#phoenix weight rebel au

[merraegold]

Rebel Phoenix Wright ‼️

He’s just a lil guy who gets beat up once in a while.

~ Merry

[bedlamsbard]

Part 12 of the other side AU concept, the second epilogue sequence!  At least one more sequence after this before I either start revising or just keep on going as concept writing.

Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

About 4.6K below the break.

***

Humidity made the rock of the cliff face slick against his fingers, forcing him to pay extra attention as he made his way up it.  He clung to the seemingly sheer rock with his fingers and boot-toes stuck into grips too small for most humans to manage for more than a few meters, relying on the Force to keep him from falling.  Heights had never bothered him, but he still didn’t look over his shoulder at the vast spread of jungle beneath him; he needed all his focus for the climb itself.

“Sure,” Ezra Bridger muttered, the words so soft that they were closer to being a thought than voiced, “ninety-nine percent of the time it’s ‘sit in this cell until we can think of something better to do with you,’ but it’s that one percent of ‘you’re a Jedi, please do this incredibly dangerous thing that no stormtrooper can pull off’ that gets you.”

The unfamiliar weight of both the sniper rifle and the pack slung across his back made the climb a little more awkward than he would have preferred, but he didn’t mind it.  Going anywhere without a weapon right now would be a bad idea, not to mention the fact that he was still a little impressed that Captain Pellaeon had given him one at all.  More than one, as it happened; he had a blaster pistol holstered at his hip and a couple of vibroknives secreted elsewhere around his person.  Pellaeon didn’t know about the blades.

Despite the fact that the humidity was so thick that the growing fog was just short of being rain, Ezra couldn’t resent his current position.  If he fell – and it wouldn’t take much – then not only would it be an ignominious end, but it was likely that no one back at Chimaera Camp would even notice his absence for a few days.  If they did, Pellaeon would probably assume that he had made a break for it.  It was an option that Ezra had considered and discarded given their current circumstance, but he was keeping it open if those circumstances happened to change.  He knew roughly where they were in relation to the Chimaera’s crash site, but he was also aware that there was nothing space-worthy left on the star destroyer. Aside from the ships back at Chimaera Camp, there was only one other option to get offworld, and Ezra wasn’t quite that desperate yet.

It felt good to have his hands on the living stone of the planet, to feel fresh air – and yes, the fog – on his bare skin, to lick his lips and taste the slight tang of the moisture of a new world.  He had spent nearly all of the previous six years on the Chimaera; the Force was everywhere, but it was different in space than it was planetside.  After spending his entire life on Lothal, the months the Ghost had spent with Phoenix Squadron in deep space had been a shock to him.  It had been at least a little preparation for all those years on the Chimaera.

This wasn’t Lothal, but he was still attuned to the Living Force and he could still feel the thread of wrongness that ran through it here.  As far as they knew, this planet didn’t have a name, just the designation it had been given when they entered the star system; if it had an indigenous sentient species, they hadn’t run into them yet.  Ezra had no way of knowing what the planet should have felt like in the Force, but he could tell that there was something badly wrong here and getting worse by the day.

A few minutes later, he pulled himself up over the top of the cliff with a grunt and crouched there, breathing hard, then took out his water flask and drank sparingly.  The Chimaera’s scientists were monitoring the water in the stream that ran past Chimaera Camp and had found that its chemical content was changing by the day; Ezra had water purification tablets with him, but there was always the chance that whatever was leaching into the water table was wouldn’t be affected by the Imperial-issue tablets.

He put the flask back onto his pack and took the sniper rifle off his back, using the scope the same way he would have done a pair of macrobinoculars.  The scope was the reason he hadn’t brought a pair of macrobinoculars; if he had to he could remove it from the rifle to use on its own, and he might need the weapon.  While he had never been formally trained as a sniper the way that some of the stormtroopers and death troopers aboard the Chimaera had been, given the time needed to set up a sniper’s shot he could use the Force for nearly the same level of accuracy.  If not, well, a sniper rifle was still a rifle – this one was reconfigurable, so Ezra could always break it down into an assault rifle or a heavy blaster pistol.  While most death troopers used the BlasTech E11-D and DLT-19D that were standard issue, they often had the liberty to carry other weapons if desired, which was how Ezra had gotten his hands on the A280-CFE that was commonly used in the Rebel Alliance.  

The view from the scope showed him only the seemingly impenetrable tree cover of the jungle he had come through.  Ezra knew that there were a number of clearings in it, some large enough for a light cruiser like the Scylla or the Charybdis to put down in – and in fact the Seventh Fleet’s remaining cruisers were parked in two such – but even with the scope they were impossible to see.  It had a range of five kilometers on a clear day, which this wasn’t; a heavy blanket of fog mixed with the tall native trees of the planet, turning the view beneath him into a grayish-green sea.  With a sigh, he straightened up again.  He kept the rifle in the curve of his arm rather than returning it to his back, wanting to have it quickly to hand if he needed it; the few seconds it would take to swing it around could cost him his life.

The jungle began again a few meters from the edge of the cliff.  Ezra eyed it dubiously; having spent his entire life to the age of fifteen in grasslands he still found forests both disconcerting and distasteful. When he stretched out with the Force, though, he could feel the life within it – confused by the changes being wrought upon the planet, but still present.  The wildlife, he knew, would be his first hint of real trouble.

Right now it told him that there was nothing to be concerned with except for the planet’s native dangers. Still, Ezra hesitated, looking at the edge of the jungle and fighting down his nerves.  Annoyed by his own reluctance, he sank down into a tailor’s seat, resting the rifle across his knees.  He fell quickly and easily into a light meditative trance; he had years of practice, after all.  He didn’t let his attention roll out the way he had done when he had meditated the previous night at Chimaera Camp, but turned it inwards instead.  He just wanted a few minutes to clear his head.

He was, he realized, afraid.

The fight on the Chimaera had been one thing, as had the handful of other skirmishes he had been involved in over the years, but this was the first time in more than six years that Ezra had been completely on his own, whether on an alien worlds or back on the Chimaera.  If he had died then, at least Grand Admiral Thrawn and the other Imperials would have known, assuming the whole Chimaera hadn’t been destroyed at the same time.  There was no real difference in being out here than there was being back with the Imperials, who had more reason to want him dead than anything else on this world and had come close a few times; Thrawn had twice had his own men shot over two such incidents.  Ezra had scars from the attempt that had come closest to succeeding.  On this world only Captain Pellaeon and a handful of other acquaintances – not quite friends – amongst the Chimaera’s complement really cared if he lived or died.  Some days Ezra wasn’t entirely sure that he himself did.

Kanan had lived like this for years, Ezra reminded himself, and often in worse situations than this one after his entire world had died.  So had Zeb.  Ezra could do no less than either of them, and refused to fail them.

It hadn’t been left to him to make any decisions one way or another for a long time now – not the kind of decisions that actually mattered.  He had been volunteered for this particular mission rather than volunteered himself, but hadn’t bothered to argue it even though others had.  It was something to do, at least.

Years ago he had asked Captain Rex about the Clone Wars, which Kanan only ever talked about when forced or when he had been drinking, which wasn’t very often.  The old clone had gone quiet, thinking about the question, and then said slowly, “When you go into battle – whether it’s a major push like Geonosis or a five man black ops mission – you go in understanding you’re already dead.  You can’t be afraid of dying.  You accept it – you take it inside of you.”

Rex hadn’t said whether or not he had learned that from the Jedi he had served with, but Ezra wouldn’t have been surprised if he had.  He let that knowledge fill him now, the reminder that in the Force he was both living and dead at once, and even if he was still drawing breath now, it was a state that could change at any point.  There was no point in being afraid of the unknown: what would happen would happen as the Force willed it.  All he could do was the best that he knew how.

He opened his eyes and got to his feet, tucking the rifle against his shoulder as he went into the jungle.

It was slow going. The undergrowth seemed to be thicker up here than it was in the lowlands around Chimaera Camp.  The tree cover was so thick that it blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving Ezra to pick his way through the jungle in greenish gloom, trying not to trip over creepers on the forest floor, which had leaf litter so thick that in places he sank into it up to his ankles, or hang himself on the vines that passed from tree to tree.  Many of the tree trunks were so wide around that it would have taken a dozen men holding hands to encircle them.  Nor was it silent.  Animals – he saw avians and snakes, along with some kind of small red-scaled reptile and the quick flash of a furry mammalian tail vanishing up a tree – called out constantly.  They weren’t much bothered by his passage, as animals usually weren’t, though more than once he heard them go quiet in response to some native predator passing through.  He sensed disquiet among them even as they went about their normal routines; they were as aware of the changes happening on the planet’s surface as he was.  More so; this was their home.

Mid-afternoon brought the downpour that Ezra had learned to expect after the past three days onworld. Rather than press on, he spent the time crouched on the upturned root of one massive tree, sheltering as best he could beneath leaves the size of his cell door back on the Chimaera.  The rain seemed to come down in sheets, like a solid wall of water despite the fact that by the time it reached him it should have been disrupted by the tree canopy. Ezra managed not to get drenched this time – the first day he had gone out to stand in it, to the horror and disgust of the sailors assigned to guard him.  Most members of the Imperial Navy hated and distrusted uncontrolled weather at best and planets entirely at worst.  This time getting soaked would be a hindrance – and besides, it wouldn’t particularly aid his already slow passage.  Ezra watched the rain fall from the dubious shelter of the tree and let his mind drift out in something that wasn’t quite a meditative trance – while most of the native wildlife had gone to shelter at the same time he had, it wasn’t a guarantee that the enemy would do so as well.

When the rain had passed and the sun had reappeared, Ezra recommenced his slow trek through the jungle. He hadn’t stayed completely dry in the downpour, but the scout trooper’s undersuit he wore was more or less waterproof; it still left him feeling uncomfortably like he had gone through a sanisteam in his clothes.  He paused twice to eat, the tasteless emergency rations that stormtroopers carried as a matter of course, and once to refill his water flask at a stream after he had tested the water with the Force and decided he didn’t need to use one of the water purification tablets.  By the time that dusk fell, casting the jungle into even further gloom, Ezra had, he guessed, advanced within a kilometer or two of his goal.

The advent of darkness slowed his progress even further.  He took out the night vision goggles he had gotten from the Chimaera’s death trooper captain – promoted from the ranks two years ago after the remaining death trooper officers had died – and put them on, blinking as the shadows of the jungle resolved into only moderately more penetrable shades of green.  While he had a glowrod, using it would be just as good as sending up a beacon, not something he wanted.  He could have passed through the jungle without needing to see at all, except that would leave him vulnerable to something he wouldn’t have thought possible six years earlier.

By the time he sensed the final setting of the sun sometime later, the jungle had been the next thing to pitch-black for more than an hour.  Ezra was silently arguing himself out of trying to find somewhere to sleep for a few hours when he felt the nearby animal life go silent, then recommence its noisy outcry.  The negation and recommencement of sound shifted in his awareness of the Living Force, and he swore wearily to himself.

Something was coming towards him.

He settled the rifle more closely against his shoulder and touched a finger to the night vision goggles, making certain that they were as firmly affixed to his face as possible. He had learned the hard way that what was coming left no trace in the Force – not of itself, at least.

Ezra could have gone up a tree, but he was city born and bred and could count on one hand the number of times in his life he had actually tried to climb a tree.  Even in this unfamiliar environment he felt far more comfortable on the ground that he would have perched on a branch – he was sure he could get up to one, but not positive that he could stay there, a hesitation he would never have had on a cliff edge or a high-rise.  He was absolutely certain that trying to fight on one would end with him flat on his back on the ground, and that was a best case scenario.

Instead he settled himself in the soldier’s stance he had learned from Rex, letting the rifle rest loosely against his shoulder as he let his awareness spread out.  Animals, frightened by the alien sight and scent of the intruders, fled their approach; plants flinched away from the heavy tread of feet.  Ezra felt them come closer and closer – a near-silent passage to anyone but a Jedi. The air felt close and heavy around him, the night sounds of the wildlife vanished into stillness or flight. Ezra let his mind fill with the blazing clarity of the Force, until in every way that mattered Ezra was the Force itself.  The Jedi were the sword hand of the Force, Kanan had said more than once; with or without a lightsaber Ezra was still a Jedi.

He fired even before he saw the flicker of movement in his night vision goggles.

The crack of the blaster shot broke the stillness of the night air, sparks flaring at the laser bolt struck armor it couldn’t penetrate. Ezra threw himself sideways, feeling the rush of air as the thrown thudbug just missed his previous position. He rolled and came up on one knee as he fired again, twice in quick unison, relying on instinct rather than the little his vision showed him.  He got one more shot off and then had to reverse his grip on the rifle, slamming it upwards two-handed to block the amphistaff blow aimed at his head.  Quick as the serpent it resembled, the amphistaff lost its staff form and lashed out, its jaws gaping wide.  Hissing, it spat poison at his eyes.

The night vision goggles cracked as the poison struck.  His vision blurring – knowing he had only seconds before they broke entirely or the poison dripped down onto his skin – Ezra thrust out with the Force.  The amphistaff’s bearer didn’t release the living weapon, but his arm and the amphistaff both swung wide, away from Ezra as he threw himself into a backflip, ripping the night vision goggles off as he did and letting them fall.

Darkness closed over him.

He pulled the rifle back to his shoulder and fired again; once more, sparks briefly illuminated his enemy as his shot struck uselessly off armor.  Then the warrior was on him; Ezra swung the rifle like a club, feeling it connect with his enemy’s skull.  Undaunted, the warrior lashed the amphistaff like a whip; the serpent slashed down across the barrel of the rifle, cutting the weapon  in two.

Ezra didn’t hesitate, just flung the remaining half of the rifle at his opponent even as he flung himself sideways again, avoiding the amphistaff’s attempt to get its teeth into his throat.  He twisted and came up with his blaster pistol, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger – a steady stream of blaster bolts, nearly all of which sparked uselessly off vonduun crab armor.  Only one penetrated between the joints of the armor, making his opponent grunt in pain.  His ears ringing from the blasterfire, Ezra thought he heard it echo oddly in the jungle, but he was already moving, grabbing one of his vibroknives with his left hand and slashing backhanded in the same motion.  With the Force behind it, the vibroknife cut through the amphistaff in the vulnerable place just below the head.  Halfway through the blade stopped, jammed against the creature’s seemingly indestructible internal structure.  It thrashed in the warrior’s hand.

It couldn’t cry out, but he could.  Ezra could neither understand the words nor sense the emotions that underlay them, but he released the vibroknife and got both hands on the grip of his blaster again, firing at the place he thought he had seen a vulnerable point between helmet and breast plate.

The blaster jammed.

Oh, karabast, Ezra thought – he didn’t have time to voice the words before his opponent’s free hand shot out and closed around his throat. He was lifted off the ground, armored fingers like durasteel cutting off his breath.  The blaster fell to the ground as he clawed at that implacable arm, fingers scrabbling over the plates of living armor that covered his opponent’s forearm.  He felt it twitch beneath his fingers, lending its strength to the enemy.

His opponent snarled something in his native language, his fingers tightening.  Ezra reached for the Force as his vision started to gray out, knowing that if he wasn’t dead yet then it was because the enemy intended to take him alive.  After enough suffering to make up for the death of his amphistaff.

Light flicked out like a whip, coiling around the warrior’s body.

Ezra had just enough time to feel astonishment before the brief flash of a jetpack’s repulsors heralded the being who slammed feet-first into the warrior, knocking him sideways. He dropped Ezra, turning to grapple with this new adversary as the glowing line of energized whipcord vanished. Ezra hit the ground, gasping for air but already reaching for another of his sheathed vibroblades.

Even now his enemy was absent from the Force, but the new arrival wasn’t.  Ezra didn’t bother to think, just drew his vibroknife, thumbed the switch on, and waited – with his amphistaff dead, or at least out of commission, the warrior was left with only whatever razorbugs or thudbugs he was carrying and his dagger-like coufee.  He heard the living weapon scrape against – or possibly through – what could only be beskar, and a grunt of surprise.  The brief burst of a short-distance repulsor sent the warrior stumbling back a step and Ezra struck in his moment of confusion, slamming his vibroknife up beneath the skirt plates of his armor to the vulnerable place on the inside of his thigh where most humanoids had a major vein.  He felt the weapon dig in and dragged it down as far as he could before the warrior cuffed him aside, sending Ezra flying to strike a tree.

He hit hard enough to black out for an instant, but was dragging himself upright as soon as he could, reaching for his fallen blaster through the Force.  The grip smacked into his palm hard enough to hopefully displace the jam and he raised it, aiming at the spot he thought the enemy was.

There was a blaster shot, not his, and in its flash he saw the warrior on his back in the undergrowth. It also illuminated the injured amphistaff making its way like a sidewinder through the leaf cover, with Ezra’s vibroknife still stuck into its neck.

Even as the flash faded Ezra fired.  His own shot wasn’t aimed at the creature, but at the hilt of the vibroknife, slamming the weapon those last few precious centimeters forward to sever head from body. Ezra heard it thrash briefly, dying, and then there was silence.

He would have liked nothing more than to collapse and sleep for a week, but he braced himself against the tree with his free hand and kept the blaster in his other hand.  His head was pounding; he knew he’d have bruises the next time he looked, to go with the bruises he still had from the Chimaera’s final battle and crash.

“Who –”  He coughed as his abraded throat protested. “Who’s that?”

Light sprang into being, the thin artificial life of a glowrod illuminating the Mandalorian woman standing by the warrior’s corpse.  After four years living with one, Ezra was hardly going to forget that particular silhouette.  His gaze traversed the slopes of painted beskar armor, noting the fresh scars on it from the coufee blade before settling on the helmet before the woman reached up to remove it.

“Ezra?”

He stared.  Then he tried to take a step backwards and couldn’t, his shoulders already braced against the tree trunk.  His mind didn’t seem to want to come to terms with what was in front of him, even as he lowered the hand with the blaster in it.  He slumped back against the tree, letting it take more of his weight.

“Hey!”  She crossed the space between them with a few quick steps and grabbed his shoulder, her grip solidly human and real. “Don’t you dare pass out on me now!”

Ezra reached up and closed his free hand around her forearm, staring into her face. “I’m not going to pass out,” he said. “They usually patrol in threes –”

“Yeah, we met the other two. They’re dead.  You want to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” Ezra said, or tried to say, but was already folding up.  He sat heavily, belatedly holstering the pistol he was still holding. “You changed your hair,” he said inanely.

“Yeah, I do that,” Sabine Wren said. “So did you.”

Ezra touched a hand self-consciously to what remained of his hair – long on top and pulled into a tail wrapped with strips of thin leather, close cut at the sides, because he had spent the past six years with sailors and stormtroopers who thought a buzzcut was the height of fashion.  He stopped with his fingers hooked through a strip of leather, stared at Sabine, and felt himself start to shake. “You’re real,” he croaked, even though the Force had already told him the answer. “You’re really here.”

“Yeah,” she said, her hand still on his shoulder. “I’m really here.  We’re all really here.”

When he looked up again, he felt as much as saw them ghosting out of the shadows at the edge of the glowrod’s illumination like the spectres they had been named for.  Ezra was too tired and overwhelmed for further disbelief; he pushed himself to his feet with Sabine’s help and stumbled into Kanan’s arms.

“I felt –” he said shakily, his voice muffled by the fact that he had buried his face in the other man’s shoulder.  He fisted his hands hard against Kanan’s back, aware of how gloriously alive he felt. “– in the Force, I felt something change, six months ago.  I felt you come back.”

“It’s me,” Kanan said, his voice gentle. “Yeah, Ezra, it’s me.”

Hera put a hand on his shoulder, smiling, and Ezra turned into her embrace, then Zeb’s.  He was shaking so badly that Zeb had to help him to a seat on an upraised tree root, one hand folded over his shoulder as though he couldn’t bear to let Ezra out of his grasp.  He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t hallucinating – that he hadn’t been taken captive after all and this was some new torture.  Then he looked at Kanan’s calm white eyes and touched the Force again, gingerly, like prodding a sore tooth, and knew it wasn’t a trick.

“You’re going to explain that,” he said, a little wildly. “You were – I thought – I saw – I felt –”

“Yeah,” Kanan said again. “It’s a long story.”

Meaning not now.  Ezra took a shaky breath and leaned back into Zeb’s reassuring grip, watching Sabine crouch to inspect the fallen warrior.  She touched the scratches on her breast plate gingerly, then her eyes widened as a hand-size piece of beskar broke off in her hand – the coufee had cut nearly through it and the slight pressure of her touch had freed it. “What are these things?” she demanded.

Ezra sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Long story.”

“We saw the Chimaera,” Hera said, sitting down on his other side. She kept her blaster in her hand, resting across her knee, which under the circumstances Ezra thought was the wisest thing she could have done. “We were on our way to the rendezvous coordinates when Kanan sensed you, but we had to find somewhere safe to put down. Chopper’s with the Ghost about two kilometers away.”

Ezra rubbed his hand across his face.  “They’re from beyond the Unknown Regions – beyond our galaxy, maybe – and they’ve been making a push towards the Empire since it was still the Republic,” he said. “They’ve been tracking the Chimaera and the rest of the Seventh for months – years – and finally cornered her here. They’re warriors – shapers, they call themselves; everything they use is organic, alive – their armor, their weapons, their ships.”  He nodded at the warrior’s corpse and the dead amphistaff beside him.  “They’re called the Yuuzhan Vong.”

[cortexifansquint]

                        matching pairings & annotations under the cut!

                                             Youtube (x) Spotify ( x)

Buffy / Cordelia / Willow

*  Cloud 69 // Lowell

I'm like dynamite / need a cheerleader / let me throw you down / while I look at her / I'm like "Oh my god / I think I need a girlfriend"

*  Crazy // Au Revoir Simone

you knew me, wanna love to lose and to lose again / seems we're either giving up or giving in / but, uh, you girls, you drive me crazy

Willow / Tara

* There’s a Girl // The Ditty Bops

there's a girl that you might know / she's a friend at least I tell you so / but it might surprise you to find / there's something going on behind the door

* Horizon // Luna Blake 

you tower over me / you are sky and I am sea 

* Truthfully // Lisa Loeb

truthfully, I really can't explain / I'm floating, I'm smiling again 

* Room // Palehound 

she comes over / growing like a clover / in my room / in my room

* Sugar in a Pie //  Erin McKeown

love me sweet like a sugar in a pie / kiss me deep with a dreamy little sigh

Faith / Buffy

* Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover // Sophie B. Hawkins 

that old dog has chained you up, alright / give you everything you need to live inside a twisted cage / sleep beside an empty rage / I had a dream I was your hero

* Hologram // Katie Herzig

I'm gonna let you down / gonna toss you around / gonna make you want everything you haven't found / I'm gonna hold your hand / then ask you to stand / ten feet away

* Buy her Candy

she's a famous / she's the best / I cannot lay / my heart to rest / she is selfish / she is kind / no one can say / she is mine

* Nights with you // MO

I'll take you out tonight / leave it all at home / don't care about your boyfriend waking up alone

* Portions for Foxes// Rilo Kiley

'cause you're just damage control, for a walking corpse like me, like you (S6 Fuffy edition)

* Last 2nd Chance // Vaughan Penn 

this is the last second chance I’ll ever need / this is the last time you’ll hear sorry from me

Buffy / Cordelia-

* More like you // Hazel English

I could waste all of my time / thinking up ways to catch your eye / and I tried but it just didn’t feel right / and besides I'm just trying to get by

* She // Dodie 

and I'll be okay admiring from afar / cause even when she's next to me / we could not be more far apart  (late S1 - mid S2 coffy, either pov)

* Can’t / Naaz 

in my mind / I can be what we choose / but in life / we can't stand in those shoes

* Midway // Bad Bad Hats 

the shadows you were casting nearly swallowed the night /  but god, I could have kissed you (I imagine this as the night Cordelia drops Buffy home in Helpless or sometime in mid-late S3)

* Touch //  Shura 

I wanna touch you but I'm too late / I wanna touch you but there's history / I can't believe that it's been three years / now when I see you, it's so bittersweet  (if either had showed up in L.A or Sunnydale after Buffy was resurrected)

Tara / Buffy

* If I Could // Sophie Zelmani 

If I could help you with /  this part of life you've got to live /  you could load your weight on me

* Our Eyes // Lucy Rose 

I'm alive / I feel it now / I never knew I'll find it on you / out of line we got ourselves / in a look, wait we are not fine / wait, you are not mine 

* Wire // Alessi Ark 

I'm tired of walking this wire / it keeps me awake for heaven sake / I was made for this girl / I feel lonely / my friends don't seem to know me / like i thought they did

Willow / Cordelia

* Upper West Side // King Princess

I can't stop judging every thing you do / but I can't get enough of you

* Then If I’m Weird I Want to Share // Tender Forever

people told me / that you're too sexy / you're too sexy for me / but actually I just don't care / I think it's bullshit everywhere

Buffy / Willow

* Loners // Maddie Ross

one night alone in the bookstacks / summer to make all the kids sad / next fall we're back in the corner / nice girls love kissing the loners

* Ray of Sunshine // Go Sailor 

yellow hair, fiery stare / nothing's right, 'cause she's not here tonight 

* Explosion // Zolita 

it's a mindless love affair / one hot mess of bleach blonde hair / I could kiss her but your lips taste better / you could kiss him but my words are sweeter

* Sweet Moon // Sundarta 

when the world is big and I’m alone / I call you and I am home

Faith / Tara

* Will You Be My Girlfriend // Alanis Morissette 

I guess I fall and you stay intact is that right? I guess you hear me and won't attack me, is that right? guess I reach out and you reach back, is that right?

* Not gonna Get Us // T.at.u 

soon there will be laughter and voices / beyond the clouds over the mountains / we'll run away on roads that are empty / lights from the airfield shining upon you (teenage runaway mehane)

* Love you Anyway // Jil Nisson & Marlene

I know what you've been getting / coz I sure got it too / don't, don't you forget it / the damage they do

* Walk The Line // Halsey

I keep a close watch on this heart of mine / I keep my eyes wide open all the time / I keep the ends out for the tie that binds / because you're mine, I walk the line

Willow / Amy

* Wherever We Are // Human Life

after the day we're chasing the sun / farther away the faster we run / feet on the ground our head in the stars / finding the sound wherever we are

* When We’re High // LP 

let’s swallow the moon and the stars / let’s wallow just right where we are

Amy / Faith

* Whiskey & Black Leather // Sapphic Lasers

some they want a girl next door / but that ain't what I'm looking for / I first saw your lips across the room / red like a blood moon

* Her Lover // Ally & Stevie 

she is like a cat in the dark / and then she is the darkness

* High Enough // K Flay 

don’t try to give me cold water / I don’t wanna sober up / all I see are tomorrows / oh, the stars were made for us

Cordelia / Anya

*  Only a Girl // Gia

soft touch, warm skin / nothing like my ex-man / slowly falling, I don't want my next man

* I Don’t Do Boys // Elektra 

I don't do boys, I just do girls / just do girls with style and class / I don't do boys, I just do girls / just do girls with kissable ass

Fuffy / Radison

* One More // Elliphant 

stay with me tonight / we can count the street lights / stay with me alright let's bring it all back to life (bad girls & smashed shennanigans)

Dark Willow / Anyanka + Darla / Drusilla + Lilah / Cordelia (Jasmine possessed version)

* Glory & Gore // Lorde

delicate in every way but one, / God knows we like archaic kinds of fun / chance is the only game I play with / baby, we let our battles choose us 

“ Your Lips are Red // St. Vincent

this city's red / this city's red from riding us into the ground / this city's black / this city's black from all the ashes in downtown

Willow / Anya

* Wishful Thinking // The Ditty Bops 

when the cold and lonely hours put your heart to the test / maybe I'll be the one that you like best (S7 Rosekins)

* The Happy Song // Kate Miccuci 

'cause isn't it nice to have the friends that you do? / and isn't it nice that the sky is so blue? / and isn't it nice to say "I love you"? (the cheery & matter -of-factly style of this song reminds me of anya)

Faith / Willow

* So-Called Str8 Grrrl // Gina Young

I think you want me / you know you want me / so why do you talk shit about me

* She’s so Lovely // The Butchies 

she's a rocker dressed like a killer / she's got lips like wine not sugar 

* Sum of your parts // Mary Lambert

I didn't know I was a phoenix till I learned how to speak / even with ashes in my mouth I was still born to breath / I wonder are you like me

* All I Want is To Be Your Girl // Holly Miranda

Well there's ghosts in the night and ghosts in my mind / and if we quit changing we'll be left behind / but I won't take another chance of screwing it up / so I stay where I am / but all I want is to be your girl

Buffy / Satsu

* Cliff’s Edge // Hayley Kiyoko

you turn me on / you lead me on / you got me on / a cliff's edge (satsu’s pov)

* One Night // Charlie XCX 

you are somethin’ special / twenty carats, solid gold / what we had was precious / but I had to let you go

Cordelia / Lilah

* Short Skirt, Long Jacket // Larkin Poe

I want a girl with a mind like a diamond / I want a girl who knows what's best I want a girl with shoes that cut / and eyes that burn like cigarettes

Fuffy + Willow / Kennedy

* We Might be Dead by Tomorrow // Soko

give me all your love / ‘cause for all we know / we might be dead by tomorrow

Kendra / Buffy

* Eleventeen // Kimya Dawson

you may feel strange, well, you are an angel / stuck in tight pants stuck at a high school dance / stuck doing people things not knowing you have wings

* Supergirl // Anna Naklab

you can see in her eyes / that no one is her chain / she's my girl / my supergirl

Cordelia / Faith

* Can I Say Baby // GIRLI 

can I say baby? / I don't wanna be soppy / but I like your style / think you're kinda cool / I'm sort of into you

* Rebel Girl // Bikini Kill 

rebel girl rebel girl / I think I want to take you home / I want to try on your clothes

* Flowers and Rope // Princess Nokia

voices in my head, monsters under my bed / I'm alone again, I lost all my friends / wanna play pretend? hope this never ends

Fred / Faith

* Whiskey // Nicole Reynolds

you accept that i talk too much / i accept that you talk too little / but it's fine / i like a good riddle

In the Margins // Ani Difranco

you are a rare bird / the kind i wouldn't even mind / writing in the margins of my books

Willow / Kennedy

* Pretty Girl // Hayley Kiyoko 

I can tell you’re real smart / world class piece of art / I can see you in the dark / all we have to do is start

* Let it Go // Allie Moss 

darlin' you see / the fear in me / and how I'd finally be / if I were willing to let it go

Buffy / Anne

* Annonymous Club //  Courtney Barnett 

let's start an anonymous club / I'll make us name badges with question marks

* Hideaway // IVY 

under stars and satellites / a thousand miles / from where we've been

Willow/Fred + Buffy/Tara

* I Was Made for Sunny Days // The Weepies

I was made for sunny days / and I was made for you

Faith / Kennedy

* Crimson and Clover //  Joan Jett & the Blackhearts 

ah, now I don't hardly know her / but I think I can love her

“ Honey // Kehlani

I like my girls just like I like my honey; sweet / a little selfish

Cordelia / Fred

* Genius // The Murmurs

she's kinda weird / she's kinda freaky / but I don't know / I think she's a genius

* There she goes // Sixpence None the Richer 

there she goes / there she goes again / racing through my brain / and I just can't contain / this feeling that remains

[harrykilledmoi]

A Bell Through The Night

Or the one where Harry surprises you in more ways than one.

Word Count: 7.3 k Themes:  AU, fluff, angst, 70s!Harry, Fleetwood Mac Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader / Harry Styles x Stevie Nicks (circa 1975) Warnings: drug use Author’s Note: I know this is a little late, since the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame train has long left the station but I still wanted to share this! Inspired by this:   “This beautiful child should’ve been born in 1948, too, because he just fits in with all of us.”                - Stevie Nicks [on Harry Styles] 

                              masterlist      read on wattpad       edits

August 24, 1975.

It’s a phone call that has you in the Arizona desert at the tail end of the summer months. Harry had gone down days before you for a meeting. Work had been slow in coming your way for a few weeks and photographing locals for a small newspaper in the city had left you with little to be desired. So when he’d asked for you to join him on this specific day, in this specific place, you were more than excited to oblige. 

The trek from the opposite coast hadn’t been as bad as you thought it would be. You were nervous at first because, up until this point, you had never been on a plane. But there was something about the ride amongst sun kissed, gossamer clouds that made you never want to get off.

Now you were stood at the airport, wedged in a phone booth, camera strapped and hanging from your neck. Your small blue suitcase tucked in between your legs as you rest the phone between your ear and shoulder. Rooting around in your denim jacket pocket for the piece of paper containing the phone number for the motel Harry was staying in, as well as an address. You find it, then drop a dime into the coin slot. The dial tone buzzes loudly through the receiver before a pre-recorded woman’s voice prompts you to dial “the number you wish to reach.”

The shrill phone ring bleeds through the phone becoming the soundscape for your observation of your surroundings as you wait for him to answer. Two young children run around screaming and laughing, A young couple sit cuddled up together on an island bench, a TSA guard, with his too small button up shirt, stained with sweat, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee at a counter cafe. You scratch your arm, it had been weeks since you’d decided to quit smoking and it was getting harder and harder everyday to not just cave.

“Hello?”

His voice pours through the phone like honey, comb still in, static dances around the accompanying silence. You jump even though you had been expecting his voice, you hadn’t realized just how long it had been since you’d last spoken.

“Hey, Harry, Hi,” you speak, while fumbling to readjust the phone, settling on just holding it up to your ear with your hand.

“Hey love, y’here? How was the flight?”

“Good, good. I mean there was a baby crying the whole way down but I feel worse for their mom than I do myself and the attendants just seemed like they wanted to jump out of the plane, sans parachute, ya know? It was wild, so beautiful but like, we were up so high. It’s weird to think about how far technology has come. Uhm, are you picking me up still?” You ramble and Harry notices, his soft chuckle trickles through the phone, notifying you.

“You nervous or something, bunny?”

You laugh, waving your hand in the air in front of you, as if doing so would fan away the acute feelings of anxiety that followed you from your home, onto a plane, and right to Sky Harbour International airport. You hated surprises and although you had been together for nearly three years, you weren’t sure if Harry had known.

“No, no. I’m fine. Totally copasetic.”

There’s a light shuffling on the other end of the phone as well as a few soft voices but none clear enough for you to distinguish.

“Choice.  I can’t pick you up. I gotta finish up getting your surprise ready but I will meet you at the motel at six, you have the address. Y’alright with taking a cab?”

You glance around the airport. The TSA guard is now talking to a woman who is holding the hands of the two children that were rebel rousing earlier. She looks exhausted.

“Yeah, yeah. I can… I can do that.” “Alright! I’ll see you then,” the smile on his face was evident through his words, bringing the corners of your lips as well.

“See you then.”

You hang up and push yourself away from the pay phone, picking up your suitcase. You survey the wide, open space of the airport. People coming to and from, going everywhere, going nowhere. Finding their place in the world by getting lost. It was something that had always fascinated you; the idea that everyone you’re surrounded by in a public place has their own story. Sonder, a three dollar word that you’d thought Harry had made up during one of your game nights. The both of you had been so high that night - deciding that an LSD fueled scrabble game would be way more fun - that it took you nearly 45 minutes to locate it in the dictionary.

You step through the large glass doors towards the taxi nursery at the edge of the curb. The late afternoon sun washes you in a soft glow, as a snug blanket of dry heat surrounds you. You place your suitcase by your feet and pull off your jacket, tying it around your waist. The plain white tank top you have on reflects the surrounding light. You hold a hand out and a bright yellow car, top light on, pulls up in front of you. You toss in your suitcase before climbing in yourself. Dictating the address to the driver, you settle in for the ride.

Phoenix is unlike any place you’d ever been before. The city, with its towering, stalagmite-esque buildings scattered amongst vast flatlands. It carries a warm, sepia tone with an occasional burst of colour. You snap several pictures through the windows as you drive through the downtown metropolis. Attempting to catch the quick passing beauty of the city at sunset.

The Caravan Inn is a sight in the evening. The glow of lights irradiates the building making it seem as if the sun is shining right from it. The neon illuminated sign, a cavalcade of colours topped with the silhouette of a man riding a camel. A click of your camera shutter and the taxi speeds away, leaving you standing in front of your accommodations for the next few days.

You walk to the motel office, taking in the large OASIS sign, just to the left of it, that hangs right above a pool area. You mentally curse yourself for not packing a swimsuit. A light, airy chime sounds when you enter the small office, followed by the smell of stale coffee and the faint scent of lingering body odor. A stout woman, with white blonde hair stack and pinned to the gods, assists you, handing you a key and pointing you in the direction of the room Harry had been staying in, 2A.

The sound of your shoes echoes every time they meet the teal painted concrete steps. Your quick ascent to the second level of the motel causes your camera to bounce against your chest. You swivel left then right, then left again once you reach the landing. It only takes you a moment before you realize that the door you’re looking for is right in front of you, cloaked in the same aqua hue as the steps. A rusted, brass ‘2A’ sits in the center of it.

The room itself, modest in size, looks as if it held secrets that would cause your demise if you were to learn them.  A queen sized bed, dressed in an obnoxious orange comforter sits against the wall, coming far into the middle of the room. Beside it, two bedside tables covered in a wood patterned vinyl, one with a clock, both with matching lamps. Gold bulbous bases, cylindrical off white shades throwing rays of toasty light around the room. Harry’s worn leather shoulder bag sits unzipped in the far corner, at the square, wooden base of the bed.

The soles of your shoes drag against the low, dark carpeted floor as you enter the room.  A small side skip allows you to squeeze through the tight space between the foot of the bed and a small television stand before dropping your bag next to Harry’s.

The lone analog clock ticks right as you look at it, as if speaking directly to you. The hour hand rests just past the 5 and the minute, on the 3. It’s then that you realize just how long the journey had been. You sit on the bed, your weight lightly ricochets your body up then down, a squeal from the springs echos off of the brown and cream striped wallpapered walls. You’re exhausted and after a few passing seconds, decide to prioritize a nap over a shower. You lay back on top of the blanket, your head sinks into the pillow and just like that, you’re out.

Keys in a deadbolt brings you into a stream of consciousness. You keep your eyes closed and attempt to keep your breathing even and leveled, wanting to will yourself back to sleep. A shuffling sound follows the soft click of the of the door closing. You feel the bed dip then a strong arm secure itself around your waist along with a nose nuzzling into the hair at the base of your neck.

“Bunny?”

His lips touch your neck in a barely there kiss as his breath seeps into your skin and down your spine.

“Know you’re awake.” You groan as he kisses the base of your neck before untangling himself from you.

“Scoot your tush, got your surprise f’ya.”

You open your eyes and sit up, finding him standing at the edge of the bed, hands behind his back. You turn to face him, positioning yourself in the middle of the bed, legs crossed beneath you. His face holds a smile as bright as the neon signs of the countless motels on the interstate. Dimples on full display. His eyes trace the lines of your face.

You run your hand through your hair, smoothing it down.

“What is it?”

“My god, you’re gorgeous.”

“Duuuude,” you whine, the anticipation of not knowing why he’d asked you to come to Arizona was reaching critical mass. You want to know, you need to know.

“You have t’guess.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” his tone is laced with mock seriousness, causing his face follow suit, fighting against a smile.

You crawl forward across the bed towards him and rise to your knees when you’re right in front of him, so close your chests touch. You bring a hand up to his hair, playing with the long curls before tracing your hand down his t-shirt clad chest painfully slow. You notice his adam’s apple bob as your hand rests right above the top of his jeans. You trace your fingers from hip bone to hip bone as you pepper sluggish kisses up his neck to his jaw, which clenches when you kiss the soft groove between the sharp edge and his earlobe. His lips part, his eyes close and you know this is your chance. You use your free hand to snatch “your surprise” out of his hands, snapping Harry out of his revelry.

You scoot back quickly, your back bumps up against the headboard, laughing as Harry lunges towards you. You hold the item, which you now knew is a record, in the air as he tries to take it away from you. He sighs, giving up almost immediately while settling into the space between your legs, his chin resting on your stomach.

“Fine, you win.” You flash your teeth in victory.

“Don’t I always,” you laugh through your gloat, looking down at him. His eyes, wide and bright staring back at you, the pale jade speaking to your soul in a way nothing else ever could. He kisses the small patch of skin on your torso where your shirt has ridden up in all the excitement.

“Well, check it.”

You roll your eyes then bring the record down to eye level, blocking Harry’s face completely. In your hands, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album, which left you a bit confused. You distinctly remember going to the record store with Harry to buy it the day it had come out. In fact, you were pretty sure this was that exact copy, the coffee ring in the corner confirmed that. You tilt the record to the side to reveal Harry’s smirking face, your eyebrow raises to silently ask him what the heck was going on.

“Turn it over you mong.”

You sigh causing Harry’s head to sink with the release of air, flipping the record, turning to look at it from the side. Harry’s eyes are trained on you as you read the delicate, black scrawl that takes up the bottom right corner of the sleeve. Your eyes widen as you look back and forth between Harry and the album. His smile growing wider each time.

“How the fuck did you… oh my god!”

                                                    Hey Bunny!

                                    Thank you for loving and living.

                                             Love, Stevie Nicks x.

“I know a guy. Check inside,” Harry pushes, he rolls his lips together, eyes trained on you as you tilt the record sleeve. Two small, rectangular pieces of pink hued paper, a stiff card like stock, fall onto the bed beside you. You place the record down gently and pick them up. Reading them, Harry didn’t think you could be more visibly excited, he was wrong. The fist holding them clench as you use you free hand to pull Harry up to eye level with you.

Pressing your lips together in a kiss that screamed appreciation and adoration. You pull apart moments later to catch your breaths, resting your forehead on his, all heavy breathing and dilated pupils you manage to squeeze out an nearly inaudible, “thank you.”

Harry takes you by the hand, pulling you through the crowd of sweaty, intoxicated in some way or another, bodies closer to the front of the stage. Turning back every once in a while with a huge smile on his face, which you returned with just as much enthusiasm.

The opening band had just finished their set and the crowd is amply warmed up, ready for the magic that is Fleetwood. You had chosen to go sober, wanting to soak in every song, every moment, every emotion, to hold on to for years to come. For when your grandchildren asked you about your youth, knowing that this was a moment you would regret to forget.

Harry pulls you into him, lazily draping an arm around your shoulders, once you both find yourself in a great spot; two rows behind those pressed up to the stage. You wouldn’t have to crane your neck to see but you felt bad for the shorter folks left standing behind your beau. The boy was tall and there was no denying that.

The house lights come down resulting in a boisterous roar from the crowd, mirroring the rumbling anticipation and excitement in your gut. You’d been listening to the band for as long as you could remember, from before Stevie had become a part of the magic, but it really was her addition that had made you fall in love all over again.

One by one Mick, Lindsey, Christine, and John take their places, instruments on their person. Safe for Mick’s drum set, which he quickly shuffles behind. Stevie is last on but most definitely not least. She floats onto the stage with a grace unparalleled to any earthly creature, dressed in a white, lace, tie up, cropped blouse, a sheer white shawl around her shoulders and light denim bell bottoms. She takes her place behind the microphone at center stage, tambourine in hand. The stage lights create an angelic halo around her as it shines through her flowing, blonde hair. You’re mesmerized, so much so that you hadn’t noticed Harry’s arm drop from around your shoulder.

It’s Christine who speaks first, addressing the crowd, welcoming you all to the show, thanking you for wanting to be a part of this experience with them, introducing the first song.

“‘Bout to do a song from the Kiln House album for you. This one’s called Station Man.”

Her accent catches you by surprise, breaking you out of your trance with a smile. You nudge Harry softly in the ribs, looking up at him. He looks down at you, a knowing smirk etched on his face.

You’re having the time of your life, dancing and singing along. Both to songs you hadn’t heard before and songs your soul could recognize in the afterlife. Jumping and spinning circles around Harry as he sways along to the music. Watching you enjoy yourself is one of his favourite things about spending time with you. A close second to your ability to challenge his mind with just the words that came out of your mouth.

“This is a song from our latest album that came out a few months ago. It’s a song from Stevie Nicks called Rhiannon,” Christine’s voice echoes throughout the theater.

Whistles and hoots drift from the back of the room to the front, cloaking you in a feeling of belonging. The opening chord of the song drip from Lindsey’s guitar, in a new yet familiar way, as Stevie steps up to the mic. You bring your camera up and snap a quick photo before settling. Preparing yourself for your favourite song off of the album you’d been listening to on repeat since you’d first had it in your possession.

“This is a song about an old Welsh witch.”

It’s then that she makes eye contact with you, smiling, and for a split second your heart stops. You can’t help but allow the grin on your face to grow exponentially. Her eyes leave yours and land beside you, on Harry, and she sends a short, familiar wave in his direction, to which Harry returns before she launches into the song.

Her voice guttural and raw, full of unspoken feelings and unknown history. She’s petite but so incredibly chasmal. You elbow him in his side, harder this time, fueled completely by awe.

“Heeeeey. What was that for?”

“Stevie just fucking waved at you!”

He smiles, lifting and dropping his shoulders at your verbal observation. He stays silent, swaying to the music as you stare at him in complete and utter disbelief. You take a minute, glancing at Stevie and then back at Harry. Finally connecting her acknowledgement of his presence and his casual indifference.

“You know Stevie Nicks…” He turns his head to acknowledge your realization, but keeps his eyes glued to the stage.

“You know Stevie Nicks? How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He stays silent, his lower lip now wedged under this teeth. Gnawing ever so slightly.

You had now lost complete interest in the events happening on stage, shifting your focus, trying to understand how your boyfriend knew your idol.

You try again, slower this time, louder.

“Harry. How do you know Stevie Nicks?”

He releases his lip, only to replace his teeth with his thumb and forefinger. Pulling at it pensively, his eyes still trained on the stage.

“We used to date.”  

His words are so nonchalant that you’re thoroughly convinced you’ve misheard him. Your eyes widen. You look back and forth between Harry and Stevie. A lump forms in your throat as you watch the golden haired goddess twirl and glide around the stage. Her voice echoing throughout the theater.

Your mind drifts as you attempt to enjoy the show. You want to enjoy this moment, to relish in it but you continuously find your train of thought crashing into an pit of ugly envy, a flaming, fiery mess with no survivors. Jealousy had never been your MO but you’d always been distressingly aware of how absurdly incomparable Harry is. The passing eyes of both women and men alike was a constant reminder of that fact. It wasn’t only the fact that he was painfully handsome either - although denying that it is a colossal factor would be naive and foolish - but the genuine and intoxicating aura that surrounds him. Pulling people in, making them want him and want to know him. It had been the very reason you’d approached him in that dark, dingy dive years prior, and now it’s the reason you feel as small as you do. Incredibly inadequate standing next to him, in the pit of a show led by a woman whose aura and beauty matched his, whom of which he had been involved with. How could you compare? How could you ever live up to that? A lyrical angel, a literal rockstar. You’re tired of the sour feeling pinching your stomach but you can’t help but compare yourself to the ethereal enigma that is Stevie. Who could? You didn’t say anything to Harry through the rest of the show nor him to you. You’re so consumed with the rush of feelings that’ve come over you that you hadn’t noticed the show had ended. It wasn’t until you felt the movement of the crowd heading towards the back of the theater, like a high tide being pulled by the moon, that you re-join reality. Your nerves are fried and you’re not quite sure if they could be repaired.

Harry turns to you, smiling. His hands on your face, cradled beneath your ears as his thumbs stroke your cheeks.

“How’d you like the show?”

His voice is soft and expecting. You look up at him, pushing a brief small smile up from the reservoir of adrenaline you hadn’t known you had left over.

“Got one more surprise f’you.”

He sounds so excited that you didn’t have the the heart to tell him, point blank, that you’d had enough and just wanted to go home. Not back to the motel, home.

He pulls you gently to a door on the side of the theater that reads “CREW MEMBERS ONLY” in big, red block letters, leading you through a long hallway filled with gear cases and crew members, giving a swift nod to every other passerby. Your confusion only grows when he stops in front of a door labelled in fancy, slick cursive as the green room. A mixture of laughter, conversation, and music seep through, muffled by the barrier in front of you. He stops and turns to you, dropping your hand before relocating them to your shoulders. You look anywhere but him, the ground having more interest than yours to be transparent about how you’re feeling in this moment. He went through all of this trouble, although now you question how much trouble it truly was, for you. You didn’t want to seem ungrateful because you were far from it. You just didn’t want to spoil his mood with yours that had curdled within the last hour.

You feel a hand lift off of one shoulder. A light finger placement under your chin brings your eyes into contact with the saturated everglade within his. He’d always been really good at reading you. Knowing when something was off, when you felt off. You weren’t sure if it was the post-concert fumes or the joint he’d smoked in the parking lot before the show, but he hadn’t shown you any hints of knowing. You found yourself silently praising every deity you knew by name.

“‘lright, m’gonna need to stay calm. Okay?” A soft laugh peeks through his words.

You remain silent, nodding in complacent understanding. He turns, lightly rapping on the door. His ring - the rose one you’d given him on his birthday last year - sounds a vague metallic clang on the antiqued wood.

The noise of the room, once muddled, hits you like a speeding freight when the door swings open. A sing-song chorus of Harry’s name plays through the space. You shuffle in behind him, keeping your head down. You aren’t generally a quiet person but moments like this are far and few between for you.

Harry working the room is nothing short of magical. Greeting anyone and everyone as you tail him, a firm grip on the bottom of his worn Rolling Stones tour tee. Hugs, fist bumps and light conversation all around. It isn’t until he introduces you loudly to the room that you realize you’re standing in the center of it. Harry no longer in front of you, but at your side, nudging you gently forward.

You look up, raising your hand in a demure greeting, as names you won’t have the chance to remember are hurdled towards you. Then, out of a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner of the room, steps the woman of the hour. She fiddles with the tie on her shirt as she enters deeper into the room.

“What’s with all the commotion out here?”

She sounds just like she sings, real and raw, and you’re enthralled all over again. She scans the room, biting back a smile. It grows only when she spots Harry and speeds to his person, arms out and welcoming.

“Harry! You came. I’m so glad!” He laughs into the hug and tsunami of invidiousness you’d been riding crashes at your feet with full force. You feel smaller than a head on a pin.

You watch as they step out of their embrace, but continue to hold each other at arm's length. Stevie’s on his biceps, Harry’s on her forearms.

“Wow, this is so good. This is great.” Her words are like sunshine and although she’s not speaking to you, you can’t help but to be filled with an indiscriminate warmth. You cross your arms over your chest. You feel intrusive on this reunion but just when you’re about to make a mad dash for the door she turns and looks at you.

“Is this Bunny?” She looks back at Harry. A rush of confidence propels you forward, hand out, you introduce yourself.

Stevie smiles, releasing Harry and takes your hand, pulling you into a hug. The scent of patchouli and lavender radiates from her, sending your head in a spiral. You look up at Harry, eyes wide. His elbow rests on his other arm that’s strung across his chest. His hand covering the large grin that has surfaced on his face. She pulls away from you, holding you in the same way she had Harry.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you nonstop. So nice to finally put a face to a name.”

You look back and forth between Stevie and Harry, who was now stood behind her.

“Uh… yeah. Big… uh, I’m a big fan of the band,” you stumble, “...and of yours. Huge fan of yours. Massive,” and blaze through the end of your truth.

She laughs gently, sweetly then she’s gone, beckoned from across the room, whisking over to whomever required her attention.

You’re in shock, hands still out in front of you. Harry steps forward, a light snicker escapes him as he takes your hands. You stare up at him but you’re not really looking at him.

“You okay?”

You nod slowly, your jaw slack, leaving an open space between your lips. Harry kisses the side of your mouth before letting go of your hands. He tells you to grab a seat, that he’ll grab you a drink, before jetting off to the refreshment table where Stevie and Mick are having, what seems like, a deep conversation.

You find a spot on a small, gray couch in the corner of the room. Watching people get drunker and more rowdy as the time goes by. They start to blur together into one massive streak of colour and sound. It isn’t until you spot the time on a clock located just above the bathroom door that you realize Harry had been gone for nearly an hour. The air grows suffocating as you stand, searching over heads of fluffed and curled hair for refuge. You spot Harry moments later. His arm slung around Stevie’s shoulder as they talk animatedly with Christine. You want to walk over and pull him away, plead with him to take you back to the motel, but the barbed wire twisting around your stomach made you hesitant. You watch him place an exaggerated kiss on Stevie’s head and that’s what sends you off the deep end. The feeling as frigid and sharp as an ice bath.

You scramble towards the door you’d entered through just a few short hours ago. Knocking shoulders and bumping drinks until you finally reach the handle. You tug it so violently that you could’ve sworn you’d ripped the door off its hinges.

Almost blindly, you stagger forwards into the hallway, sucking in a deep breath. You can hear your heart in your ears, feel your pulse in your throat, as you push yourself further down the hall. Stopping when you reach a pile of equipment cases piled just high enough for you to get your feet off the ground had you chosen to climb them; and you did. Propping yourself on the edge of a peripheral case and sitting on top of the large amp casing.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way, you know you shouldn’t but your head and heart weren’t cooperating. The futility of trying to get them to comply and coexist to give you some semblance of  sanity is incredibly high. So in turn you decide to become just that, incredibly high. You shimmy backwards, resting your head and back against the wall, before pulling a joint out of your pocket. Rainy day insurance is what Harry had called it when he found out it was a permanent fixture to your person.

“...in case of emergencies.” “Good to know you’re so prepared, love. If I’m ever in need of some immediate enlightenment, I’ll know who to ring.”

You light it with a match from a matchbook you’d taken from the motel. You inhale deeply, letting the small, packaged green sit tightly between your lips. You hold it in, one, two, three seconds before releasing a cloud of smoke with a big audible sigh. Your eyes sliding shut as you wait for your erratic heartbeat to level out.

When Stevie’s head peeks out of the green room door a few moments later, you’re too floaty to realize. She spots you, however, looking as serene as they come. The joint, now a roach, pinched between your fingers. She glides over to you, her movements so fluid, you’d swear she were swimming through the air.

“There you are,” you open your eyes at the sound of her voice to find her smiling at you. A lazy smile graces your features.

“Hey there.”

“I wondered where you’d run off too. Harry was talking my ear off all weekend about how I just had to meet his Bunny and I barely got to chat with you tonight.”

Your smile and relaxed demeanor fall as you take in her words. The filter you once had has burned down to non-existent. Your immediate thoughts began to flow sluggishly from your lips and you were sure you shouldn’t have let it but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Harry was with you all weekend?”

“Yeah, we had a few days off. We were trying to work out some logistics for the third leg of the tour, one of our openers dropped out and I remembered that Harry had been trying to do the music thing for so long, figured we’d give him a shot. Y’know?”

“Tour?” you sit up, leaning forward, pulling your legs into a criss cross position.

Harry saunters out of the green room, spotting you and Stevie, he approaches the two of you but you’re too distracted to notice. Not sure if it’s because of the haze from the smoke or the news you’d just heard. “Yeah, he’s gonna be great.”

“What am I gonna be great at?” He questions, entering the conversation.

You look at him, all droopy eyelids and knitted brows. You’re positive that if you weren’t as high as you are now, you’d be shaking.

“Opening for Fleetwood on tour.”

You speak so curtly and clearly that you scare yourself. It feels as if your soul is trying to disconnect itself from its earthbound prison, but you’re holding on for dear life.

Harry turns to Stevie so quickly you can see his movements blur, following him in delayed time as if it were on another plane of existence.

“You told her?”

“You didn’t?” Stevie’s eyebrows are raised.

“I need a drink,” your words muffled by starch, the interior of your mouth feeling as if you’d just played an insanely long round of chubby bunny. You try to jump off of the case but your clouded mind executes the action before your body could follow, causing you to stumble once your feet hit the ground. Harry’s arms are out in an instant, catching you. You land face first into his strong, broad chest. His scent hits you in a billowing poof of air. It’s woodsy and citrusy and salty and sweet. It’s too much.

You push yourself away from him, out of his arms. He calls after you but you’re already sliding back into the green room. At the refreshment table a wide spread of liquors is presented to you. You reach for the vodka but make a split last second decision and reach for the tequila instead, knocking over a bottle that was in the way. You hold the bottle of tequila above your head but it’s snatched from your fingers right as you’re about pour a shot into your mouth.

Harry stands in front of you, tequila in hand. He looks like someone has kicked his puppy and you find yourself vexed because he had no reason to be upset. He was the one leaving you.

He leans in, mouth so close to your ear that you can smell the faint trace of alcohol on his breath.

“Can we please talk about this outside?”

You scoff, a light snorting noise punctuated with an eye roll. Oh, noooow he wants to talk.

“Please?”

“Fine,” you humour him, your concession tangled in a heavy sigh.

He places the bottle back on the table before spinning you around. Placing his hands on your waist, he guides you gently out of the green room.

You don’t stop moving until you’re outside, in a loading area, buses and trucks lined up uniformly. The late night air is a lot staler than it had been when you first arrived. An oven with the door open, no wind, just warmth all around. It sobers you up almost instantly. Harry stops nudging when the two of you are settled in between two, large packing trucks parked closely together, leaving only a few inches between your bodies. You lean lazily against the truck, allowing your eyes to close and your head to lul to the the side, awaiting his reasoning, his explanation, as if there was one good enough to justify him keeping this from you.

When he speaks your name it’s soft, reminding you of the clouds you’d flown over less than twelve hours ago. What you wouldn’t give to have that peace of mind back in this moment.

“Listen, I didn’t know if it was actually going to happen. Been talking to Christine and just recently caught up with Stevie and she’d mentioned it. I didn’t want to tell you unless it was a sure thing.” You open your eyes, raising them to the sky. The height of the trucks tunnel your vision, redirecting your focus to the twinkling clusters of stars stitched to the deep, dark velvet of the two am sky. He keeps his eyes trained on you.

“And is it?”

“S’what?”

You finally look at him, immediately meeting his gaze, throwing you off for half a beat. You shift your weight from one leg to the other.

“Is it a sure thing?”

He remains silent, his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes and releases. You can see the gears in his head turning, the possible negative outcomes of answering your question, playing in his eyes. Like a silent stop motion film. All in black and white. All unhappy endings.

He does, however, answer you with a slow nod. Keeping his eyes on you, studying you as if he had a major exam coming up that could make or break his school year, watching for any signs that may point to you telling him that you were done with him.

“And when were you going to tell me? If you even were going to tell me,” you mutter the latter under your breath but he still catches it. His posture straightens.

“I was going to tell you Bunny! I swear. Was gonna be tonight too, like when we got back to the motel. After I loved on you cause god, I’ve fuckin’ missed you and it’s only been a few days…” he pauses, stepping towards you but you’re quicker, side stepping so you were no longer flush the truck. Square with the opening between them, creating much needed space between you and Harry. A pained expression plateaus his features but he continues, turning his body to face your new position.

“I just… I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted you to have an unforgettable one. Wanted to make up for what happened on your birthday last year.”  

You cross your arms over your chest, relinquishing a sigh. You remember it vividly, although you wish you could forget it.

It had been a while since you had celebrated your earthstrong day but Harry insisted that you must do something for it. 25 was a big deal, it was important. Harry had made a big deal of planning a dinner for you and your family to celebrate. What he hadn’t told you was that the dessert he’d prepared, your favourite after meal pastry, had a little something extra in it that he hadn’t warned you about. Long story short, you spent the rest of your night talking your parents down from a very bad high, and Harry - the cause of all of your grief that night - slept through it all. You’d put him in the dog house for months after that and he’d never stopped apologizing.

“You have to admit though. Now when y’look back at it, s’kind of funny. I mean your mum really dug that shag rug,” he chuckles.

“It’s not funny.”

He tries to subdue his giggles resulting in a wide grin instead. You struggle to remain stoic, still fuming, but you could feel the edges of your icy-ness began to melt away. There’s just something about this boy that always gets to you in the best way possible. Which is why finding out that he may be away for months at a time tasted so incredibly bitter.

You let out a puff of air.

He gives himself a light tap on the cheek. His mouth pursed in a small frown as he tries to focus on remaining serious.

“Oh come on Bunny, I’m sorry okay. I swear I was gonna tell you.”

He nudges you softly, hoping the contact would soften your hard demeanor and lighten up the weight of the situation. He’d really been hoping to have this talk to you when you were in a better mood but he now knew he had to tread lightly.

He takes a tentative step towards you. Your arms, still tightly crossed against your chest, begin to loosen. Slowly, as if counting the seconds and steps in his head, he reaches for your arm. When you don’t resist, he pulls you in close to him in a warm embrace. Whispers of apologies and pleasantries leave his lips in short bursts, threading through your hair and landing on your shoulders. He’s being incredibly gentle with you, and although you’re sure he wishes it had the opposite effect, every touch breeds heartache. The dam is cracking and your hand is hovering above the manual release button for the floodgates.

You release the hold that you have on your own arms when he starts petting your hair. Long, molassing strokes that fall in time with both of your breathing. Naturally synced. Your face pressed against his chest, fitting like your favourite pair of jeans: snug, comfortable, perfect.

“Didn’t even know you wanted to pursue music,” your words are muffled by the cotton of his shirt but his sigh lets you know that he’s heard you. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“Wasn’t something I thought I’d get the chance to do, y’know? Was a hobby for so long, always just mucked about with it. Used it as an outlet. Gave it up before I met you”

Your arms wrap themselves around your stomach loosely, as if they were keeping you from falling apart.

“How come?” You were curious. You couldn’t help help but think that it was because he’d met you that he given up his dream. Freelance photography didn’t pay greatly but it was your passion and Harry had always pushed you to do what made you happy. So he’d taken a job managing a bakery down the street from the apartment you shared to support the both of you.

“It was a different time in my life, back when I was living in California. Didn’t really have much that I had to care about. I was living with a bunch of people who were trying to make a living that way so I fell into it.” He’d stopped his work on your hair, bringing his arm around you shoulder to bring you in closer.

“Is that how you met Stevie?”

He chuckles, it’s airy but full of reminiscent energy.

“Yeah, that’s how I met Stevie.”

You shuffle, moving your head to look up at him. His eyes full of memories. You urge him to continue.

“I was crashing on a friend’s couch in this artist commune. They had a party one night and she was there. We talked and just, I don’t know. Ran with it. We don’t have to talk about this, it’s weird innit? Me talking about my ex.” You lean back to look up at him eyebrow raised.

“You really think this is the weirdest thing to happen tonight?”

He laughs.

“You’re right.”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a split second. You move back to your former position, pressed up against his chest. You close your eyes, indulging in the rhythmic beat of his heart.

“So what happened?”

“It was a lot. There was a lot going on and I couldn’t handle it.”

You hum, nodding ever so slightly.

“Plus she met Lindsey…” He pauses, untangling his arms from you taking a small step back. He lifts his hand and runs the pad of his thumb lightly across your cheekbone. You eyes flick up to his, looking down at you. He sighs, the corner of his mouth lifts, “...and I met you.

The flutter you feel in your stomach is strong but short lived when you remember why you were both standing in the loading area of a theater instead of hanging out with your favourite band just a mere feet away. You’ve been trying to avoid asking your next question. Trying to push it to the back of your mind, attempting to distract yourself from it because you already knew what the answer would be but it stayed stewing, and now it was bubbling over. Before you could stop it, it flew out of your mouth and into the space around you.

“Are you going to accept the offer?”

Harry stays too quiet for too long. With each passing moment, you can feel the ends of your already frayed nerves fizzle and burn out. He looks at you, really looks at you. Your eyes, your lips, you, as a whole. When he finally does speak, his voice is steady and his words, soft. He leans down, cheek touching cheek. And although it’s whispered, his lips tickling the shell of your ear, his words speak unreachable volumes.

“Only if you come with me.”

[zutaralover94]

2 and 10? PLEEEEEEEASE?

Thanks so much for the request! Childhood best friends and high school popular kid/nerd aus! This one I could probably write a long chapter book about! 

“I heard she was back for good.”

“Yeah but why did she leave to begin with?”

“Well… Ty Lee told Asumi, who told Kya, who thentold Izumi…”

Zuko’s head hit the desk. The two girls in frontof him paused their conversation and looked to him with a disgusted look. WhenZuko looked up, the girls had turned back around and were now huddled closertogether. Zuko just kept his head down and closed his eyes.

“Oh, thank you.”

Zuko knew that voice anywhere. Hell, he hadgrown up with that voice chasing after him. Except now, now it had an airy tintto it. Like a heavenly sound or a siren that lulls you into the ocean onlyto rip your heart out and leave. Zuko gritted his teeth.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Agni. Zuko turned to thevoice. Midnight blue eyes blinked at him expectantly. Zuko’s eyes followed downthe darker tinted tanned skin. Katara had grown up, a lot. She wore the uniformof Ba Sing Se Academy, but she pushed the envelope, like most of the girls. Thewhite button up shirt was untucked and half of the top buttons were undone toshow a light blue undershirt. The navy blue plaid skirt fell millimeters belowher fingertips. And were those heels? To school?

The Katara, Zuko knew, never wore heels. Thenagain, she wasn’t the type to straddle the line of school rules. Hell, she waslike a mother, forcing all those around her to not get into trouble.

The girl next to Katara smirked and gave out ashort laugh. “Careful Kat, you might catch fire on the way he is staring atyou.” The girl wore practically the same outfit except her skirt was a darkgreen plaid and her shirt was buttoned and a school issued tie was around herneck.

It was Katara’s turn to smirk, “No. No. Zuko isharmless.”

She remembers me? Zuko waved to the open desks beside him. Both of the girls takingtheir seats as the teacher walked in.

As class went on, Zuko began to pray to whatevergod and higher power was out there, that this was the only class he had withKatara. The siren she had turned into, was sure to kill him. He looked over toher. Her hair had become somewhat shorter and the braid was replaced with herhair in a half bun and curls that fell in just the right place.

Katara turned to him and raised an eyebrow,“It’s rude to stare.” That got a round of snickers and a flushed Zuko. Theteacher cleared her throat to get the classroom’s attention again.

Zuko turned back to the front and tried to payattention to the teacher in front. Speech was not his favorite subject. But inorder to get out of this hell hole of a city, he had to suffer through. Justone more semester and he was finished. Done. He could leave.

“Now class,” Ms. Joo Dee clapped her hands,“During the last five minutes I would like to discuss the upcoming musical…” Therewas a groan from practically all of the students. “Now, now! This year we willhave professional help!” The teacher’s smile widened. “The Ember Island Playerswill be coming to help you on techniques and stage acting. All those who wishto join, a signup sheet will be placed outside the door.”

Zuko had quickly tuned out and began gatheringhis stuff to leave for the next class.

“What do you have next period?” Katara turnedaround in her seat.

“College preparatory class: Landscaping.” Seafoam green eyes rolled.

“It’s not all that bad, Toph.” Katara patted herhand.

“Think about that, Sugar Queen,” Toph laughedand leaned forward tapping on Katara’s forehead. “How am I supposed to knowwhat color the flowers are? They all look practically the same.”

“Get a cute guy to help you.” Katara smiledback, a joking tone in her voice.

Zuko now rolled his eyes and looked over hisschedule. When the bell rang, he was quick to stand and leave, but a manicuredhand shot out and grabbed his elbow. His eyes followed the tan fingers down thetan arm to Katara with a sugar-sweet smile. “Can you let go? I have to get toclass.”

Katara’s bottom lip pouted. “I was just going tolet you know, in case Sokka hasn’t already told you, we have family dinnertonight.”

“I know.” Zuko felt like growling, but surprisedhimself that his voice came out semi-normal.

Katara retracted her hand with a smile, “ThenI’ll see you tonight?”

“I don’t have a choice.” Zuko pushed away fromthe desk and walked as fast as he could, out of the room to his next class. Agni.

Zuko hadn’t seen Katara in any more of hisclasses up until lunch, which he was thankful for. He still had two left but hedoubted she would show up to mechanics. But his last class was historicalliterature. And if he knew Katara, which he used to, she would be in thatclass.

Zuko sat by himself in an open window, down thehall from the loud lunchroom. He watched as the shades changed as the cloudspassed over the sun. When he felt a tap on his shoulder, he nearly knocked theschool issued laptop, which was sitting in his lap, onto the floor. Fu…

“Sorry.” Katara laughed. Zuko knew in a momentthat it was an unguarded laugh. And when he turned to look up at her, she wasalone.

“What do you want?” Zuko shut the laptop andbegan to stuff it back inside of his bag. If Katara was here, a poesy of peoplewould never be far behind. The library usually keeps the louder people out.The popular people out.

“Geeze,” Katara crossed her arms over her chestand shifted so her weight was on one leg. “No ‘Nice to see you again Kat’ or‘It’s been a few years, you look good.’?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Kitten. It’s been afew years.” Zuko said in a monotone. His eyes raked down her body again.“You’ve changed.”

Katara slightly scoffed at his tone. “But a goodchange right?” Katara fluttered her eyelashes and moved into Zuko’s space,slightly trapping him in the window sill.

Zuko only nodded and shrugged, “Uh, I think thatdepends on who you ask.”

Katara paused in her descend on him; she let outa humorless laugh, “Was that supposed to be an insult?”

Zuko threw his book bag over his shoulder andsmirked down at her as he stood, “I think that…”

“Depends on who I ask.” Katara finished for him.

“Now, you’re getting it, Kitten.” Zuko pushedpast a surprised Katara.

“Stop calling me that!” She yelled after him.Katara could faintly hear the chuckle that came from Zuko.

At the end of the day, Zuko was happy toannounce that he only had one class with Katara. So avoiding her would be easy.Especially once the gossip stopped flying around as to why she was back or whyshe left.

Zuko knew the truth, but why tell everyone aboutKatara’s family fall from grace. Or the fact that he knew the only way she wasback at Ba Sing Se Academy was because of a scholarship. Zuko couldn’t doanything, if she thought the charade of her acting like she still ownedeverything. She would soon see and feel the fall, just like Zuko had.

Though Zuko’s fall would probably be a littleless painful that Katara’s. After the fire two years ago, Zuko fell from thenext up and coming quarterback and most likely to succeed to the lonely nerdwith a messed up face.

Zuko always pointed his problems back to twoyears ago. If those damned rebels hadn’t screwed over the Southern Water City,which was under Katara’s father’s mayorship. Then Zuko’s father wouldn’t have runto help, causing multiple rebellions to set fire to each of Phoenix City’sproperties. Many had called it an insurance gag. There was one report that saidOzai had purposefully sent the rebellion to Southern Water City to overthrowthe mayor. And then sent them to his own properties to act like theywere mad that Ozai had helped Katara’s family.

And did Zuko believe those rumors? Hell yes.Zuko believed his father would do anything for the power and anything to stophis son from becoming something to great. Burning everything Zuko had, hisitems, his football scholarship papers to some of the best colleges, hisdreams, his popularity, his face… his honor.

Zuko’s status fell quickly and painfully.

But watching Katara, he knew it was only a smallmatter of time before everyone found out. And that fall from grace would not bepretty.

***

The next day

***

Zuko cringed as he sat down in his first hourclass. Katara’s rein had only gotten bigger and in one. Now with Azula by herside, the girls following Katara had tripled. Katara quickly became second incommand. And Zuko could almost place a bet on how long it would take for Katarato overthrow the fire queen.

Katara slid into the seat beside Zuko with anasty smile, “Morning, ZuZu.”

Zuko gritted his teeth and refused to look ather. “The fuck you want?”

“Language.” Katara reached over and playfullyslapped his arm. Zuko only scowled and moved out of reach. Katara only put on apout. “Dinner last night was great. Except you know with the parents andsiblings there, it was kind of drab.”

“Drab?” Zuko made the mistake of looking over toKatara.

Katara’s midnight blue eyes seemed a tad darker.Her navy blue fleece jacket was zipped up until right under her chest. Thewhite button up had been opened and shared a fair amount of tanned skin. Shehad on a pair of navy shorts and a pair of dark red boots that came over herknee. “Yes, boring, dumb, not fun at all. So I was thinking maybe tomorrow nightwe could do it without them?”

Zuko could hear the slight nervousness in hervoice. “I don’t think so.”

“You think too much.” Katara tilted her head. Aringlet curl fell onto her cheek and she swiped it behind her ear.

“Then, no.” Zuko turned back to his desk andlooked down at his notebook as Ms. Joo Dee walked in.

“Fine.” Katara plopped back into her chair witha childish pout and arms crossed over her chest.

And that was it. Zuko was so relieved whenKatara didn’t try to stop him from practically running out of the room. But therelief soon wore off later that day during free period. Zuko had sat down andopened his homework for math when another body sat down across from him. Thesmell of oceans and firelillies drifted over to him.

Zuko took and deep breath and released it beforelooking up to Katara. “Can I not go a whole day without seeing you afterSpeech?”

Katara smiled and opened a book. “‘Fraid not.”She slid a piece of paper over to him. A blue tutor note, that had Zuko shakinghis head furiously.

“No. I refuse.”

“Zuko…” Katara drawled out with a pitiful lookin her eyes. “I need help. Seriously.”

“No.” Zuko slammed his own math book closed andbegan gathering his things.

“Come on Zuko.” Katara was quick to grab hisbook and pull it towards her. “I really need help. I don’t understand anythingout of Mr. Bushi is saying! What is tan and why is it sin? Zuko you have tohelp!” Katara clutched the book to her chest. “Please.”

Zuko closed his eyes and took another deepbreath. “You can find someone else to help. Let me have my book back.”

“There is no one else that is tutoring in trigthis semester, unless I want Mr. Bushi’s alternate personality Xu to help.”Katara pleaded.

Zuko opened his eyes and sat back down in hischair. “Sit.” Zuko grumbled after a few seconds of silent.

“You’re the best!” Katara sat back down with alarge smile and opened the book back up.

Days turned into weeks, turned into months andthe end of the school years was approaching. Zuko was getting antsy. Hereceived a scholarship to Raiders University and he was excited to finally getout of here.

Zuko would miss the hour he spent with anunguarded Katara. She had quite quickly caught on trigonometry and was probablyeven quicker at solving most of the homework problems than Zuko.

“So graduation is in two weeks. You excited?”Katara closed the math book. They still had fifteen minutes to spare.

“Ha,” Zuko gave a short laugh. “Who isn’texcited at this point?”

“I’m going to miss it.” Katara shrugged. Shewore a light blue cardigan today. Her white polo was highly decorated in laceand her navy blue shorts were high with little silver buttons.

“Miss what?” Zuko closed his math book and beganputting it away. “The terrible cafeteria food or the math equations you willnever have to look at again?”

Katara propped her chin on her hand and lookedat Zuko. “Neither…” It came out really quiet and it caught Zuko’s attention.

He looked up and navy blue eyes looked at him.There was sadness there; something like Zuko couldn’t place the feeling behindher eyes. “Then what? The popularity?” Zuko grabbed the spare pencils andshoved them into his bag as well. “Trust me; you won’t have a problem fittinginto whatever sorority you plan on joining.”

“Not that.” Katara shook her head. “I’ll missthis.” Zuko stopped shoving things deeper into his bag. He again looked up toher, golden eyes falling steady onto Katara. “I’ll miss you.” Katara bit herlip after the words came spilling out.

Zuko’s heart burst open. Years of suppressingfeeling for the girl in front of him tumbled around in his chest. Butterflies… Fucknot butterflies but a stampede of cowpotomusses… filled his stomach. Inthat instant, Zuko wanted nothing more than to confess those feelings. But itwasn’t fair. Wasn’t right. They were going to two different Universities. AndZuko wasn’t going to let his dumb feelings get in the way of her going after herdreams. “I’ll miss you too, Kitten.”

Katara’s nose scrunched up. “Stop with thenickname. I definitely won’t miss that.” They laughed and gathered their thingsas the bell rang. Zuko soaked in the sound of Katara’s laughter and locked itaway with all of his childhood memories.

 At the graduation party Zuko stood alone, a cupof spiked punch in his hand, as he watched Katara flit around the room. Thenavy dress she wore seemed plain, but he had overheard many of the girls exclaimhow beautiful it looked. Katara smiled to everyone and talked and laughed. Evenafter word got out about her scholarship, Katara remained popular. Peoplepractically worshipped her drive for knowledge and she kept her throne at thepopulars’ table.

Every other person she would talk to her eyeswould drift over to the tall man standing in the corner alone. And after anhour more of talking to people, she skirted the outside of the room and toZuko. “Having fun?”

Zuko smiled, “It’s better than looking at a bookof trigonometry for an hour.” He joked.

No matter how ridiculous the joke was, Kataralaughed. She placed her hand on his shoulder and began slipping out ofsparkling golden heels. “You know the best thing about university?”

“What?” Zuko held onto Katara, as she took offthe other heel.

“You can wear sweat pants and slippers to class,and no one will look at you funny.” Katara held onto the heel of her shoes.

“I like the way you think.” Zuko’s heart sped upslightly when he realized that Katara wasn’t going to let go of his arm. “So dosorority girls have like uniformed pajamas or…”

Katara laughed and nudged his arm with hershoes. “Very funny.” She turned and looked around the room. “I’m sure many do…and they have Kappa Kappa Omega written on the seat of the pants.”

Zuko nodded. “Color coded for each sister.”

Katara shook her head. “So you have everythingplanned out for when you start?”

“Yeah,” Zuko looked down to the girl next tohim. “I have my pajama colors picked out and everything.” Katara gave a wholenew round of laughter. “And if Azumi thinks she’s stealing metallic gold awayfrom me. She better watch out.”

Katara busted out laughing, causing Zuko to joinin with her. “Zuko…”

“Okay,” Zuko’s laughter died down. “Yes. I haveeverything settled. I meet my roommate two weeks before I move into the dorms.He seems fine.”

“Mmm.” Katara hummed and waved to a group thathad called out to her. “Ty Lee is the only other person I know that’s going tobe at Water Island University.”

“Ahh, well don’t miss me too much, Kitten.” Zukonudged Katara.

“Miss what?” Katara teased, “You droning onabout angles and the hypotenuse? Or that terrible nickname?”

“What?” Zuko shrugged his shoulders in fakeignorance, “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy those long hours of my droning.”

Katara shook her head and they stood in silence.After a few minutes, Katara made her way to leave to talk to more people. Zukostuck out his arm to catch her before she got too far. “Kat… I…”

“Katara!” A girl yelled from across the room.Katara turned to look at her, she held up a finger to the girl. The girl lookedslightly irrated on having to wait.

“Yeah?” Katara turned back to Zuko, a smallbloom of hope rising in her eyes.

“I’m really going to miss you.” Zuko nodded, ablush crawled up his neck. “We’ll keep touch right?”

Katara smiled and she quickly wrapped her armsaround his neck. “Of course. I’ll miss you too.”

As Katara let go and Zuko sat his drink down toleave, little did either know that this would be their last time to confess tothe other. Or that the other, years later, would look back on that day and kickthemselves for not saying something about their childhood feeling.

[vixxscifiwritings]

you can be alice, i’ll be the mad hatter(5/?)

Characters - Cha Hakyeon/N and Y/N + VIXX Genre - Supernatural/Fantasy AU - Mutants AU Warning - Drug use, mental illness A/N - I have no idea if I am doing this right or wrong. Summary - Cha Hakyeon is a man mired in mystery and the enigma draws in unsuspecting victims like fires drew in moths.

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“Cha Hakyeon?”

The man being addressed gave no indication to having heard you call his name. He didn’t bother with acknowledgements, instead choosing to swing the cradle and put it back in motion.

He was dressed in a bodysuit but his limbs were free. Probably a result of whatever they had done to restrain his powers. his actions were sluggish as well, as if trying to focus but unable to because of bodily constraints.

You took a look at the camera on the top right corner of the opposite wall. You took in a deep breath, nodding to yourself before walking to the other chair. You sat down and cleared your throat again, hoping to catch his attention. 

Hakyeon didn’t respond. He stretched his hands and yawned but his eyes never strayed from the swinging metal balls. He rubbed his chin, amused at the prickly four o clock shadow of a stubble that was growing. He ran his finger across his jaw and pushed his bangs up. His hair was short and unkempt. It stayed up and didn’t fall back down on his forehead while he continued playing.

You stuck your hand out and the balls swerved before coming to a halt. Hakyeon looked up, glared at you in an accusatory manner.

“It would be faster to comply with the standard procedure Mr Cha? I would be out of your hair quicker” you said serenely, refusing to move your hand and let the toy move.

His glare intensified. He frowned in disapproval as if a parent was chiding an impudent child wordlessly. It unsettled you a little because you were the doctor and you were expected to be in charge of the situation here. But you could already feel it slipping out of your hands.

“Doctor... Y/L/N...” he said thoughtfully. 

“Yes?” you asked. breathing a little faster due to your quickened heartbeat. 

“Your name. You knew mine. It was only fair that I know yours” he said, licking his lips. 

“Fair enough. My name is Y/N Y/L/N” you acknowledged and introduced yourself. His lips curled up into a smirk.

“Tell me doctor, what will you ask that’s different from what they have already asked?” he asked, leaning back on his chair.

“The truth. I’d like to know what your version of the truth is” you told him. There was a game at play here and you were willing to play it as long as it got you results.

“The first step to tackling a problem is admitting you have it” he said, parodying advert narrators. “I’ve read that in fortune cookies and on cereal box bottoms. You should try again, Doc.”

“I don’t believe there is anything wrong with you. You haven’t displayed any symptoms of PTSD ever since I have walked in” you challenged. He raised an eyebrow. He was intrigued and you took the hint to explain your stance.

“Your hands are steady. So is your breathing. All your triggers have been carefully removed from this environment to minimise exposure and hasten the recovery. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were toying with me because you have no reason to suddenly become deranged” you reasoned. 

A sudden weight had settled in, holding your body in its place. You panicked. He was supposed to be powerless! Yet you knew this was his doing. You had walked into the game unprepared and now you were about to face the consequences of your actions.

“How ever did you know what my triggers are?” he sang, jumping onto the table. he slid, stopping right in front of you so that your frozen body. You heard the guards outside punching in the access code, tiny number keys beeping. Hakyeon waved his hand and blew the circuits in the lock. The fuse went out, sparking the digital lock and jamming it.

“My guess love, is that you have been naughty. They never let the previous psychs read my old reports. So what made you so special?” he asked, leaning in so that you were face to face with him.

“But given how stuck up Song is, I can tell that he didn’t even know you had read something. I like a good rebel. I’ll give you brownie points for that” he said, tracing your jawline with a finger. “And pretty too. You are a deadly combination love” he added as an afterthought.

“So what will your diagnosis be?” he asked, tilting your chin up to maintain eye contact as he moved out of your personal space. “Are you finally going to declare me criminally insane? That’s all we need to put Project Phoenix into action isn’t it?” he asked, looking at the camera with a sinister smile on his face.

“Well here is your proof” he said, jumping off the table and raising his hands up in mock surrender. You gasped as the force holding you down lifted and you could finally move. 

“Is that...” you wheezed, holding onto the table to breathe. “Is that why you lied and pretended to be suffering from mental illnesses? Just so you could die easily?” you asked, taking deep breathes in between phrases.

“Oh don’t you know Doctor? The kind of things the Excelsis Unit saw and did would have taken lesser men down” Hakyeon mocked. 

“Then why?” you asked, gaining enough strength to stand and face him. The two of you stared each other down. the door blew open and Hakyeon pulled you down for cover. His hold on you was strong as he pushed you to the floor to shield you from the debris flying while he built a force field around the two of you. The glass and metal deflected and fell to the ground shattering as it did.

He was pulled away from you while Yunho helped you stand up. Commander Song followed the guards in, yelling at people to take Hakyeon under control.

“You see love, it doesn’t matter if I want to live or die. A soldier only serves his government dutifully” Hakyeon spat as three men held him and forced him down to the ground with his hands behind his back.

“Is that Project Phoenix?” you asked, remembering the argument earlier.

“Aren’t you smart, love” Hakyeon smiled as he was led away. 

“Doctor Y/L/N. I am afraid I will have to take you into custody for accused tampering of confidential records. Yunho, take her to the holding cells” Commander Song ordered.

“What is Project Phoenix?” you demanded, struggling against Yunho who was too strong for you.

“None of your business Doctor. As of this moment, you are off the case. You have been stripped of all access privileges and under investigation for charges of treason.”

[aceofstars16]

Fading Fast

Okay, so this is an AU me and @meldy-arts came up with even before Zero Hour aired...and it’s so full of feels and angst and space fam-ness!

I based it off of three sketches mel drew, one of which she finished as a full picture, you should totally check it out here.

 I was planning on writing more this morning, but...I can’t seem to write today and the way I ended it last night seems kind of fitting. And there is room to write a sequal if I want to...though, technically, this could be a bit of a set up for the Memory Loss AU I wrote a while ago. 

I hope y’all like it!

Fic below the cut:

Something was wrong. Sabine didn’t know how she could tell, but something in her gut tightened and she jolted her head around just in time to see the explosion. The explosion her and her clan had just caused. But there was one person who hadn’t cleared the blast zone.

“Ezra!” Sabine screamed, trying to warn him. She reached out her hand, a futile attempt to reach him. But he was too far away. The blast hit him. Even from her position, Sabine knew it wasn’t good. Her heart tightened in her chest and she angled herself towards him. She didn’t care about the blast, the fire, the mission - she just had to get to Ezra.

Voices sounded in her comms, but she couldn’t make out anything, couldn’t focus on anything as she neared Ezra. And as she reached him, her throat closed up and a choked sob escaped her mouth.

He was floating in space, completely unconscious. His space suit was badly damaged, she didn’t know if it was even protecting him at all. And his helmet was cracked.

“No…” Sabine whispered as she flew up to him and gently pulled him into her arms, hoping to protect him from the debris and the elements of space. But even as she did so, she knew it was a futile attempt.

“Sabine, what’s going on?” A voice broke through the fog of Sabine’s mind – Hera.

Opening her mouth, Sabine tried to explain the situation, but the only words that came out were. “It’s Ezra…”

“We’ll be right there.”

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. The battle raged around them. Explosions filled the air. But there was an earie calm surrounding them. A quiet stillness that reached deep into Sabine’s heart and kept her frozen in place.

Then the Ghost arrived and Sabine was inside. As soon as she was free from the vacuum of space, Sabine pulled off Ezra’s helmet. She didn’t know how much it had aided him, but now that they were in oxygenated air, he didn’t need it, now it would only hinder his breathing. Pulling off her own helmet, Sabine quickly pressed her ear against his chest. At first she didn’t hear anything, but then a weak heartbeat sounded. He was alive…

Letting out a breath, Sabine closed her eyes and tried to gather her thoughts, tried to assure herself that Ezra was okay. He just needed treatment. His back…she needed to check his back, to bandage him up.

As soon as she twisted Ezra to his side, her mind blanked again. His back was burned, bad. She had never seen anything like it, not in all of her years of fighting. How could anyone survive this?

A heaviness settled down on Sabine, a realization that some wounds couldn’t be healed. Some people didn’t make it. And right now Ezra might be one of them. The last conversation she had with him would’ve been silly banter, nothing about how much he had come to mean to her. How he had become such an important part of her life, of her adopted family.

Gently turning him over, Sabine studied his face. He looked so calm, so at peace. It was almost as if he was sleeping…But his shallow breaths reminded her of his broken state, of the thin line he was walking.

“Ezra…” She whispered, entwining her fingers with his as she spoke, wishing so much for him to open his eyes, to smile at her, to joke around with her like they always did. But his eyes stayed closed.

The worry and pain in Sabine’s chest weighed her down. She wanted to fight it, to be strong, to assure herself he would be okay. But that was a lie and she knew it. Tears built up in her eyes. She couldn’t fight them back, and she pulled Ezra closed to her. Seeking comfort from him that would never come.

“Please, Ezra…please…”

“Sabine!” A muffled voice sounded through the comms, coming from Sabine’s helmet. Someone yelling her name. A reminder that there was still a battle going on.

In a daze, Sabine grabbed the comms, opening her mouth to reply, but her voice caught in her throat. The rebellion needed her. Her clan needed her. Hera was yelling about the Indictor still being intact. Tristan was shouting for Sabine. But Sabine couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave Ezra.

“Sabine! Pick up!” Hera yelled from the other end of the comms. The worry and stress lining Hera’s voice pressed on Sabine. She couldn’t leave Hera in the dark.

“I…I’m here…I just…Ezra, he…” Sabine swallowed and held Ezra a little tighter. He felt like a dead weight in her arms, but he couldn’t be gone. She had to believe that.

Silence followed, then. “They still need you out there Sabine.” Hera’s voice was quiet, broken, but it was still firm, a gentle firmness of someone trying to stay strong for others.

“I…I can’t…” Sabine said quietly, cringing as she heard Tristan shouting for her again. She didn’t know what was going on outside, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Ezra needed her.

More voices shouted over the comms, confused rebels who were suddenly cut off, Hera’s voice growing louder and louder, though a panic lined her voice – something that didn’t quite reflect her usual authoritative voice.

It was all too much. Sabine could feel her internal walls collapsing under the pressure of it all, under the fear and pain. It built up in her chest until a sob escaped her mouth, then another, until she was crying into Ezra’s silent body. She couldn’t do this, not now, not when he friend might be dying.

A hand rested of Sabine’s shoulder and her head jerked up. Kanan had his hand on her shoulder, the worry was evident in his clouded eyes, but there was a calmness about him.

“Kanan, I-” her voice cracked and any semblance of control she had broke down again. Her arms drooped, resting Ezra on the ground. And then flung herself into Kana’s chest and grabbed onto his shirt. Trying to find any source of comfort as sobs wracked her body again.

“H-he, can’t be…”

“He’s not,” Kanan’s deep voice was a steady sound in the fear in her mind. As his arms tightened around her, he spoke again. “He’s okay, Sabine. It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.”

Sabine gripped Kanan’s shirt tighter, willing herself to believe him.

“Sabine, they need you out there right now! The Indictor is still working, they need explosions.” Hera’s voice echoed through the room.

“Kanan, I…I can’t…” Sabine whispered, not trusting her voice to speak any louder.

“Sabine, look at me,” Kanan said quietly, and waited until she complied. Then he looked right at her, as if he could actually see her. “Ezra will be okay. I’ll stay here with him. I’ll make sure he is okay. But the rebellion needs you, we all do. I know you can do this. And I promise nothing will happen to Ezra.”

His words rang in her head, Sabine knew she needed to go. She had to go. If she didn’t more might die. But even as she nodded her head, her chest constricted. “I…I’ll go…but…”

“He’ll be okay Sabine.”

Kanan heard Sabine’s jetpack start up. Through the Force, he felt her hesitate, and he could almost imagine her looking back at Ezra one more time. He smiled at her and nodded encouragingly. And then her presence was gone.

The smile dropped immediately. Kanan had to be there for Sabine. Even in the nose gun, he had felt her pain, her fear. There was no way he could’ve ignored that. He also couldn’t ignore the worry he felt radiating from the rest of the crew, especially Hera. Kanan didn’t need to see her to know she was overwhelmed with worry for Ezra. Everyone was worried, and that’s why Kanan had to be strong.

When the gravity well had exploded, Kanan had felt it immediately. He felt all the explosions around him, especially when those resulted in death. But the gravity well was different. Because it was Ezra. Ezra, the boy who had taught Kanan so much. Who had helped make him the man he was today. There was a connection between them. One that nothing could damage. One that linked them closer than any other person. And now it was weak. Kanan could feel how frail Ezra’s Force signature was. Surviving this would be a miracle.

But Kanan couldn’t tell the crew. Not yet. They needed to get away. Phoenix Squadron needed to escape first. If they knew just how critical Ezra’s condition was, no one would be able to focus.

Making his way carefully to Ezra, Kanan gently picked up his apprentice – a boy who had become more than just a padawan. Jedi weren’t supposed to have families, they weren’t supposed to get attached. But Kanan had failed miserably on that part. After all of the pain of losing loved ones, he had learned to love again. First with Hera, and then with the rest of the crew. Especially Ezra. A boy he understood, a boy who was so like him. He was like a son, the only son Kanan would ever had. And the thought of losing him broke his heart.

“Ezra…” he whispered softly. “Please don’t give up…”

Getting into hyperspace was a relief. It wasn’t a victory, it was barley even a success. But they had escaped. Hera’s worries weren’t over however. Ever since she had gotten Sabine’s comm, she had pushed her emotions down. She had to stay in control, had to keep her head about her if they were ever going to get away from Atollon. But despite her best efforts, a knot of worry had built up in her chest. Kanan had assured her that Ezra was okay. He had sounded so sure. Hera wanted to trust his word. Kanan knew Ezra best, but something still felt…wrong.

“Chopper, take the Ghost, calculate a hyperspace jump in-between here and Yavin,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady even as her feet sped up. She had to see Ezra for herself, she had to know.

Sliding down the ladder into the cargo bay, Hera’s eyes were immediately drawn towards Kanan, who was carefully holding Ezra, talking quietly to him.

At first, Hera thought maybe that was a good sign. Maybe Ezra was conscious, if he was awake, he would be okay. But then she noticed the pallor of his skin, and then Kanan’s voice reached her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ezra…”

In a different situation, those words might’ve been comforting, but not now. The pain in Kanan’s voice was real. He was begging Ezra to stay alive…

The realization rammed into Hera. She felt weak, her legs shook. But she forced herself to walk forward.

Kanan looked up quickly as she neared. Even without his eyes, she could tell how distraught he was and she realized he knew this whole time. He had known how bad it was, but he hadn’t told anyone. Because he knew they needed to focus.

“Hera…” his voice was so quiet, so scared.

And that was all the confirmation she needed. Falling to her knees next to Ezra, Hera forced herself to look at him. The boy who had joined her crew almost on accident, but had made it far better. Who had been through so much and had still grown into a strong and kind teenager. Yes, there were times when he infuriated her, but nothing he did would ever make her care about him less. And now here he was, on death’s door…

“There has to be something we can do. I might have some bacta in the med room. And then when we get to Yavin I’m sure they have a med center there and he’ll be okay and-” Hera’s voice broke. All the emotions she had been burying came to the surface, and the pain was just too real. She could lose Ezra today…and she wasn’t ready for that.

“I can go check if you want to…to stay with him.” Kanan’s voice was still quiet, still hurting, but despite that, he was still trying to be strong. For her.

Hera opened her mouth, about to argue that she could go. But then she looked at Ezra again and her heart broke. She couldn’t leave him like this. It was only now she realized Sabine’s hesitance to leave during the battle. Reaching out, she placed her hand under Kanan’s, and carefully took him from Kanan. Most of his body was on the ground still, but she held his chest up, just as Kanan had been doing. As if reassuring Ezra that they were there.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kanan said before climbing the ladder out of the hold.

Once again, Hera looked down at Ezra. She could barely see the rise and fall of his chest, and his body felt colder than it should.

“Oh Ezra…sweetheart…” her voice trailed off as she caressed his head in her hand before pulling him close. “Please don’t go…”

[ryukoishida]

OtaYuri Week | Day 1: First Time | In which figure skaters become mobile suit pilots in this self-indulgent Gundam AU.

Written for @otayuriweek

Title: Touch of the Martian Sun Day/Prompt: Day 1 – First Time Author: ryukoishida Summary: Yuri Plisetsky may have the eyes of a soldier, but even the bravest warrior and one of the most formidable Mobile Suit pilots in Korishiro Corps can break at the seams when he reaches his limit. [Gundam (Iron-Blooded Orphans ‘Verse) AU] Rating: T Warning: Mention of past physical and emotional abuse A/N: That Gundam AU that literally nobody asked for. Also includes some Mila/Sara because I couldn’t resist. This is one of the most self-indulgent things I’ve ever written, probably. You don’t need to know anything about the Gundam ‘verse except it’s kids piloting giant fighting robots.

-

“Yuri, what the hell are you doing?”

His captain’s voice is grainy through the intercom, but his hands – slender, graceful, scarred with old and recent wounds – continue to move like a fluttering dance, pushing buttons and pulling levers.

Every movement delicate and precise. Deadly.

Connected through the Alaya-Vijnana System embedded into his spine, his mobile suit, a customized version of Rhyannon – towering at over 18 meters tall and made of nano laminate armour painted with contrasting shades of ink black and cardinal red – propels itself across the field in smooth, effective arcs as if it’s an extension of his own body.

A red warning sign flashes hastily in the left corner of his monitor: one of his short-barrel cannons mounted on his shoulder has been severely damaged during the last scuffle with a particularly insistent Reginlaze. He still has plenty of armament though – sufficient to at least administer significant destruction against those who are foolish enough to engage him in a one-on-one fight.

His sea-green gaze is piercing, darting left and right in quick succession to try and see through the thick sheen of red dust swirling a wild waltz that refuses to settle as multiple mobile suits drift and cross paths in such speed only the sun catches glimpses of their shapes in specks of reflected light against metal.

In the back of his mind, Yuri can faintly make out the other man’s voice but his focus has been splashed bright red with fresh blood and the endless fury brought on by the memory of those animals in human disguise, their voices and words and agony inflicted by them that still rips him away from peaceful slumber, causing him to wake up drenched in cold sweat and lingering fear.

“I’m not letting those bastards get away this time,” Yuri grits out, fingers drumming irritably on the control grips as he searches for the ragged shapes of the enemy troop’s Reginlazes and Hugos.

As big and bulky as these machines are, in this thick curtain of dust, they are impossible to detect with the naked eye.

Yuri waits, the coldness in his eyes unforgiving. He’s waited for this chance for almost a year since the day Yuuri Katsuki found him among the wreckage of what used to be one of Afanasiy’s largest ships; a few minutes’ time means nothing to him right now.

“Yuri Plisetsky, fall back, right now.” Otabek Altin’s usually quiet and collected voice is clipped with impatience and tinged with a hint of panic as he watches the elegant lines of his friend’s mobile suit glinting faintly in the distant sunlight.

“You weren’t there, Otabek,” the statement isn’t meant to be in any way accusative, but the deep-seated vehemence breaks open the surface of his whisper, a chilling tone that makes even one of the best pilots in Korishiro Corps shudder. “You have no idea what they’ve done to me – to the others.”

Guang Hong Ji – a shy, sensitive boy of Chinese descent who was so frail when he was first captured by Afanasiy that Yuri thought he wasn’t going to make it through the Alaya-Vijnana implanting operation.

Leo de la Iglesia – a dark-skinned boy from the Americas with eyes full of hope and determination that gradually diminished as he became numb to the physical pain and battle scars, and the emotional agony of losing comrades who fought alongside him.

Mila Babicheva – a feisty red-head from what used to be Russia who rebelled against her captors until she became quieter and more withdrawn as bruises and lashes bloomed all over her body like a field of violets.

And those are just the ones who survived long enough – lucky enough, perhaps – for them to be rescued by the crew of Korishiro when the wall that had been constructed to confine them and iron chains thick and heavy around their necks were tear apart by Yuuri Katsuki and his Gundam Saleos.

Of course, back then, they had no idea of the influence and power, as well as the danger that comes along with it, that having a Gundam frame on their side would entail.  

Otabek’s voice filters through the stark images of his mind, tainted with rusted blood and bitter fury.

“Remember what Mr. Nikiforov said! Retrieve and secure the Gundam frame, and––”

Yuri can’t hear Otabek’s next words.

He breathes out, limp, blond locks fluttering and sticking to his sweat-stained cheek. His fingers grip the controls reflexively the moment Rhyannon’s sensors signal two mobile suits heading his way from opposite directions.

From the midst of the dust storm, two mobile suits armoured in teal and grey, with Afanasiy’s insignia of a red and yellow phoenix branded on their shoulders, emerge at full speed like some crazed ghouls seeking blood and violence.

Yuri will give it to them: bruised skin, broken bones, severed limbs, and pain beyond comprehension.

He pulls out his railguns and shoot at both units without hesitation, aiming directly for where the cockpits would be located on the robotic suits.

The one to his left explodes immediately, scattering fireworks of spitting flames and raining shrapnel.

His eyes flash towards the remaining Reginlaze, now less than five meters away with its blade brandished and ready. Yuri grins, the expression horrifyingly sharp and callous, and he shifts his control grip to face the oncoming attack as he unsheathes his own smaller assault knives.

Without any warning, Yuri throws one of the knives towards the Reginlaze, and the blade lodges itself into the crook of the mobile suit’s right shoulder, successfully disabling its sword-wielding arm. The young pilot wastes no time to get closer after one well-aimed kick lands his opponent flat and hissing smoke on the ground, Rhyannon’s other knife raised in an angle perfect for stabbing right through the cockpit of the other mobile weapon.

Blood roars in Yuri’s ears, and exhilaration rushes through his body like a living beast, making his eyes unnaturally bright and his lips twisted into a grin.

That’s when a shadow descends from above. Silent and unexpected as death.

Rhyannon alerts him much too late, the echo of the urgent beeping in his cockpit enshrouding his other senses.

“Yuri––!”

He can barely make out Otabek’s voice – he can always hear Otabek amongst the chaos. It’s a deep, rumbling river that always gives him a sense of calm when he fears the dark, uncontrollable storm of his emotions threatening to drag him past that threshold between sanity and madness.

It’s a thin line that Yuri has been straddling for these past long months.

The solid weight of the other mobile suit crushes him from the top, and the deafening collision – like a prolonged clap of thunder invoked by the angry gods – rings in his ears long after the impact.

A hit from a mace from the side sends him sprawling on the ground, and then the Hugo that’s been attacking him is stepping on him to ensure he’s not going anywhere. Metal groans and creaks around Yuri from the pressure, the monitor screens cracking and blacking out, and the safety belts strapped across his bare chest is cutting into his skin and pressing sharply against bones.

Black oils leak through breakages, and glittering sparks and small flames sputter from Rhyannon’s broken circuits as the Hugo savagely punches into Yuri’s battered mobile suit.  

The last thing he remembers is Otabek yelling into the intercom, “Yuri! Stay with me, damn it! Mr. Katsuki, we need to––”

‘I don’t need to be saved,’ Yuri thinks, fingers slipping off from the control panel.

He’s strong enough.

A rivulet of red drips into his eyes, sticky and warm, but he feels no pain, just a strange white noise buzzing in his ears.

He opens his mouth, prepared to protest but instead of words, he coughs out blood that tasted coppery sweet on his tongue.

It’s familiar and comforting, and Yuri thinks that’s the scariest part of all.

-

The rising sun on Mars is dazzling – disorienting, almost.

“Shouldn’t you still be resting in bed?”

Otabek settles beside him, two cans of chocolate-flavored protein drink in his hand, and he offers one to the other man.

“I got bored,” Yuri takes it with a nod of thanks, but he doesn’t drink it, just rolls the can between his hands.

Loose strands of his hair that have escaped the half-ponytail tied messily behind his head flutter in the breeze and fall into his eyes. Yuri makes no movement to fix it.

“That’s what I figured,” Otabek chuckles, the sound low and smoky. He takes a swig out of his own can, wincing when the saccharine taste of the artificial flavor hits his palette.

“How’s your fractured ribs?”

It’s small talk, but that’s fine by both of them. The morning is quiet, the Korishiro base a peaceful sanctuary without its usual fanfare during the day.

“Fine,” he replies, lips twitching, “still hurts like a bitch, but I’m alive, so that’s always a plus.”

His gaze is focused on the horizon, the roseate light of dawn making his pale blond hair gleam. There’s no humor in that bitter smile.

“About that, Yuri…” Otabek starts, but hesitates to continue. Indecision has never been a trait of the 19-year-old, who has become one of Korishiro’s youngest and most capable mobile suit pilot, and dependable leader of the Human Debris (though they don’t use that term anymore since the rebellion) – those who were orphaned at a young age and sold cheaply as child soldiers through various means.  

“Am I grounded from piloting Rhyannon?”

“What?” Otabek turns towards him with a confused frown. “What would make you assume that?”

“Mila told me. You had a long talk with Nikiforov the day after we came back…” Yuri places the beverage down beside him, and he turns to face Otabek, teeth worrying his lower lip. “She said neither you nor Katsuki would talk about the meeting though, so it must have been something serious. Was it about me?”  

“Mr. Nikiforov was concerned about you,” Otabek treads carefully, knowing full well that Viktor Nikiforov, founder of Korishiro Corps who’s known for his impertinent but oddly genuine nature, is not Yuri’s favourite person.

Yuri scoffs in a sharp exhale but keeps his mouth shut.

“Mr. Katsuki and I as well,” Otabek’s tone turns softer, dark gaze lowering to stare at the half-empty can in his hands. “What you did back there was reckless; you could have gotten yourself killed––”

“We completed the mission, didn’t we? That’s the most important part, isn’t it?” Yuri snaps, the frustration in his voice churning and the fire in his eyes barely contained. He lowers his torso into a defensive pose, but the sudden movement jostles his wound, and he hisses in pain while bracing a protective arm around his abdomen.

Otabek begins to reach for him, but when he sees Yuri curls further away, wordlessly refraining from being touched, the other man relents and heaves a soft sigh.  

“Not if it means having one of our own injured,” he tries to reason. “We could have retrieved the Gundam frame without engaging the enemy, but you…” Otabek sends him a wary glance then, “don’t try to deny it, Yuri, but you wanted to fight them, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did?” No hesitation or a hint of repentance at all. “If you’d experienced what I had – what Mila and Leo and Guang Hong had – you’d do the same.”

“I’d seen what they did to you and the others; I was there,” Otabek reminds him, and the image of when they first found the four youngsters in the rubble of the ruined ship was still painfully fresh in his mind: the bruised, battle-hardened bodies had been beaten – worst, they had been abused by adults who had exploited them for their own gains. He swallows hard and continues, “and I’m not about to tell you to be a saint and forgive those bastards, but letting the hate and anger control you like that – that’s dangerous.”

Otabek doesn’t want to say more – doesn’t want to belittle Yuri’s emotions or trespass into a territory he has no right to be in.

“You figure I don’t know that?” Yuri bites out after a shaky breath, gaze downcast. “Why’d you think I offered to go solo in the first place?”

He’s not responsible for anyone else’s lives but his own; he’s always lived by that rule. That’s how he survives. That’s all he knows how.

“Because Viktor can see right through you,” Otabek says, and he drains the last of the beverage before continuing, “because he knows, with that temper of yours, you’ll end up injured – or dead – if you’d gone on your own.”

He’s not wrong – Viktor does care, even if he has an annoying and strange way of expressing it – and Yuri hates that even more.

“You needed someone there to tell you to stop, and I guess that was why Mr. Katsuki and I were chosen for this mission as well.”  

“If he’s so worried, then why’d he let me go anyway?”

“You’re one of the best pilots we have, and Mr. Nikiforov acknowledges that and trusts that you will deliver in the end,” Otabek says with a faint smile, a quiet sense of pride in the curve of his lips.  

The older pilot turns to him once more, eyes searching calmly until Yuuri glances up to meet his gaze.

Something in Yuri’s eyes waver – the desire to believe in Otabek’s words, the wish to let go of the past.

“The thing about working in a team is that you have to trust others: you have your family’s backs, and they have yours,” he leans towards Yuri, and when he senses that the blond has no intention to back away, Otabek lifts his hand and carefully brushes Yuri’s bangs out of the way, winding the strands behind the curve of his ear before cradling his jaw.

At this range, Otabek can count the lashes framing Yuri’s sea-green eyes, perplexed and curious by their proximity.

Otabek needs him to understand this. “Yuri, you’re not in Afanasiy anymore; you don’t have to fight by yourself.”

Maybe that’s the issue, Yuri doesn’t voice out his thoughts, just quietly mulling over Otabek’s words, the warmth of the other man’s fingertips a slight but pleasant distraction.

It’s difficult for him to place his trust in others.

He’s never seen that as a problem before – never really considered it – but Otabek has saved him time and time again since he’s been accepted as part of the Korishiro family, and Yuuri – sweet, meddling, quiet-spoken Yuuri who’s like an elder brother to the younger members in Korishiro – can be fierce and frightening when his family’s lives are endangered. The trail of wreckages of those who had threatened Korishiro left behind by Saleos should be proof of that.

Yuri feels the soft caress of Otabek’s thumb across his cheek, the gesture simple yet filled to the brim with something he can’t quite name, only that it causes his face to heat up and his blood to thrum a melody not unlike the adrenaline before a battle.

But this strange pull in his body is unlike any sensation Yuri has ever felt, and he finds himself grasping the sleeves of Otabek’s jacket, knuckles tensed and wide eyes unable to look away from the other man.

“Yuri…?”

Wetness stings his eyes, and he can’t comprehend what’s happening at first. He tries to blink it away, but it only serves to blur his vision more: hot tears rolling down his cheeks and breaths shuddering to catch up.

Yuri can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe it was when he said goodbye to his grandpa back at the spaceport on Earth six years ago?

He had cried only once while he was imprisoned by Afanasiy after an especially grueling training session, which had involved lots of mobile suit simulation and even more beatings afterwards during physical drills. Later, he had sobbed into the dirty sheets on his narrow bunk bed while the other children feigned ignorance. He’d thought about his grandfather, still living and relatively safe on Earth thanks to the remaining savings he’d sent not too long ago.

That was when he made a promise to himself.

Otabek is the first person to see him shed tears like this since then – defenseless, all choked sobs and ugly crying that Yuri is unable to stop – and he thinks he should be afraid, ashamed, but when Otabek wordlessly wraps his arms around him, being extra careful not to bump against his wounds, Yuri can only feel thankful as a sense of relief flows through him like a serene current.

He lets go, bit by bit.

There’ll always be a small part of him clinging to the past – not because of fond reminiscence but because that imperfect fragment is one of the pieces that makes him who he is. Yet once he accepts that and moves on, Yuri figures that life on Mars, with those whom he calls brothers and sisters, is going to be better than he’s ever hoped for.

“Yuri, what’s the matter? Did I hurt you? Should I––?” Otabek starts to pull himself away, unsure of what to do.

“Don’t you dare,” Yuri sniffs, pulling him closer, or as close as it’s possible for his injuries to not protest too much.

Otabek’s eyes soften into a warmer russet, and he stays there, palm on the back of Yuri’s neck, as they wait for the younger man to calm down. Violent shaking eventually turns to slight tremors, and then he’s still as a statue.

“Better?”

Yuri nods into his shoulder.

“Woah woah, are we interrupting a moment here? Please excuse us!”

A cheerful melodious voice bursts through their reverie, and the speaker, a young woman with short, burgundy curls and bright green eyes, is currently draping herself all over another female with tanned skin and long dark hair bunched up messily into a ponytail as if the definition of “personal space” doesn’t exist in her dictionary.

The other woman doesn’t seem to mind much, though she does send her companion a meaningful glare.

Her exasperated “Mila, don’t be rude!” is said at the same time as Yuri’s nonchalant “Mila, fuck off.”

Yuri leans away from Otabek, cheeks rosy and streaked with drying tear marks that he tries to rub away with the sleeve of his too-big jacket.

“Sara, Yuri’s being mean to me again!” Mila Babacheva clings closer to her friend, who can only tug her along as she smiles apologetically at the two men.

“Come on, you little monster, didn’t you say you want to see the upgraded armament for your Stagioni?” Sara Crispino laughs and takes Mila’s hand in hers. Neither seems to be bothered by the gesture, and Yuri and Otabek share a knowing glance.

“Heading to the hanger?” Otabek asks as he gets on his feet.

“Yeah,” Sara nods, “you and Yuri should come, too. Yuuko’s purchased some new parts and she’s been itching to do some upgrades on Ulises.”

“I hope she hasn’t done anything to it yet,” Otabek looks uncharacteristically startled and even a bit distressed at the mention of upgrades and the name of his mobile suit in the same sentence.

Mila and Sara burst into simultaneous laughter, and even Yuri can’t help the small grin on his face as they recall the failure of one particular upgrade a few months ago.

“Never forget the hip canons,” Sara giggles.

Needless to say, putting short barrel canons on a lightweight class mobile suit’s waist has not been one of Yuuko’s brightest ideas.

As the four of them make their way to the hanger, Yuri asks, “How bad is Rhyannon’s condition?”

Sara glances over at the young pilot before setting her eyes forward again, “Yuuko was mad when they hauled it in.”

Yuri gulps nervously.

Yuuko never gets mad. She’s usually easy-going and greets everyone with a friendly smile; her only fanatic obsession is taking apart and putting together the mechanical parts of mobile suits. If Yuuko had been mad, Yuri figures he must have fucked up quite royally.

“That bad, huh?” he only says, throat dry, though his facial expression remains impassive.

“She said her team will need at least another week with it before it’s fully repaired,” Sara adds, and she watches with amusement as Yuri’s face turns another shade paler.

“Oh, hell,” Yuri mutters, stalling midway, “maybe I should, uh, wait until Yuuko’s done with the repairs before I see her. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be bothered when she’s clearly busy.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Otabek blocks his way before Yuri can think about turning back. “You have to help me convince Yuuko to stay away from adding anything ridiculous on Ulises. We have another assignment next week and I don’t want a repeat of the hip cannons.”

The women snicker behind him, but Otabek looks serious, imploring Yuri with his earnest eyes.

Staring at Otabek’s openly honest expression – rarely seen on the usually stoic pilot – Yuri hides the trace of a smile threatening to show on his lips by turning his head slightly away, murmuring, “Fine. Just this once – as thanks for saving my ass. Again.”

“Aww, this is great, isn’t it, Sara? Look at them!”

“Yes, yes,” Sara ruffles the other woman’s hair affectionately, “now let’s get going before Yuuko decides to upgrade everyone’s mobile suits.”

Their pace significantly quickens after that.

-

Explanation Time! Definitions (within Iron-Blooded Orphans Universe):

- Gundam frames: A series of 72 mobile suit frames that were produced and developed by Gjallarhorn (an international peacekeeping force) during the Calamity War 300 years ago; the Ahab particles generated by the two Ahab Reactors within each suit give it a lot of powers, which can be burdensome on the pilot’s body since man and suit are connected through the Alaya-Vijnana system.

- Alaya-Vijnana system: A man-machine interface implant that improves a pilot’s spatial skills and reactions while piloting a mobile suit. The surgery to get the implants is risky and many have died during the process.

- Mobile suits: A type of mobile weapon that is a humanoid combat vehicle. I.E. Giant robots that people can pilot even in space.

[sanders-trash02]

Thomas Sanders Hogwarts! AU. Part 1: Thomas

Thomas Sanders Hogwarts! AU

* this is my own personal au and headcannons as to what I think would happen if our favourite goofball Thomas and his friends attended Hogwarts at the same time as the golden trio. There are several ties to Ilvermorney school and the American magical world so as not to discount Thomas's American heritage (or anyone's for that matter). There is also several mentions of the Irish witch Isolt Sayer and her story as the founder of Ilvermorney.

Some personal details including family members, lineage and hometowns are completely fictional so as to preserve privacy for the real people featured in this story and the information is obviously not available to me or online so I had to make stuff up. Some facts including dates and locations have also been altered from the original stories for the benefit of the story.

Enjoy the au .*

Name: Thomas Godric Sanders

House: Hufflepuff

Status: Half blood ( Muggle mother, Wizard father)

Family History:

Alastair sanders and Gwenivere O'Neill  were two of the many people to board the mayflower as it sailed towards the new world along with their dear friend Isolt Sayer from their childhood.

Years passed as they hid from the murderous Gormlaith Gaunt and while Isolt found James, Webster and Chadwick, thus forming the wizard school Ilvermorney. Alastair and Gwenivere travelled west in search of new witches and wizard tribes in the new world. Along the way Alastair encountered an Obskuris and attempted to banish it in hopes of saving Gwenivere, whom he had fallen deeply in love with, in the process getting deeply injured. Sensing the grief that radiated from the small cottage in what is now modern day Arizona. A phoenix swooped down from the sky and witnessed the distraught Gwenivere weeping over Alastair, (who had fallen into a comatose state in an attempt to heal his injuries) the sorrow and heartbreak that Gwenivere exuded drew pity from the phoenix who layed down on  Alastair's chest and wept for the young lovers in their plight. For four days both the phoenix and Gwenivere wept at Alastair's side until the phoenix promptly shot up into the air and burst into flames. At that moment Alastair awoke, his injuries healed (this event in turn is the cause of the phoenix being a symbol of house sanders in the wizarding world). He and Gwenivere promptly married and headed back to the east to settle down in Massachusetts for their children Aradia and Evanora, their daughters, and Alatair, their son, to attend Ilvermorney.

Their pureblood lineage continued for many years until Halloween night in the year 1959 with the birth of Fabian Sanders. Always the rebel in his family he was the first child of the Sanders name to be sorted into Wampus house since Alastair himself (who in Hogwarts belonged to house Gryffindor but with the founding of Ilvermorney by his dear friend Isolt Sayer was promptly sorted into Wampus house)

While their bloodline held a steady stream of members of Horned Serpent house (including Alastair's wife Gwenivere).  Fabian's status as rebel and rule breaker only strengthened when at 17 years old he met a young No-Maj named Blair Smith, a seamstress working in a shop in the town of Salem where his family lived. Fabian quickly fell deeply in love with Blair and disclosed his true magical heritage to her. When their love remained true Fabian Sanders proposed to Blair on the hill of Greylock, which to Blair simply looked like a beautiful hill overlooking a valley with a lake, but it in fact was the true grounds of Ilvermorney school. Fabian's father warned him of the consequences of marrying a No-Maj in America as it was outlawed until 1986. He however did not discourage Fabian and instead gave him an intricate iron key with an emerald ribbon. This was the key to the Sanders family estate in the town of Killarney in County Kerry. The birth place of Alastair Sanders, Gwenivere O'Neill and Isolt Sayer. Fabian and Blair moved to Ireland, married and had four sons. Patrick, Christian, Shea and Thomas.

Childhood:

Patrick was the eldest son of Fabian and Blair, he grew up surrounded by the magic that his father performed in his everyday life, when he became curious about why his mother never performed magic she told him some people simply held no magical qualities and that even though they were ordinary they still were equal in the eyes of her and Fabian and other people who accepted non magic folk.

Patrick began to worry that he might never show any signs of magic in his childhood but sure enough at the age of nine she managed to unknowingly levitate himself and his brothers Christian and Thomas without the use of a wand.

Similar things occured for each brother and at 11 years old every brother received their letters inviting them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Both Patrick and Christian were sorted into Ravenclaw, following in the footsteps of many of their ansestors ( both Ravenclaw and Horned Serpent being houses that valued the mind and scholars ).

Thomas broke the chain however when he was accepted into Hufflepuff, the house of the kind and loyal. He received a letter from his parents saying that he was clearly a Hufflepuff from the day he was born according to his gentle sensitivity and empathetic instincts.

Shea again broke the mould being sorted into Gryffindor, the house of the brave and courageous (like his father who was in Wampus house).

Wand:

Thomas was chosen by an extremely rare wand upon entering Olivander's shop in Diagon Alley on his 11th birthday. After trying many wands a dusty old box was drawn from the very back of the store and handed to him. The base of the wand was a carved stone with intricate design that flowed into a prickley ash wood at the tip the wand felt feather light in his palm while also being a comfortable weight on his soul. A wave of the wand sent beams of sunlight dancing around the room and the warm feeling Thomas felt in his chest was  the kind of feeling you get when you drink warm soup on a cold winters day. Mr. Olivander let out a cry of joy and promptly told him that this wand was one of only three ever created due to its unique serpent horn core  and that it's brother and sister wand belonged to none other than Chadwick and Webster Boot. Adoptive children of James Steward and Isolt Sayer. His parents told him that it must be fate considering Isolt Sayer and Alastair Sanders were the closest of friends, and, for a moment, Thomas could feel the smile of Isolt from beyond her grave on Greylock Hill.

[bedlamsbard]

Since it is a Rebels Day of Sorrow, and I’m not currently actively working on this story, I’ll go ahead and post this Ezra scene (from the story that must not be named, part of my S4 AU) that starts in the middle of A World Between Worlds and is otherwise, well...pretty classic Bedlam.

2.8K below the break.

I’ve been here before.

It was Ezra’s first thought when he opened his eyes, his head spinning and his whole body aching as if he had put his finger in a power socket.  In a way he supposed he had, if you substituted the Force for electricity.

The sky above him was a particular clear blue, cloudless, with a pair of twin suns burning down on him. Ezra stared up at them in bewilderment until he started to see spots, then grimaced and turned his gaze away. He picked himself up off the rocky ground; somehow sand had already gotten inside his gloves and the neck of his stolen bodysuit.  It was coarse and bitter between his teeth; Ezra spat to clear his mouth and regretted it a moment later even as the sands swallowed up the sputum, the dark trace of the moisture vanishing almost immediately.

A desert planet with twin suns, he heard Maul’s voice say in his head, and looked hastily around, his hand falling to the lightsaber he had hidden inside his stolen armor.  But there was no one else to be seen, just an endless expanse of rolling desert that seemed to go on in every direction.  There was no doorway, either, nothing to show how Ezra had arrived here or how to get back.  There was only a small disturbance in the sand where he must have landed and laid for a time before regaining consciousness.

This was bad.  This was really, really bad.

Maybe if he wandered around long enough Master Kenobi would find him again, but Tatooine was an entire planet, and Ezra had no way to know if he had landed anywhere near the place he had last time.

He rubbed at gritty, already dry eyes, then started to strip out of his scout trooper armor.  It was rated for a Lothal winter, not Tatooine’s endless summer, and he was going to roast to death if he kept wearing it. Beneath it he had kept his regular clothes; Ezra freed his lightsaber from its makeshift casing in the armor and clipped it to his belt, feeling a little better at having it easily to hand. Not that there was anyone around to use it on.  At this point he would have even welcomed an attack by the Sand People, just to let him know that there was someone else around here.

It was tempting to pick a direction at random to start walking, but Ezra had something a little better than mere chance on his side.  Wincing at the feel of the hot sand burning through his trousers, he sat down, closed his eyes, and opened himself to the Force.

I need shelter, he thought.  I need somewhere I can get food and water – especially water – and a way off this rock.  I need to find out why the Force brought me here.

And then he had to go back to Lothal.  That was his fight, and if the Force didn’t understand that – but the Force had let him into the Temple in the first place, and there had to be a reason for that. He clung stubbornly to that despite the fact that the events of the past few days had shown that the Force didn’t necessarily have to have a reason for anything.

Yeah, but there’s a dark side of the Force too, and right now it seems like it’s been calling the shots.

With an effort he pushed his grief and bitterness aside, letting emotion drain out of him like water through sand.  Empty, he sat in the light of the burning suns, and let the Force flow through him.

There.

It was a direction, nothing more.  Ezra was aware of the Force moving around him in unfamiliar currents, something about it subtly different in a way that he didn’t – couldn’t – understand.  Maybe Ka –

No.

His skin was already beginning to redden as he unfolded his legs and pushed to his feet.  With a last look around at the wasteland surrounding him, hoping for and not seeing some kind of landmark to make certain he could find his way back here, Ezra started to walk.

*

He walked for a long time, only subconsciously aware of the twin suns slowly moving across the horizon. Each step blurred into the next, time both compressing into a single unending interval of heat and exhaustion and the slow spread of sunburn and expanding until Ezra felt that he had been here for hours, days, years.  He didn’t dare stop even to rest, not without shelter; the suns would roast him alive one way or another and they might as well do it walking.  He ended up pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around his head as a kind of turban, giving him some protection from the blistering suns, but it didn’t help much.  He could feel the Force shifting around him, protecting him, guiding him, but he didn’t know if the half-trance he had fallen into with each trudging step was due to it or the suns or the slow slide of time.

It was a shock when he stumbled up to the edge of a cliff and nearly fell over it, catching himself at the last moment.  A few pebbles trickled over the edge, bouncing heavily down the steep slope. Ezra put a hand up to shade his eyes, not entirely certain that he was seeing something real and not an illusion. There was a settlement down in the valley below him, a big one by Lothal’s standards and he was assuming by Tatooine’s as well, since it had even less of a population than Lothal.  As he watched, a starship landed and another took off; squinting, Ezra could make out the shape of spaceport hangar bays.

He let out his breath in a low sigh of relief.  The last time he had come to Tatooine he had spent some time looking up information on the planet, even though he had ended up never visiting any of the settlements; this had to be one of them.

It took him some time to find a way down into the valley, but he managed it eventually, trekking down a worn dirt path that showed the passage of people and animals.  There was no city gate or regulated road into the city; Ezra simply walked in, startled by the press of people after the calm, still silence of the desert.  He resisted the urge to throw himself on the nearest of them and demand water; instead, he let himself move among them, following the ebb and flow of the crowd like a leaf carried by a stream.  He wished there was a stream, but he didn’t think there was any such thing to be found anywhere on the planet.

Eventually he followed a group of Nikto into a cantina.  Trying to look as if he belonged, Ezra made his way up to the bar and ordered a blue milk and, apparently as an afterthought, a glass of water, digging a credchip out of his pocket to pay for it.  The bartender took the credchip from him and started to move away, then stopped suddenly and frowned at it, holding it up to the cracked lamp by the shelved bottles.  He turned back to Ezra with sudden violence that made Ezra draw back, startled.

“What is this?” he demanded. “Some kind of joke?”  He threw the credchip back on the bar in front of Ezra.  “You want a drink, you pay with real money.”

Ezra picked the credchip up and turned it over between his fingers, but aside from the regular nicks and scratches of wear and tear it looked exactly like every other credchip he had ever seen, down to the Imperial seal on the back. “This is real money.”

“You want me to bring the Hutts in?” the bartender said, one hand vanishing beneath the bar – either for a weapon or a comlink Ezra couldn’t tell. “Get out!  And don’t come back!”

“Okay, okay!” Ezra said, stuffing the credchip back into his pocket and holding up his hands.  The bartender and a few of the other patrons watched him suspiciously all the way out of the cantina.

He winced as he stepped back into the hot sun, the heat like a blast furnace after a few moments in the relative cool of the cantina.  He licked dry, cracked lips, thinking about what to do next, but if his money wasn’t good here – some Outer Rim planets, even the ones nominally under Imperial control, could get weird – then he’d have to find someone else’s.  Ezra hadn’t had to pick pockets in a while, but it wasn’t as though he’d forgotten how.

He drifted through the crowds for a few minutes, keeping an eye out for someone who looked like having their purse lifted wouldn’t be more than a mild inconvenience.  When he finally found one, a prosperous-looking Rodian, Ezra didn’t even have to use the Force, just moved with the rest of the passersby and slipped the man’s purse off his belt so smoothly he doubted the Rodian would even notice until he tried to pay for something.  He kept walking unhurriedly until he spotted the dubious shelter of a narrow alley, then ducked down it, relieved to find that no one else had had the same idea.

Ezra transferred most of the contents of the Rodian’s purse to his own pockets, then examined one credchip. It looked like the one he had offered the bartender – same size, same weight, probably the same metal content. Ezra turned it over in his hand, rubbing his thumb against the Imperial seal, then stopped abruptly.

Instead of the Imperial seal, the symbol on the back was different, something he had only seen a handful of times before – on old military surplus equipment Phoenix Squadron had acquired, and on the ruined droid ship back on Agamar.  It was the old Separatist symbol.

Ezra knew that there were still old Republic credits in circulation, though by Imperial law they were only worth about ten percent of the equivalent Imperial currency. Confederate credits, on the other hand, were worthless.  This credchip didn’t look like it was old enough to be from the Clone Wars, though, and when Ezra checked the date it was recent.  Since the Confederacy of Independent Systems hadn’t existed since before Ezra had been born, that didn’t make any sense at all.  And the date –

For the first time, Ezra remembered that the gateways led not only to all sorts of places, but to all sorts of times, too.  He’d – Ahsoka had come from the battle at Malachor.  If he’d – come out – at some other time, not just somewhere else –

But the date on the credchip was recent, and it was by Imperial reckoning, not Republic reckoning. The Emperor had reorganized the calendar when he had taken the throne, and this didn’t look like what Ezra knew of Republic reckoning.  So –

Ezra had absolutely no idea what that meant.

He dropped the Rodian’s purse in the street after he had stepped out of the alley, heading for the first cantina he could see.  Hopefully they’d take the money; Ezra didn’t feel like he could think without something to drink.

This cantina was much bigger than the last one, and probably doubled as a hotel or caravanserai going by its size.  Ezra cautiously ordered the same thing he had at the last cantina; the bartender didn’t give his credits a second glance, and Ezra gratefully slurped down the water and, more slowly, the blue milk, then ordered a plate of the special and another glass of water.  As he was making his way through the food and feeling a few of his higher brain functions return, the bartender leaned an elbow on the counter and asked, “You here to meet the other Jedi?  I haven’t seen you in here before.”

Ezra froze, fork halfway to his mouth.  It hadn’t even occurred to him that he was still wearing his lightsaber openly; so few people could actually recognize one these days that he’d gotten used to the idea that no one ever would.

But – other Jedi?

There were no other Jedi. There was just him.  The Empire had seen to that.  Governor Pryce had seen to that.

He made an indeterminate sound that might have been agreement and forced himself to take another bite, just so he wasn’t sitting there looking shocked.  Only after he had chewed and swallowed did he say, “What room are they in again?  That didn’t get passed along,” he added vaguely.

The bartender didn’t seem to notice his uncertainty.  “The suite on the third floor,” he said. “319.”

“Thanks,” Ezra said slowly, his head spinning.  He finished the rest of his food, drained the glass of water, and tipped the bartender with some of his stolen credits.  Well, apparently that money was good here, wherever here was.

The stairs leading to the upper floors were at the back.  Ezra followed them up, finding them clean and well-lit, and emerged onto the third floor.  The suite was easy to find; the door was directly across from the stairs.  Ezra hesitated, staring at it.  He couldn’t sense anyone inside; if there were Jedi staying there, then they weren’t here now.  But that was impossible.  There were no other Jedi, and if there were, they wouldn’t be staying openly at a place like this, even in a galactic armpit like Tatooine.

But if they were Jedi –

He went down the hallway and placed his palm against the door, reaching out with the Force.  There was something here, a faint trace of presence; whoever it was hadn’t been staying here long enough to leave behind anything more significant than that. Ezra reached for the door controls, on the verge of going in and having a look around, then stopped.  If they were Jedi, then breaking in probably wasn’t the best idea.  If they weren’t –

Ezra literally couldn’t think of what would happen then.

Exhausted, he sank down to the floor in front of the door and leaned his head back against it.  He probably should have tried to meditate, but he was too tired. His skin felt scorched from too long in the sun, he had sand in his boots, in his shirt, in his hair, in every conceivable crevice and a few that he hadn’t known he could get sand into, and Ka –

He thumped his head glumly back against the door a few times, trying to bludgeon the thought away. He wasn’t on Lothal, that was what mattered.  He wasn’t on Lothal and he had to get back to Lothal as soon as possible.  He just had to hope these Jedi could help him do that.

Ezra shut his eyes, then opened them again just as hastily, because there it was again, that rising memory of flame and heat and –

He dug the heels of his hands into his forehead, shaking his head back and forth as if he could dislodge the memory.  It was still there, though, all too fresh and all too recent, despite everything that had happened in the past few hours.  Maybe he should have been thinking about that instead, but it was too big to comprehend, too impossible for him to wrap his mind around.

He just had to get back to Lothal.

He sat there for what felt like a long time, half-asleep and trying not to close his eyes, because every time he did he saw it again.  Eventually, though, he felt something in the Force shift, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  Rubbing a hand over his eyes, trying to force himself back to full awareness, Ezra glanced up to see –

“Ahsoka,” he said, scrambling to his feet, but something was different about her.  Something –

Her armor.  She wasn’t wearing her armor.  And her clothing was different, a dark brownish-red tunic with worked leather tabards in front and covering her thighs, but her lightsabers were the same.

There were several other beings with her, a wiry Mirialan woman with diamonds tattooed across the bridge of her nose and a lightsaber on her hip, and two men behind her in the narrow hallway whom Ezra couldn’t see well enough to identify.

Ahsoka blinked at him in surprise, her gaze taking in his bedraggled appearance and then his lightsaber before she finally looked back at his face.  Recognition showed only belatedly in her eyes.  “Rat,” she said. “What are you doing here?  Did Master Windu send you with a message for us?”

Ezra felt the pit of his stomach drop.  He clenched his hands into fists to try and stop their shaking, but there was a waver in his voice as he said, “Whoever you think I am, I’m not him,” he said.  “I – my name is Ezra Bridger.  I’m a Jedi padawan.  I – I think I’m in the wrong place.”