#At least she could meditate and I’ll do…anything else

[aego-philautia]

I was like dead tired yesterday so I didn’t say anything but HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE QUEEN OF ETERNITY HERSELF RAIDEN BBG ILU💜💜💜💜💜

AND THE WAY SHE ASKED IF WE XOULD SHOW HER DIFFERENT BRAID STYLES LIKE maam I have a Pinterest board we could try. Her hair’s so pretty I could brush and play in it all day😭😭

I don’t even want to be with her I just want to be her friend so bad she seems so chill to hang out with like we could meditate together or smth

[weixuldo]

Allow me// ch 11

Vader x Reader

a/n: i’m finally back omggg! school has been so fucking busy lately, but here an update finally is!! ty all for being so patient with me :) and i’ll do my best to stay on top of the updates! enjoy!!

how long can vader keep avoiding you?

warnings: cursing, implied sexual activity

_____________________

Vader paced up and down the halls more domineering than normal; his aura was simply icy. Troopers bowed and scurried off faster than ever- it was evident the Sith was not to be tested today. 

Under his outward image, he was really just an insecure wreck- he felt he was too “vulnerable” with you so he needed to exude power and dominance to everyone else.

He assigned you a detail that would last mostly the whole day in a sector that he rarely visited because he was too embarrassed to face you.

Imagine that, Darth Vader, scared to confront you- not something you see everyday. 

His cape trailed behind him as he marched towards the bridge. He spent the day barking orders at the men beneath him (and force choking a few for insubordination too).

He ended the day feeling unrested and unfulfilled; part of him wanted to go meditate, but the memory of the last time there haunted him. Instead, he opted to tinker with his TIE-fighter. 

On the way to his docking bay he felt the familiar pull of his master. Palpatine wanted to speak with him…great.

He was already in a bad mood but now he had to go see what new bidding he was supposed to do. Begrudgingly he changed his path to head for the built in throne room on the upper level. 

Across the ship, you hauled your tool bag all the way back to your room after an exhausting day. Your brain was filled with worries and bad self esteem all day- you were tired and wanted to rest, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do that peacefully without knowing why Vader was acting like this all of a sudden. 

After dropping your bag off, you set off to find him. Over the weeks you had gotten closer with the Sith, your ability to feel his force signature became more pronounced. 

The halls seemed more frigid than normal without the security of knowing you were on good terms with Vader (hopefully things would be getting back to normal soon).

After wandering corridor after corridor, his signature kept leading you to dead ends, was he doing this on purpose? Just to toy with you?

The truth was quite the contrary- on the top deck of the ship, Vader entertained an audience with his master; bent on an uncomfortable knee. During their meetings, Palpatine always hid their signatures with his overbearing power. 

“Are you familiar with a rebel called ‘Sabe’?” the emperor groaned. 

Under his helmet, Vader’s eye twitched at the name; he was too deep into the lie that he couldn’t just admit right now. He knew there would be dire consequences if he admitted to anything but they would be even worse if Palpatine found out on his own. 

Deep down, Vader knew that his master was aware of the actions that transpired and was just playing with him before making a scene; based on the lack of audience in the throne room, Vader deduced that he was safe…for today at least. 

The Emperor loved to make a scene. 

“No, Master. I have not heard of such a rebel”.

Vader knew he would be punished eventually, but he needed to make amends with you before anything happened to him. He couldn’t leave you feeling like he played with your emotions; after a lot of thought he realized how you might take his unwillingness to confront you- you may think he’s angry or avoiding you out of spite. 

He couldn’t have that. 

So he would delay the inevitable for just a little longer so that he could put your mind at ease (even if it meant a harsher punishment for him).

“She has apparently gained some of our intel. I was just making sure that you had no hand in it, seeing as she is a former handmaiden" Palpatine hissed. 

She was a former handmaiden and that is the main reason Vader helped her, but the emperor had been extorting his love for his former wife for far too long- he was sick of it. 

“I am aware of a handmaiden named Sabe, but it was ages ago that I was familiar with her in any capacity” Vader spoke, slowly but surely. 

The emperor nodded his cloaked head and smiled a grotesque grin, “very well apprentice, you may go”.

Vader bowed once more before heading for the exit. He was going to regret this later. 

__________________

Eventually you gave up trying to locate the Sith; if he wanted to talk, he would make it known.

Sadly, that was the dynamic he had set up.

You sat at the desk in your room and idly swiped on your personal holopad; maybe you would go tinker around when more workers turned in for the night. 

Vader rushed through the rest of his duties for the day because he knew that he didn’t have much time until Palpatine unleashed his rage upon him, all his master needed was an audience.

The armored man knew he needed to explain all of this to you; the situation, the handmaiden, padme… as well as clear up the incident from the other day. 

He was on high alert because of the emperor’s watchful eyes; the last thing he needed was you getting involved with a danger far beyond your capabilities. So he tinkered with an old mouse droid and wired it to send a message to you to be more inconspicuous.

The mouse arrived at your door with a bump on the door; the message was vague but did the job, because in no time you had made your way to Vader’s chambers. 

“Hello?” you asked to the dark room. 

“My dear…” the darkness responded.

You thought you would be able to play it off as if his absence hadn’t affected you, but as soon as you heard his deep voice, your emotions got the better of you. 

“What is going on? Why have you been avoiding me?” you said, irritation evident in your tone. 

He stepped out of the shadows and exhaled heavily. 

“It was not my intention to-”

“It really doesn’t matter what your intention was. You still avoided me. You tell me you care for me but aren’t even mature enough to tell me why!”.

“I-” he stopped to look down.

“I was wrong to avoid you. I have no excuses for my immature behavior and I sincerely apologize, y/n. Truly, I do”

“I was worried you would…look down on me…pity me. And I was trying to avoid your disappointment” he admitted, making you confused. 

“Why would I feel pity or look down upon you?” you asked sincerely. 

“You know why,” he mumbled. 

“No, I don't” you responded, crossing your arms. 

“Please don’t toy with me”.

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about Vader”. 

He sighed once more and looked away, “Nevermind… I just wanted to apologize for avoiding you. It was nothing against you and I do not want you to feel slighted by me”.

You bit your lip and nodded. 

“Alright… thank you for relaying that to me”

His shoulders seemed to relax.

“But how exactly am I supposed to think anything else when you aren't exactly talking to me at the moment? V, I have been tormenting myself because I was worried that I did something wrong and you just let my thoughts fester. You have no idea the power you have over me…”

WIthout another word he gently placed his gloved hands on your shoulders and bent down towards you. Your eyes widened as you felt the exhale of his respirator against your cheek. 

“From now on, I will be more forthcoming with my feelings towards you. I do not wish this “misunderstanding” to become our constant. I will do better” he promised. 

The nerve under your eye jumped, making your eye unintentionally twitch; he noticed and released his intense hold on you. It took you a moment to process his declaration.

With a deep breath, you responded. 

“V, I care about you in a way I have never felt before… All I want is you to feel similarly for me. I know you may not be able to show it all the time, but that's why our private moments mean so much more to me.” you explained, twisting your hands behind your back. 

He listened intently.

“If you weren’t comfortable with what happened the other day, I would like you to tell me. I won’t do it again and I will respect your boundaries more, I just need you to voice them so I know not to overstep-”

“You didn’t overstep at all,” his deep voice boomed. 

“It was more of an…internal… problem.” he gingerly added. 

“Internal?” you asked. 

He sighed and made his way over to the bed that he never used and sat on the edge.

“I- umm.. I have not shared the type of interaction we shared in a very long time.” he started.

You nodded, “I know”.

He turned his mask from you when you took a seat beside him. 

“My body was not quite used to the strong feelings that surge through my system when you are so near to me…it still isn’t” he admitted shyly. 

“Those feelings aren't necessarily a bad thing, at least not to me.” you said. 

“Because you make me feel the same way”.

Vader could feel the warmth creeping up onto his cheeks, “I don’t think you are fully understanding what I'm trying to say…”

“What do you mean then?”

He took a breath before explaining. 

“When we were in my chamber… those feelings of passion got the better of me and something occurred that I wasn’t aware could still happen…You are aware I was injured many years ago, correct?”.

You nodded. 

“Mostly every part of my body was affected in one way or another…meaning so was my…”

Ohhhh.

Your eyes widened just a tad, but he definitely noticed because he looked away again. 

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of Vader, you fought hard and you're still here, thats all that really matters”

“Yes, but what I am trying to say is… I was just surprised when I- I wasn’t expecting…”

Before he continued to stutter out words, you gently rubbed his arm with an endearing smile. 

“Hey, It’s ok, V. Really, it is”.

“I’m sorry” he said in the softest tone you had ever heard come from him. 

You pulled him closer and he held on to your waist as you rubbed his back and assured him that you thought no different of him.

Maybe it was his age or maybe he had been deprived for so long, but he found himself able to reach a level of vulnerability with you that he never thought he could do again. Your embrace was warm and he allowed himself to lower his defenses ever so slightly.

After a few moments you asked if he wanted to lie down and he agreed. After adjusting the pressure and taking apart his suit, he ended up in your gentle embrace once more. 

In your arms he wasn't Darth Vader- the feared sith lord, nor was he the once great Jedi, Anakin Skywalker. He was just “V”. And nowadays, that's all he wanted to be. 

“I’m honestly kind of flattered” you broke the silence.

“Hmm?”

“Do I really have that much of an effect on you?”; he could hear the smirk in your voice.

“Do I really have to answer that?” he responded with his natural raspy voice and a smile. 

You loved hearing him without the mask. Of course, his mechanical deep voice still did something for you, but there was something so appealing about his softer spoken raspy voice; the gasses of Mustafar left his vocal chords scorched (much like the rest of him).

“Yes” you responded playfully. 

“Then, yes. You have a powerful hold over me” he said; his intense eyes burrowed into yours making you turn away and blush. 

“Turning away from me? Why so shy?” he quipped.

His gloved hand brushed against your cheek and you reveled in the feeling before grabbing his hand, mid-motion.

“How did it feel? Was it good?”.

His eyes widened and his mouth parted as you lifted yourself on top of him.

“I-” he started before you gently settled your ass over his crotch area. 

You bent down with a smirk and whispered into his ear, “now who’s the shy one”.

He exhaled shakily and felt his dick twitch; maker, it felt blissful. 

“I-it felt good… so, so good” he responded, placing his hands around your waist. 

“Before I knew it, I just couldn’t contain my pleasure anymore- not with you sitting so prettily on my lap”.

“So how exactly are you lying so still right now if we’re in almost the same position?” you asked. 

“I'm barely holding it together, my dear” he seemed to growl.

“Shall we fix that?”.

“That would be a pleasing course of action” he responded with a mischievous smile. 

____________________________

After some activities, the two of you cuddled up next to each other and talked about everything under the sun. Likes, dislikes, past, future, eachother… Everything was in high spirits until Vader remembered why he wanted to talk about this with you today (in particular).

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Vader decided to speak. 

“My master wishes to hold an audience tomorrow.” he said, staring at the ceiling. 

“What is it this time? Hopefully it will be short” you responded as you traced small circles on his chest plate. 

“I don’t think it will be quick. In fact the meeting may take several days”.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked, slightly sitting up. 

“I have pushed back a matter the emperor has been pursuing. I have lied to him to better myself but I know he has caught me. He is only calling an audience so he can make an example of me.”

“Vader, if you know that, you can’t go!” you exclaimed. 

“Unfortunately it is a position I have been in before…. There is nothing I can do to avoid it; even if I tried to, my punishment would be even worse-”

You sat up and looked down at him, “Please, you can’t. What if- What if the emperor..”

Vader’s eyes faded into the comforting blue and he propped himself up to your height. 

“It means the galaxy that you are concerned about for me, y/n. But no matter what happens, I won’t give up because I have you to look forward to seeing. I have you to look forward to being with when these insufferable trials are finished.” he brought your forehead to his gently. 

“But Palpatine? Would he… would he kill you?” you asked quietly. 

Vader shook his head, “Not as long as I am useful to the empire, and as of now, I am a key asset. But do not fret too much darling, I will return.”

Though his reassurance was nice to hear, it did little to lessen the tension in the force surrounding the both of you. Neither of you wanted to address it, so instead you laid back down in each other's arms and pretended everything was going to be ok. 

***

a/n: just for clarification they didnt have sex, they just did other things (saving the sex for another ch lol. sorry again for being so late w the updates 😭 lmk if u liked the chapter though!!

taglist: @vadersassistant @sxoulohvn @khaleesihavilliard @kashasenpai @darling-murdock @beautifulbearpolice @salvatoresister1 @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @blueninjablade3 @jujuba096 @missmannequin @jellydodger @mirastark @wyvernthekriger @duckyhowls @monada43 @lauriidoesstuff @vienettacream @ray-rook @itswhatever06 @ilovenielperry

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 11: An Interrogation

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, violence, being bound, being imprisoned, angry Astarion

WC: 3.5k words, 11/?? chapters

Summary: You spend the night in vampire prison and have a difficult conversation.

A/N: Did you know that Dalyria has a strength of 16 (as do all of the rest of the spawn siblings)? Because I didn’t until I wrote this. Now imagining Astarion’s strong sister giving him piggyback rides around the underdark… Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Ao3 | [Ch10][Ch12] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

You find yourself in what you can only call vampire jail.

After being discovered by Astarion, you didn’t have a chance to run. Between him and Dal, they apprehended you embarrassingly quickly. From your memories, you’re accustomed to Astarion’s lightning reflexes, but Dal’s sheer strength came as a surprise to you. You were gagged before you could get a single word out– likely because they didn’t want you casting any spells. While you wanted to resist, the worried look on Dalyria’s face stopped you. If I act too rashly, they won't hesitate to kill me.

So you went limp. Your bag was confiscated and you were tied, gagged, blindfolded, and thrown over Dal’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You imagine if Astarion had been any less angry, he might have made a joke about your situation, but he stayed unnervingly silent throughout the whole ordeal.

While you couldn’t see anything, you could feel yourself taken through twists and turns, down steps, behind doors. Eventually you were tossed ungracefully onto the ground, where you lay now. You can feel the cold chill of stone beneath you and something else drains you as you enter this new space, like a deep part of your essence has been sapped away from you.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape,” Astarion says, breaking his silence with an icy tone. “We have sussur bloom set up throughout the entire prison, and the door is guarded night and day. You’ll stay here until we figure out what to do with you.”

You hear him stomp off before Dal speaks, “It’s you, isn’t it? That’s why he’s so angry?”

Despite the blindfold and the gag, you can sense well enough what she means. You nod. 

She exhales a shaky sigh and removes your blindfold to take a better look at you. You open your eyes to the blonde woman crouching before you, standing in the doorway of what looks to be a prison cell. Her red eyes dart between yours, trying to see the truth you might be hiding from her. Satisfied with what she sees, she stands back up and says, “I’ll try speaking to him. If you are who you claim to be… thank you. For coming back.”

Without another word, she locks the cell door behind her and walks away.

You’re not sure what to do with her thanks, since you don't feel like you've done a particularly fantastic job thus far. So you just stare through the metal bars of the cell door for a while, trying, desperately, to ignore the ruinous sensation that the sussur bloom infects you with.

After a few minutes, you snap out of your stupor. You manage to get the gag out of your mouth after a few attempts and eventually give up on your wrist bindings after more than a dozen attempts. You suspect that Astarion’s skills with his hands have not deteriorated over the years, given how snugly you’re bound.

Uncomfortable, miserable, and drained of all of your strength, you lay down for your reverie. It’s likely nighttime, you guess. And it’s not like I have anything better to do.

__

When you’ve finally settled down enough to meditate, you’re pleasantly surprised to find yourself dreaming of the Hero’s Life again. You weren’t sure if you’d be graced with these memories anymore after their untimely demise, but you suppose you have at least a few months left until you reach full maturity.

Your eyes open to a desk full of papers, as your now all-too-familiar hands sift through them. Maybe there's something useful here, you think to yourself.

Despite your scholar’s eyes, the words are written in a language you can't quite make out. It isn't the first time this has happened to you in a dream, but it certainly is more frustrating than usual now that you're desperate for anything that could help. Your body makes some annotations in a code you've caught a few times– using the same quill you saw on Astarion's desk.

The symbols never stay long enough for you to decipher them and new papers replace them a moment later, but you get the sense that they’re nothing new to your former-self. The edges are frayed and they add fresh notes to already existing ones.

They spend hours at the desk, sorting, reading, writing. All the while, they just feel… focused. Their emotions are calm and it calms you in turn. So when a voice calls to you, your head shoots up in alarm.

"Darling?" calls your lover's voice, in a tone completely different from the one you'd heard only hours ago. It's soft, open, unguarded– much like the face that peeks around the doorway to the room you’re in. Your heart clenches in your chest at the love he regards you with. 

Now that your body’s looked up, you recognize the room as Astarion’s current-day study, albeit decorated entirely differently. Your past-self smiles at his appearance and asks, “Yes, love?”

“How much longer do you plan on pouring over those papers? I was hoping we might take some time to ourselves today. And I don’t believe you’ve eaten yet, have you?”

As if not realizing how long you’d been sitting for, your body stretches, craning your neck one way then the other. “Gods, you’re right,” you hear yourself say. “Alright, let me just put this away and I’ll be right there.”

Astarion tuts at you, undoubtedly knowing better. “I’m not leaving until I see you get up from that desk,” he says, eyes narrowing at you. Your heart warms, and you’re filled with affection. He cared about you so deeply and it showed in everything he did. Even now, as he crosses his arms and dares you defy his right to take care of your well-being.

So your body sighs, standing from the desk and placing your quill back in its rightful place. “ Fine, you win. But if I come back and forget what I was doing, you’re helping me sort out some of these logistics.”

“Gladly,” Astarion says with a satisfied grin. As you walk toward him, he holds out a hand for you. You take it gladly, and you feel your past-self filled with such devotion as they return his smile. 

When you wake, you find yourself in the same cold cell, wrists bound, eyes aching from unshed tears. No one is here for you now and no one seems willing to come deal with you. You wonder if you’ll die here before ever seeing Astarion in person again.

__

The next person you see isn’t Dal or Astarion. A few hours after waking, a large blonde man comes to your cell, bearing a pitcher of water and a filled glass.

“Drink up, elf,” the man says, gesturing to you to come closer. His tone isn’t overly demanding, nor is he aggressive. It seems like he’s merely fulfilling a duty.

You ignore his gesture. “Please let me talk to Astarion. This is all a misunderstanding,” you say, trying your best to keep the desperation from your voice and failing entirely. Your throat is scratchy and the water is appealing, but your fear of dying in this sussur-induced hell takes precedence.

The man– Petras, you think– shakes his head. “Don’t worry, you’ll talk to him soon. Dal’s making sure of it. And trust me when I say, you’re in there to keep you safe from us.”

Of course, that doesn’t come as much of a surprise to you. You did walk into a vampire's den, got caught almost immediately, and now find yourself entirely powerless to defend yourself. You decide not to dwell on that as you continue to speak to the man. “When will he come by?”

Petras looks at you with something in his eyes akin to pity, before shaking his head. “Not sure, he’s been talking with Dal for hours.” His eyes dart around to make sure no one is listening in as he changes the subject, “Are you really who you say you are?”

You only nod, and shimmy closer at the sound of excitement in Petras’s voice. It’s disappointing that these spawn siblings are more excited to see you than your former lover is, but you won’t waste this opportunity. “I am. I swear it.”

“Then are you going to help–”

The man is cut off by the sound of a door closing down the cell block. “I’ll take it from here, Petras. Leave the water. And stay nearby.” You recognize Astarion’s chilly voice, and wonder what terrifying look he must have given Petras for him to scramble to his feet so quickly. 

You hear the door close behind Petras, and Astarion comes into your view. His face is severe, brows furrowed and mouth set in a hard line. He doesn’t say anything when he sees you slumped next to the cell door, your shoulders hunched visibly in defeat at your losing a chance to speak to someone who would believe you.

He leaves your line of sight again, and you hear the scrapping of chair legs on the stone floor. When he returns, he sets a wooden chair in front of your cell and sits down in front of you. Another moment of silence passes between you when he finally clears his throat and crosses his legs. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

You’re shocked by the lack of anger in his voice. Dalyria must have gotten through to him! So you lock with his red eyes between the metal bars and plead like your life depends on it, as it very well might. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean any harm to you, to your siblings. I just… I-I couldn’t leave it like that. I couldn’t let you run away from me.”

Astarion listens to your pleas, tapping a finger casually on his knee as he does so. He has all of the power in this room, and it shows in how his eyes regard you with an open calculation. “I suppose if you did mean to harm us, you would have done so already,” he finally says. You wonder if that was part of Dal’s reasoning. Then, as if you’re having an entirely different conversation, as if you’re not in a cell facing certain death, he asks you, “So, what do you think of the place?”

You blink, mind reeling at the shift. “I suppose it’s… quite nice?”

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable the question made you. “Isn’t it? You'd be surprised at how much wealth a legion of spawn is capable of accumulating.”

“Yes, you have immaculate taste,” you say, hoping that that’s what he wants to hear.

The man ignores your comment, evidently not caring for your praise. “The real problem of course is that some things can't be bought. Like blood– especially in vast enough quantities for a horde of vampires. As I’m sure you’re aware, vampires have a sanguine hunger that simply cannot be satisfied."

"Are you going to eat me?" Your eyes go wide, wondering if that’s why he changed the tune of your talk.

He laughs at you, drinking in your fear like a tyrant on a throne as he leans back in the chair. "Oh I certainly wanted to,” he responds, after his laughter dies down. “Dal has convinced me that it would be… a bad idea."

Thank the gods for Dal. "Then… why are you telling me about the problem with, erm, sourcing blood?"

He looks at you for a long moment, as if expecting something to happen, but you’re not sure what. You wrack your brain, hoping for a memory, anything to come to it. When clearly nothing will, the man sighs and says, "I suppose just to complain. We can only source so much blood naturally without putting a target on our back. It gets tiresome."

You feel like you've missed something, a chance, and it frustrates you to no end to be expected to continue to converse normally and move past it. It's time for you to start grasping at what you do know. "In my memories the spawn lived in a smaller fortress, in a different part of the Underdark. It seemed dangerous. Is it at least safer here?"

His red eyes appraise you for a beat before he answers, "Yes, I suppose blood is a far lesser concern than those we used to have." He leans forward in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees to stare at you more intently. “It’s still dangerous, naturally. Over 6000 spawn attract a lot of unwanted attention, and not everyone agrees that we have a right to life– or unlife, as they see it.”

“6000? I thought you were closer to 7000?"

“Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t know, even if you are who you claim to be.” He looks down angrily, massaging his forehead with a few fingers. “We’ve lost a lot of spawn to hunters. To heroes, and to the natural dangers of the Underdark.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what to say to that, but you do feel a pang deep in your chest. A pain that would likely reach your very soul if it could.

“Well, now that you know all of that, I guess I should ignore Dal's advice and kill you!” He says it cheerily, and you gulp. Was that his plan all along?

“What if I could convince you not to kill me?” you ask, inching your body forward as you grasp the bars with your tied hands.

Astarion seems to think about it, but it’s plainly an act. “Hmm, how about… not a chance.”

“What if I were truly the reincarnation of your former love? Would you really send their soul back to Arvandor?” you ask, staring up at him through the bars desperately. 

You think you hear his breath hitch. He only says, “I would not.” His face is still, tone giving nothing away, but you can tell that the idea of it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“So what will it take for you to believe me?” you ask, gripping the bars of your cell as tightly as you can to hold yourself closer, knowing that this may be your only way to survive this.

“I don’t know,” he says, and his eyes are so distant that you know he means it. There may not be a magic word for this. He may never truly believe you, even if you hand him memory after memory. Astarion’s pain may run too deep for you to be able to navigate.

You reach through the bars for the glass of water and take a shaky sip as you think. If your current-self is too ill-equipped, you decide to think like your past-self. What would I have done? I would have been straightforward. I would make sure he didn’t run away from difficult conversations. If he didn’t want to see reason, I would have made him see reason. Can I even do that?

Anything is doable when your life is on the line. So you swallow the water and begin talking, “Dal believed me. Halsin believed me. Hells, even Petras, who I barely met, seemed to believe me. Even if you don’t– or simply won’t– you should consider that sometimes giving a stranger the benefit of the doubt won’t be the end of the world. But if you’re wrong, it sounds like it may very well be the end of your world.”

Maybe it's because of the newfound strength in your words or maybe Astarion just wants to see something familiar in you, but he watches you as you speak, hung on your every word. When you’re done, he only stares at you as he weighs your words.

After more than a minute of silence, you’re not sure if he’s going to speak unprompted again. You decide to hazard a question, “Knowing that, do you still want to kill me?”

“No,” he answers curtly, eyes narrowing at you as if he’s mad that you’ve convinced him. He sits back in the chair again and points a finger at you sternly. “But if you so much as breathe near this colony again, I will kill you on the spot, do you understand?”

A step forward, you think, breathing a little easier now that your safety is more secure. However, it doesn’t resolve the matter of who you are. “What if you want to keep me around? After all, I was your love in a past life.”

"Fine,” he says, and his tone is casual again. “Let’s say you are who you say you are. Why did you come to see me?"

Again, you think back to the candid confidence of your former self. Let’s do that again. "Because for as long as I can remember, you have been all I think about. You've been in all of my waking and sleeping thoughts. I don't know what my life is without you in it." Your voice comes out strong, honesty ringing in each statement.

Astarion seems unmoved. He clicks his tongue and leans toward you, and you get vague recognition of when he’s preparing himself for a killing blow. "That's all well and good, romantic even. But it doesn't get to the heart of the matter. What do you hope to accomplish?"

Your brows furrow, and the confidence falters with your confusion. "I… guess I thought…"

“Thought what?" he asks, leaning a bit further.

“I guess I thought… perhaps we could pick up where we left off?” Your suggestion comes out like a question. Of course it’s a question, this is unprecedented territory. In fact, precedented territory was constantly telling you what a bad idea this was, practically laughing in your face at the ludicrous endeavor– Rekindle with a love from a former life? Hah, who do you think you are?

Astarion also laughs in your face. It's not cruel, it's not silly. It's utterly devoid of humor, as if he hasn’t laughed with genuine mirth in years. His words hit you like a sucker punch, “And why would I want to do that?”

The insecurities from before start to bubble backup. You think of how he spoke of you to Dalyria, of how you pale in comparison to your former self, and you feel like sobbing. But you hold yourself together, clutching at the bars like a lifeline. You say the only words you know to in this situation, the words that have given you comfort, the ones that set you on this journey in the first place, “In one of my memories, you said you would love me in every lifetime. Don't you remember?”

His response is immediate and bitter. The killing blow he’s been waiting to deliver. “The man who said that was a fool who believed in love.”

You've taken a lot of harsh words from Astarion so far, weathered them and persisted. But with that single sentence, your heart shatters. The grand illusion of your journey is dispelled. The reason you made your way here is based on a man who no longer exists, all that remains is this embittered facsimile. The Astarion that held you when you worried, that took care of you when you were ill, that loved you– this is a mere shadow of him.

You’re not certain how words come out of your mouth, but they do. Your voice sounds distant and faint, like a light breeze could scatter it, "In that case. Could you let me go? I'm afraid I've made a big mistake.” Astarion may be laughing at you, he may be angry, but you find it difficult to read his expression as tears begin to well in your eyes. 

The man doesn’t comment on anything you’ve said, only issues a quick instruction for you, “Your bag is hanging near the door. Petras should be ready to escort you out.” He unlocks the door to your cell without another word. His voice sounds as distant as your own did.

You scramble to your feet as the tears begin to spill– you've tried so hard to keep from crying in front of Astarion, you certainly don’t want him to see you crying now. You’ve shown him enough vulnerability for a lifetime, you decide.

So you begin to leave, not noticing when he reaches out to untie your hands, nor when he seems to be on the verge of saying something. You certainly don’t catch the way he places a hand on his chest, as if only now realizing that part of his body could still feel pain.

You grab your bag at the end of the hall and wipe some of your tears with your sleeve. Before you leave the prison, you take a deep breath and call to him your parting words, “Even if you don’t want another life with me, please consider moving on. I saw your house, all of those lingering memories. You don’t need to mourn for another 150 years. I didn’t want that in my past life and I don’t want that now. Goodbye, Astarion.”

As you close the door behind you, you meet his eyes one last time. The only emotion you catch before the door shuts is fear.

[masterqwertster]

Hurt/comfort spell prompts: 14 or 18. Ashton & Bells Hells. Please and thank you.

14 Detect Thoughts Went with a little bodyswap snippet since it was "Ashton & Bells Hells" for the prompt, and Imogen's Open Mind ability is free Detect Thoughts.

Ashton knows it’s a dumb idea, but they’re itching to try it, to know.

After all, he’s never going to have another shot at this. Bells Hells is determined to undo the magic that swapped his and Imogen’s minds or bodies or however you want to define it. And he’s so fucking curious about how the pain of hearing other people’s thoughts stacks up against his own broken body. What is it even like to hear (involuntarily, mostly) how other people view the world and navigate it?

They’ve done dumber shit. They’ve done much more dangerous dumb shit. All Imogen gets from not controlling her mindreading shit is headaches, and Ashton runs the uncontrolled risk of those daily, what with the giant fucking hole in their head.

Besides, Ashton is going to be smart about this. The plan is thus: pretend to be asleep and wait until everyone but whoever is on first watch to fall asleep, then quietly shuffle off Imogen’s circlet so there’s the least amount of active thoughts when he tries this. It’s probably not even going to be all that difficult to sneak the circlet off for a bit, seeing as Laudna is still clinging to Imogen the person, not Imogen the body. 

(Honestly, he’s a bit amazed, if unsurprised, that Imogen hasn’t snapped about all the touching Laudna is doing. She’s certainly not letting anyone else spark that pain)

So Ashton waits, and when they’re pretty sure everyone is asleep except Chetney, whittling away as he takes first watch, they make their move.

“What’re you doing?” Chetney asks, barely looking up from his project as Ashton’s Imogen hands slip from under their blanket towards the circlet.

They quietly curse that they don’t know how to fucking move right in Imogen’s body, can’t even use their sneaking magic because hers is all wrong for it, to sneak such a little act past the old gnome.

“Well? Speak up,” Chetney presses.

“...I …I wanted to see what it’s like. Her mind shit,” Ashton says, voice softer and higher because it’s not his. At least his voice isn’t forced into her accent (though it’s weird as fuck to hear his own voice speak like that).

“You could try just reading one mind, instead of trying to hear everyone’s thoughts,” Chetney points out, giving them a stern glare.

“I don’t know how to do that. ‘Sides, it’s just a headache if I fuck it up. And you’re the only one actively thinking anything right now. Everyone else is asleep, maybe dreaming,” Ashton explains his reasoning. “I’ll put the circlet back on in a minute.”

Chetney gives them a heavy, considering look. Obviously poking for any other potential disasters that would make interference with their plan a necessity.

“...Fine. But you be real careful about this, ya hear?” Chetney finally assents, waggling a chisel at them.

Ashton nods (ignores the lilac hair that swishes in and out of view with the motion).

He takes a breath, settles, focuses. Like when Ashton does that meditative reaching for the earth shit that he’s still trying to figure out.

Then Ashton takes off the circlet.

A quiet murmur comes to ears that aren’t, much the same as when Imogen and FCG press into their mind to speak. It’s a little prickly, a little staticy, in that way that the beginnings of a sensory overload can be. But it doesn’t get any worse than that. Pretty manageable if you ask them.

(Yes, Ashton knows it’s only a few minds, specifically at a time when they’re not thinking loud thoughts. But he’s also had some bad sensory days with little option but to push through and make it work. At least isolation would help with this, unlike the pain that lives in his body)

They let the prickly little thoughts wash over them, breathe, adjust. Once they feel settled and sure, they focus, try to actually comprehend the not-sounds they’re hearing.

It’s mostly little flashes of emotion, of colors, from the sleeping minds around him. Joy, sadness, a little fear, exhilaration. Greens, blues, reds, oranges, browns. Just brief glimpses of dreams in progress that scratch like sand on the wind. 

And a grumbling watchfulness from Chetney that insistently pokes at their brain.

Probably shouldn’t be letting them poke this. But he did think the risks through this time. And it’s definitely lower stakes. Still dumb. Sometimes you gotta let the kids get the dumb out. Hopefully in a minimally harmful way.

The gnome’s thoughts aren’t flattering, but Ashton didn’t expect them to be. Watching and wary, which makes sense given the enormous risk they once took without talking to the group. They’ve learned their lesson though.

Satisfied with trying out Imogen’s abilities, Ashton places the circlet back on his head. The psychic sound cuts out almost instantly, that bit of pain vanished with it.

“You okay?” Chetney asks.

“Yeah. It was… interesting,” Ashton replies, thoughtful.

“Good. Now go the fuck to sleep and no more fucking around with Imogen’s shit.”

Ashton flips the werewolf off even as they curl into their blankets, eyes drifting shut.

I actually rolled for this. Ashton failed their Slight of Hand check with an 11 (9+ Imogen's +2 modifier) vs Chet's Passive Perception of 16 (so Ashton would have failed even with their +7 modifier). And then for the Open Mind Wisdom Saving roll, which was a DC 14 (8+ 6 people in range) and he rolled a 20 (19+ 1 WIS).

[silvergolddraco28]

Done For- Roleplay with @sanityisinthemusic

Chapter 2 God of Life

There was a loud knocking early the next morning. "Hey, wake up. I brought breakfast, and I'm supposed to take the cub back with me," a bossy woman's voice called through the door.

Wukong scowled as he got up from the floor having woken up late in the night unable to sleep and decided to simply meditate. He carefully picked up the cub sleeping on the bed and wrapped him up in the Scarlet red scarf once more as a makeshift swaddle. Wukong opened the door partly glad the seal he had used still allowed for those outside to make themselves known after knocking.

A bird demoness was holding a tray of bruised, misshapen, wrinkly fruits and a glass of water. "Open the door already."

“I did,” Wukong replied, taking the tray with ease by his tail while the demoness huffed, taking the cub from his arms with force and carrying the little cub like he was disease-infested.

“Needs a bath before Our Lord sees it.” she huffed. “You are a stable hand today so eat then find the horses you can't miss their stench you smell just like it.”

Wukong scowled. "Don't put him in any kind of deep water. If anything happens to him, you're first." He shut the door, tail wrapping around his leg anxiously. He sighed, picking through to find the least bad fruit and sniffing the water before tentatively sipping it. 'At least this is clean enough. Guess they don't keep bad water around.'

Finishing what little he could, he begrudgingly puts on the stable clothes and walks out to try to find the stables. And take his time doing so.

Eventually, he found his way to the stables taking note of how there was just one stable hand waiting with a pile of tools and a bin. The stable boy grinned. “Well well well if it isn't the Race Traitor finally getting Karma for killing his kind. These are your tools ‘top quality’ for you. You’ll have a full run of the place as the rest of the hands have the day off and our Lord was gracious enough to attach a watching shadow to keep an eye on you.” the stable boy grinned as he explained things.

"I have to do it all myself?" Wukong looked around the stables, frowning. It wasn't small. And with the collar on, he couldn't afford to make clones to help him. "Who decided nobody else was working?"

“Need to know and you are not the one that needs to know. Have a good day cleaning Dirty Monkey.” the demon waved his hand walking past the insulted and slurred at Wukong.

He grits his teeth but ignores the urge to punch the jerk and grab a shovel. Today was going to be a long, long day.

‘White, black, brown, mixed repeat.’ Wukong thought as he moved each horse methodically out of their stalls to a small pasture to wait while he cleaned out the old straw and any manure. He was able to get through about twenty horses until a shadow clone of the Shadow Lord popped up from the closet shadow with a fussy and hungry Cub.

"How is your first day on the job, Stable Boy?" The Shadow Lord approached, doing his best to hold the squirming little cub in his arms without squeezing too hard. "Afraid you're going to need to take a break so you can do your second job."

“Peachy. Twenty-five horses down.” Wukong replied heading over to a buck of clean water and washing off his hands before returning to collect the fussy cup opening part of his uniform up to allow Mk access to his breast.

"Fo think you were capable of labor. Wonder how you'll handle the rest of the jobs that were lined up for you?" The Lord mused, smirking.

“I’ll see what is in store if today is going to be on repeat for the remainder of my stay.” Wukong flatly stated. “Whose idea was it to send all the stable hands away and leave just me alone?”

"Oh come now, you're the Great Monkey King! Great Sage, Loyal Pet of Heaven." The Lord spread his arms wide, a mocking tone in his voice. "You shouldn't need the help of demons for a few basic chores."

Wukong scowled but didn't comment on the slander of his titles. “Fine if that's how it will be then surely the Lord of Shadows can manage to feed the young Cub on his own. You have your milk.”

"Oh dear, I didn't think the Great Monkey King would even abandon his cub." The Lord sighed dramatically before stepping forward, hands reaching for the cub. "Well give him here then, I'll just raise him myself."

Wukong turned his body away with a small growl. “Over my corpse.”

"That can be arranged." Shadows shot out from under Wukong, wrapping around his legs and dragging him to his knees. Macaqur grabbed his hair and pulled it back as he knelt behind him. "Don't say things you don't mean, you're not in any position to be uncooperative."

Wukong grits his teeth as the cub finishes, getting taken by the Shadow Lord and disappearing into the shadows with Wukong being released. “Shit…” Wukong cursed to himself while golden tears pooled in his eyes and dropped to the ground.

()()()()()

Wukong hissed as he stretched himself out from the grueling week of labor and acted as the Lord’s personal messenger bird when he had accidentally shifted into a hawk after breathing in too much dust and sneezing one of the minor and annoying side effects of his powers.

Today was the day he would be ‘training’ with the guards and he already knew they had something rather bold planned from their smirks whenever he passed a guard over the past week.

‘Something worse than just labor will happen today… I just know it.’ Wukong thought as he dressed in the training garb.

"Hey, let's get going already. Can't train without the punching bag." Someone laughed outside of the room after banging on the door. "Or what, the Great Sage just scared to fight without his powers?"

Wukong scowled at the insult as he opened the door getting grabbed by the shoulders and held in a rather tight headlock that was making him see spots as air was denied to his lungs.

"Wow, you're as weak as everyone's been saying, huh traitor?" The wolf demon growled out in amusement as he started dragging the Sage toward the training yard like that. "Training's gonna be fun."

“We got to put him in armor first! It should be coming right out of the forge any second piping hot and ready to be molded right into the Traitor’s skin.” Another pipped up grinning.

"Let's not bother with the training weapons today. We need more practice with the real thing, right?" Another piped up.

“Get the good ones that can even cut through Dragon scales.”

"Enough, all of you!" The bear demon whom Wukong had met on his first day roared. The field went silent, and the knights all straightened. "I understand you're all looking forward to today, but keep in mind this is still training. Focus!"

Wukong managed to break from the grasp around his neck rubbing at the dark and ugly bruise rapidly forming under the thin fur from the last week of pure stress and labor.

"Heads up." Was the only warning the big bear gave before tossing a wooden staff at Wukong. "I expect you to put your all in today. Your combat skills are well known and I want my troops to be ready for if real threat like you get in traitor." He pointed a finger toward a pile of armor. "That should be about as much armor as you normally wear. You don't stop today until I tell you to stop, got it?"

“Yes Sir,” Wukong replied neutrally heading over to the pile of old and weak armor. None of it would give him any protection at all so he sighed and turned away from the armor testing the training staff in his hands. ‘This will break if I try to hit anyone with it with my full strength.’ Wukong grimaced at how all the odds were stacked against him.

"Alright everyone, warmups are over. We're starting with one on one spare and then groups can try their hand. Everyone line up, I'll be choosing who's going when." The large bear called from in front of a ring of packed dirt, flattened out from hundreds, maybe thousands of sparring matches. He looked at Wukong and pointed to the circle. "Get ready traitor. My soldiers don't hold back."

“I don't expect them to,” Wukong replied as he entered the center of the circle and took a relaxed stance with the wooden staff angled against his side and back.

One after another, the bear sends in warriors for Wukong to fight. The moment one is knocked down, another fight starts. The bear just keeps calling out names.

This keeps going until one soldier gets a lucky hit… a sword right into Wukong’s gut spilling bright golden blood onto the dirt and making it shake and crack as thick greenery sprang to life sucking up the blood as Nature reacted to one of its being harmed.

You dare harm a Sage of Nature’s Chosen Vessel! The earth seemed to rumble with waves of angry energy rippling up from deep underground.

"HALT!" The bear demon roared as the demon who'd successfully stabbed Sun Wukong staggered backward, leaving his sword behind. Several others had been rushing forward when the command froze them in place. The bear lifted his great head. "My Lord! Your presence is needed at the training grounds!"

A neat instant later the shadow of the bear darkened, seeming to open. The bear stayed perfectly still as the Shadow Lord Macaque stepped out of his portal.

He only took a moment to take in the scene before he strode forward and ripped the sword from the King's stomach, using his shadows to block the wound. "Call for the medics, we'll need to treat him." At his calm order, the knights rushed to action. Macaque knelt on one knee in front of the wounded king, ignoring the blood soaking into his robes. "You'll be treated. Now calm the Earth's magic."

“Careful there… don't get that on your skin or risk being immortal,” Wukong warned with a weak smirk as he placed his hand on the gold blood-soaked ground causing his skin and fur to shift into magma-like stone with golden veins and bright gold-tinted bronze fur up towards his elbow while his eyes turned a solid green-tinted gold.

:I’m fine, Old One. Just paying back old dues for my reckless youth and being judged by a Vessel of Shades.: Wukong ‘spoke’ to the earth ignoring the pain coming from the shackle on his other wrist while the wound on his stomach knit closed with not a trace behind.

Macaque hummed. "I'll keep that in mind." He stood, his robes still tinted gold. "Once the medical team has checked you over and you've had some time, we need to talk."

“I'm fine. I don't need a healer and I can come with you now to talk without making you wait.” Wukong stated.

"More worried about what a healer might find, or what I might say to others?" Macaque raised an eyebrow.

“Bad experiences with healers in the past,” Wukong stated with a voice devoid of emotion.

"Very well then, your loss." Macaque looked at his warriors. "Clean this place up and get back to training." He ordered. The Bear demon nodded shapely and started shouting orders.

Macaque dropped them through a portal into his living quarters, where a shadow clone was rocking a sleeping cub. "Sit down wherever you'd like." Macaque walked over to the clone, gently taking the cub from it as it disappeared.

Wukong simply took a seat in a comfy-looking chair curling up in his soft fabric and plush feeling material that soothed some of his aches and pains. “What is it you wish to speak to me about unless it's just because of that minor accident in the training field,” Wukong questioned.

"I wouldn't call that minor, personally." Macaque takes a seat on the couch opposite Wukong, leaning back to let the child rest more comfortably on his chest. "What exactly are you, Sun Wukong?"

“What everyone thinks I am. A fool of a monkey that takes any and every blame without question and fulfills the tasks of righting the blame.” Wukong shrugged. “That is my life. If you want the real answer I suggest you use a nine-ring privacy seal. Not many know beyond Life and Nature.”

Macaque frowned slightly before sighing. "That will take a moment, though within my domain it feels excessive. I would know if anyone was listening." Still, the Shadow rises to his feet and approaches the King. "Are you in any shape to hold the cub, or will another of my shadow clones be required? He only tolerates them for so long."

“I can hold him,” Wukong assured taking the cub with a soft and happy rumble from his chest while his tail wagged in joy.

Macaque nodded, leaving the King with his cub as he began the arduous process of creating such an intensive seal. He used his magic to cover everything throughout the room, taking great care in the process. When he'd finally finished the setup, he called upon his shadow magic that was within the runes. They flared a bright purple. "Done." He went back to his seat. "Are you satisfied with this? Will you answer the question now?"

“Tell me what you know and I will fill in the rest.”

He hummed. "You have a strong connection to the earth. It seemed to react to your blood. It almost felt as though the earth wanted to swallow the training grounds. Your blood also has the power to turn someone immortal purely by being absorbed into the skin, which I've never heard of. And that sort of golden blood I believe to be associated with the highest levels of divinity, which is odd when you were a demon last I checked."

“I might be called a demon because of my eyes but I fall neither under the realm of demon nor celestial. I'm the Primordial Monkey of Stone one of four beings that fall outside of the natural order of the world.” Wukong stated.

"So you are the Stone Monkey." Macaque tilted his head studying him for a moment. Then he placed his hand on his chest. "I am also one of the primordial beings, the Six-Eared Macaque who can hear past, present, and future. But my blood does not flow gold or have such power as yours does, so that does not answer my question."

“The title of Sage comes with the connections to the natural elements especially when one like myself has spent a long time alone in on an island cut off from human interference. As for why my blood is as good as my fur? The result of eating an orchard’s worth of immortal peaches several barrels of immortal wine and a few bottles of immortal pills that were then cooked inside of me over nearly fifty celestial days. My blood didn't fully change until several years after I finished my task from Bubhha. Numa then claimed me as a Vessel of Life and her blood child.”

"So your connection to the earth is similar to my connection with the wind. I can understand that much at least. I'm impressed you kept much of this quiet enough that even the winds didn't pick up on it to share with me." He leaned back further onto the couch, crossing his legs. "I can see why you'd worry about this getting out. If the wrong people managed to capture you the way I have, they'd do far worse than what's happened to you during your stay here."

“That’s just the tip of the ice. While my blood can turn someone immortal it has to be pure blood otherwise it's a very powerful healing ‘potion’ when mixed with anything else and consumed. My blood also creates fruit-bearing trees of immortality when intentionally spilled on the soil. My blood can also be used as a substitute for runic ink.” Wukong listed off.

"You're comfortable telling your captor all of this?" Macaque asked, raising an eyebrow at the stone monkey.

“The Wind has been listening since the start. They control information the best and if you are their interpreter then it would only be a matter of time before you had found out on your own.” Wukong replied as he habitually brought his wrist up to his mouth and bit down drinking his blood to supplement the missed lunch and breakfast and to wake himself up from falling into a healing slumber.

Macaque raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

“Eating. Most of my food has been rotten or already eaten by the time it gets to me so I need to get creative. Even an immortal has natural limits they can't ignore for long.” Wukong replied.

Macaque hummed, glancing from Wukong to the cub in his arms. "And you're still able to produce enough milk off of little more than blood?"

“More or less.” Wukong shrugged.

Macaque sighed. "I'll have a word with the kitchen staff about at least keeping you well enough fed that the cub isn't at risk. I doubt it will do anything for the rumors they try so hard to hide from me, but there's little that can be done about that."

“What like the Dirty Monkey and the Mud Monkey insults or the whore and prostitute slurs? I nearly punched someone for slapping my ass while cleaning the palace and nearly castrated another for trying to order me into their bed.” Wukong vented looking a bit flush in the face.

"You're close with the second one," He admitted, but I doubt you'd hear this one with how quietly they whisper it. They're convinced your cub in mind and that you came to demand what I did in protecting you and 'our' cub from your many enemies." He paused. "Though that is where a lot of the rumors are of you being an easy lay."

Wukong snorted at that. “I’d castrate anyone before they dared to have me in bed and even then I've punted many that tried to take my hand by force,” Wukong stated as he nuzzled Mk his tail curling around him while his eyes grew rather heavy. He didn't last much longer as he finally crashed curled up in the soft chair and deep sleep while holding Mk close in a protective yet gentle hold while a gentle yet heavy lavender-smelling breeze played with his mane.

Macaque studied the god sleeping in his sitting room. "By the 10 Kings, I've captured a god." He couldn't say if this was worth the trouble, but they'd need to be a bit more careful with him from now on. He couldn't afford for anyone else to realize the truth.

Macaque stood from his seat and dismissed the barrier. He silently opened the large window in his sitting area, letting the wind rush in and take th secret so the day back out with it, snippets of the conversation he'd just had rushing past his ears, lightening the heavy atmosphere. "My friend, you've been keeping secrets from me again. So send my secrets high, higher than any bird could ever hope to fly, and never bring it back down." The wind fluttered his hair, pushed past his ears, and then it passed.

He turned back around, leaning against the window frame as he studied his captive and the cub tucked in his arms that seemed to share their attributes somehow. "Now, what to do with the two of you."

The wind flowed back into the room with soft giggling echoing in the wind as it whispered of things yet to come.

”Baba! Put me down!” a child’s voice laughed.

“Moon you're going to make Mk too hyper to put to bed on time.” the amused voice of Wukong chuckled. “Why don't you put on a shadow play about how you became a God of Souls to balance my status as a God of Life?”

Macaque sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening as he continued to stare at the two others in the room. "What?" He walked over to the two, kneeling in front of them. "But that's not possible..."

It's not as though he couldn't admit the Monkey King was handsome, but he had few friends, particularly within his territory. He frowned, eyeing the cub. Slowly, he reached out and ran his fingers over the little one's ears. 'If what Wukong said I'd true, that future is likely to change if they leave the island.' Having Wukong as his partner would bring too much danger to his kingdom. It would be a huge risk.

The wind swirled around him again bringing another set of whispers.

”Put him down, Azure! This is between you and me leave my Cub out of this! You got what you wanted now let Mihou out of that Soul Lantern!” Wukong’s voice seemed to ring with protective rage. While a cub’s cries rung in the background.

“You know I can't do that Brother. Not if I intend to make you my Empress and keep the competition away. Pitty how you found a monkey just like yourself in power to join you on the mountain yet so uninformed of your proper potential.”

A low growl rumbled in his throat. 'Azure... Azure Lion? I've heard the name, did he crawl out of the Diyu after Wukong killed him? They were in that brotherhood together.' He took his hand back and began to pace. He'd never allow someone to lay a hand on his lantern. He'd sooner kill Azure on sight. 'But why would I leave my home for Flower Fruit Mountain?' He froze, going back to the window. "I won't allow them to destroy my island. Come for me if you dare Azure Lion, or whoever else might be coming. I'll rip you to shreds." He vowed to the wind.

This place of too small for you. Your growth has stunted. You’ll grow far more and far stronger out beyond this barrier with the Vessel of Life. The wind soothingly ‘spoke’ to the black monkey. This Kingdom has stilted. It's arrogance has been shown. They call the Vessel of Life a traitor when the Vessel was tortured to turn against those who would not understand his bleeding heart nor hear his grief and suffering. The Gods judged him, the demons damn him and the mortals respect him… but none love him.

Macaque hummed, tail flicking uncertainty. The wind has always advised him toward what was best for him. But this was asking a lot of him. "You ask Mr to give up everything I've built for myself, for the sake of the one being in the three realms with no allies, only admirers, and a long list of bitter enemies." He sighed. "We shall see how things go. I trust your council, but if I take a mate it will be because I respect them, not for power." He smiled at nothing. "You have been good to me already in that department."

He closed the window, ending the conversation for now before turning back to the pair. His eyes softened as they landed on the little monkey. He sighed, approaching Wukong to take the cub from his sleeping form. A blanket fell through a portal, resting over the Sage's sleeping form as the dark monkey cradled the cub that shouldn't look so much like him. "Rest, God King, your cub is safe with me." He went to sit, and as an afterthought, he sent a shadow to collect him some sort of lunch. Enough for two.

[artemiseamoon]

Preview! Is this how it ends? Pt 2

Dark! Pope , TF guys, Rhea

Fic info/ masterpost

Words: 2,767

Warnings: the general ones I mentioned apply to the fic as a whole plus getting jumped, a fist and gun fight.

* pope’s look in this is like that 2023 Esquire shoot

Prompts used this chapter from these lists: x, x,

Below is a preview * read in full on A03

When Pope called again, Will was halfway in his car, Frankie on his way over. On the second buzz, Will picked up the call and growled into the receiver with gritted teeth,

“I’m coming for you!”

(On the other end, Pope chuckled, “Losing your temper Ironhead? What happened to all those calming meditations?’”)

Rhea watched nervously as a fire burned in Will’s eyes; he clenched the phone so tight it seemed moments away from breaking in his hand.

Will enunciates each word slowly, “I will find you. You better pray Benny’s unharmed.”

Rhea has never seen Will this angry. None of them thought Pope would actually do something like this. She felt nausea rise up her throat and a knot form in her stomach. Swallowing the sick feeling down, she tried to hear what Pope was saying to Will,

He wouldn’t hurt them, would he? They’re his family, his friends, he’d never hurt Ben, right?

(Pope: I bet you will find me. I made it easy for you. Let’s speed this reunion up Golden boy. Come alone, or Benny gets hurt.” Pope hung up)

Will cursed and threw his phone into the open car, it hit something, then fell to the bottom. Will paced, his hands on his hips, his face red and tense.

“Rhea,” he shook his head and looked down, shooting her a sidelong glance as he kept pacing, “I swear if he hurts Ben - Santi or not - I - “

She nodded nervously, then handed him her research, “I - I don’t even know - “she paused to take a breath.

They've been in awful situations before, scary shit but this, this is the worst and she's never felt more scared or worried about an outcome than this.

He took the envelope from her,

She continued her thought, “This is all Ben's movements up until he disappeared. At least what I could find in 20 minutes.”

Will nodded, his brows tense. He tossed it into the passenger seat. Will rubbed the back of his neck, pulled her in for a brief hug then got in the car. “Thank you.”

“I’ll keep looking, if I find anything else, you’re first to know. And if there’s anything you find you need me to look into - “

Will nodded, closed the door then started the car.

As the engine kicked up, Frankie's truck came racing up the driveway, he was out of it just as fast.

“I’m coming with you,” Frankie made a b line for the passenger seat, Will stopped him regretfully,

“He said to come alone. He took Ben, Fish, I don't- “ Will paused, then lowered his head again. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Read in full on A03

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[shadowofroses]

Doki Doki Doma part 3

Demon Slayer

Pairing: Reader x Douma

Warnings: Morality Debates, song lyrics, ruining Demon Slayer Timeline, fluff, angst? I think that's called Angst IDK, Itsukai, Gender Neutral Reader, Spoilers

Previously Part 4

Song: Devil Like Me by Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Summery: You give into your stupid human heart, and reveal everything.

Story:

The worst thing out of this all, was Douma and his cult took care of you, treated you well, much better than the original Time or World you were from. It’s been a year since you were in the cult, yet you still couldn’t get a gauge of when in the Demon Slayer Universe you were. There were no newspapers connecting to the outside world. 

How were you going to start this conversation? 

Hey Douma! When was the last time you ate a Hashira?

You already showed acceptance of Demons, or at least him. 

Hey Douma! Is Muzan looking for a couple of teens, one is a feral demon, while the other has Hanafuda earrings?

Have you by any chance eaten any beauties by the name of Kotoha lately?

Once again, you were lost in thought, this time, you were sitting outside during the full moon by the Pond, surrounded by plants. You had your eyes closed, and you were taking slow breaths in Meditation, hoping for an answer to be given to you. 

That was a laugh, if anyone were to answer you, they would scream to run, and not assist Demons. All you could listen to was your twisted mind and heart. 

Naturally Douma would pick this moment to find you. Eyes widening when he hears your voice sing out randomly. “Is the Devil so bad if he cries in his sleep while the earth turns, and his kids learned to say ‘fuck you’ they don’t love you~ Does the Devil get scared if she dies in her dreams while the earth burns, she cries cause she’s nothing like you, is she like you~” Douma stepped forward quietly enjoying the melody, “What do you want from a Devil like me, am I like you?~”

Douma resisted the urge to drag his fingers across your sides. “You are not like me Dove.” He moved to sit beside you. “Is something bothering you?”

You sat up straight, before you let out a small huff. Douma’s fingers found your wrist, he enjoyed just feeling your pulse, especially when it raced when he touched you. Honestly it wasn’t fair at all.  “I…yes, something is bothering me, and I don’t know where to start…” Well it started, there was no going back. 

“Is it your love for me?~” Douma teased, watched as you smiled, and felt your heart race.

Fucking doki doki go away.

“Well…I’ve already come to terms with it, but no it’s something else.” You rubbed your cheek against your own shoulder, “I…I need you to not be upset with me and let me explain something to you.”

Douma’s brows furrowed, “You could never upset me (Name)-san~ I promise you can tell me anything!” If it wasn’t your Undying love for him it had to be something huge, at least for your little brain anyway. 

“I’ll reveal information, I just don’t need you to be on guard about it.” You felt his cool grasp tighten a little. “I…what Era is this?”

Douma tilted his head, “Taisho silly thing…” but his eyes narrowed.

“Have you killed a Flower Hashira?” You felt the Demon Tense. 

“Yes.”

You took a deep breath, and he felt your pulse speed up dreading this one.“Does Muzan have you searching for a Boy with Hanafuda earrings and his Demon Sister on top of the Blue Spider Lilies? Maybe even a Lady Tamayo?” 

“(Name)...” his hand felt colder. 

“I thought you said I could never upset you, and could tell you anything.” you gave him a glance as he gave you a calculating stare. “I’m from the Future.”

[smolalienbee]

Just found your page and its amazing, especially your Geraskier content.

Could you maybe do Geraskier short fic with prompt 10 or 39 from the kissing prompt list. (I'm on mobile and cant figure out how to copy/paste the prompts)

hi!!! thank you, glad you've been enjoying your stay!!! went with prompt 10 for this one - "a hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it"

geraskier // Yennefer POV // modern AU; crack-ish fluff or fluff-ish crack

(send me a character/pairing and a prompt and i’ll write you a ficlet!)

Yennefer sits calmly on the couch when it all happens.

Geralt is meditating on the living room floor, cross-legged and with his eyes tightly shut. While she doesn’t quite get the concept of meditation in general, finds it too frustrating and with too little practical result, she doesn’t dare bother him. It’s what he does and she’s plenty occupied reading anyway.

And so their shared flat is completely silent, peacefully so. Or, at least, it is until Jaskier, who is without a doubt the nosiest housemate in existence, barges inside.

“I’m home,” he loudly sing-songs all the way from the front door. It’s an unnecessary announcement and so both Yennefer and Geralt react appropriately - she with a roll of her eyes while he grunts under his breath. Neither of them pauses their respective tasks, though, far too used to Jaskier’s rambunctiousness to let it get to them.

Jaskier, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring their annoyance, saunters into the living room with a bright grin on his face.

“Witch,” he greets Yennefer with a mock little bow and then he moves onto Geralt. And this - this is where things start to get interesting, enough so that Yennefer lowers her book to watch the scene unfold.

Jaskier steps close to Geralt, close enough that Geralt clearly picks up on his presence and grumbles something yet again. Jaskier, entirely undeterred, coos at him in response and then he... leans in. He leans in and kisses Geralt, straight on the lips.

Yennefer is sure that, last she checked, the two of them have still been dancing around each other without any definitive resolutions as to the state of their relationship. She is also fairly sure that they have never kissed.

(She would know if they did - Jaskier would certainly never shut up about it.)

And yet, Jaskier had just kissed him and Geralt, for his part, hadn’t even flinched. In fact... he’d leaned into it. Curious, indeed.

The kiss doesn’t last long, more of a gentle peck than anything else. Jaskier pulls away, pats Geralt’s shoulder casually as he does.

“Well, don’t let me interrupt you any longer,” he chirps happily and then has the gall to hum to himself as he walks away, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Yennefer stares at him as he goes, though he doesn’t seem to notice. She waits until he’s out of view before she gets up and follows him.

(She doesn’t bother checking on Geralt. The more the kiss surprised him, the less likely it was that he’d tell her anything.)

She finds Jaskier in the kitchen, cheerfully unpacking his groceries with some melody still on his lips. She pointedly taps her heels against the floor to get his attention and waits until he looks up before she speaks.

“So I see you two have figured things out, then?” she asks, leaning her hip against one of the counters. Her eyes remain on him.

“Hmm? Whatever would you mean, my dear?”

She raises her eyebrows pointedly, but Jaskier just stares at her blankly, as though not grasping what she means. Silence stretches on until she grows frustrated with his clear lack of comprehension.

“The kiss, Jaskier,” she tells him on an exhale. “You just kissed him.”

“The... oh,” he gasps softly. “Oh. I did. Oh fuck. Oh fucky fuck, I kissed him. I just - AND HE KISSED BACK?”

And just as Jaskier raises his voice, there’s a thud in another room, presumably of Geralt fully dropping onto the floor. Yennefer sighs heavily.

[studiojeon]

use me | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. i think you can read this by itself though :)

| summary | -   Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you.

warnings: language (?), mentions of hook ups and situationships. mentions of emotional trauma.

contents: a compilation of moments that contributed to the growth of their relationship, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read, jungkook is hard to read and sus. oc is kinda whipped and scared af. chaeryeong knows who you are and where you live. jk and oc are scared to let each other in. friends to lovers, idol!jungkook x student!oc.

author’s note: i hate this, but i have to get it off my chest. (the narration is off af but if i keep it in my drafts for longer this will never see the light of the day). p.s. thank u so much for the support on the last drabble <3

playlist: rain by trey songz (feat. swae lee). 

words: 4.75k

“JK?” as his broad back faces you, you call out his name timidly, not missing the way he swiftly turns around as soon as he hears his name come from your lips. Hair wet and darker than usual, a very big sweat stain at the center of his hoodie. He had just gotten out of practice, you assumed. 

“___?” he replied with the initials of your name as well, one of his tired grins plastered on his face, he must have been exhausted. You had caught on to him just as he walked out of the practice room in front of the elevator on your way to your office, right when you needed him, but now you weren’t so sure if it was a good idea to pester him. Even so, you didn’t know anyone else you could ask for help, aside from Linh who was currently in her own office doing other tasks you had assigned to her.

“Are you busy right now?” your eyes stare at him shyly, in hopes that he was willing to help you out, because you wanted to be around him, so maybe he could share a bit of his positive energy with you, the past week had been hellish.  “Could use some help returning all those heavy stacks of paper in my office”.

“Of course! Why didn’t you give me a call earlier though? It’s pretty late” he walked by your side and you enter the elevator, beginning your adventure around the company.

Jungkook was fun. Always bubbly and reciprocative, constantly trying his best to make you laugh and make the absolute best of your situation, even if he could be a bit stubborn at times. You liked the spontaneity he provided though, the way he would switch from one topic to another and how he would make silly faces at you whenever you locked eyes. 

He didn’t know, but in pure ignorance, he had just made your day ten times better. 

In the past week, you had received a lot of counterarguments, one by one, on how useless your management tactics were. Granted, you hadn’t expected for your ideas to be welcomed with open arms, but at least you had hoped they would take them into consideration. You had also been assigned a team, in charge of social media management, who worked monotonously and with little to no insertion in the actual target audience… your logic was: how can you advertise products to an audience you don’t even have the mere interest to know? You had designed a strategy, presented it, and no one paid any mind to you. 

But for the most part, you felt lonely. Had no one to talk to, nor go to whenever you needed your spirits to be lifted up.

Chaeryeong was busy busy with group projects and work. To the extent where she would get up at seven in the morning and come back at 12 pm. It wasn’t always like that, so you didn’t worry too much, but the fear she would wear herself off like usual still crowded your mind.

You close your office door with a sigh. Tired from everything, but somehow, your heart a little fuller, knowing that maybe you could use Jungkook in the future to give you a lift. Both figuratively and literally because he had offered to drive you home, being the gentleman he was.

“Why do you look like a sad puppy?” he asked you once you were sitting by his side in his very expensive and luxurious mercedes. Tinted windows and jet black shiny paint covered the outside of his car, the smell of air refresher and pinecone filling the inside. Mans was getting hotter by the minute.

“It’s friday night after the longest week of work. How can I not?” you put on your seat belt and lean back against the leather cushions. He pouts in response to you, with a concerned look on his face. 

For a second you wonder if he did this with most coworkers… being nice to them and offering them drives after having met them just a few times before. Kinda risky behviour, considering his position and squeaky clean reputation. You figure this would only last a bit before he realized he had more important things to be focusing on.

“Do you ever get chased home?” you ask randomly. 

With one hand on the wheel and the other leaned against his door he meditated on his response. “It happened once… And then I moved out, got a new car and everything. Shit was wild” he chuckles and you think that was the first time you had heard him curse, like ever. Jungkook, friendly and everything, wasn’t too big of a talker, but with you he found himself spilling, without giving it much thought. It felt refreshing to hear his voice and listen to his stories and the way he expressed himself. He was more interesting than he seemed, apparently. “Aren’t you hungry, by the way? We can have something to eat before i drop you off”

Traffic was hellish in Seoul everyday at every hour, and choosing to drive through Itaewon on a friday night wasn’t the smartest decision on Jungkook’s behalf, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Considering the demands of his job, he probably didn’t know his way around the city that well. You conclude taking a detour wouldn’t hurt. “I’m starving actually.”

He ends up taking you to a restaurant near your neighborhood you had mentioned being good and not crowded at all, the latter catching his attention immediately. It was a modest but nice place owned by a very funny and loud ahjussi. The man had lost count of how many times you had come down from your apartment at 11 pm and asked him to make you vegetarian tteokguk, but they were enough so that he could memorize your five orders by heart and the amount of saewoo mandu you could down by yourself in five minutes. You were making him rich at that point so the least he could do was comply when you gently asked him to shut the place down for you. Jungkook hadn’t asked you, but you knew how things could get awkward and dangerous quickly if too many people found out about him being there. “Ahjussi, you don’t have to” the boy protested as he noticed that the man had shut the blinds for him.

“It’s okay, boy. _____ has been single handedly paying the remnants of my mortgage for over a year now, I don't mind doing this for her.” he joked in his usual nature. already writing down your order and patiently waiting for Jungkook in front of you to voice out what he wanted for a meal. “And well, you and your friends are making our country proud, it’s the least i can do to thank you”

“Ah, thank you.” Jungkook bows to the older man. Your heart softened in your chest, seeing how considerate he was towards other people. He must be great with parents, you think. “Do you really not get that many people around here?” he asked worriedly once he sat back down on the wooden chair.

“We do! But she’s the one who comes the most often” he nods toward you and Jungkook smiles once he found your gaze, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. 

“Can you recommend me anything, miss?”

“Of course, sir. Yeol-ah, double up my order. Drinks are on me today.” You yell at the man’s son in the kitchen, who was still a bit older than you, but also close to enough to let you order him around shamelessly. You knew him quite well, actually. He was Chaeryeong’s boyfriend after all.

The tall boy pokes his head out of the kitchen door with a very confused expression plastered on his face. “Aren’t we supposed to close in like, an hour?” Chanyeol asks his dad in front of you.

“Just go cook, I'll explain later”.

The two men go back into the kitchen and Jungkook looks at you with an amused expression on his face. “What was that?” he laughs.

“I’m very popular, you know?” it probably wasn’t a good idea to go there, but you felt a little drunk on his voice that night, and you also knew your friend didn’t mind. “In fact, Chaereyong from ITZY is my best friend, who would have guessed?”

“Yeah and my son is her boyfriend, who cares?” Byung-ho yells back at you from the cashier, pulling a hiss from your lips. 

Jungkook still continued to stare at the both of you with confusion and intrigue, you guess he thought you were both joking.

“Wait, really?” he utters after a few seconds with big doe eyes and a pout on his lips, a combination that appeared when he was either confused or lying, which wasn’t the case then.

“Yes, my guy.” you laugh. “That juicy legged shortie is indeed my wife”

Jungkook loved the food, to say the least. It was all vegetarian and korean as fuck, a combination he never throught was possible, but downed like thristy camel. He was a loud eater, which was fitting of him and his politeness, something else you had noticed that night. You were the opposite, and actually despised the sounds of other people eating, yet, looking at him enjoying his meal so much made you feel full yourself. He made you feel like a kid in some ways too, brought back the times when being around others wasn’t so hard, and you still could have a sense of security around you. Talking to him was rather easy, maybe because of his welcoming nature, or because in fact he actually was interested in whatever stupid shit you were saying, something most people around you didn’t do. He also, amongst other things, seemed very interested in your job and the likes, always asking questions and absorbing information like a five year old. You had explained to him the five key steps of process design and the psychological effects on marketing in society to which he always responded with wide gentle eyes and attentive nods, not once looking bored or… annoyed in any way. 

Was he like that, with every girl? Because you weren’t anything special, there were many other girls who worked with him everyday and even if you hadn’t seen him in his work space, you could guess by the way most women in your company look at him whenever he passes by that either they were just as captivated as you by his beauty or that he had fucked them. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was just trying to get into your pants either, it wouldn’t be the first time it happened to you nonetheless.

“I can walk from here, JK” you mention once you found yourselves walking towards the parking lot. A bit sad about the expense you had just made on food, it was your fault for trying to seem cool and rich, neither of which you were. 

“Oh no, I’m not letting you do that, girlie” he unlocks the door and gets in, not even letting you finish or allowing you to fight back.

“My apartment is literally a block away” you protest in the car anyways. You fear you had been too much of a bother, and deep down, didn’t want him to feel like you were seeking his presence unnecessarily.

“Well, good for you. But, you paid for the food, which was a lot, and i don’t want my sugar mommy walking by herself at 12 pm on a friday night” you first freeze, and then burst a very loud giggle.

“Whatever” you slap his bicep and roll your eyes. “ Next time you can pay if it bothers you so much.”

“So there will be a next time?” wide eyes stare back at you. “Count me in. I´ll pick where we will be going, just lemme know when so i can plan ahead” he rambles, a little too excited about your suggestion. 

He drops you off with a smile on his face and hopefulness in his eyes, promising to see you around the company. You, on the other hand, feel a tad confused as you enter your apartment building. What was going on? 

You had overthought things so much your entire life that it suddenly became too tiring to do. During the past few years you had to learn how to detach yourself and just ride the wave sometimes. Once you had turned eighteen, everything started moving at a very fast pace, the pressure of adulthood fell upon you like a brick and everything was so overwhelming that you started to simply let the course of your existence take you wherever it needed to.

That’s how you ended up going out with Jungkook at least once a week for dinner or a drive around the city for more than two months. Without even noticing, he became so engraved in your everyday life that whenever he’d cancel plans because of work, you’d find yourself with a void in your heart and a rush of boredom filling your senses. Even if you found yourself in your living room with the company of your best friend whom you had seen at most four times in the past two months, you were still wishing you could share that intimate space with him instead, willing to let him a bit more into your life, in hopes that maybe he would do the same. Sue you, you were curious over the most intricate details about his personality, how his personal sanctuary looked and if the smell of his room is just as good as his car’s. You could bet a thousand dollars (maybe a little less, considering the unconventionalism that characterizes him) that he also had a few plants that only remembered to water three out of seven days of the week. 

Hopefully life would draw you closer to more people like him.

"How's your boyfriend doing?" Chaeryeong asks you from the kitchen counter, sweet popcorn cooking in you popcorn-maker. 

You sigh. "What boyfriend?"

She was a lot of things but oblivious, and you weren't either, just when you chose to be. "Cut the bullshit, you know who i'm talking about". The fake red head waits for your response as she pours the snack into a big bowl, and you on the other hand take this as an advange to search around the room for answers.

"He's just a friend" you say. "And he's fine, i guess… He doesn't really talk much about himself" you mention, matter of factly.

Chaeryeong nods beside you, understanding what you meant. Then, proceeds to tell a tale about her experience meeting the dark haired boy. "He's literally so quiet, but like, so incredibly kind. Once he tripped over and fucked up some of the decoration at an award show" she grabs a popcorn and continues her story. "He looked so panicked I thought his eyes were about to jump out their sockets — His eyes are huge, by the way." 

"I know" you smile.

"My point is, he started to help the staff put everything back in order again. I think he's the only idol I've ever seen do something like that… i decided i liked him then" her beautiful features light up with mischief. "I bet he fucks great too."

You slap her leg. Hard.

"I'm only telling you this now so you don't get caught of guard when he actually manages to fuck you," her soft hands run through your messy hair, motherly touches easing the fluster in your body. "You know he's a big whore, right?" She adds after a while. 

You didn't. According to Chaeryeong, who seemed to keep tabs on every single colleague of hers, Jungkook had quite the body count, not that you didn't have your suspicions before. Frankly, she only knew of two girls inside her company who had had some sort of situationship with him, but for the same reason, she also knew he had some history with other girls from different groups. "Yikes" you laugh nervously, in admiration of their ability to remain calm and collected without giving anything away to the public.

Thanks to your friend, you had heard lots of tea about other singers in the korean industry before, most of which were not as sweet or kind as they portrayed themselves to be, some even using their social status to get their way with girls. But for some reason, Jungkook had never made his way to your gossipping sessions, nor any other of his band mates (except for Jimin, who, if you remember correctly, used to have some sort of beef with one of Chaeryeong's company members). You guess it was because of his unproblematic nature that people chose to give him a pass for his sexual endeavors, not that they were of anyone's concern either. 

A knock is heard against your office door. "Miss _____?" A girl with a brown bob cut pokes her head through it, the dim lights of your office shining upon her incredibly healthy locks. "Jungkook asked me to deliver this to you" sliding completely into the room, she places a box with a note on it on your desk.

"Thank you so much" you wave her off as she walks right out. 

The package had a strawberry flavored canned tea and a bento box inside. 

"I remember you telling me you'd never tried tofu pancakes before, so I made some for you last night. Hope you enjoy! - JK

P.S. Text me when you're done, maybe we can hang out tonight."

You felt like crying, in all honesty. The pancakes were heavenly, and he even added some slices of avocado and a few scoops of rice for you, despite not being the biggest fan of the fruit himself. With a warm heart and relief washing over your body because you wouldn't have to waste money on lunch that day, you had had half of your meal before said boy gave you a call.

"Did you like them?" He said almost immediately. "My assistant told me she already delivered them to you" he adds in a rush.

"Jesus boy, calm down." You giggle at his excitement. "Let me eat in peace".

"No, tell me right now." he demands with a fake angry voice. Cutie.

"They're alright".

"Figured… you have no sense of taste anyways" the hangs up. A giggle escapes your lips. Boy was something else.

Later that day, the weekend started it's course. Jungkook had offered to drive you to the Han River, careful to mention the fact he prepared a bunch of snacks for you two just about five times during your call. The place was almost empty, given that the rest of the city was doing something else more fun than staring at the night sky while sitting on itchy grass. Yet, you wouldn't change the setting for anything else. Usually, when you and Jungkook were out, he'd be in silent wary of your surroundings and the people who could be watching you. It broke your heart, knowing that most of the time he couldn't frequent places most regular people had the pleasure of enjoying, like the movies, for example, or a food stand in the middle of the street. Still, in that moment, the handsome man in front of you seemed as relaxed as ever, munching on grapes and strawberries as he sat in silence beside you. 

"This blanket is so soft, isn't it?" he commented all of a sudden, caressing the fabric with his hand. The thing was made out of polar fleece, no shit. You just nodded and grabbed a piece of fruit from his container. "One of my friends gifted it to me on my birthday" he adds.

"I know. It was me".

"Well, maybe you do have a sense of taste after all" he complies as he lays down on the surface, eyes facing the night sky above you.

"Says the one who uses toe socks" you say back, poking his weak spot.

Instead of going back and forth with you as he usually would, he just winks and closes his eyes. He looked so peaceful and serene beneath you, features carefully carved on his face and slightly blushed cheeks from the cold wind. Jungkook was like that, randomly over confident and flirty with you, but just as quickly would refrain from even disagreeing with you in the first place, scared that you would snap at him. He hadn't told you this, but the way you saw thoughts hidden in his eyes whenever you made a statement let you know his true intentions, leaving you to wonder where that came from.

"Are you tired?" You ask after a few minutes. Still with his eyes closed, Jungkook denies.

"I just don't want to look at you right now," he turns to the side, back facing you as an offended expression finds its way to your face.

"Yah" you slap his back playfully, not letting him finish.

"Because you look too pretty." he mumbles the remnants of  his statement.

Your breath catches in your throat as a shiver climbs its way down your spine. Why was he like that? He had no right tugging on your heart strings like that (if he was being serious in the first place because you never knew with him). You sigh, the blush his words provoked stinging your cheeks.

"You're supposed to say I'm pretty too" he turns around with a playful smile, expectant.

"You just go around giving compliments so you can get them back?" you hiss. "Why so insecure?"

"I'm not insecure, at all." He sits up again, ready to fight you and anyone who dares question the grandiosity of the confidence he had worked so hard for. "You can ask Linh about that".

To say you looked horrified was an understatement, hopeful that what you thought he meant was not it. "You fucked Linh?"

"Well, that's not for you to know". 

What a gentleman, you think. And at the same time, ouch. He had just slammed a door on your face.

"That would explain the way she looks at you whenever you come by the office" you realize. Frankly, the girl looked a bit too panicked whenever Jungkook decided to barge into your space, usually bored out of his mind during his english lessons, laptop and notebook in hand, or struggling to get the questions right. 

"Well good afternoon to you too" you ironically greeted once he sat in front of you, frustration written on his face. Linh, who stood by your side, suddenly fidgeting with the papers in her hand.

"Not the time, _____" he slammed both hands on your desk, startling you and your friend beside you. "Why the fuck did you make me enroll into this in the first place?" 

"I did not make you do anything, dude. I just gave you an idea" you excused yourself, eyes back on your computer. You didn't miss the way Jungkook's eyes briefly followed Linh out the room, though. 

His eyes looked back at you, leg bouncing impatiently on the floor as he leaned back with a pissed off expression on his face. You'd never seen him this way, so you took that as a cue to enter under paid therapist mode. "What's wrong?" You questioned gently.

"I feel incredibly incompetent right now." His hands roamed across his face with frustration. A sigh escaped his lips as he held tears back. "School's always been this way for me, always trying my best and constantly underachieving" he explained.

He was obsessed with winning, you’d even go as far to say more than he was with his job (which was a lot). It didn’t root from narcissistic behaviour though, but rather out of external pressure to constantly overachieve and exceed expectations. He was mostly good at doing that, but everyone had an achilles heel, yours was reading for example, his was studying and school.

"Jungkook, you passed most of your classes with more than 90%, what are you talking about?" a fact he had brought up to you randomly when you mentioned absolutely nearly failing most of your literature classes.

"Yeah, except for English." he shook his head in the way he would when he'd feel conflicted or insecure. "I don't know what i'm doing wrong".

"Did you fail something?" you tried to get some more insight into the situation, still unsure of where all his worries came from.

"No, there's just this sentence I can't properly put together" he turned his notebook towards you. "Ah, just look"

There were some words he had to conjugate and properly place in order to form a grammatically correct sentence, more than five attempts written in neat penmanship on the page evidenced the boy's battle with the assignment. He missed one very important aspect of it, though. "There's a fucking word that's missing, dude" you explain, grabbing the pen from his hand and showing him where the mistake was. "It's not your fault, it's the teacher's".

Jungkook's serious expression didn't go away though. "Well, damn".

You had some sort of emotional trauma with having people ask you for help, it made you think that they didn’t actually care for you as a person but rather just your skills. That was the way you’d grown up and what your position in society seemed to be as well, the one you could butter up and taste when you got bored. Heart had been broken many times too, whenever you’d realize what you thought to be a genuine connection was merely pure interest. Those thoughts clouded your head when Jungkook would randomly enter your office with a frustrated expression on his face, yet, that occurred less often than it didn’t. 

Jungkook was not someone to establish relationships and bonds out of interest, you knew that. Or maybe not, truth be told, he was an authentic enigma, so open yet so closed and shielded from others to see through, and that didn’t exclude you most of the time, hence your wish for him to let you in a bit more before you could allow yourself to free fall into whatever was going on between you both.

You reach for the fabric of his hoodie, tugging his sleeve with your fingers just because you really liked the color of it, and maybe because you wanted to feel closer to him. He doesn’t react to your touch, just looks at your hands briefly as they play with the edges of his clothing. “Where did you get this from?”

“An online store, I think.” he replies softly, reaching for your hand on his arm, caressing the surface of your nails. “It’s a unisex brand, i can send you their link afterwards.”

“Is it too expensive?” you inquire, not only to keep the moment afloat, but because you genuinely liked most of his pieces of clothing, especially his hoodies and shoes. Jungkook laughs at your question and looks at you with a smile.

“I don’t think i would know, ____. I’m rich.” he says, playfully. And he was right, what was expensive for you might just be cheap as fuck for him, you wonder if when a lot of money is in your hands you start to become very tuned out from what’s affordable or not anymore.

“True.”

“I can buy you one, though. I don’t mind.” he adds. Soft look in his eyes, a pure and genuine offer that you had to deny.

“I didn’t say i wanted one” you lie, only partially, because although you’d not mentioned it, you did actually want it. “I just think it’s pretty” you finally let go of him.

“Or do you think I look pretty in it?” he pushes, a sucker for compliments.

“Yeah, that might be it.” you admit, because there was no point in denying your irrefutable attraction to the man, as much as you hated to be vulnerable, especially in front of him.

“I think it would look prettier on you”.

Don´t copy or repost please. by studiojeon on tumblr.

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context:  Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

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

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren���t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

“I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

[icerosecrystal]

The Love We Give To You

Mominette Month 2021

Day 02: Signs of Affection

Masterlist

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Day 2 was a lot of fun to write! I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, to make sure that no one is confused, I wanted to let you all know that this is not a continuation of Day 1.

It has been three months since Marinette married Bruce and became a part of the Wayne family. Bruce's and Marinette's had a great relationship. Bruce showed affection through cuddles and kisses. Not that he would ever admit to doing it. Alfred and Marinette had bonded over their love of baking, cooking, and mother-henning the children. They showed their affection when they offered to help each other. Whether it be with work in the kitchen or little hobbies. All of the children loved Marinette and showed their affection for her in various ways.

Dick loved hugs. The moment he spotted Mari in the room, he would bound over to her, a smile on his face, and squeeze the life out of her. She would always let out one of her tinkling laughs in response before returning the enthusiastic hug.

Tim liked to give her hugs and kiss her cheek in greeting. But for him, it was more his actions than anything. He would get her a cup of coffee and then babble to her about really anything. In turn, Marinette would patiently listen, adding her input when necessary.

For Jason, he didn't appreciate physical affection as much as his other siblings, but he still would allow some of it, but only ever from Mari. Jason would show his appreciation for Mari every time he helped her out with whatever she was doing. He would sometimes talk about he was feeling also. But his favorite part would be when Mari would indulge in his thrill-seeking activities with him. He loved that she didn't try to change anything about him, and he always did the same for her. He even tried to make a leather jacket with her help.

Cass liked connecting with people on a soulful level. So she would usually sit by Mari when she was designing something and meditate or even only watch her work. They would also meditate together at times. Due to Cass being born into the League of Shadows, she found a lot of physical affection to be strange. But she sometimes did hug Mari.

Stephanie was as enthusiastic with her affection as Dick was. She would bounce over and hug Mari every time she entered the room. She would also constantly cling to Mari and would urge her to make waffles with her.

All of Mari's new children showed her different signs of affection except for Damian. She didn't think that Damian should be as blatant with his love for her, but she wanted even the slightest bit of confirmation that he loved her.

A Week Later

Damian flopped down onto his bed in misery. He had just witnessed another hug session between Dick and Mari. Damian wanted that same love, but he was confused about what to do. He felt like he was betraying his birth mother by trying to show Mari love, even if Talia wasn't the best mother ever. Besides, why would Mari even want a former assassin child as her kid? She's probably happy with the rest of them. At least they were somewhat ordinary. Even Cass, the only other one that had only ever been an assassin, was a lot more passive than him.

He continued to mope about his problems before he suddenly had an epiphany! What if he tested her? He needed to make sure that she was worth loving. And so, the next day, when everyone but Marinette, Alfred, and himself was out of the house, he went to the Batcave. He then started sparring against some dummies. He was hoping that Mari would attempt to bond with him and offer to spar with him. And sure enough, after a few minutes of sparring on his own, a melodic voice behind him called, "Damian? Why are you sparring on your own?"

Damian, in turn, replied, "I had nothing better to do. Would you like to join me? I could teach you."

He watched as her face lit up with unspoken happiness before she stepped onto the mat. They both positioned themselves into a starting position for the spar. He then counted them down, "Three, two, one, go!"

He had barely uttered the words before Mari ducked down low, whipped her leg out, and swung it towards him, hooking the back of his ankle with her foot. The action resulted in him falling to the floor. He quickly jumped up and kicked her leg from behind, causing her to hit the ground. Before he could tackle her, she rolled on the ground and jumped up, punching him as she went. He quickly recovered from the hit and followed with his own, which she caught and flipped him over, putting him back on the floor once more. Before he even got the chance to try and get up, she clambered over him, putting him into an armbar hold. And with that, Mari had officially won the spar.

Damian stared at her in awe as she climbed off him, beaming in excitement. Mistaking his silence and awe for embarrassment and hostility, Marinette frantically tried to make him feel better, "I am so sorry, Damian! I didn't mean to be so aggressive! I know that you wanted to teach me, but I already knew how to fight! But I thought that I would pretend that I didn't! But you were giving me a challenge, and I accidentally started treating it as a real fight! You are an amazing fighter! I am so, so sorry–"

Before she could continue with her spiel, Damian interrupted her with a whisper, "You're awesome." Realizing what he said, he ducked his head, attempting to hide the blush that had made its way onto his cheeks. He quickly gave Mari a tight-lipped smile before running to his room, ignoring Alfred's questioning gaze. He had to think. Right now!

He quickly slammed the door and leaned his head against it. Okay. Things that he had learned today. Number one, Mari knew how to fight. Number two, She knew how to fight very well. Number three, Marinette was awesome. Number four, she was much better than his mother could ever hope to be. And number five, he wanted Mari to be his mom! And he knew how to do it.

Two Weeks Later

It had been two weeks since the spar between Mari and Damian, and much had changed since then. And everyone in the family knew it. But no one, except for Marinette and Damian, knew why.

The first thing that changed was Damian's attitude towards Marinette. Before, he would try his best to never be in the presence of his stepmother. But now, he didn't mind. Everyone could tell that he would try to delay his time spent with her. Not many people would realize it, but the Wayne family wasn't just everybody.

What changed next was how he responded to her words. Before, he would roll his eyes, ignore her, or huff. But now, he would still grumble, but it was always half-heartedly. And one time, they caught him smiling at Mari. The dramatic gasp that Dick let out didn't help anyone in figuring out what was going on.

Then he started doing little things, like pecking her cheek before he left for school. He would smile at her, give her a tiny compliment, paint while she designed. They were such small actions, but every time Damian did them, Marinette's heart swelled with happiness. She was in disbelief that Damian was showing his love for her! Yes, he wasn't as blatant about it as his siblings, but he still did it, and that made her all the happier.

But the day that things finally changed completely was when Damian Al-Ghul Wayne walked up to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and cuddled her. It was an ordinary Saturday. Everyone was up early except for Damian. But then Damian came in yawning and looked around. He saw Mari sitting on the couch stitching something. Damian trudged over to her and sat down next to her. He put his legs up on the couch and buried his face into her chest. Marinette smiled gently at his actions and put down her sewing things before putting her arms around him. She then started stroking his hair, and as if he was part cat, he preened at the attention and pressed his head to her hand in want of more strokes. Damian then mumbled, almost incoherently, "I love you, Ummi. You're amazing."

Marinette stopped stroking his hair in shock, and Damian looked to her worriedly, thinking that she was mad with his declaration. But instead, her face broke into a huge smile, and she hugged him tightly, breathing out, "I love you too, Dami."

All while this was happening, the rest of the Wayne family looked at the pair in awe. Finally, Jason spoke, breaking everyone out of their stares, "When did this happen?! And what did happen?!"

Damian looked over at Jason with a scowl and said, "I found out two weeks ago that Ummi is amazing. She beat me in a spar. Now, she's my Ummi, and none of you imbeciles can take her away from me!"

Everyone except the pair continued to be bewildered over the situation. That was when Dick spoke up, "Ummi?"

Damian looked ready to murderer them for not allowing him to cuddle with his Ummi, but all the same, he replied, "I heard a lot of children call their mothers 'Ummi' in the league, or at least in private. But Mother never permitted me to do the same, alone or in public. She said that I was the heir of the league and should, therefore, be as nonsensical as possible. But now that I have Mari, I finally have someone to call Ummi."

By the end of his speech, Marinette looked to be close to tears, and everyone else was looking at him in surprise. Marinette started clinging onto him, whispering, "I love you so much, mon cheri. I'll always be there for you."

Damian blinked back tears and clung back, saying, "I know you will. I am your favorite anyways." When Damian saw his siblings realize what he said, he jumped off his Ummi's lap and ran out of the room. Behind him, a herd of footsteps was heard, along with shouting from each of the children (except Cass). Each of them trying to convince him as to why he was wrong and why they were the favorite.

Back in the living room, Alfred had left to give Marinette and Bruce some alone time. Marinette beckoned Bruce over to sit beside her. She pecked his mouth before seeing the adoring stare. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "And what is it that you are staring at?"

Bruce pulled her closer, inhaling her jasmine scent, and mumbled, "Oh, nothing. Just looking at my beautiful wife that I can't believe I managed to marry."

Marinette flushed a deep red before punching his arm, "Sap."

"Your sap," he retorted back.

"Yes, my sap," she whispered before giving him a deep kiss.

As Bruce pulled away from her, he mumbled against her lips, "Besides, we all know I'm your favorite."

Marinette smirked before saying, "Oh, I don't know. Your son seems to be just as charismatic as you."

"Exactly–," Bruce started saying before he realized what she said. "Hey! Come back here you!" Marinette giggled as he chased after her trying to tickle her.

The rest of the family came into the room, trying to find the cause of the noise. But they stopped at the scene of their parents laughing together on the ground. Dick then yelled, "Cuddle time," and jumped onto his parents, the rest of the kids, even Alfred joining.

As they all laughed together, Marinette looked at every member of her new family. They were all so different, and that was what made them unique. Even their signs of affection were unique to themselves. But at the end of the day, she knew that they loved her and that she loved them. And that was all that mattered.

2011 words

Day 2 is done! And on time! I wonder how long that'll last!

~ ❄ Crystal ❄

@mominettemonth

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[bogkeep]

CHIPPED BLADE; TO BE DISCARDED

(CW: unhealthy friend dynamics, stalker-like behavior) It was like a reluctant nod towards the last shred of their humanity that they were given their own rooms. So much of the guild was communal - meals, training, bathing. But sleep, they got to do alone. If they were blades in an armoury they still had their own sheaths. The doors even had locks, although Katinka couldn’t really see why. A lock could hardly stop any assassin from entering the room of another. Besides, Vinta never locked their door and Katinka never knocked anyway. She flung the door open unceremoniously and threw herself onto their unoccupied bed. Vinta didn’t seem to mind the solitude, but she did. They briefly glanced up from where they sat, perched on a wobbly chair, oiling their knives.

“A job well done?” they asked, almost smiling. “A job well done,” she replied. “The blade of fate has struck its mark and the present wheels on forever altered, yada yada you know how it goes.” “I do.” Katinka shifted into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. On the other side of it was her own little alcove. She hadn’t even stopped by it after returning to the guild. She couldn’t tell Vinta about her mission - nobody could tell anyone about their missions - at least not the details of who, or why. Vinta kept working on their knives in silence, as if in a meditative state. “Mission tomorrow?” she asked. “Yeah.” “If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re nervous about it.” “Well…” Vinta inspected a blade’s edge. “I guess that’s one word for it? I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it.” “...Afraid?” Katinka smirked. For as long as she had known Vinta, she had never known them to be afraid. Not even of dying. Especially not of dying. “Maybe that’s what it is,” they shrug, as if they did not have a blueprint of fear to compare to. “I don’t think I’ll fail or anything. It’s just a strange mission to get.” “And you won’t break a sacred oath to tell me who it is.” “Nope.” Katinka grinned. She knew that if they were ever to break a sacred oath, it would be for her before anyone else. “Whatever happens, I’m sure I’ll know soon enough.” *** Vinta moved through the space of the room like a liquid. Like whorls of ink through water, blood red cape trailing like a straight cut wound. Not a single step out of place, not a single movement wasted, as natural as breathing, as if they had always known how, as if they had never earned a single scar from the myriad covering their body. It was astounding to watch them train, every time, even knowing that Vinta Qir had lived their entire life at the guild and known little else. Other than Vinta, Katinka was the youngest assassin among them. The key difference is that she had joined willingly. She had been young, yes, freshly abandoned by her family and everyone she knew, begging and grovelling to let them have her, to train her, give her divine work. They almost managed to turn her away, told her to come back when she was old enough to actually make that choice for herself, tried to direct her towards any other guild, for any other work. But then she saw them. A small child, glowering at her through blonde bangs, almost hidden behind the older assassins. “What about them?” she asked, desperate. The Guild Leader turned towards the child, giving them a look that wordlessly and immediately sent them scampering away - or so the Guild Leader thought. Katinka could see them reappear in the rafters above everyone’s heads. “They are not an assassin,” the Guild Leader said. “Yet,” said Katinka. The Guild Leader did not reply. “Please,” she continued. “Please let me join. I can watch your kid. I can be their friend. Don’t they need a friend?” And they had. In a way, she owed Vinta so much, just for being there. Just for letting her in. Befriending them had been like befriending a feral kitten, and she was quietly proud of her success at it. Knowing where to find them was an elaborate game of strategy. But she persisted, and over time, they became close. Even before either of them were allowed to start assassin training, Vinta already knew how to melt in and out of shadows like a ghost. They knew every corner of the guild, and showed Katinka every corner of it, too. In return, she showed them around the city of Iphimery. Not all of it, of course, as it was too large for any child to know the whole of, and too large to explore in one day. Vinta had been outside before, but only a little, and had shied away from any places with too many people - which was most of them. Katinka was pleased to be able to teach them anything, to introduce them to this whole world they had never gotten to know as she had. Yeah, she could be their friend like nobody else in the guild could be. Kaitnka knew so well why Vinta could move like they did, and yet, watching them now… of

course she was proud, but she also - she wished she could move like that, too. They shared everything in their lives, and she still wasn’t able to crack the code. It’s not that she wasn’t good at the work. She was fast and strong and stealthy. She was as skilled as any assassin here, and the only reason either of them had not risen in ranks was their unconventionally young age. They were beyond protocol. But their skills and persistence had earnt them their tattoos regardless, and they were treated with the same courtesy and respect as any of their peers. It was nothing to sneeze at! But Vinta… was something else. They were always something else and Katinka craved it so much. For a moment, she saw Guild Leader, passing through the training halls. The way they looked at Vinta almost seemed fond, and Katinka’s stomach clenched at the thought of it, however improbable. *** She clutched her braid in her hands. Her hair was long enough to reach the small of her back, and she had always liked how it looked. She had always liked how the weight of it braided was like a counterweight to her movements, but maybe it was time for a change. She had seen Vinta cut their hair earlier that week. She had seen it many times. Vinta had a preferred length to their hair, and every once in a while they would get rid of the excess extending past that point. “It just feels right,” they had said. “I think longer hair would get in my way, and shorter would make me feel exposed.” Was her hair in her way? Katinka held the knife to the taut braid. A couple hairs yielded to the sharpness of it. She was under no illusions that this was some sort of quick solution to getting better or faster or stronger. But maybe it could help, just a little. Lighten the load. Her head always felt so heavy, so why not? Why not, why not? She could grow it out again if she regretted it. *** Katinka found Vinta in their favourite secret spot. It was in the outskirts of the city, where you could actually see the fjord unobstructed. Vinta liked to sit in a large tree and throw knives at another tree nearby. It’s where they went to think, or so they said. With precise intervals they would fling a blade, and with a tchok it would hit its mark. That spot in the other tree had long since had its bark rubbed off and become a splintery mess. “Knife time again, huh?” Katinka said as a greeting as she hauled herself onto the broad branch Vinta was sitting on. Tchok. “Yeah,” they replied absentmindedly. “You really do like your knives, don’t you.” Tchok. The question was rhetorical. Of course Vinta liked knives. It was not mandatory as a main weapon of the assassins, they were free to pick whatever worked for them the best. Katinka had mostly picked them up because she learned the most by watching Vinta. “Mm.” “Better than magic?” Tchok. “Mm.” Another rhetorical question. Of course Vinta didn’t like magic. “Did you have to…?” she began. There wasn’t another tchok. Vinta was holding their next blade in a vicious grip. “Don’t really want to talk about it.” “I don’t see why you dislike it so much. It always makes me feel so invincible, like the world is made of butter and I am hot iron.” She didn’t say, it makes me feel like I get to be your equal for a little while. “I said- urgh. That’s exactly what I hate about it. It just feels wrong!” Vinta threw their knife, and it embedded itself deep into the tree, splinters flying loose from the impact. “I know it’s a sacred power for sacred work, but whenever I wield it, it feels so… like I shouldn’t have it. Like I am putting myself in an enormous debt I will never be able to repay. I don’t even know what part of me I lose by doing it, either! Whatever it is, it’s like it was never even there to begin with. I hate that. I don’t feel like me. Knives are me. Knives are real.” “But knives weren’t enough today?” Vinta covered their face with their hands. “Gods. All that, and magic wasn’t enough. I’m gonna have to try again.” “Wh-” Katinka began, stunned. “You failed? You? You didn’t complete a

mission?” “Katinka... I really, really, really don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Maybe later. I actually kinda wanted to be alon-” “Fine, I won’t talk about it.” She shoved her feeling of smugness down so it wouldn’t show. “Thank you.” Vinta jumped over to the other tree to collect their knives and returned without a word. They were about to start throwing again when Katinka spoke again. “Do you think Guild Leader dislikes me?” Vinta’s knife flew through the air, clipped the side of the tree and fell to the ground. “What? Why? No?” “I think I saw them smiling at you the other day. They never smile at me.” “Oh,” Vinta breathed. “I think… maybe, that they, uh, might be my-” “But it’s like, am I doing something wrong? I’m working just as hard as anyone, probably harder than most, I think I’m working even harder than you-” “Katinka.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “I don’t think they dislike you. I just don’t think they’re a big emotions person? I don’t think I have ever seen them smile. Maybe they’re smiling at you while neither of us have seen it. Why does it matter, anyhow?” “I just… I’m so used to being left behind, you know?” Katinka tried to keep the resentment out of her words. “Oh, gods. I sound pathetic, but…” “You don’t sound pathetic. Never have.” “I want them to be proud of me. I want them to acknowledge my skills.” “But they are! They do! Do you not see it?” “But I -” Katinka took a deep breath. If she were going to be vulnerable about this, she needed to crack open that gross and sticky feeling within her chest. “I want… that thing you have going on. I know I haven’t been part of the guild since I was a baby like you, but I’m part of this. I’m part of your family. I want to feel like it.” Vinta was silent for a moment that felt way too long. “Oh, Katinka.” “What? I’m baring my soul here!” Vinta laughed a very small and bitter laugh. “I’m not sure if you want what you think you want.” “What does that even mean.” “Look. I know Guild Leader cares about me in a way they don’t care about every other guild member. I know, okay? But I don’t think it’s because of how good I am with knives. The worst part is… I wish they didn’t. I wish it wasn’t me.” “What?” Katinka spluttered. “You just - no. You’re just saying that because you pity me. Don’t.” “I don’t pity you! I’m being honest. It’s… kinda hard to talk about. I’m sorry if it sounds presumptuous. But sometimes it feels like I am the only tether to humanity that they have left. It’s an awful feeling. I don’t know how to explain it better.” Katinka huffed. “Well, it is presumptuous and it is a bad explanation. Bye.” She landed on the ground with a soft thud, picked up the knife Vinta misthrew just a moment ago, and left with it before they could say anything more. *** She was watching the marketplace from the rooftops, shrouded in any shade she could find - or make. Katinka had yet to piece together what in the world Vinta’s mission could possibly be, but she did know they kept going out a lot these days. It was unusual. She assumed they weren’t trying to do the same mission over and over and failing at it every day, even if that would honestly delight her a little - if that were the case, someone else would have been assigned already. Nor did they want to tell her about where they were going. Sacred oath, sure, sure, but it stung a little, especially when she knew it wasn’t all mission and murder. Whenever she walked into their room lately, Vinta would be gone more often than not. Even worse - one time the door was locked. Honest to Omen locked. It obviously didn’t stop her from breaking and entering. Nobody was inside, and all of Vinta’s usual possessions were exactly where they used to be - with the unexpected addition of a flower placed in a tiny vase. It was unremarkable in every way except for the circumstances. Would it be passive aggressive if she left the door unlocked when she left? She wanted to at least remind them that locks don’t really do anything, so why even bother. In the writhing mass of the market she spotted

Vinta’s blonde head. They weren’t wearing their red cape, so definitely off the clock, then. Again her stomach churned uncomfortably. What were they doing out, during the day, among people, on their own? Not even hiding? Then the unthinkable happened - their face lit up: not exactly smiling, but their eyes went wide, their stance straightened, and when Katinka followed their gaze… “A new friend, huh,” she muttered. It was a boy. He had long dark hair and a bright teal tunic, carrying a sunny disposition like he was being paid to, looking the complete opposite of the average assassin. He did not seem to have spotted Vinta yet, and for a moment Katinka couldn’t either. Then she saw them poke the boy on the arm, who immediately turned around, exclaimed what was obviously their name, and seemed to stop themself from wrapping them in a fierce hug at just the last moment. Vinta grinned and waved them along as they made their way out of the throng. Katinka felt as if she had been dropped into a frozen lake. *** “What are you smiling for?” Katinka asked, muffled over the stew she had just stuffed into her mouth. Vinta startled. “I’m not!” “Yeah you were. Big goofy grin.” “I absolutely were not. I am a Blade of the guild. I know no emotion but the satisfaction of a job done clean and swift.” They stared at eachother for a while, expressions completely blank, before bursting out into laughter. Katinka could not get rid of the icy feeling in her gut. “No, seriously. What is going on,” she asked. “I… I’ll tell you later. Not here,” Vinta gestured around the dining hall, even though there were hardly any people to listen in on them. “Uh-huh. Sure. Next time you’re in your room.” “About that. When I lock the door, you’re not supposed to enter.” Katinka frowned. “But it’s easy to open.” “That’s not the point?” “What’s so important to hide from me, anyway? A measly flower?” Face red, Vinta started to gather the bowl and cutlery and getting ready to leave. “Hey!” Katinka exclaimed. “Hey, answer me! Vinta!” *** She had seen enough to know how it went. She had followed Vinta on several occasions now, and she was getting worried that they knew, but they never brought it up, so she couldn’t know for sure. Vinta would often look around them, scan the rooftops and possible hiding places - but it was impossible to distinguish a trained assassin’s habit from warranted suspicion. Light on her feet, she moved through the streets, until she saw the familiar and fluffy ponytail. The boy was taller than most Iphimerians and was easy to pick out in a crowd. When she poked his arm at the exact spot Vinta always did, he turned to face her with the brightest smile she had ever seen on anyone, good gods. It fell immediately, and his enthusiastic greeting lodged in his throat . “Hello,” said Katinka, trying to mirror his cheer. “Uh, hi?” said the boy. “Can I help you?” “Oh, no, you see, I’m just a friend of a friend, and I wanted to get to know you a little.” She put out her hand. “The name is Katinka Zel.” He took her hand uncertainly, but shook it with a comfortably firm grip. “Timian.” Definitely an immigrant’s name. ”You’re a friend of… Vinta’s?” “Correct! Not only that, we’re colleagues, so you know, watch out!” She winked at him. Timian gave an awkward laugh. “You do know what he does, right?” “Oh, um. Yes.” “Aaand…?” “Excuse me?” “And you’re fine with it? Most people don’t exactly hang out with us Divine Blades for fun or whatever. I guess you are one brave guy.” Timian frowned despite his unfailing display of politeness. “Look, it’s really nice to meet you and all, Katinka, but I have some things I need to do. I would love to meet up some other day, but-” “But what? Afraid you’ll have too much fun hanging out with a new friend and forget about the time? Wherever you’re going, are you sure I can’t come with? I’ll help.” “I-” “Katinka!” Her name hit her like a spear from afar. “Oh, hello, Vinta dear,” Katinka smiled. “Just getting to know our new friend. I like him! He seems like a real sweet guy. I

won’t tell Guild Leader about him if you don’t.” “What are you doing.” “I just told you! It’s us two against the world, so we gotta watch out for each other.” “You-” “I’ll go, I’ll go. He has my seal of approval, okay? Stay safe and have fun or whatever.” She dropped her smile the moment she turned around to leave. *** It didn’t matter which knife she used, she could never hit the same mark on the tree. Her hands were probably shaking too much. *** Katinka was standing on top of the stairs. “Let me pass,” Vinta said. “You’re not coming back, are you?” They didn’t respond. “Why are you leaving me?” “I’m not-” “Then take me with you!” “Katinka.” “I told you! I’m so tired of being left behind. My old life, my old family, Guild Leader - I told you about it! What they did to me! Does that mean nothing to you?” Vinta’s gaze had always been like knives. “You know what. Fine. I am leaving you. What do you want from me?” “I want-” “You can have whatever is left in my room. You can have my bed. You can be the best and youngest assassin in the entire guild when I leave. You can have everyone’s respect and Guild Leader’s approval. Just, fucking take it! I don’t want it! I never wanted it!” “I want-” “Do you want Timian’s friendship? Sure, if he’ll give it to you, I don’t control him. But you can’t take that.” “I want to be someone. Please.” Silence. “I can’t give you myself. You’re tired of always being left behind? I’m tired of always belonging to someone else. Even you. I’m sorry.” They passed her by and left. “I want you to apologize,” she whispered. *** If Vinta could defect, so could she. The mist rolled towards her like a wave, and it seeped past her like snakes. She hadn’t seen a building in ages, only the rocks and the hard dirt under her feet, but she did not think she had left the city limits yet. Katinka kept going. It was hard to see anything in the fog, and harder yet with every step forward. When she could no longer distinguish where she had come from with where she was going, she brought the braid and held it in her hands before her. It had been so long since she cut it off. “I bring you an offering,” she spoke with a clear voice into the nothingness. And out of it emerged a hand, long claws dripping with blood, taking it out of hers. “Welcome home,” said Wraith.

[tennessoui]

for obikin, maybe pretending to hate each other au? (sth where their ages are a little closer, perhaps, so obi-wan can be intensely petty and not feel the need to Set an Example)

45. (Pretending To) Hate Each Other (raised as Sith!Anakin, salty!Padawan Obi-Wan)(1.6k)

Obi-Wan turns away from the training stalles with a barely suppressed sneer. Anakin, as he is to be called, has defeated his opponents. His fellow Padawans. Darth Vader has become a Padawan and everyone is just fine with it.

Obi-Wan marches out into the halls, not knowing where he’s going, but knowing he must get away from the smirk on Anakin’s face as he had lowered his training saber to his opponent’s neck. Does no one but Obi-Wan remember how just months ago Vader’s saber had been pressed against his neck and it hadn’t been a training exercise? Does no one remember the atrocities Anakin had committed, the sentients Anakin had killed?

And yet Obi-Wan’s master seems infinitely fascinated by the boy. And yet Obi-Wan, it seems, cannot step out of his own room without finding this Anakin underfoot, either taking tea with his Master, or dolefully skulking around the doorway of Obi-Wan’s quarters. What draws the boy, he has no lasting idea.

They’re approximately the same age, he supposes, although Obi-Wan has a few years at least on Anakin--it’s clearer to see now that Anakin has stopped wearing his helmet and armor into battle, now that the lines of his face are not hardened by scowls and snarls. Really, he’s a boy. His medical chart puts him at eighteen, making him four years Obi-Wan’s junior.

And, he supposes, Qui-Gon was the one to find Anakin wounded on the battlefield, the one to insist they treat the Sith, heal him, and give him shelter. But Obi-Wan was the one who had found the slave chip embedded between his ribcage, the one who had alerted the Council to its presence, so it could be used to find the boy’s master, to capture him or kill him, to end the war.

But surely, whatever small part Obi-Wan had played in the war’s conclusion, the Force should have known better than to repay him by gifting him with the care and keeping of a Sith Lord, Chosen One or not.

Although Obi-Wan can admit, even if only to himself, that it’s worse when Vader latches onto anyone else in the Temple. His master is too starry-eyed by his ideas of Vader’s midichlorians, his destiny as the Chosen One, to see the boy in front of him now.

And anyone younger than Vader is too easily swayed by his looks, his charm, his disgustingly transparent eagerness to know about the Temple, about the Jedi way of life.

Obi-Wan knows this. He’s fought a Sith at 20, fended it off after it dealt a nearly fatal blow to his Master. They cannot be reasoned with. Vader cannot be reasoned with.

Anakin exists only as a figment of their imaginations, their desire to have the Chosen One fly under the Jedi colors. He is not real, not anymore.

Gradually, Obi-Wan finds himself making his way up the stairs of the Jedi Temple. Of all the spots to hide--to sulk, as his Master would say--the rooftop is the one least likely to be checked. It is one of Obi-Wan’s favorite areas in the entire building.

But he had not thought to check for stragglers before arriving at his destination, had thought the thunderstorms of his own Force presence would keep others at bay. He hadn’t yet figured Vader into his calculations, hadn’t remembered the propensity Vader had for showing up right when Obi-Wan least wanted him to.

“You left,” Vader--Anakin--whoever accuses, as Obi-Wan sits down on the rooftop. The wind howls around them. Obi-Wan has the distinct thought that they’ve lived through this before, that last time Vader had cornered him on a rooftop, he had threatened to take a piece of his body home to his Master. Now, Vader is standing in his home.

Obi-Wan takes a very deep breath and banishes those sorts of thoughts. Anakin, he reminds himself. Anakin.

And just as importantly, the chip. There had been a chip. Not controlling Va--Anakin’s thoughts, but certainly controlling his actions. What he would do to survive is no different from what Obi-Wan had done to survive; they had just been on opposite sides of the war.

Is Obi-Wan weak for not being able to move past that? For not being able to greet the boy--the man--Anakin with open arms into the folds of his family?

“I did,” Obi-Wan replies, keeping his eyes on what he can see of the city skyline.

Anakin steps closer. “Why?”

He turns to face him, takes in his sweaty appearance and messy tunics. He must have been looking for Obi-Wan’s reaction. He must have seen the exact moment Obi-Wan had turned, must have scrambled to cloth himself as he followed after.

“Why does it matter?” He asks instead of answering, always instead of answering.

“Because I wanted you to watch,” Vader says.

“I’ve seen you kill Padawans before,” Obi-Wan turns away and stands up until he can lean against the high protective walls of the roof. “I wasn’t impressed.”

Vader feels frustrated in the Force. No. Anakin.

Anakin. “It was a training exercise.”

“Now,” Obi-Wan points out. “Or do you mean then?”

“Would you hate me if I said both?” “I hate you now, Vader.” The other boy’s Force signature withdraws, flinching away from Obi-Wan’s ire. He hears him sit down. He’d rather throw him off the roof.

But: “Don’t call me that,” the boy pleads quietly. “I know I can’t--that I don’t--” he cuts himself off and grows quiet.

Obi-Wan would say something to break the silence, but he doesn’t want to engage the boy if he doesn’t have to. If he closes his eyes, he can feel and see the Force raging around them, violently buffering them as it demands some sort of denouement.

The boy inhales and stands again, stepping forward hesitantly until he’s a scant foot away from Obi-Wan. “My mom always told me she thought for ages about my name. That it had come to her in a dream after I was already a month old, that it was bad luck to have waited for so long to name me because infants on Tatooine can die as quickly as their mothers.

“And then I...I couldn’t use it or hear it or speak it for so long that I think I almost forgot it, almost lost it to Sidious and...and Vader. So even if you hate me, and I know you should hate me, I know I’ve never done anything to you that cancels out the bad I’ve done to you, but. Please don’t call me that. I think it would have made her sad."

Obi-Wan works his jaw as he stares off into the city. He doesn’t think V--Anakin has ever said so many words to him. If he gives in now, he’d be just as bad as the other padawans who had welcomed Anakin in amongst them because of his big eyes and soft lips and earnest enthusiasm.

Anakin seems to take his silence as permission to continue, which it isn’t. “And I know I’m not. That I can’t be--won’t ever be a Padawan, or a Jedi Knight, that. That I’ll never wear a braid or anything. I’m not--I don’t want another Master. I never want another Master.”

Obi-Wan turns his head just enough to look at Anakin. He’s spent an awfully long amount of time hanging around Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s quarters if he doesn’t want a Master. But...what he’s saying makes sense, and, more importantly than that, soothes the furious emotions in Obi-Wan’s chest enough that he can speak. “Then I can’t understand why.” Why you’re here, why you won’t leave me alone, why you chose to follow me if you’re not trying to dispose of me and take my Master for yours.

Anakin sighs, leaning his head on his hands as he looks out at the city. Obi-Wan finds himself annoyed with that as well, even though he’d just been doing the same thing. Now he can’t tear his eyes away from Anakin’s profile.

“You’re warm in the Force,” Anakin says eventually. “I think maybe I spent too long in space, because I’m always cold. Except when I’m around you. You burn. You always have. I used to think that maybe--it was hatred or disgust at me, when I met you in battle, and you were an inferno. But you burn when you’re on creche duty too. A different kind of fire, but still so warm. It’s just your soul. It’s just who you are.”

Obi-Wan blinks open-mouthed at him. He’s never considered the thought that Vader--Anakin--had been trailing after him for anything other than easy access to his Master. Now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do or say.

There’s a part of him that still doesn’t understand what Anakin wants to get out of his tenancy at the Temple, a part that whispers that the Sith can’t be trusted, no matter how blue they can make their eyes look. But the Jedi part of Obi-Wan is bigger.

The Jedi part of Obi-Wan tells him to extend his hand just enough to brush against Anakin’s exposed wrist. It’s a point of vulnerability the boy doesn’t shy away from.

“Would you…” he asks slowly, forcing the words out of his tight throat. “Like to meditate with me?”

Anakin looks astonished, then hopeful, then disappointed, then dejected. “I’m no good at meditating,” he says, scuffing the point of his shoe on the ground. “It wasn’t a huge part of my...former Master’s curriculum, and the Force is just so loud in my head that it’s hard to do anything but react.”

He looks up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes, biting his lip as if he’s afraid that he’ll be turned away for this.

Instead, Obi-Wan turns fully to face him and latches onto his flesh hand. “There are some things, I’ve found,” he murmurs, leading them away from the edge of the roof before pulling Anakin down to sit cross-legged in front of him, “that are much easier done with someone else. Done together.”

[egg-on-the-run]

I got my first proper request and I literally accidentally deleted it. Am I stupid? Yes. Did I immediately panic? Yes. Do I remember what was on it?........ mostly.

Haha anon I hope you see this I'm so sorry but ily.

The turtles s/o who's usually very calm but just bursts into anger.

Notes: swearing :) I think it's funny

Leonardo:

He's used to a very calm s/o, you like to meditate together, he's always been good with helping you with breathing exercises.

You both like to keep arguments to a minimum, and even when fights do take place there isn't a lot of yelling

But when your mother came to visit :) that was just :) a lot of pressure :)

And she stayed in your apartment :) for a week :) everything was fine :)

Leonardo hadn't seen you for an entire week, not an overly long time, but certainly not pleasant. And he knew that you got stressed when you couldn't see him often. So as soon as you texted saying you had dropped your mother off at the airport, he immediately came round.

You were already screaming the moment you walked in the door.

"Oh she has some nerve! Some nerve! Speaking to me like that!"

"I'm guessing you're car ride went smoothly."

"She's been bugging me all week! When are you getting married? When are you have kids? I want some grand babies before I die! Ugh! She's obsessed with maintaining this perfect image all because her friend's kids are married and making babies like rabbits!"

He stayed quiet, not exactly sure how to comfort you. It wasn't like he could provide you with these things, and by the sounds of it, your mother would never approve of your huge turtle boyfriend.

"She just can't get that I'm happy! I have my own life and it's perfect the way I want it to be! I have a perfect boyfriend! You're a fucking delight! She–she's just so obsessed with her image that she'd never get that!"

"You... You think so?"

"I know so! She's too stubborn and she'll never get how fucking great you are and it just— UGH! It fries my brain."

"Even though I... I can't give you all those things... I can't legally marry you, we can't have kids."

"Even if you could give me a mansion and a diamond ring, or if all you could give me was a-a fucking walnut! I love you Leonardo, not that prim and proper white satin wedding she's made a thousand Pinterest boards for. I love you, I just wish she would get it."

Leonardo leaned down and kissed your cheek

"I love you too."

He believed in dealing with anger appropriately, but seeing you defend him with such passion made him feel so much more secure.

Raphael:

He's seen you angry before, he encouraged it. He's all about helping you with your confidence, teaching you to not be afraid to take up space and stand up for yourself.

But holy cow. You were mad that night.

He'd warned you not to take the trash out at night, wait to the morning — or better yet, he'll take it out for you when he came to visit after patrol.

But you are Raphael's girl. You are stubborn.

So you take the trash out, and some absolute creep decides that "flirting" in a dark alleyway in the key to a girl's heart.

Raphael swooped in, told the man to scram. But bold and drunk, the man spits back with a "Oh yeah? And would she want anything to do with a freak like you? What are you gonna do? Hit me? Aw, big angry turtle, you're gonna scare your girlfriend away."

It was two of his biggest insecurities. His appearance and his rage, especially in regards to scaring you away. It was a low blow, Raphael should have known to just walk away.

But he clammed up, he'd never admit when his anxiety got the best of him and you don't blame him.

"Oh go fuck yourself. If a vile man like you doesn't scare me, why the hell do you think a good man like him would?"

"A good man? He's not a fucking man! He's some freaky turtle thing, a pretty little thing like you deserves a real man."

"And are you a real man?"

"More real than your little pet."

The next thing you knew, the man was on the ground. You assumed Raphael knocked him out, but Raph's standing behind you and you're the one with your hand in a fist.

"Oh my god. Oh–Oh Raphie I knocked him out! O-Oh my god!"

"Holy shit Y/N! You probably broke his nose!" Raphael is grinning, shaking your shoulders.

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He deserves a broken nose at the least for messing with you! He was an asshole and he needed someone like you to set him straight!"

"I, um, well, I suppose he did! Saying such horrible things about you, I-I guess he did need someone to put him in his place."

Raphael ruffled your hair, "Thank you, my knight in shining armour."

"That make you my Prince?"

"Your Prince who was right about not taking the trash out at night."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He appreciated you standing up for him more than you could imagine. And he found it mighty hot how hard you hit that guy. Seriously! He must be a good self defence teacher.

Donatello:

Donatello loves you so much, loves holding you and hugging you whenever he can. He adores it when you sit on his lap while he works.

But do you like to cuddle when you sleep? Tough luck. Getting him to bed is like trying to lick your own elbow: near impossible.

Regardless, you try. Because every once in a while Donatello is too tired to fight and he will go to bed.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

"Baby, please, just come to bed. Everyone's already asleep."

"I'll be there in a minute, just go on without me."

You sigh, not really seeing the point in fighting. Instead you return to his bed, trying to keep yourself awake playing games on your phone. When half an hour passes, you go back and try again.

"Donnie come on, aren't you tired? I just want to cuddle."

"I just need to put some stuff on a hard drive, April's writing a new article, she needs it for tomorrow."

You sigh once more, "Promise you'll come to bed right after?"

"I promise."

Donatello's bed is comfortable, but it's more comfortable with him in. You force yourself to stay awake; despite your exhaustion you're determined to cuddle tonight. It's all you want.

But it did not take an hour to put some documents onto a hard drive. And he's being awfully loud for just typing away on a computer.

"Are you fucking joking right now?!"

He jumps, almost dropping the box of beakers in his arms, "Hey love... Can't sleep?"

"You're rearranging your lab?! Why are you—since when do you rearrange things, huh? What the hell?!"

"I just y'know, thought things needed a change..?"

"Oh, and now is the time to change things, really? Of all the times to move your fucking beakers you decide to do it in the middle of the night after I specifically asked you to come to bed? Seriously?"

He gives a nervous grin, the kind that usually made you smile in return. But it was late — rather it was early at this point — and you were cranky.

"You can sleep without me, you're a big girl." He teased.

"I want to sleep with my boyfriend! I want to cuddle! Is that so much to ask for?!"

Donatello blinked, "You're right, I'm sorry, but I swear, I promise, I'll be ten minutes, honest."

"You can finish this tomorrow. If you're not in bed in the next ten seconds, I am going to scream and wake everyone else up."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Ten."

Donatello jumped, quickly moving to shove supplies in cupboards a little recklessly. You continued to count down from ten, storming off back to his bed for hopefully the finally time this night.

By the time you got to the very firm "Three... Two... One..." Donatello was racing to bed, dived in beside you, crashing and knocking your heads together.

He'd never tell you, for fear you'd let it get to your head, but he kind of liked it when you got bossy.

Michelangelo:

Anger and Michelangelo just don't mix. They just don't. He's the king of communication, he's tries his hardest to avoid fights at any and all costs. You've always appreciated his determination to talk things out with you.

But with his brothers? He shuts down, he goes quiet and just accepts whatever blame they put on him: he knows they don't mean it, they only say mean things when they're angry.

But it hurts, hearing his big brothers tell him he's stupid, that he's childish, that he's lackadaisical.

"What kind of word even is that?! I swear Donnie must read a thesaurus as a bedtime story.."

So he's allowed to complain, and you let him ramble when he comes to visit. He sits on your bed and the words just tumble out of his mouth, lets you move around the room tidying up while he rants.

"I just—Raph keeps calling me stupid. And I just—I-I just—You know, sometimes I believe it."

You freeze, sweater only half folded and turn to him, "But you're not stupid. Just because you're not some brainiac like Donatello doesn't make you stupid. If that was the case, then I'm stupid, Raph's stupid, April, Leo, Splinter is stupid. Do you think we're all stupid?"

"Well—no, but—"

"But what?"

"But I... I am a little stupid."

"No you're not! Mikey, how many times has you out of the box thinking saved the day? Y-You were the one who suggested playing friggen buck-buck to take down Shredder! Y-Your skateboarding—hoverboarding skills saved the world. You think your brothers could do that?"

Mikey scrunched his nose up, "That's not smart though. They're right. My-my focus is all over the place, I-I could never come up with a plan like Leo, I could never have half the brains Donnie has, and Raph just—he gets things that I don't and I-I am stupid!"

"I need to have a word with your brothers—"

"And that's another thing! Everyone still treats me like I'm some kid! I don't need you to have a word with them! You're not my mom."

"Then you have a word with them! But sitting here and complaining about things that just aren't true isn't going to change anything!"

He's taken aback. Much like himself, you hardly ever yell, never ever raise your voice at him.

"I am not going to stand here and let them insult you day in and day out! Either you do something about it, or I will!"

He blinks at you, you're aggressively folding the sweater in your arms and grumbling about how you could definitely take Raphael in a fist fight if need be. You mumble something about how nobody gets to speak to your boyfriend like that, and it finally clicks with Mikey.

"Alright. I'm going to talk to them," He's mostly talking to himself, "I'm going to show them that I'm not some stupid, ditzy, lackadaisical kid anymore. I'm your boyfriend, and nobody gets to speak with me that way!"

You beam at him, anger disappearing within the second with his newfound confidence, "Hell yeah! Nobody insults my boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

"My boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

His brothers' version of a wake up call is to point out his weaknesses, tell him what needs to be corrected. But you much prefer to build him up, point out his strengths.

But jeez, he does not like your angry face.

[mxargo]

meltdowns and meditation - spencer reid

summary: spencer helps his daughter through a meltdown.

paring: spencer reid x daughter!reader

word count: 1086

warnings: mentions of a bipolar disorder, depression, and social anxiety.

a/n: I'm aware everyone deals with their own mental health issues different ways, I'm just writing from my own experiences. I'm sorry if I trigger anyone too much.

when spencer's teenage daughter was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder, things went to havoc for the small reid family. every outbreak she's ever had, made her feel like she was insane. never wanting to talk to any therapist her father would suggest, made her feel sad, like she was too much for him to deal with on his own that he'd need a stranger's help.

on top of the depression and the inability to be around others without the feeling of being suffocated, felt almost inhabitable. with her father being gone most of the time made a lot of things worse. spencer was her bestfriend, and she needed him the most.

y/n was a teenager, which meant that she was mostly on her own now when spencer was at work. when she was younger there were endless babysitters and nannies who all of quit due to her condition. you could've guessed they just didn't want to deal. but their neighbors were great, at least some of them for the most part. theyd help out y/n when spencer was gone in any way they'd can.

some days were better than others but today, not so much.

y/n was homeschooled, spencer would occasionally call her when he was at work checking up on her, making sure she was safe. that she'd had eaten, if she was feeling alright. but because she was homeschooled, she didn't have many friends, she was more like spencer in ways more than most, and her mother wasn't a subject she liked talking about. she left y/n and spencer when y/n was only four. knowing spencer would've spent the next eleven years raising a little girl on his own was quite terrifying, but he was doing great despite his own hardship.

when spencer had gotten a call from his neighbor telling him that his daughter was having a meltdown, his heart broke but his feet raced out of the building driving home as fast as he could. when he ran up the stairs seeing his front door wide open and his neighbor standing inside of it, he knew it wasn't good. he could tell that the lady was scarred for the poor young girl who didn't have any say when the next time his daughter would break.

"thanks, I'll take it from here". spencer slowly walked in the apartment not wanting to scare y/n anymore than she already was. she was smashing plates and ripping up papers. she was upset, angry, and scared. she knew how these things started and he knew she must've said something to someone else on accident that made the other person feel uncomfortable. it wasn't like she could control it, because she couldn't. but seeing his own daughter this way made him break in a way he didn't know how to fix.

but by the time he'd already been inside the home she threw a large cutting knife at a door and another almost hitting spencer by his face before he jumped out of the way. looking back up at his daughter, he could see just how terrified she was.

"hi daddy". "hey baby, come here". she walked slowly towards her father, knowing he was just as afraid as she was, only not as the same. she was afraid of herself, he wasn't scared of her, for her more so. he hugged her then picked her up wrapping her body around him with her head buried in his chest.

"I'm so sorry, I made a mess". "oh, it's alright. it's okay, I'm not upset but we're gonna go to aunt penelope's. okay?". she hummed in response as spencer leaned down grabbing her shoes then leaving their home driving to garcia's.

♤♤♤♤

when y/n had woken up she was on penelope's couch. just in time pen and spencer walked in the room quickly to see if she was okay. "hey sweetie, how are you feeling?" penelope asked. "fine, I guess." y/n sat up leaning back against the couch against her fathers arm. "I'm sorry". "don't apologize, it's not your fault." spencer was doing his best at reassuring her making sure she understood none of this could have been her fault.

"I wanna try something with you, yeah?" penelope had gotten up from the couch laying mats on her apartment floor. "it's just a bit of relaxation, we're going to meditate for a bit okay?" y/n had looked up to her father seeing him nod his head then walking over to her aunt. "sit".

about ten minutes in, y/n mind was running a hundred miles per hour while the whole time penelope was so calm. why couldn't she do that? by that time her and spencer had switched places while pen started making tea.

"dad, this is lame, how is this gonna help me". "it's supposed to calm your mind like penelope said, you could've given me a tracheotomy with that knife, I wanna try anything with you to help. I know I'm not here much but I'm trying my best to now." by then penelope had given them their tea walking back to her bedroom. "dad. do you think I'm broken?" "no baby I don't, youre not broken, I'm here to help."

y/n had stood up setting her cup on the counter with her father following after her. "I'm surprised you have time for me since you're gone everyday". spencer sighed sitting across from his daughter. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm taking time off of work and I'm going to be here for you all the time now, I'm sorry I wasn't here before like I should've been, I'm going to be bothering you 24/7 making sure that you're okay, especially in public". y/n groans to herself remembering all the times her father would embarrass her in public, him having no problem showing the world his love for his daughter.

"I'm sorry dad. for everything". spencer grabs his daughters hands holding them in his own, "I understand why you think you need to apologize, but you don't. I will never be angry at you for anything. I mean as long you don't come home drunk then everything will be okay" y/n laughed at that knowing he was only partly joking. y/n stood up walking over to her father.

"I love you daddy"

"I love you too baby."

spencer hugged y/n knowing she was be okay.

she's a fighter, a lot like her father.

[queen-scribbles]

“ but you're here. so stay. “

Old Habits

Evony decided to snatch this away from Ves, so here's 1500 words of post-game Exile/Bao Dur bc KotOR 2 may be an 18 year old game, but it still has me in its clutches. Also worked in a hand holding prompt \0/

6. running their thumb over the other’s hand [Evony/Bao Dur]

-----

There were few things in the galaxy worse than being too tired to sleep. Being too on edge to meditate was one of them, at least in her book. The gravelly whine of barely-repaired engines reverberating through the hull didn’t help with either.

Evony finally gave up and shuffled out of the dormitory. Maybe somewhere else on the ship would be more conducive to one of her goals. Or maybe the adrenaline of confronting Kreia still hadn’t faded. Fleeing Malachor V in a ship cobbled together with what repairs she and Atton could make, the rest of the crew varying levels of injured or...

She shook herself out of the morose thoughts and realized her feet had carried her in sight of the garage. Force of habit, she thought wryly. But maybe that was the answer. Even empty, even closer to the struggling engines. She’d called him her eye of the storm; calm while everything fell to chaos around them. Perhaps enough of that lingered.

But the garage wasn’t empty.

Evony crossed her arms, concern squeezing her heart at the sight.  “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Bao Dur said quietly, voice hoarse and as death-warmed-over as the rest of him looked. (She tried not to dwell on how near the truth that was.) He glanced down at the tools spread out on the workbench. “And you know what they say about old habits.”

Evony mustered a small smile as she nodded. “I’m glad old friends are another thing that die hard.”

His answering laugh was more an amused exhalation, likely trying not to jostle broken ribs she’d run out of energy to heal. “Likewise, though I am surprised you’re awake, given... everything.”

She scrubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand and leaned against the doorframe. “I crossed the threshold of too tired to sleep. And still too anxious to meditate, ironically. I was thinking to try somewhere else, wasn’t figuring I’d disturb anyone...”

“You aren’t. And you’re here.” He inclined his head to the empty half of the seat, “So stay.”

Evony didn’t hesitate to take him up on it, careful not to bump anything she knew was still sore. She could feel his pain, leeching through the Force that bonded them, knew that was likely why he couldn't sleep, but seeing it all up close made her heart squeeze again. She really was grateful for whatever miracle kept her from losing him.

Bao Dur reached for a tool and hissed softly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more,” Evony mumbled, gaze locked on the half-healed burn covering his shoulder. “But Mira was...  And I-”

“You did enough,” he interrupted, tone gentle as he gingerly turned to face her.  “Especially considering the full weight of it was on you, and after everything you faced. The fact you pulled two of us back from the brink is nothing short of extraordinary.” He smiled wanly. “I can deal with a few lingering aches if it means everyone gets to survive this time.”

She snorted, knowing how much he was downplaying to call it aches. (Knowing it wasn’t the first time.) “...She’s probably still going to lose the arm, with how much damage and how long before I got to her.”

“I’ll make her a new one,” Bao Dur said, then looked down again.  “After I finish fixing mine; it’ll be easier done with two working hands.”

Evony blinked as it finally registered in her exhausted brain that he was, indeed, working on repairs to his cybernetic arm. Guilt rose. She’d completely forgotten about that in her rush to ensure he and the others pulled through. “Would you like some help?”

“If you want, I know you like to tinker,” he said with a quiet laugh.  “But don’t feel obligated; I built it one-handed, I can fix it that way, too.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as well at his dry humor, then sobered.  “But this time you don’t have to,” she said softly. This time I’m still here, and infinitely grateful you are, too. She rested her hand over his and gave a light squeeze as she reached for the fusing pen. ”I’ll work on the top.”

Silence lingered as they worked, companionable if exhausted. Tools passed back and forth without a word, the need sensed and filled before it was spoken.

Evony bit her lip in concentration as she removed and replaced a trio of wires in the upper connection, clearing away carbon scoring while she lay the new along old paths. She’d watched him tweak things before, but never helped. Figured he knew what he was doing, having built it himself. Now was different; he was hurt--still--because she hadn’t been able to fully heal him. She still couldn’t, with how drained she was. But this... she could help with this.

“I didn’t expect to survive,” Bao Dur commented, barely above a whisper, as they neared completion. Evony stilled, one hand resting against his arm. “Not again. I... We were lucky last time, escaped when so many others didn’t. Not unscathed, but alive, even though it was my doing--”

“Our doing,” Evony corrected firmly. “You built the generator, but I gave the order to use it. I decided the sacrifice was worth it. Don’t take my guilt on your shoulders. Let me carry my share.”

One side of his mouth curved upward for the briefest moment. “As you wish, General.” Old habits died hard, and both were accustomed to bearing the guilt. He studied the cybernetic hand a moment, fused a loose piece of plating at the wrist. “When we returned it felt like fate. A chance to make amends for all the lives lost to my creation, even if it cost my own life to do so.”

“Bao...” She set down the sonic welder, but he continued as if he hadn’t heard her speak.

“And when... with the crash... all I could do was hope, I thought, that my remote would finish the task for me.” He set down his tool, fiddled with a scanner but didn’t pick it up. “When everything went white and I thought it was done, I was... mostly... at peace with that.”

Evony straightened and leaned back against the edge of the workbench, reaching for the scanner to check their work. “Mostly?”

She was too tired, too bad a liar, to make it sound uninterested or casual. He knew her too well, anyway.

“You are, as with many things, the exception,” Bao Dur said softly, tipping his head back to meet her eye. “The one reason I felt regret at the thought of not being... here anymore.”

The scanner beeped as she processed that, its screen a glaring white flash in the dimly-lit garage. A moment later, his arm flickered back to life.

“But you are here,” Evony finally murmured, lump in her throat, as she traced her fingers along the edge of the bacta patch on the side of his head. It made her heart ache that he’d been so ready to count such a sacrifice worthwhile. That he’d come so close to getting that wish. “And I need you.” She leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “So stay.”

“Evony, I...” He hesitated and she wondered if he’d caught the way her heart stuttered when he said her name. “I can sense your worry at the threat that remains, how big it is. You know I’ll follow you, always, but...” A helpless look filled his warm brown eyes, all the more exaggerated by the stark lighting and his haggard state. “I don’t know how to help, I’m just a tech.”

She snorted. “You and I both know that’s not true.” Repairs finished, Evony shifted back to his other side and took his hand as she sat, running her thumb over his knuckles, catching the corner of another bacta patch. “But I want you with me not as a Jedi or tech, even though you’re damn fine at both. As you.”

“To help shoulder the weight?” Bao Dur asked with a wry smile.

“Only because I know I can’t stop you,” she retorted fondly. “Old habits die hard and all.”

That made him laugh, which, predictably, turned into a wince. As do old friends, thank the Force.

Evony squeezed his hand. “Maybe I’ll go try again to get some sort of rest. So I can heal you the rest of the way.” She was feeling calmer, more settled now. There was a chance it would work.

“Or maybe you do it for your own sake, rather than mine,” Bao Dur deadpanned, squeezing back, as if she couldn’t sense how much pain he was trying to mask.

“How about both?” she countered, circling the pad of her thumb around his knuckle. Old habits...

He smiled, gave her hand a final squeeze before slipping his free to start tidying the workbench. “Deal. And I’ll try again as well,” he added before she even said the words.

“Good.” Evony let her fingers trail up his arm as she stood, missing the contact almost as soon as it was broken. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Bao Dur promised. The sincerity in his voice soothed her worries, and she was fairly confident as she made her way back to the dormitory sleep would come much more easily now.

She was right.