kissing his lips.

Much to your surprise, he was more than eager to reciprocate, his palms burning through the soft material of clothing that covered your sides. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with so much fervor, as if he had been deprived for too long. 

Henry clumsily opened the bedroom door, stumbling forward with you against him, until he reached the bed. Considering how weak you were for him and how you always allowed yourself to get molded by his will, when he pushed you back against the bed, you fell with a small huff and remained there, only your eyes following him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, seeing him open your closet and actually step inside to look behind the corner.

Before he even started to answer your question, Chris walked into the room. He was casually undoing the buttons of his shirt as he strolled past the bed.

"Hi-" you giggled, extending your hands towards him. All you wanted was some attention.

"Hi, baby" Chris laughed, bending down to kiss your forehead. "You're gonna be good for us, ok? I don't wanna have to go to hard on you"

"Then don't" you pouted.

"That's only up to you" he added, straightening his back and finishing up on undoing his buttons. His tattooed chest became visible and your mouth watered in an instant. 

Burning from the inside with anticipation and pure lust, you fell back against the cushions, your thighs uselessly trying to alleviate some of the pain between your legs. But no amount of rubbing and friction would ever match up to the tension in the room, and you loved it.

A couple of moments later, Henry walked out of his closet, dressed exactly the same, clutching tight into his hands the famous superman costume. None of you has ever been too shy when it came to exploring new kinks and desires, but this, you did not see coming.

Your mouth fell open, "Really!?" you almost drooled, but he has probably never been any quicker to burst your bubble.

Staring you down, Henry clutched his fingers into the material of his suit, bringing his hands together in front of his chest, before tearing the material apart with a loud screech. He lightly huffed with the effort, but soon enough, the actual costume fell to the floor by his feet, while the red cape remained neatly wrapped around his fists.

Your eyes widened with enthusiasm and you wanted to shuffle closer to him, but once you pushed yourself up on your knees, you felt a tight grip around your forearms.

Chris pulled you back with force, "Arms up, darling" he chuckled. He didn't even give you a chance to follow his directions, as he yanked your top over your head in an instant and unclasped your bra before leaving your top half completely naked and exposed.

As he plopped down on the bed, Henry came up to you and forced your hands up, using his cape to tie your wrists to the bedpost. His face was hovering inches above yours, and you licked your lips before pushing yourself up to kiss his jawline.

"The hell's gotten into you, hm?" he groaned, tightening the knot. When he looked down, he seemed amused, kind of at the edge between disbelief and satisfaction, as if he actually wished you'd push his buttons. As if he was waiting for you to dig your own grave. "You aren't usually like this"

"Had a great day, that's all" you grinned as you literally met with the two of them approximately half an hour after you woke up. "Ready for it to get better"

"Is it, though-?" Chris laughed, fumbling with the button of your jeans before pulling them down your legs. Off with them also went your underwear, and then there you were, completely naked in front of them, hands tied above your head. "-going to get better, I mean" Chris added, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

"I think-" you began answering but Henry stopped you as he gripped your chin.

"Stop talking back, love" he threatened, "Don't you think you said enough today? Look where it's gotten you"

You studied his expression with big, curious eyes, your bottom lip consciously trembling as you muttered a soft excuse. You knew not taking him seriously would get you into even more trouble, but that's what you were all about.

Henry chuckled. Keeping his glare trained on yours he pushed himself up. His big hands found your thighs and forced your legs apart. 

With this new, sudden change in position, your eyes landed on Chris who looked down at you as if you were his prey. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, taking small sips as he stood back, allowing Henry to do his part. Even if he wasn't yet taking part first hand in this whole charade, he was ever so obviously still enjoying the show. 

You squirmed under their dominating stares, feeling every inch of your body burn with excitement and traces of actual embarrassment that did absolutely nothing other than turn you on even further.

"You know you fucked up, right?" Chris taunted before taking another sip of his beer. His hand reached to cup your thigh, moving it further up until his fingers got dangerously close to your bare pussy. "I mean you're all good in my book, but that's not how things work"

"It could be" you whined.

By now, it should have been clear that talking back was never an option. Chris just smiled sympathetically while Henry clearly showed he wasn't going to have you keep this attitude much longer. He shuffled to the side, responding to your comment with a sharp slap against your bare cunt. "What did you just say?"

The impact made you instinctively gather your legs together but he was quick to stop you. Henry forced your thighs apart again, his thick fingers pushing past your folds just enough to get you to get on alert. 

Your eyes snapped to Chris. You never thought of things like this, but just about now, having him on your side seemed like the best idea. Your stomach was tightening from the nerves building up inside your core and you needed his reassurance. 

"I'm sorry, doll-" he cocked his head to the side as you watched him, your eyes begging him to stand with you, "You know I'm always here for you, but breaking you is just too much fun, I'm sorry"

"Asshole" you rolled your eyes and regretted it even before Henry delivered another slap against your clit. You cried out and your muscles clenched against your will, your knees bending in a pathetic attempt to curl yourself into a ball.

"Come on, darling" Henry scoffed, easily handling your tantrum and forcing your legs back down, wide open for them. "You're only making this harder. Calm down, take your punishment and then maybe you'll get something in return"

"Ok-" you muttered, shame taking over your senses. 

"Ok, what?" Henry pushed and Chris shook his head in disbelief at how unwilling you were to follow your usual instructions.

"Ok, daddy-" you muttered, avoiding their eyes, "I'm sorry I-"

"Little girl-" Henry sighed, sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy, "Already apologising? Where did that attitude go? Your punishment didn't even start yet"

"Fuck" you cried.

Despite knowing it wasn't a good idea, you rocked your hips along his fingers. Deciding to let you play along, Henry pressed his thumb against your clit, applying that minimal amount of pleasure he knew would have you hollering. 

And when you moaned for the first time, he stopped. He stopped completely and retracted his hand, leaving you craving his touch. Again, you felt exposed and it only translated into a painful sensation deep inside your belly. 

Arching your back as a whine escaped your lips, you squeezed your eyes shut, "Come on!! Please-"

"Not yet, angel" Henry countered, spreading your legs again.

As he held one of your thighs, Chris grabbed the other one, both their hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise. You already whimpered in pain, but when the real round of slapping began you felt like your throat would eventually cave.

"Cry if you have to, angel. Just be a good girl" Henry taunted.

You struggled against their hold with each blow delivered to your sensitive pussy, crying out and begging for them to stop. You never did try to count, so you had no idea how long it took, as when he stopped, you fell down into the mattress, the pain dissipating into a burning sensation across your legs.

"Easy there-" Henry cooed, his big hand cupping your cunt, gently rubbing the sensitive skin he had just abused.

Tears rolled down your temples as you failed to calm down your breathing. "Fuck, ok, I get it-" you sniffled, turning your head around to hide your face into your shoulder, "I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry"

"Look at me, pet" Henry commanded, softly guiding your chin in order to uncover your face, "Don't hide from us. You're so beautiful crying like that, you have no idea"

A new fresh wave of tears streamed from your eyes, "Th-thank you..."

Ever so softly, Chris moved your thighs, separating them again. He kneeled between your legs, lowering himself until you could feel his breath against your folds. "Breathe, pet-" he cooed, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit.

Involuntarily, you flinched, your hips bucking. "Easy, baby-" Chris said barely above a whisper, placing a hand on your tummy to push you back down, "Relax for me, ok?" 

He swiped his tongue along your folds, forcing you to suck a deep breath, "You good?" Henry asked, his hand exploring your naked chest.

You nodded up at him.

"We barely started, ok?" Chris said, pushing himself up, "You'll be a good girl for us?"

"Yes" you nodded with eagerness.

"Full sentences-" Henry nudged, lovingly caressing your abdomen, "I know it can be a lot for you, take your time"

You swallowed deeply, "Yes.. yes, I will be a good girl for you"

"Good" he cooed, leaning down. You pushed yourself up to meet his lips, but he stopped midway, tapping your chin, "Open up, baby"

Slowly, your jaw lowered, as you stared up at him, big awaiting eyes and mouth wide open.

And he made you wait, finally sending you a lewd grin before spitting on your tongue. You felt it dribble down towards the back of your throat before you swallowed proudly. You wanted to open your mouth again, but he hurried to distance himself from you.

With a harsh slap against your tits, he pushed himself up. Henry grabbed your thighs, gathering your knees together. He pulled your legs up until your hips lifted from the bed and your upper back supported most of your weight, your knees close to your chest.

"Such a beautiful pussy" Chris chimed in, his face inches away from your opening.

Never in your life had you felt this exposed and humiliated, but you swallowed your pride and remained motionless, not wanting to get on their bad side again.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked.

"For- for what?" you panicked.

"Wrong answer" he scoffed, slapping your ass. You yelped in pain and wiggled in his hold, but he didn't stop. He spanked your ass again, and again, and again, his palm hitting the bare skin off your cheeks, pussy and asshole. "Try again, little girl."

"I- I'm… I'm ready" 

"See?" Chris beamed, spitting on your pussy. You felt it run down your folds until it reached your ass. "That's the kind of slut we want. One that says yes without even knowing what we're talking about"

"Come on" Henry huffed, slapping your cunt one more time before letting your body back down on the mattress again. He moved up along your frame and undid your hands. 

You were eager to relax your shoulders and to feel the blood flow through your arms again, but as soon as he released you from the bedpost, he brought your wrists together, tying them up again. "I wish I didn't have to keep you restrained like this, but how can I know what goes through that dumb little head of yours?"

You shook your head no, trying to tell him you were actually planning on doing anything stupid, but Chris understood something else completely.

"Nothing goes through that pretty head?" he laughed, and Henry couldn't help but chuckle along.

Embarrassed, you hid your face and looked down.

"Don't be like that, baby-" Chris added, bending down over your body to caress your cheek, "You know we're right. You don't need to be ashamed, we like you like this"

His thumb rubbed along your bottom lip before he leaned down all the way and kissed you. His tongue barged into your mouth, dominating you completely as you barely managed to keep up with him. "A dumb little slut, crying for cock. That's what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy"

"Then why did you hide your face?"

"I- I don't know…" you mumbled.

"You know we keep you around just to fuck you, so I don't see why you'd get shy all of a sudden"

"I'm sorry-" you nodded, licking your lips, uselessly trying to moisten them. "I didn't get shy, I-"

"So you like being our fuck slut?"

"Yes"

"Just a set of holes for me and Cavill over here to cum in, right?" he questioned, before kissing your forehead. "Our beautiful, little girl" You smiled at the pet name and looked up expectantly. His gaze lowered and his expression became stern again. "Get on all fours, darling. Time to make yourself useful"

With every movement of your legs, your cunt ached more and more, but you followed his command and pushed yourself up. Once on your hands and knees, you saw them get into position too. Chris crawled behind you as Henry settled before you, his crotch inches away from your face.

Your mouth watered as you heard their zippers being undone, and looked at them in turn, unable to hide your enthusiasm. 

At this point, you were eager for whatever they'd throw at you. Being in that mind state always made everything better. You existed in a haze, a world of blur where it was just you and your daddys. You wiggled your ass expectantly and licked your lips with absolutely no worry. In your head it was perfect.

Your bubble was burst by a harsh tug at the roots of your hair as Henry turned your head so you'd look up at him. He fumbled with his cock, giving himself a few pumps.

Just watching him with big, excited eyes, you opened your mouth for him. He chuckled at your state of pure submission and placed his leaking tip on your tongue, your lips instantly closing around him.

At this point, he still allowed you to control your own movements as you did a satisfying enough job at bobbing your head on his cock. You sucked with determination, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could without gagging.

Your exquisite performance was interrupted when you felt something big and round trail along your folds, your eyes snapping wide open when you felt it enter you. Chris pushed his cock in with a satisfying grunt, slapping your ass in the process.

"Fuck, yes!" he exclaimed, his massive member spreading your walls apart.

A lump formed in the back of your throat, the feeling of being filled to the prim, overwhelming you. You were aware your rigorous sucking turned into a pathetic excuse as soon as Chris started rocking your body back and forth along his dick, as now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get your mind to focus.

Seemingly not at all bothered by your suddenly sloppy blow job performance, Henry tightened his hold around your roots, keeping your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The simple fact that at this point, all you had to do was stay there and take it, made it close to impossible to not lose yourself. As Chris picked up his pace, using your hips and maneuvering your body to fit his needs the right way, your pleasure started building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come on, baby-" Henry called, "Ready to take good care of daddy?"

And he asked this just to mock you, as your mouth was full of cock and he wasn't about to let you take a break. You only blinked, hoping to send the message along, despite knowing he wasn't waiting for an answer.

He steadied his hold on your roots and then forced you down his cock, his tip barging in through your neck, completely blocking your air supply. You remained there, not fighting against his hold, as Chris continued slamming his cock balls deep into your pussy.

The momentum of his thrusts pushed you forward, the ever so soft movement of your neck making Henry grunt with pleasure every time your body rocked into him. And they kept going, using you from both angles to fit their desires.

When it got too much, you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you saw no way out. You whined against his cock, your throat violently constricting in hopes of getting some air.

"A bit more" Henry cooed, maintaining his hold as you squirmed against it.

"Holy fuck-" Chris belted, both his palms relasing your hips only to be able to slap your ass harshly. "That's right, clench that pussy. Should fucking choke you more often when you're on my dick"

All you could do was whimper, forcing yourself to hold back cough after cough until you could no more. Tears streamed down your face as you started panicking, only then having Henry release you from his grip.

If he hadn't actually maintained his hold, you'd have crumbled into the mattress, a choking mess between their massive bodies. But Henry held on to you, pulling you up as Chris lowered his pace.

"Do you know how good you are, angel?" he asked, his thick British accent rolling off his tongue as exhaustion built up in his veins. 

You nodded weakly, and smiled with awe when he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"I'd keep this mouth on my cock all the damn time if I could-" Henry added, his tone deep and loving despite the condescending note of his words. "Are you ready to go again?"

You whimpered a soft, "Yes-" voice so whiny that if you weren't so deep into sub space, you'd have cringed hearing yourself. "Please..."

Chris bent down over you, his sweaty chest pressing against your back as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his greedy hands coming to cup either of your breasts. He buried his face into your neck and then kissed along your shoulders. "Are you close, baby girl?" he asked, burying his cock deeper inside your belly, "You wanna cum on my cock?"

As you breathed out, you nodded a weak yes. A smile instantly reached the corners of your mouth as Chris found your clit. He rubbed slow, intricate circles around it, your pleasure translating into sobbing moans. "Now take Henry's cock inside that little mouth of yours, and when you're getting close, you give me a sign, yeah?"

"Ok" you panted, curious about what he must have had planned.

The curiosity swiftly left your mind as your eyes landed on Henry's dick again. He was close too, the amount of precum leaking out of his tip, giving away that fact. He allowed some of it to dribble onto your chin, lightly slapping your face before popping your mouth open.

Pressing your tongue flush against the underside of his cock, you fervently sucked away as Chris started picking up his pace again. As if you weren't already close to losing any kind of self control, the painful slaps he inflicted upon your ass drove you over the edge.

You maniacally wiggled your feet against the messy blankets, giving Chris the promised signal. 

Or at least you thought you gave it to him, as the next thing you felt was being pushed down along Henry's cock again. You took him deep down along your throat, moaning loudly against his member as an orgasm overwhelmed you. Tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as your body convulsed between them.

The sensation made your chest tighten and the lack of air started getting you dizzy. The electrifying feeling pulsed along your limbs, engulfing your middle in a sea of liquid fire. You didn't even feel the need to breathe as your mind rolled down a spiral of bliss. A whole white blur covered you as your brain stopped processing the information, too keen on sucking every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm you just received.

You were only pulled out of this trance when Henry pushed you off his cock, reality hitting you like ice cold water. You gasped for air, falling face first into the mattress, struggling to even breathe. 

Not that you cared at that point, but neither of them asked you to resume your position. Instead, they shuffled off the bed, and with a soft slap against your raised ass, called for your attention.

"Come here, little girl" Chris demanded.

That was not the kind of information you were able to process, so again, they had to do all the work. With a harsh grip on your upper arms, they effortlessly grabbed you and forced you to your knees between them. 

You looked up with what was probably the most obedient stare you had ever given them. You had two massive cocks hanging inches away from your face, and of course, your first instinct was to grab them as you popped your tongue out.

"No, kitten-" Henry laughed, petting your head and softly pushing you back. "Stay still"

And you did. Took a deep breath, finally feeling the engines inside your brain resuming their work. All your senses came back to you and it was as if you had been in a dream. Still, the excitement of seeing both Henry and Chris pump their cocks inches away from your face was difficult to contain.

"You swallow all, yeah?" Henry groaned, looking down at you with hooded, hungry eyes. "Don't use your hands. Use that slutty tongue"

Soon, hot cum started erupting from his tip, most of it landing directly into your mouth. Each time you swallowed you bobbed your head, proudly smiling up at them at the great job you were doing. 

"Good girl" he muttered, his voice hoarse and out of tone.

All that changed when Chris grabbed your shoulder. He growled out loud as his orgasm reached him, and he threw his head back, still furiously pumping his cock into his fist.

"Holy mother of - fuck - !"

You did your best to get as much as you could inside your mouth, but your cheeks were a mess, your tongue only managing to spread their cum more than actually lick it off. 

When they were both done, Chris helped you up as Henry kissed your forehead before walking out of the room without another word. The blonde cradled you to his chest, heaving as he held you.

"Such a good, little angel" he whispered into your ear. He was still panting, his hands clammy against your back, but he pushed through, focusing his energy on reassuring and soothing you.

"How are you, baby? Talk to me a bit" Chris pleaded, rubbing your cheek, "I wanna see those eyes"

As if every muscle contraction took up too much energy, you barely managed to look up at him, the most innocent of looks in your eyes. "I'm feeling really good" you sighed, leaning back against his chest.

"Good-" he laughed, his whole frame shaking as he hugged you closer, "Does anything hurt?"

"Everything" you giggled.

"Ok-" he sighed, accepting his defeat, "I'll ask again after we shower. You're all fucked out now"

"I like that" you mumbled as you all but drooled on him, sleep starting to envelop you.

"Would have been worried if you didn't"

Again, despite your direct state, you couldn't help but laugh with him. You softly pushed yourself up to plant a kiss against his naked chest.

Chris rubbed the back of your head as you did so.

"Hey-" Henry called as he walked into the room, but neither you nor Chris bothered to do anything else other than look in his direction. None of you moved. "Just a ran a bath-" Henry added, pointing to the bathroom, "Please don't fall asleep"

Chris helped you up and you wobbled your way across the room. "I'll go downstairs and shower" he said.

"You never wanna join us" you pouted.

"Just not really big on baths, that's all" Chris reassured you and then made his way out of the room.

After that, another wave of bliss followed. Another kind however. Henry washed every inch of your body, his careful hands caressing every dip and curve your frame. His lips were mostly on yours as he did so, never missing a chance to bring you even closer.

"Thank you" you mumbled, leaning against the marble wall as you watched him soap his broad chest.

Henry cluelessly raised his eyebrows, the movement of his hands slowing down as he waited for you to continue.

"For helping me wash up" you smiled, "You always do, but still. Thanks"

"No problem, darling" Henry nodded, gathering you closer again, and kissing your forehead. He got soap all over you again, and didn't even try to hide the fact that he loved having to help you rinse again.

A short while later, probably about 20 minutes or so, it was again the three of you, back in bed. You were laying between them. Judging by the light snores that danced off his lips and the peaceful way his chest rose and fell, Chris must have fallen asleep long before you and Henry finished showering. The sun started descending from the sky and the orange light in the room painted the perfect picture.

You cuddled into Henry's side, feeling your heart tickle the inside of your chest when he reciprocated the gesture. His warm breath graced the skin of your forehead as he gave you a longing kiss, barely even bothering to pull back before settling for a deep sleep.

You drifted off, content and with a smile on your lips, elated with what the day brought so far, and bubbling with anticipation for whatever surprises it might still have hidden.

By the time you woke up, fully rested, the sun was already sinking low behind the horizon, a red, tainted sky following in its footsteps. Extracting yourself from Henry's bear hold turned out to be much more than you expected, his reluctance to let you go, even in his sleep, making you giggle.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Chris asked, his voice a fresh tingle to your ears.

"Good-" you sighed, settling to lay down just a bit more. You kissed Henry's bicep as it spawned all across your chest, action which made him pull you even closer. "What time is it?"

"A bit past 6" Chris answered, rolling onto his side to face you. His shoulders slumped together making his chest stand out, but before you got a chance to take in the view, he cluelessly pulled up the covers all the way up to his nose. "Got any plans?"

"Yeah" you nodded, trying Henry's arm again, but he refused to budge once again. "I told you guys"

For a few seconds, Chris looked at you amused, and with a shake of his head, he grabbed Henry's hand, shaking him awake. "Wake up, buddy. Y/n's gotta get ready"

"No" Henry croaked, his light scruff tickling the back of your neck. 

To be fair, you were excited for your plans, but in a way, your heart broke thinking about leaving that bed. Eventually you did, the cold of the room clinging to your body in an instant.

You shivered your way to the bathroom, quickly washing up before returning to the bedroom. The scenery hadn't changed at all, the two men still lingering at the edge between dream and reality, their phone screens perfectly accentuating their lazy expressions.

Swiftly making your way past the bed, you slapped the light switch on, the warm light of your candelabra flooding room, much to their simultaneous dismay. "Why- just no, turn it off-"

"Yeah, sure-" you sarcastically responded, stepping past the ruined superman costume on the floor, and opening the closet doors. You grabbed a pair of underwear and stepped inside it, before rummaging for your favorite bra. "I'll just get ready in a pitch black room. Of course"

None of them was impressed.

"Who are you seeing anyway?" Chris questioned. 

You smiled innocently despite doing your best not to, and then turned to face them. "Sebastian"

"What" Henry gawked, sitting up in an instant, his frown taking over the previous sweetness of his features.

"What do you mean what?" 

"Yeah, haven't you two-" Chris began speaking but Henry cut him off with absolutely no remorse.

"You haven't seen each other in two weeks. I thought that was done for"

As you finally found your bra, you slipped your arms under its straps and pulled them up your shoulders. "We haven't seen each other because he's been visiting his family. We kept talking"

"Talking?" Henry raised an eyebrow. 

"Yeah we-" you sighed and then stopped. "Why are you acting like this? This is nothing new"

"I just-" Henry tripped over his words, shaking his head at the awkwardness he brought to the table. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I just didn't know it was that serious yet, that's all"

"It's not" you said, walking over to your makeup table and sitting down on the small, velvet chair. "We wouldn't be here if it was, would we?"

"I don't know, hun" Chris huffed, lazily slipping out of the bed. The way he walked made it look as if every muscle contraction pained him, leaning from side to side as he close to crawled his way to the bathroom. 

In the process, you caught sight of his naked body in the reflection in your mirror, catching everything from his tattooed chest, to his massive thighs and still impressive cock.

"He's a great guy. I hope things work out if you decide he's the one for you"

"Is he?" Henry chirped, making you turn to him, a thick layer of concealer that still had to be blended, smudged under your eyes.

"We said we're taking things slow, you know this" you sighed, waving your brush around, "We're not exclusive. We're not a couple. We're just- I don't know, dipping our toes. We don't wanna fuck this up."

"Then why are you here with us?"

Perhaps the words slipped past Henry's lips a bit too harshly. You did not expect that. Not from him.

"Uh-" you muttered, feeling cornered, "Listen, he's just one of my best friends. And I really like him, I never lied to him. He knows about you two. We're just-" and then you stopped again, dropping your sentence as your brows furrowed above a pointed look. "Since we started this thing, you both have slept with other people and I never said anything about it. But now that I actually find someone I like, you act like I've committed a crime. Why are you allowed to-"

"Ok, I'm sorry" Henry jumped to stop you, clumsily leaving the bed and padding over to you. "That was incredibly rude of me, I'm sorry"

"What's up?" you asked sweetly, dearly wanting to help ease the pain that upclose was so clearly visible behind his sad, blue eyes. 

And he hesitated, his eyes snapping to the window behind you before he licked his lips. "I just got comfortable, that's all. I care about you a lot, and I'll miss your sweet little body but if he makes you happy, I'll happily trade our encounters for... coffee dates?"

"Thank you, Henry-" you giggled, warming up at his sudden and sincere confession.

He kissed your forehead, the epitome of love gestures. His lips quivered, and brushed against your skin a few times before allowing you to finish getting ready.

Time had flown unreasonably fast, and in a matter of seconds, you found yourself running around the room, blazing through the last steps of your process, despite it not being neither tedious nor elaborated. To be fair, Sebastian was the only man in your life who you never tried to impress with your looks.

You felt appreciated and understood in his presence. He smiled when you talked and pecked your lips every chance he got. He was your friend before anything else, and regardless of the harsh reality you lived in, the status of your relationship changing was what you craved the most. He made you open up without even trying, his sense of stability and unconditional acceptance making you end up on his doorstep, dressed in just a hoodie and jeans, a bottle of wine in tow, ready to just kick back and feel your ultimate best.

For whatever reason, your heart started banging uncontrollably against your ribcage as soon as you knocked. When you heard the lock turn, your knees weakened.

He sprung the door open, welcoming you with open arms. You just took a step in and threw yourself against his chest, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as he brought you closer.

The fresh smell of his aftershave reached your senses, and you rubbed your nose against his perfectly soft jaw line. "You shaved," you smiled, knowing just how much he hated to do so when it wasn't absolutely necessary. 

"Thought it was about time" Sebastian laughed, his right arm still tight around your back as he leaned to the side to close the door.

You only then realised you didn't even bother to put your bag down, take your shoes off or even say hello before going in for a hug. You felt your cheeks burn at the realisation, but he did not seem to mind at all.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Sebastian said, starting to advance further into his apartment. You took off your shoes, and just when you were about to enter the living room, the delicious smell of basil stopped you and made you turn around.

You headed into the kitchen, your eyes landing on his tall frame, his back facing you as he stirred something on the stove. 

"You're cooking?" you asked, whiny with admiration and awe.

"Yes" he beamed, turning around. Only then did you notice what he was wearing. His usual black jeans and socks, but he had ditched his trademark sweaters, opting for an elegant button up instead. The sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he rocked a pair of fluffy house slippers, red with blue stripes, not fitting his attire in any way, shape or form.

You placed the wine bottle on the counter, and approached him cautiously. "What- um, what are you making?"

You felt bad, ungrateful and undressed. Where were his pajamas and the take out he always ordered? Did you miss something?

"There's this amazing spaghetti recipe I learned from my mum" he grinned proudly, eyeing the multitude of ingredients laid out all across the table. "It's not traditional or anything. She perfected the recipe over the years and you just have to try it"

"Smells delicious already" you giggled, looking around the kitchen.

The atmosphere was soft and warm, the lights were dimmed and slow blues tunes were playing in the background. It was nothing like you were used to.

You offered to help, but he insisted on finishing up alone. You always washed his dishes because he absolutely hated doing it, and you were also the one who always put his leftovers in the fridge, as he always forgot them on the table, cluelessly letting them spoil. It felt only natural to do so right now, so you made your way to the sink, and waited for the water to heat up.

"Stop" Sebastian laughed, coming up beside you to turn the faucet off. "Just relax for once, please" he begged, his hands on your waist effortlessly turning you around.

Your lower back pressed against the edge of the sink as he caged you in, his eyes warm and ambitious, boring into yours.

"I just want to help" you smiled.

"Not now" he shook his head, "We'll clean up later. Or tomorrow"

His words caused a lump to grow inside your throat, your lips involuntarily parting in surprise. You never spent the night at his apartment, and fervid anticipation started to surge through you.

"What’s going on?" you asked, cupping his cheek.

Sebastian leaned into your touch, his eyes all but fluttering closed. "Nothing. Why?"

As he spoke, he grabbed your wrist into his hand and brought your palm to his lips, kissing your soft skin as his eyes awaited your answer.

"I don't know…" you mumbled, feeling yourself melt. He was too close, too attentive and too focused on you, it felt so difficult to breathe. "Don't get me wrong, please. I absolutely love everything you did. But this is new. We never did anything like this before, what changed?"

"Is it bad?" he cautiously asked, planting his hands on the counter on either side of your hips. "That I want things to change between us?"

Your heart swelled. All the signs pointed in the right direction, but his words still managed to get your adrenaline going. "Change… how?" 

As soon as you spoke, you felt like throwing up. You couldn't help but wonder how dumb could you have been, to ask something like this. As if it wasn't obvious, but your brain was too busy drowning in excitement to actually allow you form any coherent thoughts.

"I mean-" he hesitated, his confidence shaking a bit. He looked to the side, licked his lips and then playfully rolled his eyes as the corners of his lips turned upwards, showing you that perfect smile you loved so much. "While I was visiting my family, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My mom just couldn’t understand why I didn’t bring you along. I don't just want you for a date a week and a kiss after we drank enough wine. I needed that time apart to gather the courage to make the first step" he confessed. "I really fucking like you. I want all of you"

"Oh-" you froze.

"Please-" Sebastian whispered, gently tilting your chin up. "Tell me now if you want me to back off, because I'm really struggling to not kiss you right now"

As much as you wanted to tell him to do it, you refrained from doing so. Instead, you just grinned up at him, your eyes sparking with lustful temptation. He watched you closely, and when he figured out your play, he shook his head in disbelief for the briefest second. 

Following that, there was no awkwardness left. He engulfed your lips into the most passionate kiss. His tongue pathetically begged for permission, which you didn't hesitate to give. He explored your mouth as if it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted, kissed you deeply, moaning against your lips as his hands hazardously roamed your body. No matter what you did, you felt like you couldn't get close enough. You clung onto him, fisting the delicate material of his shirt into your hands, desperately trying to gather him against you. 

Sebastian was the one to break the moment, grabbing your cheeks as he pulled back. His lips were wet and slightly swollen, as he ruggedly breathed out against your skin. "So?"

"So, what?" you teased.

"Come on" he whined, kissing you again, this time more aggravated and determined. "Can we do this? Do you want it?"

"Are we going all out? Real couple? Exclusive, all strings attached kind of thing?" you beamed with excitement and so did he, hearing you.

"If you want to," Sebastian nodded. "I don't want to pressure you, but I'm crazy about you"

"You're not pressuring me. I adore you, Seb. I'm all yours"

"What did you just say?" he smirked, kissing your lips and moving down along your jawline, "That you're all mine? Pretty sure I've never heard anything more beautiful in my whole life"

"Well, you'd better get used to it" you giggled.

And the goodness kept coming. You ate and god, how grateful were for his mum's recipe, it was simple, delicious and it tasted like home. Sebastian refused to tell you how to make it just so he could be your personal chef and cook it for you any time you wanted.

You cleaned the kitchen together, ate cake until the button of your jeans threatened to burst, and then settled on the couch, drinking red wine while scrolling through Netflix. 

As ethereal as everything was, there was still a weight pressing down on your shoulders. You didn't want your relationship to start with you already hiding things from him, so you decided there was a conversation that really needed to be had.

"Sebastian?" you asked softly, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing lightly in order to get his attention.

"Yes, doll?" he hummed, a little bit distraught, before returning to search through the channels.

"Can you look at me a bit?" you muttered, "I wanna talk to you about something"

It was then he realised you were serious. Without question, he turned the TV off and leaned back on the couch, his slightly concerned eyes studying your features. "Are you ok?"

"Yes" you giggled and he visibly relaxed.

"Did I-"

"You didn't do anything!" you stopped him again, leaning down to kiss his lips. He was happy to reciprocate, but you didn't allow things to escalate. "I want to talk about something, and -" you cringed, your palms watering, "And I totally understand if it'll chance the way you see things"

"What are you talking about?"

He was rubbing your thigh, visibly growing impatient. But he allowed you to speak at your own pace.

"Um… you remember a while ago, I told you I was in that kind of a friends with benefits relationship?"

"Yeah" he nodded, "What about-"

"It is obviously over now that we took things to the next step, but these are my best friends we're talking about here. I just... couldn't help but wonder... I don't know… I feel like it wasn't fair to you.. considering how that went on until very very recently and-"

"Babe?" Sebastian stopped you, his voice soft and eyes even more so, "What are you trying to say? Did you think I'd be mad because you had sex before being in a relationship with me?"

"Huh" you gawked, "When you put it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid"

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but it kind of is" he laughed, shaking his head, "You're a free woman, you can do whatever you want. You don't have to explain yourself to me, especially when it comes to things like this"

"So you.. don't mind me seeing them again? Like friends, of course!"

He frowned a bit, scratching the back of his head. "I trust you, ok? I like to think that you wouldn't have been here with me if you had any feelings for any of them."

"Thank you"

"Come here-" Sebastian urged you, eager to bring you close against his chest again. He rubbed your back and rested his head on top of yours, "I really appreciate you telling me this. It was bugging you, and I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me"

"I was worried it would be sitting in the back of your mind and you would feel uncomfortable bringing it up. I felt like I had to, like I owed you that much since you were so understanding with this thing from the beginning-"

"You don't owe me anything ok? I don't care what you did in the past, that's your business. I care what you do now, here, with me. And I might be blindly in love, but I doubt I have any reasons to worry"

"You really don't" you mumbled, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I'm so happy to be here with you, I don't want anything else"

"Me neither, doll, me neither" he sighed, kissing your temple and bringing you closer.

The night ended relatively early. If you were in love with him at the beginning of the evening, now you were head over heels. You fell asleep cuddling, and you had never felt so loved before. Deep down inside, you regretted not allowing things to escalate, but sleeping with him so soon after your last encounter with Henry and Chris just didn't feel right. And of course he understood. The awe and respect for you was visible in his eyes when you explained what was holding you back. That night you slept better than you had in weeks.

The next morning, you left quite early, both of you having your schedules quite full. When you entered your apartment it was quiet and dark, and you couldn't help but smile bitterly at the memories from the day before.

You made your way to the kitchen, and stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a pink bag and a piece of paper right by its side. It didn't take long until you eyed the donuts inside the bag, but you didn't pay too much attention to them as you picked up the letter beside it and read it over.

"Hey, Y/n,

The reason I wrote you this is because I didn't want to interrupt your date, but this has to be said, you deserve that much. I can't lie and say that last night I didn't stay here until 3am hoping you'd come back. It's awful of me, I know, but I really hoped your date would go horribly wrong and that you'd come home early. It's not that I don't want you to be happy… I just wish it wasn't with him. And again, I can't lie and say that I didn't drop by in the morning. I brought you those donuts you love so much, but you weren't here. It was absolutely unfair of me, I know, but during these last few months, I fell in love with you. I know I should've told you before, and I hope you don't think I'm saying this now to burst your bubble. The reason I'm doing this is because you deserve an explanation. I'm sorry, but I can't be around you right now. I need to get you out of my head, and seeing you now, would only make it more difficult. Please don't reach out, you'll only pull me back in. I love you too much, I need some time away to screw my head back on. I'd be lying if I said I won't be waiting for you. Even if I won't actively/purposely do it, I can't imagine a day when I won't jump if you told me to. Please, don't think I'm doing this to hurt you, you're my favorite person in the whole wide world. I will always love you. I wish you and Sebastian the absolute best. This is difficult for me to say, but I hope he is everything you ever wanted. I hope he'll make you happy and treat you like the angel you are. This isn't goodbye or the end of our friendship, it's just me needing to step back. I wish you the best, god knows you deserve it!

PS: I replaced your superman costume, I know you begged me for weeks to give you one, and I ruined it yesterday. I had a spare one at home, it's on your bed now. I hope you don't mind I took the old one with me… you know? Memories...

All my love,

Your Henry"

[canadadrye]

honestly any kind of chase davenport fic is good maybe even a little jealousy involved

DO I WANNA KNOW?

chase davenport x GN!reader

request: yep!

note: inspired by the arctic monkeys song

warnings: cat's language, arguing, implied that reader has anxiety

word count: 1.1k

recently things in your life had been going downhill, and fast. family members getting sick, pets dying, you name it. all of this stress had caused you to become a lot more dependent on your best friend, leo, than normal. however, a certain other man in your life wasn't too happy about that. it was no secret that chase davenport had romantic feelings for you; in fact, you seemed to be the only person unaware of it. now this really irked him, all he wanted was to be able to call you his and that was the one thing he couldn't do. ever since you'd been seen clinging onto leo every time you had the chance, chase started growing distant and you really couldn't understand why. it was really bumming you out since you considered him to be your second closest friend, only being beat by leo by a close margin.

you arrived at school at your normal time, and for the first half of the day you were completely silent; not speaking, or looking, at a single person. when lunch time came you headed to the cafeteria, sitting in your normal spot between chase and leo. but this time, chase got up and asked bree to switch spots with him. for you, this was the final straw. he'd been such an ass to you recently and it really wasn't helping the already trashy mental state you were in. you leaned over to leo and whispered in his ear, "do you have any idea what his deal is? he's been acting super weird recently and i'm worried" you made sure to be quiet enough that no one other than him could hear you, you weren't looking to start anything. in fact, that was the last thing you wanted to do at this point. "honestly, i have no clue man. everyone's noticed but we're too scared to ask" he shook his head and went back to eating. you didn't bother responding, you wanted to save the already very little amount of energy you had. you went through the rest of the day barely being able to focus on your work, all you could think about was chase. you cared about him so much and seeing him act this way hurt far beyond what it should.

after a very long day, you went home to drop your backpack off in your room. ignoring your family, not ever bothering to look their way. you didn't want them to see you in such a pathetic state. putting in your earbuds and turning the volume up all the way, you texted leo letting him know you were on the way to the davenport residence. the trip there was relatively short but it felt like hours. tears pricked your eyes as you reflected on the recent weeks. watching one of your best friends drift away was horrifying, and all you could do was think about what you did wrong. "was i a horrible friend? did i put him through the same pain i'm going through?". those were just some of the questions racing through your mind. your breathing started to pick up pace as you entered through the doors of the mansion. you quickly found leo and engulfed him in a tight, desperate hug. he wiped the tears away from your face and encouraged you to go talk to chase. "shh, it's okay. whatever happens we'll conquer it together!" you gave him one final hug and headed down to the lab.

the elevator ride down was absolutely gut wrenching. your heart sunk into your stomach and you were shaking more than you ever have. the doors open and you stepped out, meeting the hazel eyes of the man causing your racing heartbeat. "hey, chase... we need to um- talk" you fidgeted with your hands, not able to look at his face. "what is there to talk about? i don't think anything needs to be said" his words were harsh, piercing through your chest in a way that you'd never really felt before. you fought back tears and tried to continue the conversation, "i'm worried about you, really... you've been, how do i say this- uhm distant? recently... i guess" you started rubbing at the ends of your sleeves, something that you'd been known to when thrown into situations like this. "i don't know what you mean" he sarcastically threw out, working on something you couldn't quite see. "listen i really- i just want to know what's wrong" you felt defeated, you weren't sure why, but you did. "what's wrong? you want to know whats wrong? well i'll tell you what's wrong, i've loved you for MONTHS, i've put in so much TIME and EFFORT trying to get you to notice me-" he felt himself getting worked up, he truthfully couldn't believe he was saying these things out loud "-and all i get in return is seeing you latch onto my GODDAMN STEP-BROTHER of all people! i don't understand why you don't just get with him at this point- it's so obvious you like him!" he ran his hand through his hair, hoping to calm himself down. you were left speechless, it had never even crossed your mind that he might like you. you'd never thought of him in that way, simply because you didn't think it was possible for him to feel any way other than platonically for you. you didn't say anything, you couldn't even if you wanted to. words refused to escape your mouth, you felt tears rush down your face and you didn't try to fight it because you knew couldn't. "i don't even WANT to know what you're thinking about saying, i think it's best if you just lea-" he was about to finish his sentence when he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around his waist. he was thrown off, his mind scrambling to find any conclusion he could come to. everything made sense to you, why everything he did made such an imprint on you. why his words hurt you so much more than they would if they came from anyone else. you sobbed into his chest, you couldn't hold anything back anymore. it felt like a train of emotions just hit you, like a wave swallowing you whole. he pulled away from the hug, confused but no longer angry. "chase i-" you hiccuped "everything makes so much sense now i... i feel the same" you mustered up a weak smile, looking up towards him. he didn't say anything, he just cupped your cheek in his hand and placed a small kiss on your forehead before he pulled you into a deep hug. that night you stayed at the davenports, not wanting to leave chase's side.

[dodo-begone]

Now Listen Here Sad Bitches - Stop Being Sad

Pairing: Yan!Xisuma x Reader (idk if it's rlly yan tbh)

Request: If you’re up to it can I get yandere nHo hcs? Bc I’m desperate for nHo content, But if you don’t know enough about the nHo boys can you do a continuation of your yandere xisuma fic? bc it was really good👀

Word count: 5k words

Warning: Falling, Depression, Death, Yandere (?)(just a bit posessive/protective at the end), Bit of confusion/memory loss, Mention of Running Away

This is a Part 2 to Ugly Fuckling

If this EVER looks funky or glitched, here's a link to it on Ao3.

_______________________________________________________

A methodical ticking echoes around the room, the only indicator that time was passing. The room was nearly a blinding black, yet a ray of moonlight made its way into the room. From that, you were able to see Xisuma. Without his helmet covering his face, he looked much more welcoming and soft. It wasn’t like he wasn’t soft and welcoming anyways, he just looked so much softer and approachable. A real person - man what were you even thinking?

Mentally shaking off that train of thought, you let your mind wander onto a different topic. Since Xisuma stopped you from following through with your impulsive decision to leave, he hadn’t exactly let you out of his sight. A few of your activities were free from his supervision, but otherwise you were with him.

At first you felt like an absolute bother to him, but his insistence that it was all fine made things better. Minimally better, if you were to speak honestly. It didn’t alleviate your feelings at all. He was being so nice and attentive to you and your needs. And what were you doing with that? You were being the little debbie downer that you are and not getting better. Come on, this was all for you. That meant you had to get better for him since he was putting so much effort into making you get better.

He made you all of your favorite foods, cuddled you any time even a tear fell from your eyes, asked about what was worrying or saddening you and trying to talk you through it to feel better, and so much more. All around it was everything you needed, really it was. Everything was getting better, yet you weren’t.

This had been going on for days, and you were still thinking of leaving. Though technically you did. Maybe the entire server moved with you. Maybe that fact could be ignored. Maybe. Everyone gathered up and went to a new server not too long after your most recent “escape” attempt. You weren’t sure if it was the unsaid yearly move to a new season or what, but it seemed a little too convenient if you thought about it. But thinking was a laborious and bothersome task. So no thoughts - only depression. Yea, that’s how things rolled for you.

The thought of leaving was far from leaving your mind. It was always on the backburner, but became a prominent thought whenever you weren’t with anybody. Especially Xisuma. Voices whispered to feed your insecurities, giving a source for your depression to grow off of. And boy was it growing. Adding in this new move made you question a bit more.

You knew you wanted to leave the server because of how icky, disgusting and disappointing you were, but now you were truly realizing where the issue lay. Wel, you knew before, but it just became more evident. It wasn’t the server itself. The issue lay between you and the hermits. So that feeling of not belonging? Still rather prominent. Even with their fresh new start where everyone had the same resources, said “resources” were nonexistent since everyone started with nothing, it was rather evident you still didn’t belong.

Grian was the only one who didn’t build a “starter house” immediately. That made two hermits you knew who didn’t make a starter house. The two hermits being you and Grian, so that made you feel better. Until you found out the reason he didn’t make a house was because he went to defeat the Ender Dragon and get loot from end cities. Yea that really didn’t make you feel better. And these “starter” builds the others made were no joke. They weren’t even starters, in your opinion. These were whole builds in and of themselves. Like things you’d be building late game, if you even got around to making anything that could compare.

Once again, your mind cemented that you were very alien to this group. Alongside the “new fodder” that you had, which was really recycled thoughts, memories, or insecurities, you started to cry. Stifling your sobs without being able to cover your mouth with your hands is a very hard task. All remaining strength you had went into calming your breath and being as silent as possible. You still allowed the tears to continue their route down your cheeks with no intent to stop them. If you only allow tears to flow with no noise, you can get your emotions out while not bothering Xisuma. A win-win.

Time was illusive, slipping through your hands like sand. One moment you were crying next to Xisuma in bed then a blink later you were waking up in an empty bed. The ever annoying sun was flaunting its energy and jovial beams into the room and blinding you with it. Man, how you envied the sun. It was able to get up every day and do its duty. And not even the duty it was exactly made for. One that it conveniently worked with. A necessity to life.

Still, you layed in bed. Too lethargic to move on your own; there was no will or energy to move. Well, there was one reason; you wanted to search for Xisuma. Where could he have gone off to? He wasn’t in the bed. Somewhere else in the house? Out on a project? Who knows. The likelihood of him being gone was high and that, along with the thoughts, kept you in the bed.

The day passed. Maybe you slept. You were still very tired and very sad, so it really made no difference in the end if you did actually sleep sometime that day since nothing changed. Snuggling into the blankets for warmth and comfort, you awaited for Xisuma’s return. Though you don’t remember him saying that he was going anywhere in particular yesterday. Did he? Memories blurred together and multiple days became one mushed memory. Many memories of him mentioning future projects to you or other things came to mind. How recent were those? Mulling over your memories, you tried to pinpoint when they happened based on some other memories. You referred to them as your “time reference memories”... They had a different name, but the name eludes you. But that was their purpose, so that name shall stay.

Soon a plethora of other memories came to mind as you quickly sorted through them. So they obviously didn’t take place in the same time area-frame thingy as when you joined the Hermitcraft server. That was months ago- clearly off the table. Then did they happen around the time you were building the trash on the server? Also a big no- that’s way too early. Oh dear- all the memories that were popping up were far too early. Crap- think. Think, think, think. Come on, more recent. What about when you tried to leave? Well it happened after that, but much closer.

A flash of memories pass behind your eyes yet you can’t decipher all of them. It was obviously some memories and you could faintly see some things, but it was all a blur of colors. You didn’t have the time for this right now. After you figure this out, you could reminisce on them. Now you had to figure out which memory out of the blob you had was most recent-

Staring at the ceiling did nothing to help. No new spark of memories came up, even with your mind scrambling for any scrap it could get its little grubby hands on. Great- now you were stuck going off of his appearance and what the house looked like during those times. Now the dilemma was “which came first”. Almost every memory took place in the house.

Wait! He didn’t have the diamond armor in all of them! Only two of them had diamond armor involved. Specifically on Xisuma. You didn’t have anything on this new server. Well, compared to him or any other hermit, anyways. To say you were behind or “lagging” was an understatement. Having iron armour isn’t really a flex. Especially when it goes missing. Like who just up and loses armor like that? You do, apparently.

That isn’t the point. Stay focused! So he had armor, what did the house look like? Or anything outside the window?

Finally a lightbulb went off in your mind. Of course! He talked about a fire last time. Yes, you were sure of you. Not sure why but you were very sure of that fact. He mentioned that some gravel on a mountain was on fire and he wasn’t sure why. Then he talked about a building in the next memory… Everything was starting to add up! Oh you felt so smart right now. So good.

So what mountain did he say he was going to? It was a villager hall, right? Or was it the future place for a build… No, villager hall because he mentioned villagers and trading. Obviously not another build. But what if it was? Now you were conflicted because you were so sure but at the same time doubt pranced around your mind obnoxiously. Your anxiety was getting ticked off more.

First the disappearance of Xisuma and now your worries are getting to you? Really, it was the opposite order. More of an Oreo, but that wasn’t important.

Taking a deep breath, you try to get your thoughts under control again. Regain you cool. Alright. If you find Xisuma then you can calm everything else down. That was your biggest worry right now. The longer you didn’t know Xisuma’s location and condition, the worse your mental state became. From there, it was obvious how everything would decline.

All you had to do was go to Xisuma. Right. Go to Xisuma. Who is outside. Out of the bed. Debating on whether or not to leave the comforting confines of the blankets or search for Xisuama was definitely something. It was hard but also wasn’t all at the same time. Because yes, staying in bed and being warm would be amazing. The preferred option. But you were worried about the lack of Xisuma’s presence. That took precedence over comfort.

Grumbling, you slowly start to drag yourself out of bed. More accurately rolling out and only turning to properly get out of bed and onto your feet. Same end result really. Slowly, as to not cause a dizzy spell, you get up and walk toward the door. Said dizzy spell still hits you like a baseball gets hit by a bat, but there was an attempt. Black overtakes your vision for a second before everything goes back to normal. Boy you didn’t miss those pounding headaches with dizzy spells. Damn vertigo.

Shaking your head, you steady yourself for the journey to the outside. It was going to be perilous. Well not really, but your mind tried to come up with the worse case scenarios. Like some Dream SMP members coming for you to drag you back. Or pillagers near or at the front door. Or some other nasty mob. Oh the possibilities were nearly endless. But you had to do this.

Hyping yourself up, you mentally prepare for what you could think of. Aka prepare for something bad like pain. To be fair, pain would be better than a Dream SMP member but pain still hurts.

A noise of annoyance leaves your lips as you once again try to get yourself back on track. You hated how easily distracted you got sometimes. Though it did help in some situations. Admitting to that wouldn’t be too helpful in any regard so back to ignoring it you go.

Soon you’re back on track and continuing your journey. The only thing standing between you and the outside world stared at you. The front door. It wouldn’t be for long. All you had to do was open it and then start the other leg of your journey and- wait.

The door greeted your face with a nice hearty slam as you walked right into it. Confusion was just written all over your face. You grabbed the knob, did you not? Taking a step back, you peer down. Low and behold, you were holding the door knob. Your brows furrowed as you twisted the knob. Nothing happened. Trying with more strength and vigor or whatever might do something? Maybe it’s just stuck. Unlikely but hey! Delusions are much sweeter and easier to swallow. Plus being more violent with an inanimate object makes it work! Usually, anyways. Beat a banana and you get mush so not always. That’s besides the point because the darn door still refused to open. Huffing, you try being a little harder with the door. Though that leads to nothing but you fearing it breaking. One creak escapes the poor door and you’re off of it like a puppy squealed rather than a door.

Anxiety started to bloom in your chest for the uptenth time or whatever. It’s happened a lot and that’s all that matters. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. It’s just a door. If it breaks it can be replaced. Also it’s a door. It’s probably fine. Though you didn’t exactly want to test that. Who knows when the door is going to just say “nope! I’m done” and just break?

Leaning against the door, you slide to the floor as you think of another plan to leave. The door was locked, right? This is a brand new door we’re talking about. Rust couldn’t have shut it already, right? You were by the sea though so who knew what the salt and water was doing to it. That ruins doors, wood, and mentals, right? If only you were a builder or someone more fluent with stuff like this. Someone who knew how stuff like that worked. Because wow, you were beyond dumb on that subject.

You curl up in defeat. Bringing your knees to your face, you wrap your arms around them to secure them. To feel safer and smaller. Block out the world. All you wanted to do was stay there, just like that. Not that exact position, but you want to feel comforted and safe. A craving for belonging and love. Although something you craved, whenever it was just handed to you or offered, you turned it down. Nobody actually likes you. They just want to use you.

Everyone has used you in the past for something.

Tears started to form in your eyes. As you lift your head from the curl, you take a deep breath. This is annoying, tiring. Crying is useless right now. Nothing is going to be fixed this way.

As you subdued the tears, you looked around the house again. There had to be another exit, right? Maybe. Half of the houses you’ve lived in only had one entrance or exit. The other half either had a secret exit or another doorway. This wasn’t one of the latter, though. It was one of the former; you were only informed of one way to exit or enter the house. Xisuma didn’t mention any emergency escape. Well there weren’t any holes in the house besides that- OH WAIT!

Smacking your forehead, you scramble to your feet and look directly at the closest window. If it had the ability to, it’d probably be sweating out of fear or anxiety. Either or, that window wasn’t going to have a good time. Fortunately for you, though, the window couldn’t judge you. And the window is very easy to climb out of.

Walking closer for inspection, it didn’t seem like it’d be too hard to open. Just flick a latch or two and just lift the bottom. You’re home free after that. The latches weren’t an issue. Grabbing the bottom of the glass, you silently pray that it won’t be as stubborn as the door.

Some deity was feeling nice today because the window opened without much trouble. A little elbow grease but that was a small price to pay. Now started the awkward maneuvering to get outside. This was one thing you didn’t miss from your past.

First a leg, then the other, and slide later, you land ungraceful into the outside world. Either you were going to land on your face or bum and you didn’t want any of that. So instead you did a nice little dance.

Okay so dance would be the fun way of stating it. What happened was you stumbled around for a bit, waving your arms around in a desperate attempt to regain balance. But you get to stay on your feet, so the trade off of your dignity was well worth it. Plus nobody was around to see it.

Once balanced, you were in awe of the builds that were just a wall away. How much has changed since you last came out? How long were you inside? You only remember the comically tall portal and the partial build of the portal tower being around when you came. Besides the starting house and a few other small things, of course. But now there were two completed towers. The dark one was obviously the portal tower because of the color scheme. What was the other than? It was colored like a lighthouse with the red and white bands encompassing it, but you didn’t want to say anything definitely. After all, it was somewhat hard to tell.

The coloration indicated a lighthouse, along with the silhouette, but it looked a bit too artistically done. And when something is artistically done, it could be anything. So you’ll call it tower two! Tower two was rather pretty!

Xisuma wasn’t around though. Right. The mountain wasn't around here, was it? Where was it, anyways? It must’ve been pretty far away.

With the prospects of a long walk ahead of you, your shoulders slump. Dear lord, this was more work than you wanted to go through. Who knows how far it is! But it wasn’t just some walking for fun, it had a purpose.

Gathering your remaining energy and grit, you start the laborious, long, and treacherous journey through the continent for Xisuma. Hiking wasn’t your strong suit and keeping an eye out for Xisuma too? This makes everything so much harder.

You were only able to get off the island and back onto the mainland, where you started to scale the mountain before you heard a ruckus. Progressively, it got louder and more discernible. Yelling. Sounded like words. Gibberish, but it slowly grew clearer.

“Oh my gosh,” danced with the wind by your ears. “Oh no.” A cry of your name, or something really similar. Were those words? Those couldn’t be words, right? Whipping your head around, you see Xisuma running your way frantically. Okay, so those were most definitely words if the scene before you proved anything.

Excited, you start your descent back to the ground. Step by step. Is it step by step when you’re climbing? Your focus is on Xisuma. Pretty much entirely. It really shouldn’t have as you misjudge the next step. In the blink of an eye you went from viewing rock to viewing sky and a scary feeling building in your chest. The feeling grew exponentially and it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on.

A scream ripped its way from your chest as it tightened more. Said scream doesn’t last long for it ended as quickly as it came. No air could move, no noise could come out any more. Air was stuck in your throat, unable to reach your lungs. Fear paralyzed your muscles, eyes shut for there was no difference in the view. Everything was blurred and the black was more welcoming and comforting.

Too fast. Time wasn’t even a consideration. A social construct thrown out the window as soon as your fingers lose contact with the rocks.

The ground had to be near by now. It felt like hours passed now, but at the same time everything seemed to be zipping by.

Contact is made, and you expect it to be the end. You grunt as all remaining air is forced from your body. Another noise came from beneath you. Gasping for air, panic made you feel so cold. Is this what death felt like? No air was coming in and you definitely hit the ground. Were you going to die because you slipped up?

Black was encompassing your vision once again. Frantic attempts to regain air were barely rewarded for your lungs remained mostly empty. Everything still felt paralized, but now your chest felt worse. It hurt so much.

Something was moving beneath you. Pink entered your failing vision. It shifted you around, moving your head and body. More accurately, it moved. Your head was placed on a soft surface while your body was on something else.

Slowly your vision ebbed back to reality. Or you did. Everything still felt wonky. But an axolotl helmet came to greet you. That was a nice thing about your vision clearing, you guessed. Pretty pink axolotl.

“Are you okay,” the axolotl shakily asks. It’s hands were shaking and it sounded masculine.

“Yea,” your voice felt and sounded weird. Very airy, frail, and kinda delirious. You know, the “I don't feel right” type of delirious. Is that delirious? Oh wait you were talking! “Yea i’m good.”

“Are you sure,” the axolotl keeps persisting. It seemed to be looking over you for any injuries. How nice of it! “Double sure? Triple sure? No scrapes? Nothing hurts?”

“I’m absolutely sure,” you assure. Man this was a comfy place and you wanted to stay here longer, but you need to get standing. With shaky arms and legs, you unsteadily get up, stumbling or leaning a bit too much at times. The axolotl panics and helps you to your feet, never letting go afterwards. You thank it for its help and try to walk away, back to Xisuma’s house. Though it assists you, staying by your side as if it were attached with cement.

“You need to stop doing stuff like this,” it begs, leading you by the elbow. “It’s like everytime i’m gone, you purposely go get yourself into trouble, get hurt, or try to leave. I don’t get it. Why do you keep doing it?”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. What’s it even talking about?

Suddenly a thought hits you like lighting and everything starts to line up. This is literally Xisuma. How did you forget that? He changes skins with every new season. Wow you either hit your head, panicked and forgot every important detail ever, or you really needed the oxygen for those brain cells because they finally got what they needed to function.

“Sorry,” you really are sorry. For half of those things, if not almost all of them. If you were simply allowed to go back to the Dream smp in peace, you would be completely fine. Not a bother to the hermits, not a walking hazard to society, and you wouldn’t feel inadequate anymore… Actually that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went or what you did. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Xisuma doesn’t reply to your words and you start to panic again. “You weren’t in the house and I got really anxious, okay? I didn’t remember where you said you were going and I just… I needed a hug. I know that sounds stupid or childish, but i wasn’t feeling good. And you said that if I needed something, I'd just have to go to you. Oh who am i kidding, this was the dumbest thing ever. I’m so so sorry for bothering you-” Tears started to well up in your eyes, blurring your vision entirely. You were thankful that you weren’t walking alone while like this. Who knew what else you’d get yourself hurt on.

Not only were your words stopped, but your whole body was too. Jerked back by Xisuma, your teary eyes look directly at his visor which only reflects back your pitiful face. Though you don’t see it for long as you’re pulled into a hug by Xisuma. This only causes you to cry harder.

“Hey hey hey,” Xisuma’s voice is a low murmur, a comforting rumble from his chest. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Did I not tell you where I was going before I left?”

Shaking your head, a tiny “no” escapes you between sobs. Xisuma just hugs you tighter and you snuggle closer. That’s if you can, but you still try.

“Oh i’m so sorry,” he starts to pat and rub your back in a comforting manner, repeatedly apologizing for forgetting to tell you. And other things. Though you can’t exactly tell what they are through your sobbing.

It takes ages for you to calm down. You don’t really have much to go off of, besides the sun. What was once a noon sun glaring down on you was a peaceful sunset over the ocean. When you finish crying, only shaky breaths and tear stains remain to show off the previous crying fit. That and the red eyes.

The sunset is pretty, so you focus on that. Positioning your face to not have it smooshed into Xisuma’s chestplate was a struggle since he was holding you so tightly. But you managed. Soon your face wasn’t full on smooshed into his chest plate, only the side. Your cheek was definitely doing that pancake thing which smooshes out like a flat tire.

Everything’s so peaceful and quiet. Only the waves and sea life disturb it, but it made a great background noise. Xisuma soon adds to everything with some light humming. Rumbling from the chest is so comforting. Why was it such a forgettable yet amazing thing? It felt so nice.

With the humming came some rocking. Going side to side, humming a nonsensical tune. Not long after, you join in as well. Yours was definitely less consistently though, for it was broken up but little giggles. The longer you two went on, the more you giggled.

His arms unwrap themselves and you feel disappointed and saddened by the loss. You needn’t wait for long though, as on both sides of your body, you suddenly feel a tingly sensation. Bursting out into laughter, you try to struggle away from the tickle attack Xisuma has launched on you. But he’s relentless, keeping up with your retreat. It’s only when you’re out of breath, on the ground, and playfully yelling your surrender at him, that he stops.

You two start to calm down again. Laughter slowly ebbed away to chuckles or silence. Not an uncomfortable or awkward silence by any means. A safe and comforting one.

“Come on,” Xisuma prompts, getting up from the crouched position he had to be in for his attack, giving out his hand when he was properly on his feet. “Let’s get home before mobs start to spawn.” You’re more than happy to take his hands. With a pull, you’re brought back to your feet. But you two don’t let go of each other’s hands.

Together you two finish the trek home, and rather quickly too. With the sun setting, it was just a matter of minutes before danger would appear. Luckily you two made it to safety without any issues. The beginning area Xisuma had set up was well lit, safe from the dark and the dangers it harbors.

Being back in the base area made you feel more at peace, calmer, less endangered. Whatever you wanted to say, but you felt safer. And everything looked so pretty at night! You really need to come out more with Xisuma. Staring in awe at the builds in a different light, you and Xisuma dawdle on home.

Everything was perfect again. Just like before. You were happy, Xisuma was happy, what else could you need.

Xisuma walks ahead of you to unlock the front door, to which you say a little “thank you” out of habit and slip on by him and into the house. You do mean it, but still, it’s a habit drilled into you.

After getting back into the house, with some idle chit-chat, you start to get things fixed up in the house. Some dinner was in order for the two of you. After all, you just tried to climb a mountain to find Xisuma and who knows if Xisuma actually ate today. Plus you haven't had anything to eat yet. Whoops.

Leaving Xisuma to his own devices, you continue your conversation as you prepare a meal.

You don’t notice him locking the door and windows, or the dark look he has when he sees the window open, or him putting the keys in his pocket after locking all of the other windows. When he doesn’t reply immediately, though, you turn toward the last direction you heard him from, only to reveal an empty house. Perplexed, you look around a bit, but are stopped by a tap on your shoulder.

Jumping, you whirl around to see Xisuma without his helmet on, chuckling at your reaction. Laughing along with him, you give him a nudge with your hip. He returns it, laughing harder when you’re bumped away from him. This goes on for a while as you cook dinner, with Xisuma helping you.

The night goes on like this. Full of gentle, playful antics and a loving atmosphere. The love you felt was immense. You hadn’t felt happier in months.

Xisuma hasn’t been so scared in months either.

He should’ve secured the house better. Made sure you were fine before he left. Locked the windows before he left.

Now he knows to lock windows. You’d try to use them in the future. Better a situation where you went looking for him than you leaving him. But now he knew.

And all was good again.