#I love how. no matter what you think of her. none of the princesses outrights *lie* to you

[salty-an-disco]

Original Chapter 2 concept:

When you enter the cabin, you keep Narrator's words about the princess lying and cheating in mind and make sure to interrogate and prod at her every statement in the basement.

The princess gets visibly distressed and irritated at this, feeling even more trapped under your interrogation and getting more angry the more you doubt her words ("I don't know! I just don't know! What else do you want me to say?"). Hero suggests that maybe you should lay off a bit, and Narrator shows irritation at the fact that you keep questioning instead of slaying.

If you keep up the interrogation, getting closer so that now the princess is also physically cornered, the princess will snap at you and use her chains to trap and strangle you, screaming like a trapped animal.

Everything goes dark and you die.

Chapter II: The Weaver

You're accompanied by Voice of the Interrogator, and go to the cabin to find a moist stone building with walls covered in a silky thread. In the basement, there's a regular-looking princess waiting for you, tho you can't quite make out her face from this distance. She screams at you to help her, that there's a monster nearby and to please save her soon.

If you do, you'll find yourself getting dangled in webs, and that the 'princess' was just a decoy set up by the real princess, who was waiting for you on the ceiling.

[sombersummerskies]

A Champion's Love: Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Dress to Impress Word Count: 4677 CW: None

Want all the chapters? -> Masterlist

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With a few hours left until dinner, both you and Zelda decide to get fitted for proper Gerudo Vai clothing. The seamstress at the local clothing shop was more than happy to take measurements and quickly adjust the outfits she already had so that both you and the princess had something to wear for when you met with Riju again. Currently you’re standing on a stool as the seamstress, Saula, skirts around you with a piece of measuring tape.

“Did you need to wear Gerudo clothing when you had meetings with Urbosa?” you ask Zelda, who’s sat on a couch behind you.

“No, Urbosa was a bit more lax when it came to that sort of thing,” she answers, “but I have a feeling that it would make a better impression with Buliara if we presented ourselves in more… traditional garb.”

You hum, raising your arms so that Saula can get measurements of your bust and waist, “I see. Though I don’t think it matters what I wear, I don’t think I’m ever going to get Buliara to like me. She’s so stubborn…”

You hear the seamstress stifle a giggle.

“She just wants what’s best for Riju and the Gerudo, I don’t blame her,” the princess retorts, “besides, you can be awfully stubborn as well, you know.”

You roll your eyes as Saula has you and Zelda swap places to continue taking measurements. Taking your place on the couch you pick up the Sheikah Slate that the princess had set down and begin to swipe through it. In the album were various photos, one of which was a discrete picture you’d taken of the Zora prince (who was none the wiser to the image’s existence).

You smile as you gaze upon the photo. If your memory serves you right you’d taken this when he was regaling the young Zora children with a story of one of his heroic feats. He was posed in the photograph, pantomiming launching a spear at his foes. On his face he bears his signature toothy-grin.

Your smile falters as you shut off the slate and think. What those Yiga soldiers had said was still weighing on your mind. If they had been spying, was it solely on you? Were they watching the princess? The prince? How could you be sure that they weren’t keeping tabs on all of your allies, all of the future champions?

When Zelda turns so that the seamstress can measure her height she sees your frown.

“What’s the matter?” she asks politely.

You know better than to say it outright. So far only Riju and the Gerudo guard are aware of the security threat that the Yiga posed. The fact that one of their foot soldiers had been able to disguise themself as a Gerudo soldier at the gate was incredibly worrying. The last thing you needed was for word to get out and cause mass panic. So you opted not to speak about it in front of Saula.

“Later,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

She nods in understanding.

“Alright, young vai. With your measurements I think I have two outfits that will fit, with minor alterations. Do you have color preferences?” Saula asks, wrapping her measuring tape into a small coil.

“Something in blue would be quite nice,” Zelda says with a smile.

Meanwhile you shrug, “I’m fine with anything you have to offer. Thank you, by the way.”

The seamstress gives a quick nod before turning on her heels and walking into the back of the store. You can hear the faint sound of rummaging as she puts together some clothing for both you and the princess.

Zelda leans over to you and whispers, “can you say now?”

Your gaze flicks around the room. Your paranoia was only growing by the minute.

“It’s the… the Y issue,” you say vaguely in a quiet voice. 

“Y issue,” she repeats, confused for just a second before her eyes go wide, “ohhh. That issue.”

You shift on the couch, still keeping you voice low, “yes. I want a way to warn Sidon, he doesn’t know. But… what if the letter gets intercepted? I can’t send Archimedo back with sensitive information.”

She purses her lips, “that is true… we will have to be much more cautious until we learn more about the situation at hand. Perhaps we can ask Riju about-”

The both of you are interrupted by Saula walking back into the room with a grin on her face. You practically jump out of your seat, on edge and startled by her entrance.

“I have the perfect outfits for you, little vai! Yes, I think you will both like them very much,” she cheers, oblivious to your panic.

You throw Zelda a sideways glance, heart pounding from the momentary scare. You have no idea how you’re going to survive dinner tonight.

…

Sidon is sitting on the steps outside of the throne room, gazing down at his hand. Between his fingers he twirls his ring, the one you’d given him. Perhaps Bazz was right when he called the prince ‘clingy’. He still couldn’t get you off of his mind.

“Son,” Dorephan calls out from within the room.

The prince turns his head to look back at the king, before standing up and walking inside. “Yes, father?” he says.

“What troubles you?” the king asks, “it is not often that I see you so preoccupied in your thoughts.”

The red Zora slips the ring back onto his finger before placing his hands on his waist and sighing, “father… could you tell me about how you and mother met?”

King Dorephan chuckled heartily before responding, “I see. This has to do with affairs of the heart. I met your mother long before I took the throne. She had the ability to manipulate water and would use these powers for acts of healing. When I first saw her I was captivated. Her scales were bright red, like yours’ and Mipha’s, but her eyes were a gentle blue like the ocean waves.”

“Obviously I was captivated by her, and did what any Zora my age would do,” he continued.

“What was that?” Sidon replied.

“Injure myself so that she would visit me and heal me,” the king chortled.

The prince looked up at his father and laughed in shock at the answer, “in Hylia’s name, father! Why not just go and speak with her?”

“Because you do ridiculous things when you’re young and in love,” Dorephan replied, settling back into his throne, “eventually after it happened enough times I believe she caught onto my ruse. In fact, she broke the courting tradition, by inviting me to go hunting with her rather than myself offering the invitation.”

“And did you go?” Sidon asked curiously.

“Of course I did! And she was a brilliant swimmer, might I add. But it didn’t take very long for word to spread that the two of us were courting one another. As you know, it is a tradition that the Zora be wed before taking the throne, so that every King will have his Queen and vice versa. My father and his council happily supported our wedding. After I ascended the throne Mipha was born, and some years after that you came along… and then…”

“... then?” the prince repeated.

“Well, she was lost to us. It was a terrible disease that had taken her in the end. You were too young to remember the details now, but the domain mourned for a very long time.”

Sidon nodded his head solemnly, “yes… and that was why Mipha worked so hard to perfect her healing powers.”

“Indeed,” Dorephan replied, “but don’t think I forgot my original query. You asked for the story of your mother and I. This wouldn’t have anything to do with that Hylian Champion, now would it?”

The prince blushed and ducked his head down, “is it that obvious, father?”

The king laughed once more, “my boy, it is all anyone in the palace can talk about! You know how us Zora are when there’s rumor mongering and gossip, it takes weeks for the fin-flapping to cease.”

Sidon’s cheeks darkened even further.

“Do not be embarrassed, son,” King Dorephan smiled, “it is good to see you like this. I am happy you’ve found such joy, and you know that I will support you no matter the endeavor… however…”

The fin of the prince’s head swayed as he spoke up, “however?”

The king sighed deeply, “the council have their concerns. I wouldn’t be surprised if in the next meeting they voiced this to you.”

“Concerns? What concerns? If this is about them thinking less than of the Hylians, I swear I’ll-” Sidon begins passionately, but his father raises a hand and silences him.

“No, son. Their concerns are about whether or not you will be able to produce an heir to the throne,” Dorephan explains with a frown.

“H-heir?” the prince repeats with a stammer, “whatever for? I’m not to ascend to the throne anytime soon- and it’ll be another hundred or so years before we need to worry about me giving up the throne-”

King Dorephan nods his head, “I’m aware. But our royal family tree has never seen a relationship such as this before. A Zora and a Hylian. To the council it is unprecedented.”

Sidon turns away and gazes out to the entrance of the throne room.

“Do you know when you’ll be seeing her next?” the king asks, “it may not be an easy conversation to have, but I think it would be good to warn her that these concerns hang in the air.”

The prince shakes his head, “it’ll most likely be weeks before we meet again. I sent a letter on Archimedo, but the Gerudo Desert is so far away, and I’ve received no correspondence in return.”

“I see,” Dorephan murmurs, “you miss her greatly, do you not?”

Sidon turns to look back at his father shyly.

“It is easy to see it on your face, my son… would you like a suggestion? Let’s call it an old man’s advice,” the king says.

“Advice?” the prince asks.

“There was a time when I was still a prince where I had disappeared for a few days. It sent the guards and the council into a panic. I had slipped away to meet with your mother, before we were married. We spent days traversing the wetlands together. Hunting, learning, exploring. When I returned my father was furious, but it was all worth it for her.”

Sidon pieced together what his father was suggesting. “You’re not saying that I… that I leave, do you? That I go find her and travel with her?”

King Dorephan smiles but gives an innocent shrug of his shoulders, “well I didn’t say that exactly. But let’s say that if you were absent from the next few council meetings, I wouldn’t kick up a fuss.”

Sidon couldn’t hide the grin on his face even if he tried.

…

The person who looks back at you in the mirror is not someone you recognize.

You’re adorned in golden bands and luxurious fabrics. A crimson top with a white floral is wrapped around your chest, held up by a golden collar that wraps around your neck. On your biceps are golden bands that have the same crimson fabric flowing from them like separate loose sleeves. The sleeves end at your wrist with a thin cuff. On your fingers are shiny rings that are connected to the wrist cuffs with small chains.

At your waist is a skirt which is held up by an intricate golden belt that’s been embedded with gems, jewels that you presume are rubies and sapphires if they’re genuine (which you do, everything in Gerudo town is genuine). The skirt is long, made of the same fabric as the top, and flows all the way down to your ankles. However, on your right side there’s a cut that reveals your leg. 

Your heeled shoes are short (thank the goddesses for that) and delicately wrap around your ankles. Greta, who works with Saula at the clothing shop, had helped style you, and picked out a dainty ruby circlet that sat comfortably on your temple. They’d given you the option of wearing a matching veil, but you politely declined, thinking it wouldn’t make much sense to cover your mouth if you’re about to attend dinner.

Slowly you turned around, gazing at your reflection. You were stunned. You’d never worn anything where your abdomen was freely showing. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d even worn a skirt. Without realizing it you stumbled- heels weren’t exactly your forte either. 

At the very least, you assumed you looked good enough to meet with the chief. Greta had seemed quite pleased with her styling work.

As you gather your belongings, you lift the silver armband Sidon gifted you all those weeks ago. You never traveled without it. Fiddling with the cuffs of your sleeves, you slip on the silver band so that it’s hidden beneath the fabric. You then pick up the Master Sword, tucked away safely in its sheath, and carry it in hand as you step out into the front of the shop once more.

Zelda is already standing outside and you can’t help but admire her. The outfit she wears is similar to your own, but in a blue color instead, and with pants-

“Why do you get to wear pants?” you practically hiss, keeping your voice quiet so as to not sound ungrateful to the shop owners.

She gives a good natured laugh, tucking the Sheikah Slate under her arm, “it’s not as if I plotted this. I think you look quite nice in a skirt, actually.”

“It’s not that I don’t like the skirt… it's just weird. I haven’t worn a dress nor a skirt since before I became a royal soldier. When I was a child,” you murmur.

“I suppose you’re right,” the princess replies, tilting her head to the side, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so dressed up, skirt or otherwise. It’s a nice change of pace. In fact-”

She pulls up the slate and goes to stand beside you. As she lifts the screen you can see that she’s opened the camera rune.

“What are you doing?” you ask, giving her a confused look.

Her excitement, however, is palpable. “Taking a picture, of course, we need to save this memory. Besides, I’m sure Sidon would like to see how you look.”

Your cheeks burn at the mention of the prince. “What makes you say that?” you retort, blush creeping onto your face.

She gives you a look with a raised brow, causing you to flush even harder.

“You know what. Now smile for the photo!”

…

Dinner begins as the sun sets in the horizon. You’re sitting on a cushion with a low to the ground clay table in front of you. A cloth is draped over the table and atop this is an array of food. Bowls of grains and rice, plates stacked high with seared and glazed meats, a bowl of freshly stewed creamy soup, roasted palm fruit and hydromelon, various breads, and a plate of small frosted pastries topped with jellied wildberries.

Your mouth is watering at the sight. But before dinner Zelda had specifically mentioned it was customary not to take food until Chief Riju had, so you have to restrain yourself from feasting just yet.

The princess is sitting beside you, her legs crossed and hands in her lap as she patiently awaits the chief’s arrival. Two soldiers stand guard at the doorway, so you’re too anxious to freely converse with her just yet.

Luckily you need not wait long. Riju finally walks through the door with Buliara at her side. She gracefully walks around the table before taking her seat across from Zelda. Buliara taps her claymore on the adobe ground before saying something you couldn’t quite understand in Gerudo. You assume it’s an order, however, when the two soldiers who’d been at the door nod their heads and exit the room.

“Come now, Buliara, sit beside me,” Riju says warmly, waving her head guard over.

Buliara sets her claymore down on a rack attached to the wall before sitting down cross-legged beside the chief, across the table from you. Without having to look at her you can feel her gaze boring into you.

“I hope the accommodations we prepared are to your liking,” the chief says as she gets comfortable, removing her intricate crown and setting it down beside her.

Zelda quickly nods, “very much so, yes. I do hope it wasn’t any trouble to prepare on such short notice.”

“Nonsense,” Riju says with a shake of her head, “we are always happy to house guests here. Especially when it’s the Princess of Hyrule herself. Now then, as I’m sure was mentioned to you I have made a decision on piloting Naboris. However, I would like to get to know the two of you more before we discuss that. So please, eat, and we can talk as well.”

You’re more than happy to comply. You grab an empty plate and fill it with food from the table: a bread roll, a seared bird thigh, a heaping scoop of rice, slices of roasted hydromelon, and a cup of the creamy soup. As you happily fill your stomach, Zelda and Riju talk.

The princess gives more details on her plans to train new pilots. How she wants to hire architects from all corners in the land to aid in the process of rebuilding the castle and restoring it to its former glory. She explains a recent idea of hers, how the once dangerous guardians could be used in the restoration efforts as their various limbs are quite useful for hauling material and building structures. And that once the center of the castle is rebuilt she’d like to hold a ceremony where each champion is officially given their title so that the news can spread throughout Hyrule.

In return Riju discusses the recent developments occurring in Gerudo Town. Now that the threat of the Divine Beast has been subdued she and her advisors have formulated plans on ways to expand their civilization. Apparently there was an exciting new development wherein the stable inside of the canyon was willing to be a middleman of trade so that the Gerudo could receive new goods in exchange for the many jewels and gems obtained from the desert.

The chief also has many questions for Zelda about the calamity, given that the princess can give her a first hand account.

“There is actually much we do not know about the events that unfolded a hundred years ago. Urbosa was a secretive vai. She never married, and she never bore an heir to the throne. We were lucky that my great-vaba was able to ascend to the throne to continue the royal bloodline. Is there perhaps anything you could tell me about it?” Riju asked. The bright curiosity in her eyes reminded you of just how young she was.

“Well, there’s quite a lot, but I’ll do my best to summarize,” Zelda began, taking a sip of water from her glass, “there was a prophecy carried through the royal family. Ten thousand years ago Hyrule faced a great threat, but this threat was defeated by a princess and her knight, along with the aid of ancient technology. As you could assume this technology was the Divine Beasts and the guardians.”

“However,” she continued, “this prophecy was said to repeat. We thought that with planning and time we could defeat this great evil once more. So we worked with the Sheikah or Kakariko village to unearth the Divine Beasts and guardians. We trained our soldiers to work with them and hired pilots to become the champions. Urbosa was the pilot for Naboris, but there was also Mipha of the Zora, Revali of the Rito, and Daruk of the Goron.”

You interject, “then there was me. I was made the Hylian Champion. If the prophecy was to be believed, the princess’ sworn knight would be the one to wield the sword that seals the darkness and be at her side when Ganon was slain.”

Zelda nodded, “and my job was to unlock my sacred power. It is said that the royal family of Hyrule contains incarnations of Hylia. Women who can unlock a power of light to ward off darkness and evil. Eventually, after much practice, I was able to.”

“But…” Riju trailed off, “it didn’t work. Why not?”

The princess’ gaze darkened momentarily, “well, if we thought that we were prepared… so was Ganon. He used his powers to overtake the Divine Beasts and the guardians, turning them against us. In the beasts he put powerful enemies, each specifically made to counter the abilities of the champions.”

“We were outplayed,” you say sourly.

“I was able to use my powers to contain him in the castle,” Zelda continued, but you interrupted.

“But I had fallen in combat. I was severely wounded. It was decided that I be taken to a place called the Shrine of Resurrection, and it took one hundred years for my wounds to heal.”

“Yes, but once you awoke you fought valiantly. All four Divine Beasts were reclaimed, and when the final battle between you and Calamity Ganon happened in Hyrule Field, I was able to seal him away for good,” the princess concluded.

“Wow,” Riju gasped, “we never knew all of that. It was said that the Hylians abused ancient technology… and that you then faced the consequences.”

You stifle a laugh, “that sounds like something the elder Zora would say. Funnily enough, the council over there doesn’t like me all that much.”

“Surprising,” Buliara mutters, the first time she’d spoken the entire conversation.

You quickly glare at her before turning your attention back to the young chief.

“I have heard those rumors too,” Zelda murmured, “but it’s my hope that now that the calamity has ended, people’s opinions can be altered.”

“Change can be difficult,” Riju replies, lifting her glass and swirling it around, “but not impossible. My mother believed that everyone was capable of change, no matter how hard they tried to fight against it.”

The princess leans forward, “yes… forgive me if I overstep, but… may I ask what happened to the previous chief? You’re awfully young…”

Riju’s shoulders stiffen and she looks to the side, gazing out the window. The sun had set long ago, and the sky was now darkened over the desert.

“My mother…” she whispers.

You go tense, and the princess starts to panic, “my apologies, Riju, if that was too personal- I didn’t mean to-”

The chief shakes her head, locks of her red hair falling over her eyes, “no no, it’s alright. I understand the curiosity. And I assume… both of you know the pain of being young and losing family, yes?”

You cast your gaze to the ground. By the time you’d become a soldier, both of your parents were long gone. All you knew was your family had a legacy of producing talented knights, and you simply decided to follow in their footsteps.

Zelda raises a hand to her chest and nods, “yes. My mother passed when I was quite young, and my father King Rhoam passed during the calamity. And I think, Riju, that I can also understand having responsibility thrust upon you when you’re not ready for it.”

The chief shifts, her expression changed. She looks upon both you and the princess with an air of respect and admiration.

“Yes,” Riju says.

“Pardon?” replies the princess.

“Yes, I’ll pilot the Divine Beast.”

Your head shoots up and you look at the young chief with wide eyes.

“Really?” both you and Zelda say in unison.

Riju nods with a smile on her face, “yes, really, although I will still need to do more training with my guard, of course. And I will need your assistance along the way. To become a champion after Lady Urbosa proved what it takes is quite a daunting task. But I think I’m quite capable.”

Zelda grins, “I agree.”

You glance over to Buliara. The expression on her face isn’t easily readable. If she has anything she’d like to say, she’s holding herself back from doing so.

You set down your now empty plate and raise your hand, “there is one more thing I’d like to discuss, if that’s alright.”

The chief nods her head, granting you permission.

“It’s about the Yiga Clan,” you begin, “they already attempted to breach your security by ambushing us, and I have a theory that during the duration of our stay in Zora’s Domain that we were being spied upon by them.”

“Spying? What gives you that inclination?” Buliara asks with a raised brow.

“When I defeated the Yiga outside of town one of them made a comment, but it was knowledge that is not public. It only could have been known if we’d been spied upon,” you answer, “I fear that not only will the spying continue, but that if they know of our plans to hire new pilots they will attempt to interfere.”

Riju nods and holds her hand to her chin, “I see, that would be dire indeed.”

“We were thinking,” Zelda interjects, “that with the Yiga hideout being so close, you would be more privy to their actions than anyone else. Master Kohga, their leader, is long gone but they seemingly persist.”

Buliara huffs, “the Yiga are like roaches. If you attempt to squash them, they come right back.”

The chief sighs, “indeed. But, I can pass this information along to the rest of the guard. Perhaps they can formulate a mission to gather information. We’ve breached the Yiga hideout before, I’m sure we could do it again.”

You nod your head but your nerves are not eased. You could still be spied upon as soon as you step foot outside of town. Hylia forbid they already infiltrated Gerudo Town, or else nowhere is safe from their espionage. You fear for yourself.

Most of all you fear for Sidon.

“Let’s hold another meeting tomorrow,” Riju decided, picking up her crown, “we can plan how to tackle this pilot training. After that meal, however, I think we could all get some rest.”

“Agreed,” Zelda smiles, seemingly more at ease than yourself.

You bid Riju and Buliara goodnight and after they leave the room a soldier walks in to escort you back to your lodging for the night. Gerudo Town is quite peaceful at night with the moon bringing a chill to the air. In the daytime the market is full of bustling people but it is quiet once the sun goes down. All the young children who are normally running about are in their homes peacefully asleep.

Once back in your room you’re greeted by Archimedo, who had decided to roost in a pile of cushions in your absence. “Hey buddy,” you say to him as you pet his feathers, “I still don’t have a letter for you just yet. But look, I stole some food for you.”

From your sleeve you pull out a bread roll that you’d sneakily hidden away during dinner.

You take a seat in the window sill and gaze out at the desert. There’s unease in the pit of your stomach. You feel as though your mind can’t stop developing various scenarios where something goes wrong. Zelda exits the spare room, having changed out of her Gerduo outfit into something more comfortable for bed.

“Don’t stay up all night,” she says as she blows out the oil candles that had been lighting the room, “we’ll have to rise early for that meeting tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” you murmur, your eyes looking up at the stars in the sky.

The princess gets comfortable beneath her covers and dozes off quickly. You lose track of how much time passes as you sit at the window.

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[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

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

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

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

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

Rated T, gen.

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

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

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

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

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

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

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

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

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

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

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

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

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

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

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

“For free?” Rex demands.

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

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

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

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

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

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

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

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

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

“Yeah?”

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

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My last fight--”

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

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

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

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

“Jedi?”

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

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

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

“Bit young for that.”

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

“Not in command.”

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

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

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

This part of the story is his.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the difference?”

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

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

“Time travel.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s say I believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That why you’re special?”

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

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

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

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caf?”

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

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

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

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

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

“Try me anyway.”

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

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

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

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

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

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

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

“You’re hard on yourself.”

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

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

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

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

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

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

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

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

It’s Depa.

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

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

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

“Are you Depa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

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

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

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

Does she?

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

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

Right. That.

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

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

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

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

That was a forgone conclusion.

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

She does.

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

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

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

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

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

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

“Feeling better?”

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

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

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

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

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

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

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

Of course it isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

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

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

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

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

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

"No, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

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

“Fett?”

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

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

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

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

“And you just kept doing it.”

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

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

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

She recognizes one of them.

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

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

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

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

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not like they know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

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

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

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

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

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was what?”

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

That’s pretty true.

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

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

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

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

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

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

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

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

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

“I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

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

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

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That one gets her an odd look.

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

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

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

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

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

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

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

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

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

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

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

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drop your elbow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“And you?”

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

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

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

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

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

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

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

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

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

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

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

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

He licks her palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whose idea was this?”

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

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

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

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

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

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

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

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

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

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

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

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

Fuel.

Paperwork.

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

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

It’s just a pit stop.

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

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

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

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

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

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

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that.”

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

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

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

He’s examining a papaya.

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

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

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

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

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

“It appears so, Sir.”

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

“Seems it.”

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

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

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

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

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

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

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

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

This was true and accurate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex snorts derisively.

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

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

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

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

“Oh, yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

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

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

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

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

“I’m wh--”

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

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

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

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

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

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

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

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

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

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

Rex snorts.

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

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

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

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

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

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

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

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

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

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

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

He bares his teeth.

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

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

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

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

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

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

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

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

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

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

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

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

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

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

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

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

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

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

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

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

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

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

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

“I’d prefer not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

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

She’s fine.

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

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

“Um.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want to spar?”

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

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

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

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

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

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

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

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

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

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

“No, you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t break right away.

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

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

“Sokari?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

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

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

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

“Commander.”

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

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

Right, sparring.

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

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

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

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

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

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

“Soka.”

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

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

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

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

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

“Soka?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he does.

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

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

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

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

“He’s--”

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

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

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

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

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

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

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

She shivers.

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

She probably should.

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

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

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

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

Again. Again. Again.

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

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

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

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

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

She just stares at him.

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

She can’t.

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

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

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

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

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

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

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

Good things.

About Anakin.

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

Did they?

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

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

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

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

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You... want to be sedated?”

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

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

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

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

“That’s all?”

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

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not the beskad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not even trying!”

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

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

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

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

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

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

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

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

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

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

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

“What about those not yet born?”

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

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

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

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

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

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

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

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

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

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

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

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

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

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

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

Great. Just what she needed.

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

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

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

He knows all of this.

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

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

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

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

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

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

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

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

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

“He’s not vod.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bantha poodoo.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well something had to!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[aliensunflower-fics]

How to Exploit Kindness [A New Kind of Lila Salt Prompt]

[ Ive seen Lila and Class salt that goes a lot of different ways. In some Lilas a sad lonely girl who will do anything for friends and the class fall for her lies through a mixture of manipulation and Lila’s genuine sad lonely but real persona. In others Lila is insane and the class get basically sucked into her cult. And in others still, Lila slowly breaks the class down by preying on there insecurities, hidden jealousies ect. There are the versions where Lila just bribes the class with connections and the versions where Lila frames Marinette until no one believes her. But I wanted to write a new idea for people to use, one that I feel is a bit more realistic. One where Marinette’s classmates are more their more authentic kind selves but still get slowly pulled into Lila’s web and where Lila is just a bit more intelligent. ]

[ As usual with all my prompts feel free to borrow the idea to write for your own thing salt, sugar, cuteness angst ect just be sure to credit me for the idea so I can read it. ]

Lila was furious! This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! She was supposed to be everyone's friend! She was supposed to finally get a cute perfect boyfriend who would cherish her like she deserved! She was supposed to be HAPPY! But no, the pathetic beetle Ladybug and that goody two shoes Marinette kept ruining everything!

No… No that wasn’t quite true. As much as she wanted to blame her problems on those two it wasn’t entirely their faults. Honestly Lila wasn’t quite sure what had happened. Her lies had been working at first, they had gotten her praise and compliments and adoration and friendship! But now? Now they were all ignoring her, unimpressed by her celeb lies! She could not understand it! At first she’d been sure it was Marinette or Ladybug maybe even Adrien had turned on her! But when she’d probed for information she’d learned that none of them had blown the whistle. So what was it! Tomorrow… Tomorrow she will find out one way or another. She needed to get them back under her thumb somehow.

 It was Chloe who gave Lila her answers. Chloe was the reason none of her classmates cared about her stories! Chloe was the idiot mayor's brat. And what a brat she was constantly wiggling her way into her mothers fashion shoots or had celebrities over at the hotel. Of course Lila’s classmates didn’t care about Lila’s celebrity connections because Chloe was always name dropping just as many people as herself. The only difference was Lila used fake modesty and shyness that made her ‘friends’ view her lies in less of a gloating light than Chloe’s haughty claims of celebrity meetings.

It was a damn shame, celebrity lies were her bread and butter, they were exciting got people to think you were important and they were hard to prove or disprove allowing Lila to easily get around the messy little detail of ‘proof’ if someone asked for pictures all she could say was that her mom didn't let her take any because she didn't want her precious daughter being targeted by crazy fans. And if someone asked her to use her celebrity connections? Well she could just turn on the water works and cry about them just being her friend for her connections. Thus her prey would be forced to be her ‘friend’ , always listening to her and doing things for her, unable to ask for anything in return. Then when her mother announced their next move Lila would tearfully say goodbye and leave all her suckers behind. But without the sway of her celebrity lies her system broke down. That was the problem with picking the school full of rich talented idiots she supposed.

Well with Chloe ruining her system she’d need a new one. Scrolling through her classmates' social media for a clue she sneered at their overly cheerful and cutesy posts. Always encouraging one another and posting encouraging puff pieces about this or that. Always acting like they were so nice. As Lila scrolled over a charity fundraiser event that Alya had retweeted from Milene a sudden thought crossed her mind. Her classmates were very ‘nice’ and annoyingly so. They were always butting into each other's business, always being SO concerned, always organizing events to help each other and appreciate each other and going to charity events.

In fact now that she thought about it the stories that had intrigued her ‘friends’ always had some sort of charity garbage attached. Saving Jagged’s kitten or raising money for some cause or other that always got her heaps of praise. Sure saying Clara whatshername stole her dance moves got attention but not in the same way saying she raised money for some green project. Was it really that simple? Sure her classmates all loved Marinette for her extreme generosity and kindness but was it REALLY that simple? She needed to check.

 It was actually that easy. One simple little lie about how she pulled a blind old man out of danger when he was nearly run over and suddenly the class was bathing her in praise. And the ‘fact’ that the whole very real thing made her miss first period and sprain her ankle? Well that was just the cherry on top. Suddenly Max was offering her a copy of his notes and everyone was back to caring for her like she was a princess. The fact that Marinette looked like she was seething only for sweet naive Adrien to keep her mouth shut was just so perfect. She’d found her golden ticket. Her classmates were truly ‘good kind people’ and nothing could be exploited quite like kindness.

With this knowledge Lila would easily be able to destroy Marinette, sure she wouldn’t be able to do it quickly but slowly she would replace her, with every good deed she made up with every act of false modesty she would build a reputation greater than Marinette’s she would replace her and become there new ‘everyday ladybug’ and the best part was she wouldn’t have to say ANYTHING against Marinette. Not. A. Thing. No sweet righteous Marinette would eventually snap, sadly for her it would probably be too late with how much control Adrien had over her, so when it happened Marinette would look like the jealous crazy girl going after the girl that was kinder, sweeter, and better than herself. As for Adrien… Well she had a hard time believing it at first but he really was an idiot with a pretty face as long as she was careful as she built her new reputation he would genuinely believe that she was changing for the better and then he'd fall for her.

The best part was, her classmates were genuine. As she built her new good girl heart of gold persona they would genuinely come to love her, all the loyalty Marinette got to enjoy all the perks of being friends with such talented, kind, sweet people would become hers. Slowly no matter how Marinette struggled she would lose, eventually she’d have nothing left. Of course she’d need to be careful with her lies but that was easy. Bring the class to a charity here and there and tell them that she was the one who gave the idea for the charity to the actual organizer but didn't want any credit because she was just that kind and humble. If they tried to make her do actual work then she’d have a sudden accident that would require she sit down.

And then once she’d done more photoshoots with Adrien for Gabriel she’d ‘convince’ the man that a charity would make him look good and boost sales. She’d MAKE her lies true all while winning over her future father in law, and heck maybe she’d even pocket a little of the money, she could use a better wardrobe and the extra would be perfect to buy her ‘friends’ the occasional ice cream or presents. In between that she’d just lie about saving people or volunteering on weekends. Maybe even let it ‘slip’ how she was a temp hero for Ladybug . One of the sweetest parts was that between volunteering with Lila, there own activities and hanging out with Lila so she could ‘thank them for their hard work’ no one would be spending a second hanging out with sweet pink little Marinette, they'd abandon her without even realizing it because they’d be SO busy. Sadly this plan of hers would take a little more work then her others, but it would be worth it to become the queen bee of the class- NO the school! And when Marinette eventually slipped up and looked like the biggest jealous bully in the school. Well she’d have no choice but to leave the school with her tail in between her legs.

Victory was looking sweet and satisfying.

 [ And where it goes from here is up to you. Lila can win, she can slowly convince the class and school that she's a model citizen and an everyday hero. She can sneakily maneuver the class to not spend time with Marinette slowly separating the girl from her friends. In this way Alya and the rest of them don't become evil salty versions of themselves who overnight hate Marinette and love Lila, but rather they are good naive people who got slowly separated and tricked by someone who wants to use their genuine talents and skills to make herself look better. Adrien who is already shown to be naive and wants to believe the best in people, can fall into Lila’s trap and become genuinely convinced that his high road method really worked and ‘reformed’ Lila into a better person. OR Lila can fail, she can claim to be the wrong temporary hero for ladybug, or she can pick the wrong charity to lie about, or get exposed any number of ways and the class can realize with horror that because they are kind but flawed people who are perhaps too trusting and gullible that they got pulled away from Marinette through subtle manipulation and so they can be redeemed because instead of turning into outright bullies they stayed the same kind people they always were but just got genuinely tricked which is something that can actually happen in real life. You can go heavy salt where Marinette does eventually leave the school or class heartbroken that her kind friends have fallen prey to a bad person Marinette cant find a way to expose. Or you can go clever salt where Marinette figures out Lila’s plan and fights her from the inside slowly exposing the cracks in her facade. Or you can go sugar and redemption where maybe just maybe Lila actually LIKES being nice to people and having real friends who dont care about her fake celeb connections, maybe she honestly redeems herself and even makes amends with Marinette. You can do genuinely anything with this idea and I hope to see this generate some new less *and suddenly everyone is evil* content for those that like salt and angst. ]

[dragynkeep]

i was thinking...do ruby and blake have any songs besides red like roses pt 2 and from shadows? bc weiss has 5 whole songs (mirror mirror, mirror mirror pt 2, its my turn, this life is mine & path to isolation) and yang has i burn, armed and ready & ignite. i literally cant think of another ruby song, and now that i think about it touch the sky is maybe a blake song, but still, she doesnt have any more before vol 7. and from shadows is more of a blake+adam/faunus song anyway

Ruby has Red Like Roses II, Indomitable, Until The End.

Blake has From Shadows, Wings, Like Morning Follows Night, This Time, Nevermore, Touch The Sky(?)

Red Like Roses I is literally just a RWBY song and offers nothing about Ruby as a character, so it can't really be counted as a Ruby-specific song the way Mirror Mirror, From Shadows, and I Burn counts towards the other RWBY girls.

Red Like Roses II is meant to be about Ruby and Summer, but the problem is a common one in RWBY. The song and the show don't match up. RLR2 tells us that Ruby is actually really scarred by Summer disappearing and almost resents her mother for leaving her, especially since she feels like she's thrown into a war that Summer put her in.

But the show shows none of that. Until V7, Ruby only talks about Summer Rose in passing, and none of what we see even hints that Ruby is either traumatised or resentful that Summer died because she chose a mission over staying with her family. You know who that song fits far better?

Yang. Yang has been shown all throughout that she loves Summer but struggles with the abandonment she feels after Summer disappeared. The V5 talk between her and Weiss, for all that I deride for being weird around Yang's relationships with Tai, Summer and Raven, at least showed that Yang inherently sees any form of people leaving as abandonment.

Summer might not have chosen to leave Yang behind, and she most definitely didn't choose to leave her daughter willingly, but that doesn't matter to Yang because emotionally? It hurts all the same.

That fits the tone of resentment and loneliness that's said in Ruby's lines of RLR2. If it wasn't for the obvious rose connections to Ruby, I would've assumed this was a Yang song towards Summer.

Indomitable is really just a Monty song. That's it, it's like Cold but done worse because at least Cold played into the actual show and was meant to be another send off to Monty right after his death. Indomitable didn't do that same way Ruby's forced callout to his famous quote didn't do it in V5.

Until The End was an alright song for Ruby, but after playing in the Volume where she endangered everyone because she refuses to accept losses, it highlights her worst trait; that she refuses to retreat when it's best to do so. To Ruby, it's all or nothing, and the writers had to bend over backwards to make sure their perfect protagonist didn't get everyone killed by making the main villain incompetent and lazy, and outright cheating with their inworld magic.

For Blake, most of her songs are straight up duets.

From Shadows is for her and Adam, and I like that it does delve into how something like the White Fang could be a thing. It made Remnant seem like an unfair place to the Faunus, where both Adam and Blake struggled and were lured into a more violent path because they weren't being treated as equals.

Until the show actively ruined them by making one an obnoxious princess and the other an edgy incel.

Wings is pretty much a Monochrome song, but it's more Weiss singing with Blake as the subject, rather than being an equal in the song and opening up to Weiss. It pretty much foreshadows the unfortunate fate where Blake pretty much is just a prop to show off Weiss' development from being a racist lil' gremlin to the perfect white knight.

I'm not counting Not Falling in Love with You or Bumblb because those are noncanon love songs that are Sun/Yang again singing to Blake, who doesn't have a say in how she feels.

Like Morning Follows Night is another duet, this time with Sun, and I actually liked it. I don't like that Blake assumes Sun doesn't know how she feels because he's not acting like a mopey cunt about it, but I do like that Blake is trying to say that she's terrified of people getting hurt because of her, harbors guilt over all her past mistakes, and Sun simply tells her that she can keep running, but she has to let go of the past and look to the future, while simply being there for her.

He doesn't force her to get over her trauma. He doesn't tell her she's being dumb or overemotional, because he knows how traumatic the FoB was and seeing someone you care about being hurt. He's simply being there for a friend while she sorts herself out. Get yourself a friend like Sun.

This Time is another duet between Blake and Ghira, as confirmed by Jeff. I hate it.

Nevermore is another duet (I'm sensing a theme) where Blake and Yang are singing to Adam. I actually like the sound, it's triumphant and catchy, but I hate the lyrics. I hate that Yang thinks it's her place to tell Adam what he's fighting for and even make a comment about hiding his eyes, when he's doing that to hide his brand you racist bitch.

And Blake's just Blake. Whinging about equality from her McMansion and putting more emphasis on how Adam was abusive towards her, because that's what ended up mattering more to Blake's story and character. The personal abuse she suffered rather than her fight for the equality of her people.

The only song that is actually Blake on her own is Touch The Sky, and I'm gonna be honest. I didn't even know if this was meant to be a Blake song, a Weiss song, or even a Qrow song, and I wasn't the only one.

It sounds so generic with the rest of the V7 soundtrack. The only thing that suggests its specifically a Blake song is the piano common to her songs, and the fact it brings up wings which is specifically a thing for Weiss and Blake.

Until the V8 soundtrack comes out, these are all the important songs that were specifically for Ruby and Blake. As you can see, not very good for our main protagonist, and Blake's just gets worse and worse the longer the show goes on; much like Blake herself.

[guesst]

some of the best fantasy au fics for bnha that i've read

i decided to make a fic rec list of one of my favourite aus/fusions. mostly midoriya-centric, there are some crossovers (with hp), and a lot of different ways in which the authors have taken them - so it could be Quirks, ghosts, outright fantasy aus, spirits, witches etc etc. there isn't a specific order and there aren't a tonne (these are the ones i could find buried in my bookmarks lol), but the ones on the list are all really well written i love them.

i've tried adding relevant information, the summary (shortened if it's pretty long) and just. adding some random tags that may be important. not all of them though. obviously this is not a complete list and there will most definitely be more fics out there, if there are some really good fics that you know that aren't on this list, feel free to tell me, i'd love to read them!!!

i hope someone enjoys these!

Faith Becomes You by SugaSuga

oneshot | gen dfo, quirkless midoriya summary 'There's a tiny shrine in Musutafu that's overgrown with kudzu vines between Izuku's apartment and his middle-school. There may very well still be a god inside it. There may be nothing but the myth of a man from when Quirks were first emerging. Izuku hides in its walls for a while and ends up tending to the forgotten shrine. All good deeds have their impact, don't they?'

Of Mythos and Men by Oceanbreeze7

oneshot | gen spirit animal au, kinda summary (shortened) 'When he was young, Midoriya always wondered what his mythos would be. The matching half to his quirk, the ancestry of its power. Mythos were strange things, not linked genetically like quirks seemed to be. [...] Midoriya hadn't met his mythos. Even in UA. (In his dreams, something called to him, 'Chase me!')'

what a lion cannot manage by LadyLiterature

multichapter | ongoing | f/m, m/m kitsune au, female izuku, future bakudeku summary (shortened) 'She wants to be a hero. Wants to save everyone she meets and even the people she hasn’t. [...] A smart fox avoids fights. A smart fox does not seek them out. A smart fox does not fight for everyone. A smart fox, when they absolutely must, only fights for themselves and what is theirs and nothing else. Izumi, for all that she tries to be, is not a good fox.'

My Magic Academia by Kiterou

series | oneshots and multichapter | ongoing | gen HP crossover, wizard midoriya, platonic bkdk, some ocs summary (shortened) ' [...] In which Midoriya Inko is a witch and Izuku a wizard and even after 150 years of quirks taking over the world, Izuku still couldn't tell Kacchan that he isn't worthless and that he still could become a hero all on his own.'

A Lonely Windchime Makes No Sound by Musecookie

multichapter | ongoing | multi reader/shinso, total fantasy au, very wholesome summary (shortened) ' [...] You enjoy visiting your slightly creepy local library. When you accidentally befriend the elusive owner's familiar, he begins to appear more and more when you visit. You don't really mind, and he doesn't seem to hate you, even when the two of you become tied up in each other's fate as you pursue the secret to reviving a magical species of flower. Soft Strangers to Friends to Lovers type beat with lots of fluff and naps! Sleepy cuddles included.'

The grapes of friendship by Gentrychild

oneshot | gen crack, dfo, vampire izuku summary 'Izuku, a dhampir hiding his real identity as he goes to UA, the best wizard school in the country, spends the day with his friends. None of them are aware of it.'

Yesterday Upon the Stair by PitViperofDoom

multichapter | complete | gen less supernatural, izu's quirk lets him see ghosts, he still has ofa summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it's not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weird quirkless weakling on top of it. But truthfully, the "weird" part is the only part that's accurate. He's determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he's not actually quirkless [...] Not that anyone would believe it if he told them.'

sum of all (and by them driven) by Elemental

series | multichapter | ongoing | gen dadzawa, spirits give quirks, izu sees these spirits series summary 'Quirks aren't what you think they are.' first part summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku is medically quirkless, not technically homeless, perpetually exhausted and doing his damned best despite it all. He also sees spirits, which might be cool if not for the fact that a) no one else does, b) they really don't like him very much, and c) he's pretty sure the heroes now think he's a villain working for the League [...]'

The Struggles of a Modern-Day Vampire by miraculousemily47

oneshot | gen crack, 1-a shenanigans, vampire midoriya summary 'After Midoriya Izuku is turned into a vampire towards the end of his first year at U.A., he decides he wants to tell his classmates about his condition. The only problem is that he can't physically say the words, and his classmates are fucking idiots.'

Lights in the Dark by FrostKitten

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen supernatural au, izuku can see demons etc, quirkless/magic au summary (of first part) 'Midoriya Izuku, like most young kids, knows there are monsters. They live in closets, under beds, and occasionally in the park. As he grows older, his friends stop seeing them...but he still does.'

Hand in Unlovable Hand by jumbletea

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen vampire midoriya (and aizawa), dadzawa, toga n dabi n mido being siblings summary 'A collection of stories surrounding a not-quite-human Izuku and everyone he meets along the way.'

Simply Superstitious by CryCaladrius

multichapter | ongoing | gen lots of folklore and yokai and stuff, 'quirkless' magic user izuku, decent dad hisashi too summary (shortened) 'Izuku Midoriya’s father is a Hou-ou — a Japanese phoenix. For some reason, this means yokai have a standing invitation to pester Izuku with their existence. Birds assemble choirs for his birthday. If there’s no cedar leaf under the welcome mat, the amazake babaa that lives two apartments over will be knocking on their door by evening. His yokai-purifying excursions get mistaken for vigilantism far too often. [...]'

Cuckoo Bird (anonymous author)

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen it may be discontinued but theres lots of fae folklore, deku is a changeling, deals etc, plus some platonic shindeku building up?? summary 'There's something off about Midoriya Izuku. (change·ling /ˈCHānjliNG/ noun a child believed to have been secretly substituted by fairies for the parents' real child in infancy.)'

tread softly as you go by IceEckos12

oneshot | gen if you read any fae au please let it be this! has faeries but mido is not one summary 'Humans used to be good at the old ways. They used to know how to bait the trap, to spin a web of words and lies that would ensnare even the most wily. Humans used to be able to twist deceptions around knots of iron and turn them into weapons of power. They forgot a long, long time ago. A boy unwittingly makes a deal with one of the fae, severing his ties to humanity. However, he finds that the fae world is far more strange and complex than he ever could have imagined.'

Hell is just a shoujo manga by supercrunch

multichapter | complete | f/m fantasy au, bakudeku, fem!izuku, isekai, dekusquad stuff, also some iidachako summary (shortened) 'Izuku wakes up crushed under a statue, trapped in the body of a princess who doesn't exist. Turns out she's a demon, which is weird. What's even weirder is the déjà vu that surrounds Kamino palace, reminding her of the events of this one manga she used to love. [...] But that's probably just a coincidence. [...] The problem here, obviously, is that Izuku's the demon princess. Ergo, she's a villain. And that means she's going to die at the end of this manga. Again.'

hold your breath as you cross by cassiopeia721

oneshot | gen dadzawa, another 'quirks are from spirits au' (expect more of those actually), mido is sad :( summary 'As the bridge between the world of guardian spirits and the quirk users who are blessed by them, Izuku's duty is to clean up the mess his predecessor left. It's taken what feels like an eternity worth of work, but Izuku's finally finished, and he's ready to rest at last. Unfortunately, the pro heroes who just watched him take down the Scourge of Kamino have no intention of letting him just wander off, and he finds himself stuck in an interrogation room with a bunch of humans who he's sure will never believe a word he says.'

To See with Eyes Unclouded by CrazySatan

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen witch au, witch midoriya, quirkless mido, bkg is not a good friend series summary 'Midoriya Izuku is a witch. A powerful witch. And even though he doesn't have a quirk, and magic doesn't Work Like That, Izuku ends up a hero. Somehow.'

Demons and Darkness by wolfsrainrules

series | oneshots | ongoing | gen dadzawa, shinso and mido and bkg are becoming friends, they can see monsters/spirits/bad things summary of first part 'Izuku has believed in the things that go bump in the night since he was small. That means he can see them, and almost everyone he knows....can't. So he decides he's going to be the shield humanity needs, no matter what. Eventually, he finds others that See too.'

know what i've made by the marks on my hands by simkjrs

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen dadzawa, quirk spirit au (this inspired most of the others on this list), also eri summary (shortened) 'Midoriya Izuku just wants to lead a quiet, peaceful life. This is foiled by the fact that a) he can see spirits, b) his good nature demands that he help anyone he sees in trouble, and c) he, by all rights, should not exist. [...]'

Izuku haunts class 1-A by Artistic-Gamer

series or multichapter whichever floats your boat | incomplete (hiatus) | other there are some triggering themes! such as suicide, blood, body disfigurement! please take care of yourself and avoid reading if this will hurt you! in other news: so much dadzawa, so much friendship, hurt mido summary (of first part) 'Class 1-A is rumored to be haunted, only the residents are aware it’s more than just a rumor..'

U.A's Resident Ghost by BeyondTheClouds777

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | gen ghost midoriya, dadzawa, friendships!!!! summary 'There is a ghost at U.A. Not haunting U.A. Not even hanging out at U.A. There is a ghost. Enrolled. As a student of U.A. And it's just Shouta's luck that he has everything to do with it.'

and now, the weather by xylophones

oneshot | gen CRACK, paranormal/ghost hunters au, dekusquad stuff summary 'Izuku runs a fictional horror radio show. Because ghosts aren’t real. Right? (“Holy shit, ghosts are real,” Izuku whispers. Then, with the smugness of a sixteen-year-old who just won a decade long bet, “I knew it! Kacchan owes me five hundred yen!” “Midoriya,” Todoroki sighs, “this ghost is trying to kill us.”)'

U.A Unsolved by handcrusher(ameliafromafairytale)

oneshot | gen (it's a fic of a fic, so if you've read yesterday upon the stair then you'll understand better) izuku can see ghosts thats his quirk summary ' "Hey there, ghosts," Midoriya says, "it's me, ya boy." The dorms are haunted. Shenanigans ensue.'

The Haunting of Class 1-A by BritishRobutt

multichapter | ongoing/maybe discontinued | n/a ghost midoriya, vigilante au, crack, the ghost bit is izu's quirk summary 'Everyone always told Izuku he couldn't be a hero, so when he dies and discovers his quirk, he becomes a vigilante out of spite. Whoops. After becoming Spectre, Japan's most wanted vigilante, Izuku realizes he can just fulfill his dreams of going to the top heroic school- after all, who can physically stop him from attending UA when he's a literal ghost?'

Caged by SternStunde

oneshot | gen tododeku, fantasy au (todo is a dragon, mido is a princess), genderbent deku (fem deku) summary 'Then she held up one of the books and smiled. "Want to learn an ancient language with me?" She was kind of a nerd, and she really hoped the dragon was too.'

Magic Runs Deep by draconicschinx

multichapter | ongoing/probably discontinued | gen mido has a quirk and he can see mythical creatures. summary '"Midoriya Izuku has always been good at making friends. Not human ones, really, but they are good friends nonetheless. " Izuku can see and talk to and interact with mythical creatures. It's not exactly the quirk he was hoping for, but he's going to use it to help humans and his non-human friends all the same.'

[janetbrown711]

Can you write how Wakko’s birth and the fact that he even exists effects this AU

“Just one more push, your highness, then this’ll all be over,” the doctor instructed the exhausted princess. 

“Why did we ever agree to have a second child,” Lena panted and lamented her husband. 

“C’mon Lena, you’re almost done. You’re doing wonderfully,” William kissed her head. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re just the observer,” Lena rolled her eyes, but as she felt another contraction crash over her, she did as she was told, and gave one more final push, instantly collapsing back onto her pillows once she was done. 

“Good job, my love,” William smiled and kissed her again, but a deathly silence filled the room. 

“Wh-what’s the matter? Wh-why aren’t they crying? A-are they even breathing?” Lena asked as she saw the doctor rush the baby away. “W-william, what’s happening?” She looked up at him, but he looked just as frightened as she was. He cautiously wrapped an arm around her. 

“A-are they alright? A-answer me, dammit,” she demanded, tears falling down her face. She heard the doctor and nurses whisper a few things as they attempted to fix whatever issue it was (as they clearly weren’t willing to clarify).

This couldn’t be happening. 

“Please...” she whispered aloud. 

There was another long stretch of silence, and then-

The baby cried. 

Everyone in the room let out a sigh of relief, and in a few moments, the new royal baby was in the arms of the princess, now sobbing tears of joy instead. 

“Congratulations, your highnesses. It’s a boy,” the doctor said with a smile, but William and Lena were too happy and crying to really notice what he had said. 

“He’s okay,” Lena said, and William squeezed her a little, and touched the new baby’s face softly. 

“He’s perfect, Lena,” He smiled.  

“I’m never, ever going to let go of him,” She declared. “I’m simply going to hold him for forever and ever and ever and ever.” Nobody argued. 

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to him... he’ll be safe, and with me,” she swore. William nodded, silently taking the vow himself. 

“Do you have a name for the prince?” One of the nurses asked. Lena and William looked at each other. 

“Wakkorotti, like the performer- but we’d call him Wakko for short,” Lena said. 

“With the middle name Alan, like my father,” William added. 

“A perfect name for a perfect prince,” She smiled, and kissed her baby’s forehead. 

However, Lena and William didn’t have too long to themselves, before none other than Angelina and Yakko entered the room, with Yakko immediately running onto the bed. 

“Is that my baby brother?” He asked cheerfully. Lena giggled and nodded. 

“Do be quiet though, he is a baby,” She reminded the four-and-a-half-year-old. 

“He’s a rather tiny thing, isn’t he?” The queen observed. 

“Why are you here, mother?” Lena didn’t have the patience for her mother’s games. 

“Why do you act like my grandchildren aren’t important to me?” she said, placing a hand on Yakko’s shoulder. Yakko didn’t mind, utterly entranced at the sight of his new sibling. William rolled his eyes. 

“Well, it was nice of you to come by,” He wiped his eyes. “You can go now, though.”

“I will do as I please, thank you very much,” Angelina glared at him.  

“He seems weak,” she remarked once more. 

“If all you’re going to do is criticize a newborn, I suggest you leave,” Lena growled. 

“You know I’ve always said it’s good to have backups, but I’m not quite sure this one would even be adequate enough to qualify,” Angelina didn’t stop. 

“That’s enough, mother,” Lena said. 

“I’m just-”

“I said enough,” She snapped. Angelina paused. 

“You’re lucky I feel pity for you and the weakling,” She said, before turning and exiting. 

“Is he okay, mommy?” Yakko asked. 

“He’s perfect,” Lena smiled once more, and looked back at Wakko. 

“Why is he so tiny?” He asked again. 

“All babies are tiny, Yakko. You were once that small too,” William explained. Yakko “ooh”ed in fascination. 

“That’s cool,” he gave his dad a toothy grin. He continued to stare at him for a moment, before pausing and frowning. 

“Are you gonna forget about me?” he asked softly. 

“Of course not honey,” Lena reassured. “We would never forget about you just because we have a baby now.”

“We love you very much Yakko,” William placed a hand on his elder son’s shoulder. Yakko nuzzled his face on it. 

“And it’ll be part of your responsibilities to watch and care for him too, you know,” Lena said with a soft smile. 

“Really?” Yakko gasped. 

“Yep! As big brother, you have to make sure to always have his back and keep him safe when we aren’t around,” William explained. 

“Cool,” Yakko accepted the new responsibility. 

“He’s not a weakling, right?” He asked. 

“Of course not, honey. Your grandmother is wrong about that,” Lena quickly said. That was not something she was going to let her plant into his brain. 

“Okay,” He happily agreed, but Lena and William shared a look, knowing it wouldn’t be too long before he started his lessons and well- if ideas were already starting to take root...

No. Yakko would be fine. He was better than that. He was very sweet, he’d never be outright cruel or mean like his grandmother likely wanted him to be. When the time came, he’d make the right decisions. 

And so the family carried on, and Yakko did eventually start up his lessons with his grandmother, and Lena and William did their best to counteract them as they could, but it wasn’t easy. Angelina was tricky like that. 

And in the meantime, Wakkorotti (or just Wakko) was growing up into quite the wild child. He loved to run around- sometimes on all fours. He loved to chew on things, make mud pies, many other “improper behaviors” according to his grandmother. However, for the most part, Lena and William were good at keeping him away from her, being more protective over him than they were with Yakko. 

Still. That never stopped the little prince from getting into trouble anyway. 

“Wakko, what are you chewing on?” Lena looked up from her book, her maternal instincts kicking in. Wakko didn’t respond. 

“Wakko...” She said in a warning tone, looking at him, before gasping and realizing he was chewing on a book from her mother’s study she had given to Yakko for her or William to read to him. 

“Wakko, drop that now.” she ordered, panicked. Confused at her urgency, he dropped it immediately, and Lena quickly bent over and took the papers from him. 

“Remember what I said? We don’t chew on books. You can chew on your toys instead,” Lena reminded him softly. 

“Sorry mummy,” he apologized. Lena sighed tiredly. 

“It’ll be alright, let’s just get it fixed before-”

A knock on the nursery door interrupted her sentence, and before she knew it, her mother entered the room. 

“Angelina, it turns out I need-” The queen stopped midthought when she noticed Lena was holding the book, which was covered in teeth marks and slobber. 

“You let him get to it?” She gave a look of disgust at her grandson. 

“Wakko, get behind me,” Lena stood from her rocking chair, and Wakko obeyed, scurrying behind the safety of his mother. 

“That ‘son’ of yours is no better than a goat in a barn,” Angelina shook her head. “Though even a lowly goat is more intelligent than him.”

“He’s four, mother, have some mercy,” Lena responded. 

“Mercy is for those who deserve it, not for stupid, filthy animals,” Angelina rolled her eyes. 

“That book was supposed to be for Yakko’s lessons.” she looked at Wakko. “He’s going to be important one day, unlike you. Your job is to simply sit on the sidelines and be civilized, but you can’t even do that, can you?” she glared. 

“That’s enough, mother,” Lena warned, stepping in front of Wakko to block his vision. 

“Don’t act like you’re so tough, Angelina,” she warned. “I know your weaknesses too. The Tower is still plenty functional.” 

Lena didn’t break. 

“Well now... seeing as you’ve ruined a perfectly good book of mine, I suppose I’ll just be leaving this here then,” Angelina rolled her eyes and pulled out a toy bunny from her dress pocket. “I think one of them left it in my study, and I can’t fathom as to why.”

“That’s- that’s Yakko’s bunny. I haven’t seen that in years... why did you have it? He missed it so,” Lena took the toy from her. 

“Toys are for fools, of which Yakko is not,” She remarked. 

“Toys are for children, of which Yakko is,” Lena replied coldly. 

“Of course you’d think that,” The queen sighed. 

“Well... seeing as I have no more use of the two of you, I’ll be taking my leave now,” She nodded and left. Lena rolled her eyes before turning around. 

“Are you alright dear?” Lena asked Wakko. Wakko sniffled, holding back tears. 

“M’fine,” he said. Lena wrapped him in a quick hug. 

“I’m going to give this to Yakko- his sword lesson with his father should be done soon,” Lena looked at the clock in the room. “Will you be okay waiting in here a moment?”

Wakko nodded. 

“Good,” she kissed his forehead. “Yakko will be right here in a moment. I’m afraid I have to go- I’m not feeling well. You’ll stay right in here though, right?” She asked with a soft smile. 

Wakko nodded once more.

“Good,” she gave him another hug. 

“I love you,” She said, and left the playroom in a rush. Wakko didn’t have the slightest clue as to why, but he was fine with waiting in the playroom. It was his favorite place to be. 

However, his grandmother’s words played on repeat in his head, and for some reason, he couldn’t get it out. 

She said he was a wild and filthy animal. That wasn’t true. He took baths, though he did have a tendency to get dirty at times... but that was because it was fun. Fun things aren’t bad... right?

Wakko wasn’t any more an animal than his grandmother was, that’s what Daddo would say. 

Still... Grandmum was scary. She was mean and old and wrinkly and her stares were mean. He didn’t like how it felt when she looked at him. 

Thinking about it made his eyes fill with tears, and before he knew it, he crawled under the playroom table and began to cry. 

He wasn’t stupid... was he?

He had been told several times not to chew on books or things that weren’t his, especially if they were his grandmother’s. He should’ve paid more attention. Stupid people don’t pay attention...

“Wakko? Where are you?” Without Wakko realizing, Yakko had entered the room. Still, Wakko was in the middle of crying and wasn’t going to stop now. 

“Wakko? Are you crying?” Yakko asked, looking around for him, until he eventually found him under the table. 

“Hey... it’s okay,” Yakko said, crawling under the table and joining him, giving him a tight hug. 

“I-I’m not stupid, r-right?” Wakko sniffled. 

“Of course not, Wak,” Yakko reassured. “You’re smart.”

“B-but I don’t read o-or talk like you,” he pouted. 

“Dad said being slow isn’t stupid, so you aren’t stupid,” Yakko let go and pointed out. 

“Did Grandma tell you that?” He asked. Wakko nodded sadly. 

“Grandma is wrong about you,” He said. “She doesn’t like you for no reason, but she should like you. You’re really fun.”

“I am?” Wakko perked up a little. Yakko nodded. 

“You make up the best games and stories,” He grinned. “Plus, you’re pretty cute too. I don’t know many people who can refuse those puppy dog eyes.”

“Thanks Yakko!” Wakko beamed and gave his brother a hug. “You’re a good older sib.”

“No problem, Wak,” he chuckled. “Let’s play now, I have to go to my lesson in a half-hour.”

“But that’s so sooooooooon. I’ll die of boredommmmmm,” He pouted.

“I know, but you know you can’t sit in. I don’t need to remind you of last time...” Yakko said, and Wakko looked at the floor. 

“Okay...” he sighed. Yakko bit his lip. 

“Oh! I have an idea!” He snapped his fingers. Quickly, he crawled out under the table and grabbed his toy bunny and crawled back under. 

“While I’m at my lessons you can have this,” he said, handing it to him. 

“But mum said it’s yours,” Wakko frowned. 

“I don’t mind parting with Bugs if it’ll make you feel better,” Yakko smiled.

“You mean it?” Wakko’s face lit up. 

“Of course. Bugs has brought me a lot of comfort, I’m sure he can do the same for you,” Yakko said. “Plus, Grandma doesn’t like him much, so he’ll need someone to watch over him too. Are you up to the challenge?” 

“Yeah!” Wakko agreed enthusiastically, and Yakko handed him the stuffed bunny. 

“I’ll protect him with my life,” he promised. Yakko snorted. 

“I know you will,” he elbowed him lightly. 

“Now... can we crawl out of here and get to playing? I’m a lot taller than you and it is cramped under here,” he joked. 

Wakko nodded, and together the brothers crawled out from under the table, and began to properly play their silly little games to the fullest they could, and when their thirty minutes was over, Wakko was happy waiting and watching over Yakko’s bunny, Bugs, promising to make sure the bunny didn’t feel lonely and that he always had someone to watch over and protect him, like how he had Yakko. 

Wakko was the luckiest little brother in the world.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

[hchollym]

Do you think there's any way that Elia was okay with Rhaegar and Lyanna running off together?

No. I really don’t. And actually, if GRRM ends up writing the story in a way that makes it seem like Elia was okay with it, then it’s honestly going to make me sick.

First of all, we have the reaction of everyone at the tourney at Harrenhal: 

Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. 

If “all the smiles died”, that includes Elia’s, and who could blame her? This was a humiliating moment for her. She was his wife and the princess, and he spurned her in what was a clearly unexpected way. If she knew about this in advance, then one would assume that she’d be clapping or still smiling to show her support, but she did not. On top of that, Lyanna was a child. She was only 14 when Rhaegar crowned her the queen of beauty, and I highly doubt that Elia was okay with any part of this situation.

Then, we get to the fact that any children Lyanna had would be a threat to Elia’s trueborn children, especially given the fact that there was still a large part of the population racist against the Dornish, and Lyanna is a Stark and has the blood of the first men running through her veins. That’s just another Blackfyre Rebellion waiting to happen. And that’s if Rhaegar doesn’t just outright skip over Elia’s children to name Lyanna’s children his heirs, because he loves her more. Sure, Elia may hope that doesn’t happen, but she doesn’t truly know for sure that it wouldn’t. And it would be a difficult political move, but we already know that Aerys was considering doing that with Rhaegar and Viserys, so it’s obviously possible.

I’ve seen some people claim that Elia would be okay with it because she couldn’t give Rhaegar any more children, but the thing is, Rhaegar didn’t need any more children. If Elia had given him 0 children, then I could see this argument more, but Elia gave him a son and a daughter. While Rhaegar may have wanted three heads to the dragon, I don’t think Elia would have found it important enough for him to take a mistress to have a third child.

Another argument I’ve seen is that Elia and Rhaegar were a political match and not in love, so it was okay for Rhaegar to run off with Lyanna, because he truly loved her. This is ridiculous. Most high-born marriages in Westeros are political matches. It doesn’t make it okay to abandon your wife and children to "follow your heart.” Especially since Elia doesn’t have the option to “follow her heart” and take another lover, because I seriously doubt that Rhaegar was generous enough to give her the option. Most men - especially those raised to believe they’re better than everyone else, as Rhaegar would have been with the Targaryen exceptionalism - would not be okay with their wife sleeping with another man, no matter how noble they are. And Elia definitely would not have had the option of having children by another man, because she could have been charged with treason for being unfaithful to the King. There’s a definite power imbalance in this situation.

Last, Rhaegar left Elia with his father (who he knows is deranged and losing touch with his sanity) with only Jaime - a young, new knight - to protect her. Even if you claim that Rhaegar had no idea how dangerous Aerys was, it was still ridiculous to leave his wife and two children alone with one young knight to defend them while Lyanna had three of the best knights in the realm guarding her.

None of this is to say that this is Lyanna’s fault, because again, she was a child. I simply see no way that Elia was okay with this.

Sorry for the long response, but thanks for the ask!

[the-lady-writes-what]

Hot and Bothered, CH. 2

Contents: Bondage, cock warming, slight choking, edging, orgasm denial, slight degradation, cream pie, dirty talk, dom/sub relationship, poly

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

                                                         ---080---

Five minutes after Dabi was out of sight, you tried to ease the tension in your lower belly. Squirming made matters worse without outright disobeying Dabi’s orders. The shower in the next room turned on. Behind you, Hawks barely made a peep. You could feel him inside, twitching like he ached to move. He was buried so deep inside that if you moved just a little, you swore you’d come only from that. It was a snug fit made all the more unbearable when you considered how horny you were.

The sound of the shower going was the only thing to distract you. Keigo, who was usually a loudmouth and pervert, was oddly silent. Your hand reaches up to your breasts and tweaks your nipples in search of some relief. Dabi never said you couldn’t touch yourself, just couldn’t move from your position.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Asked Keigo.

“What do you think? I’m trying to find some relief.”

You touched anywhere that wasn’t your sensitive clit, though the temptation was there.

“You’re asking him to see you like this and punishing you again,” said Keigo.

“It’s your fault. It—It’s your fault that I’m like this.”

The shower still ran. Dabi must have left the door open. If you weren’t careful, you’d be in a world of trouble.

“You…it’s all your fault, you know. And you can do something about it. You’re strong enough to break those damn ropes. You could break out and fuck me. You already broke house rules once today!”

“No need to lose your venom on me, babe.”

After all, touching yourself stopped providing any sort of relief or distraction. You had to contend with sitting on Keigo’s cock without moving until Dabi decided to be merciful. He showed up once you’d become delirious. Seeing him stepping out of the shower with nothing but a towel around his hips had you drooling.

“Had enough yet?” Dabi chuckled at the sight of you, ogling him and trying not to move too much.

“Please, please, please. I can’t take it anymore. Please let me fuck Keigo. I need it so bad.” You hated how you sounded when you whined like that, but it was a surefire way to turn Dabi’s sadist mode on.

His dark brow shot up like you said something weird. Dabi wore a feral grin as he sauntered towards the bed, letting his footsteps linger. The anticipation was killing you. He sat at the end of the bed, grinning the Cheshire Cat.

“Oh, you’re not fucking Keigo tonight. Not until I say so.” Dabi chucked the towel off and threw it across the room, not caring where it landed. “Now, come here, little girl.”

You tried not to look at Dabi’s erection that he somehow managed to hide under the towel. Pulling Keigo out wasn’t painful, per se. As you crawled away from him, you had to go slow or end up hurting yourself from his cock being inside for so long and without friction. The man was still hard as a rock and was most likely sporting the bluest of balls you’d seen on him or any man. You couldn’t help but moan as you pulled him out, crying out at the absence of him. With shaky arms, you crawled over to the end of the bed where Dabi sat.

He cupped your chin in his hand as he examined your face. You hated and loved how his turquoise eyes stared at you. It was like being a butterfly, and your wings are pinned with needles. Dabi had a way of making sure you knew your place without laying a hand on you or saying a word. Something about his gaze was domineering did something to you that turned you into a pile of submissive goo.

Staring into his eyes, you felt his thumb brush against your lower lip. Without breaking eye contact, you took his thumb into your mouth. Without prompt, you started sucking. Dabi added more fingers to pump into your mouth until you drooled all over your chin. With his other hand, he fisted your hair and pulled your face towards him. His tongue swiped across your lips, and you moaned as he entered. He did the same process with his tongue as he did with his fingers, pulling in an out, simulating the act you most desperately wanted to happen to your cunt.

“Please,” you whined once he gave you enough breathing space. “I need it.” Dabi gave you a wet kiss against the side of your neck. Your arms shook. How much longer was he going to let kneel like that?

“You know what I want to hear next then. So, say it.”

Your lips quivered as the words tumbled out. “P-please, Sir. I need you to fuck me.”

Dabi gave you a smack on your ass. “Good girl. Turn around so I can see that pretty cunt of yours.”

Maneuvering around Keigo’s legs, you turned around so that you faced away from Dabi. Your arms gave out as soon as he stuck a finger inside you.

“Fucking wet. Are you sure you didn’t fuck him without my permission?” He swatted your ass again. This time he left a red handprint.

“Y-yes, Sir. I swear I didn’t…”

“Such a good girl.” Dabi drilled you with his fingers, adding one for every swat.

You had four fingers stuffed inside before you were on the verge of coming. Dabi pulled them out roughly and nearly sent you spiraling downwards. You gripped the sheets when you felt something more significant than Dabi’s fingers poking your entrance. You felt Dabi’s thick head brushing your clit back and forth as he lathered himself with your gushing juices. With the help of that natural lubrication, he slid inside your cunt’s velvet walls. Dabi pumped once, twice before he was fully sheathed and bottomed out.

“Keep your eyes on him while I fuck you, princess,” Dabi growled as he started thrusting.

You lifted your head to see Keigo staring back at you. His yellow eyes never left yours even as Dabi pushed and pulled on you. Dabi’s hands bruised your hips as he dragged you against him over and over again. The piercings on his cock rubbed the wet inner walls of your cunt. Your (e/c) eyes should have rolled into the back of your skull had it not been for the fact that he told you to keep looking at Keigo while he fucked you. Obedience was crucial for getting thoroughly fucked by this man, and you sure as hell weren’t about to pass it up.

“So wet…so tight,” Dabi’s hand smacked your cheek. “Ain’t that right, Keigo? You just couldn’t resist this perfect, tight cunt, could you?”

Without blinking, Keigo stared you directly in the eyes. Sweat dribbled down the side of his face. His teeth bullied his bottom lip that was already red. “Yeah,…she’s fucking perfect.”

Hearing Keigo say that while Dabi fucked you from behind, set it off. You groaned with your hands fisting the sheets. You felt hot liquid seep down your legs. You convulsed around Dabi, who was moaning yet didn’t come.

Instead, you were picked off the bed and made to lean your back against Dabi’s chest. His scars and staples rubbed vicious marks across your skin as he bounced you on his cock. One hand still gripped your hip while the other journeyed to your breast. His hands had long, slender fingers made perfect for groping your tits and bruising your nipples. Dabi suckled on your neck a few times on either side to make sure you were covered in his marks.

“Don’t stop looking at him. I didn’t say you could stop even after you come.”

Poor Keigo. His cock was almost purple. He looked like he was going to burst. He shifted on the bed as he continued to watch your cunt being pummeled by someone other than him. Dabi forced you down again on his cock, never letting you take a break.

“Filthy slut,” Dabi drove into you harder than before. He was chasing that high, only being rough with you gave him. “You like being watched, huh? Like him watching getting pounded into?”

His hand pinched your breasts until they nearly matched your neck in purplish marks. Dabi tweaked your nipple to the same rhythm of his cock pounding your insides. You felt his hands move around again when his thrusting became erratic. You could feel him twitch inside of you, which marked the beginning of the end. You were getting close too. His nails scratched your leg while Dabi had the crook of his elbow shoved against your throat. He moved faster as he pressed you as close to him as possible.

The combination of his nails, the choking, and the wild drilling had you spiraling again. Your screams of pleasure were sure to displease your neighbors. Again. Dabi finished not long after you. You shuddered violently as his cum filled you to the brim and slipped out of you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head this time. Dabi quickly pulled out and untied Keigo.

You were exhausted by the time you realized that you were back in Dabi’s arms. Your arms were pulled behind your back, and he held your legs open with his. Keigo crawled over to you. He got between your legs. You shuddered and tried to get away, but Dabi held you tight. Keigo’s tongue lapped at the fluids, yours and Dabi’s, on your inner thighs. You screamed for mercy, but none would be given to you. Keigo looked up from his spot between your legs, tongue lulling out towards your sensitive bud. You shook your head, which served no purpose other than egging him on.

Keigo licked your overworked clit. He sucked on it and gave kisses to your thighs.

“Can I please?” He begged Dabi. “I can’t take it anymore.”

You knew Keigo could beg, but never knew he could sound pathetic. His cock dripped with pre-cum and was about to explode if he didn’t get any.

“Give me a kiss first,” Dabi demanded.

Keigo reached past your head and kissed Dabi full on the mouth. Their tongues brushed and battled against each other even as Keigo’s hands wander to your chest. His fingers were nowhere near as long as Dabi’s, but they were thick. He rolled your nipples in his palms while he had his tongue stuck down Dabi’s throat. Dabi suddenly pulled back, leaving Keigo gasping for air.

“Well?” Said Dabi. “You want to fuck her or not?”

Keigo didn’t answer with words. He responded to the question by starting to plow you instead. Keigo wrapped your legs around his waist while Dabi kept your arms pinned at your back.

“What do you say, princess, for letting Keigo fuck you silly?”

“T-Thank you, Sir!”

Keigo didn’t last long. All of his pent up desires allowed him to last half as long as Dabi. When he did come, he pulled out at the last second to finish on your chest and stomach. He had enough energy left to stuff you with his fingers and play with your clit. You were so sensitive and throbbing that you couldn’t hold back either. Keigo sensed your impending you climax and kissed you, muffling your cries. Dots danced in front of your vision. Keigo pulled out entirely.

The boys stretched you out with your head pillowed under their arms. You were a panting, shivering, dizzy mess between them.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” Keigo whispered in your ear.

“I should let you two break the rules more often," said Dabi in your other ear.

                                                         ---080---

[mylittlemystery]

Tongue Tied

Summary: for someone who usually had such a way with words, it was a rare occurrence for Gundham to find himself at a loss for them.

A/N: I have a total of three brain cells remaining, and all of them have been starving for some ‘lee Gundham content.

Sonia glanced up from her book when she felt the mattress dip beside her, and a warm smile graced her lips once she recognized it was none other than her boyfriend. “Gundham!” she chirped as she marked her place and set the book aside on her nightstand. Reading could wait until later - spending time with her lover was much more important. “How can I help you?”

Surprisingly enough, Gundham was rather quiet. He wasn’t usually one to actively seek out physical affection, so this situation was already strange enough as it is. He rubbed his forearm rhythmically, multicolored eyes taking up a striking interest in the wrinkled bed sheets beneath them, and his typically pale skin almost looked like it had been airbrushed with a baby pink hue. “U-um,” he muttered under his breath, already quiet words muffled even further by the large scarf covering his mouth.

Sonia’s previously cheerful expression melted into one of careful concern, and she scooted her body closer to the other’s after a moment’s hesitation. “Gundham? Is something the matter?” she inquired softly before resting a palm atop his bandaged hand. “If there’s something bothering you, you can always tell me…”

“N-no!” Gundham exclaimed with a sudden ferocity as he snatched his hand away. Immediately realizing that he had raised his voice a little too much, he recoiled back into himself like a wounded puppy. “It’s nothing like that,” he elaborated in a much gentler tone than before. “It’s just...I...I just…”

Sonia found herself at a loss for words for a moment as well - she had never seen the ordinarily prideful man in such a state. She knew that it was impolite to pry, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the other like this. “Just what?” she echoed softly, raising a hand to cup one of those flushed cheeks.

Gundham flinched ever so slightly at the unannounced physical contact, but he made no move to stop his lover’s advancements. “W-would you…” It wasn’t that he had wanted to pause - rather, it was as if his very voice had been abruptly ripped away from him. Damn it...he was feared by countless beings, both mortal and supernatural alike! He shouldn’t be so easily overcome by such a harmless request! “...Would you perform that mortal ac-activity with me again?” he finally managed to choke out.

Sonia blinked obliviously, taking a minute to recall the events the two had participated in during the past week. “Do...do you mean tickling…?”

Judging by how red the other’s face grew at the mere mention of the word, it appeared that her shot in the dark had landed. “If...if that’s what you call it, yes,” Gundham murmured, seemingly trying to bury his head in the protective cocoon his scarf provided.

It was safe to say that Sonia’s heart melted at this downright adorable reaction, and a tender grin spread across her mouth. “Aw, of course I can!” she gushed without truly meaning to - seeing her boyfriend like this was just too cute for her to handle. “There’s no need for you to be so embarrassed over something like that.”

“F-foolish girl! An Overlord such as myself does not fall prey to such trivial enchantments!” Gundham insisted in an attempt to recover some of his lost ego, but it wasn’t very convincing when he still couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with the other.

Clearly, Sonia didn’t buy the act (if her bubbly giggle was anything to go off of, that is). “Alright then! Lie down so we can do this properly!” she instructed merrily as she gave his chest a delicate prod.

Gundham did as he was told, face practically turning into a radiator with how much heat was pouring off it, laying on his back with his arms crossed like a little beetle stuck on its shell. His legs began fidgeting ever so slightly, feet toying with the top sheet beneath them anxiously. It was clear he was nervous, but not in the typical manner one might expect; this was a giddy sort of nervousness, one a child might experience when playing tag with their friends.

Sonia definitely wasn’t going to take this opportunity for granted, and she took some time to relish in the sight presented before her. The Forbidden One was as red as a tomato, his gaze focusing anywhere but on her own, and his normally carefully guarded body was being offered to her like the greatest gift she ever could have imagined. It made a sense of immense humility blossom within her heart; she felt absolutely honored to be trusted by the other to this extent. Finally, figuring she had kept him waiting long enough, she slipped her hands underneath his shirt and began skittering her well kept nails along the seldom touched flesh.

It didn’t take long at all for Gundham to burst into a flurry of tiny titters, his hands instinctively lowering themselves to push at those of his lover. “Nnnnnh! G-guhuhuhahahaaa!” His smile was much softer than his ordinary sneer, closed eyelids wrinkling at the corners with forced mirth, and his laugh sounded much lighter as well.

“You have such a wonderful laugh, Gundham,” Sonia gushed without really realizing it. “I’m so happy you’ll let me see you like this...all giggly and flustered!” A few giggles of her own mingled with those of her lover’s as she watched his plethora of reactions, her fingers continuing their devious dance along the expanse of quivering flesh.

Gundham didn’t think it was possible for his face to grow any redder than it already was, but this line of complimenting proved him sorely mistaken. He turned to bury his head into one of the many pillows beneath him, hoping that this would succeed in hiding his atypical demeanor, but all this did was result in the earlier scratches turning to gentle kneading. He barked out a laugh as he instinctually brought his knees to his chest, or, rather, into his beloved’s lower back.

Sonia clicked her tongue in mock chastise at this, shaking her head solemnly as if the other was nothing more than a particularly naughty pet. “Trying to hide yourself away from my claws?” she hummed as her formerly adoring smile morphed into one of a much more devious nature. She couldn’t help herself - she took a great fondness in teasing her brooding boyfriend to smithereens. “Silly dear...you know they’ll just find a way to keep on tickling~”

Gundham couldn’t hold back his yelp of surprise when he felt one of those dangerously long nails twirl inside his navel, and he fell into a bundle of chest shaking chortles. Words certainly seemed to hold an immense amount of power over him, what with his frantic clambering to hide his face behind his forearms, so it was no wonder that these sultry laden quips were making him feel weak in the knees. Still, he had to keep his composure. He wouldn’t dare surrender to something so light hearted!

“That’s right, love. Giggle all day!” Sonia cooed as she gradually let up on the area, her fingers idly tapping against the still quaking abdomen. “My goodness, you’re all aflush! I suppose not even the Supreme Overlord of Ice is a match for the Tickle Monster…”

...On second thought, he was surely going to die here. Swallowing down the antsy lump in his throat, Gundham affixed the best glare he could manage given the circumstances against those icy blue eyes. “You...you truly are a wicked enchantress…”

An unusually dark titter slipped from Sonia’s lips as she batted her lashes down at her captive innocently. “But of course~! And now that I’ve got you in my clutches, I have to wonder just what I’ll do with you…” She raised her hands so they were now at her sides, fingers wiggling in anticipation, looking the other up and down like he was the tastiest meal she’d ever laid eyes upon. “I could keep playing with this ticklish tummy for a while…”

More deep chuckles escaped from Gundham as the scribbling on his stomach resumed.

“Maybe I could play piano on your ribs…”

Delicate tapping soon followed, earning the princess a trifle of squirming.

“Maybe I could burrow under your arms…”

Said action won an outright snort.

“I could even play This Little Piggy with your toes~!”

Though she made no actual followthrough to these words, Gundham couldn’t help but bury his feet into the mattress protectively.

“Or maybe…”

The Dark Lord’s heart skipped a beat at the sudden silence that overpowered the room, his gaze trained on the surely rising claws of his demise. He felt so utterly meek in this position, so inconsequential and powerless, and it made an unfamiliar feeling brew in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps this was what humans meant when they referred to another as being bashful…?

“I’ll get at that cute little neck of yours!”

Gundham was rudely tugged away from his inner thoughts by the horrid sensation of...well, he didn’t quite know exactly what it was, but it was enough to make him explode with powerful belly laughter. “AHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” His lower half thrashed to and fro violently as if his very existence itself was determined to escape this predicament. “WH-WHAHAT IS THAHAHAHAHAT?!”

“What, you’ve never had a raspberry before?” Sonia asked dumbfoundedly, momentarily dropping her sadistic creature act. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at things), she recovered just as quickly. “Well then, I’ll guess we’ll just have to make up for it now~!” Preparing herself with a dramatically loud inhalation of breath, she blew against the other’s typically concealed neck once again.

To say that Gundham was hysterical would’ve been a major understatement; his throaty cackles were reverberating off the walls with the intensity of a clap of thunder. “NOHOHOHOHOHOOO!” he wailed desperately as yet another raspberry was delivered, creeping up to the edge of his sanity, clutching the other’s long strands of hair weakly. “IHI YIEHEHEHEHELD!” he cried out at last. “M-MEHEERCEEEHEHEHEE!”

With this dire call for reprieve, Sonia ceased her consensual torment immediately. Her smile melted back into the warm one others were more accustomed to seeing, and she delicately rubbed her thumb underneath the edge of his jawline. “Oh, love...I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I do hope I didn’t go too far...did I?”

Taking some time to steady his breathing to a level he was satisfied with, Gundham gently shook his head. “I...I found that to be quite...entertaining,” he admitted in a hushed whisper, as though he was uttering a forgotten secret, his eyes shifting around the room awkwardly. “Th-thank you, my bunny…”

Sonia felt her own face grow hot at the sound of the beloved nickname, not hesitating to plant a kiss of appreciation on the tip of the other’s nose. “Of course!”

Gundham sighed as he wrapped his arms around her slender frame. She was a devious little minx, that much was for certain, and he’d managed to get tightly coiled around her little finger...

[aeondeug]

So As Yet Unsent did a number on me and got me to love Judith. It also left me wanting to write something for the research she did before going to proposition Marta. And so here is that something! A series of three narrative poems about Judith gradually working up the nerve to ask Marta:

The first time you read one You had been walking through the halls To find and spy an excited gaggle Gathered around and whispering On just how hard it had been for Them to sneak this into the shipments. Those composed there heard you step, One shooting upright with a salute While another swore and asked Just what was up only to look right And see you standing there Spine erect, face grim and firm. He blanched at the sight seen And lost the words in his throat And all his years of training too Until you reminded him of them. Each head there rose one by one, Hands folded behind their back neatly, And you did not even interrogate them But instead demanded outright and bald For whatever contraband they’d snuck in To be handed over to you now Before more serious measures be taken. One made a comment, an argument, Saying there was none to be found And that he was quite confused as to why You’d even think to ask them of that. You asked him if he thought you stupid, To which he answered “No, sir”, smartly, To which you said you thought him stupid. Very. A smart one meanwhile pushed out her hands To reveal a book with a silly title And an even sillier cover, A truly stupid prize to sneak through customs. You frowned and thought to yourself How a kinder officer would let it slide, But you were the image of the Second House And with it the image of the Cohort, There could be no quarter given, So you snatched the book from those hands Barely giving it or her a glance. Then you ordered them off on a run With a note that you’d be going up And informing their superiors in due time. Later that night, such as they’re counted Up in the dead expanse of the stars, You looked down at the book Which sat with a stack of flimsies on your desk Ready to be sent off and be disposed of. It wasn’t the first romance you’d seen Of this very specific subject matter, But it was the first you’d held admittedly. You looked over its cover again With its handsome, strapping cavalier Whose coat was not to code, collar open, And in whose arms lay a shrinking adept, Eyes closed serenely, lips lightly parted. You sneered at the thing and thought Of how it and the flimises would be off soon, Heading further down the bureaucratic chain. But instead of grabbing them each and all To be carried off and away as needed, You picked up the book with a scoff And you opened it to a random page To give it a slight read before it burned. The dialogue was atrocious, first off, And the narration lingered too long, Being overly fond of outfits and lamps and more. It was a horrible book in truth, But you turned to its first page feeling bored And set to reading it right through that night. There hadn’t been a new book in weeks, And you were just growing so tired Of the stack of ones already read. This is what you told yourself that night As you read through the whole tome Until eventually you were through it all And its whole sordid tale Of a cavalier and their necromancer. It was the first you’d read.

--

The second time you read one You actually read a set of three together. They were from three authors And from three subgenres, Sharing only one thing in common: A love between a cav and their adept. These books you’d gathered for yourself Based off the writings you’d seen In book magazines on your off days And based off the talk you’d heard Among others in the cafeteria. It was something of a pain, it was, Paying off person after person again In search of these three particular books While leaving behind you a trail Too confounding to be traced to you. For should you be found out about You’d be called a hypocrite by your men, And soon the word would spread around About Judith Deuteros’ unseemly interests. Thankfully your years of tearing apart smuggling rings Had taught you well how to travel and talk, So you felt yourself quite safe As you gathered up your secret finds. Yet safety had or no, you hid them carefully And you moved through each slowly, Fearing every last noise you heard reading Was someone noticing your newfound habit. These books weren’t much better than the first, Is what you told yourself those days After having read through them each. As the dialogue was still off in all three, And the one loved adverbs far, far too much, And you only needed see one love triangle To know you never wanted to see another. And of the whole lot you felt the worst Was the one about the Cohort pair, For nothing was accurate in the least, And everyone would be court martialed At least nine times over, God willing. That was assuming the pair ever left training, Which you thought was very doubtful. Yet in the nights after reading it When you had disposed of them each and all, It was that Cohort book you thought of And neither of the other two, Though they were slightly less awful. The cavalier was nothing like Marta. They were overbold and cared not for order. At the best you’d called them a fool, But for all your unkind words to the cav You had far colder ones for the adept, In whom you saw none of yourself. Yet as you lay in bed one night You thought of one moment halfway in the book Where the adept had cornered their cav, Pressing them to a wall before a mission That was sure to kill them both at last. You’d thought of how the cav rebuffed them And how you thought that very proper, But the adept had pressed on And refused to back away or let up As they asked one very important question: They ask you and expect you to die for me, But they tell me I can’t feel a thing for you? Why is that the case? How is that fair? There was an argument after those words, Which was smoothed over by a kiss, Sudden and fierce, which saved The cav from having to answer that “Why?” You told yourself this was stupid. You told yourself you hated it. Yet you thought to yourself at night On those missions now past Where you’d seen Marta glorious And you’d seen her vulnerable too. You thought of all the talks you had Just the two of your together And the ease at which they flowed, As with no other person you knew. You thought of esprit de corps and how, Though you felt connected to your fellows More than with any civilian you had ever known, That there was a connection unique to her. There was a bond between the two of you Tighter than any other you held, And they asked her to die for you While demanding you feel nothing on that. Why?

--

The third time you read oneIt wasn’t a novel you read, really,As the book was one part essay, one part storyAnd most of all it was a treatise and memoire.This one you’d found while perusing throughThe Sixth House’s vast libraries duringA very rare Sixth House ballWhich you found even more dull thanAll the other balls you’d gone to,Be they of the Third or of the Fifth.So as the Sixth took to the their booksOver the drinking and the dancing,So did you set to your own researches.Normally at one of these events,You would stand with Marta together,Back erect, face grim and firm,Rebuffing the attempts of those about youTo get you to dance or to laugh or whatever else,And the Third’s princess was always the hardestFor you to shake off, for private reasons.But Coronabeth was not here, thank God,And this was no Third House ball but a Sixth one,Which left you with this one and only chanceTo search through their vast storesOf knowledge you thought unworthy of preservation.Your search was a secretive oneOf which you didn’t even tell Marta,Having left her side saying onlyThat you were going to the bathroom,And adding that she was free to enjoy the festivities.To which she laughed a bit,Because what festivities were there here?You smiled and told her to seek outAnother who loved those same books thatThe two of you had first bonded over.So you had left her to go and lookFor books on the subject of thatMost great and mighty of taboos,Of which you dared not say word to Marta of.The search was seemingly fruitless.At first because certain libraries hereWere off limits to the party guests,Then next because the one you’d found hadOnly an endless treasure troveOf mystery novels spanning centuries on,Till at last you had to admit to yourselfThat the Sixth’s knowledge hoards hadA scheme that not even you could navigate alone.So, nervously, you stepped up to a SixthWith her nose buried in a bookAnd you asked her outright, bald,Trying your best to seem nonchalant,If the Sixth held any books at allOn the matter of necros and cavs joined together,Not just by tradition, but by romance.She raised a brow at you standing there,The proper daughter of the fleet admiral,Asking for books on a most improper topic,But when she saw you budge not one bitShe shrugged her shoulders and led you offTo a part of the library you’d passed six times before.As you waited and watched, heart pounding,She pulled forth a book with a cover, nondescript.She handed it to you saying lazilyTo leave it on one of the carts when you finished.You thanked her formally and hoped thatNeither your face nor your step saidAnything about your mood or your intent.You were scared, to be truthful.More scared than you ever had beenIn the bustle of open combat,Because at least battle you understoodAnd because however it was you died on the fieldYour father would stand up and would sayOf you, his daughter, that never hadThere been a more proper Second toHave ever graced these Nine Houses.That you were a Second House heir so properThat a woman with a career so promisingAs the most esteemed Marta Dyas Had put aside those far off starsTo take her cavalier vows for life,Binding you as necro and cav.Between freedom and glory afar,She had picked you above them bothWhen you had only girlish hopesThat even your father told youWere far too high and likely to fail.So as you read that book thereHidden in a Sixth House nookYou were more scared than ever before,Because you were looking for an answerTo an argument you had with yourselfOver whether there was any chance at allFor you and your girlish hopes.What you found was not what you wanted,As the author went on and on about thingsThat were tangential at best to what you sought.You read about her overbearing father andYou read about her merciless DI andYou read about a friend you thought the cavUntil said friend died without one whisperOf those four words that haunted youBecause they held you back from a more wanted three.It took you a good hour to get to it,And that came with some skimmingThrough page after page about things you cared not for,But you finally found it tucked awayIn the middle of that book: an essay on necros and cavs.The essay spanned only four pages longAnd it did not go into much detailAbout the relationship between the twoIn a personal and intimate sense.Instead she spoke primarily of herselfAnd of her ever growing shameAnd of her ever expanding list of questionsOn whether the arguments in praise of that shameHeld any weight to them at all.She spoke too of how setting love aside,Trying to pretend she felt none of it,Had done her no good at all.It had led to an argument, in fact,Between her and her cavalierWho could not understand whyShe had been so cagey all the timeWhen before she’d been so open, so free.This was the most you ever got to seeOf the cavalier herself beyondThat she too was a Cohort woman.You read and you read and you readBefore rereading the whole thing againTrying to tell yourself it was stupidAnd that the author was stupid too.You shut the book in disgust, sneering,And you dropped it off in a cart sayingHow you couldn’t see how the SixthCould think this thing worth preserving.Then you went back to find MartaWho asked you where you’d beenTo which you said you’d been accostedBy the Sixth House bookworms askingWhat you had most recently read,At which she laughed and said “Vicious aren’t they?”You smiled and agreed and said nothing more.And six weeks later you lay in bedThinking to yourself on that essayAnd the arguments held within it.Six weeks later you told yourselfThat perhaps it might be okay, after all,And that the very next day you’d sayTo Marta that you felt something more.

[acephysicskarkat]

I don't want to start fights, but don't you think you may be going way too far with the salt? It's one thing to not be happy with the way a show ended(and so many people think S5 was great, so you are in a huge minority already), but to insult the showrunner because *one* ship didn't become canon is going too far, mate. Catradora was there from the start, and Catra had an amazing redemption arc. Then again, I am just one person, so idk. Anyway, thanks. -Callum.

I actually respect Noelle Stevenson a lot: bringing a show like She-Ra all the way to its conclusion, producing seasons 1-4 (which are in fact really good), working hard for BLM, all while being out and proud in an industry that still has plenty of bigots around - these are legitimate achievements that are worthy of respect.

However.

1) I don’t give a shit how many people liked S5. I am allowed my own opinions on my own blog. If you don’t like my opinions the block button is right there. Telling me that a lot of fans like the season is an irrelevant data point because my opinions are not subject to majority vote.

2) Catradora was part of the disappointment that was S5, but it was far from the only thing. The strong ensemble cast, one of the best things about the show, is underused; every redemption arc is utterly weightless (Catra’s isn’t the worst but it’s still badly undercooked, of which more later), Glimmer and Bow are barely relevant despite the BFS being the show’s actual beating heart (I know Noelle says Catradora was supposed to be the heart but it’s never felt like that to me), everything related to Catra and Adora’s relationship feels forced, out-of-character and clumsy, the resolution is tied to a bullshit save-the-world button with unclear results, long-running elements like Adora’s family or the Catra/Shadow Weaver parallels are ditched in favour of coming up with dumb answers about what Greyskull means, and the writing is just kind of bad.

It has good elements - I loved the Star Siblings, I liked having Entrapta actually deal with the consequences of her actions, Melog and Wrong Hordak were good additions, and “Peril of Peekablue” was excellent, on par with something like “Mer-Mysteries” - but the season was considerably worse than all the others.

Like, I actually went into S5 going “The most likely outcome here is Catradora canon, but hey, maybe this will be the season that sells me on it” and it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t.

3) Catradora was there from the start, but it was also badly done from the start and S5 did not meaningfully improve it. It’s actually my go-to on how not to tell an enemies-to-lovers arc because the “enemies” part is really prolonged, heavily emphasised, toxic, unpleasant, emotionally wearing and vicious and the “to” is super rushed and clumsy (of which more in the next bullet point). From "The Promise” to the end of season 4, there are no moments where Catra and Adora’s emotional connection does anything to soften the hostility; if anything, it makes Catra worse because it adds a really cruel and personal note to the whole thing.

Then S5 executes on it badly because it relies heavily on papering over inconvenient events and character development instead of trying to build organically on what has happened before. Catra telling Adora, “You never gave up on anything, not even me,” is my go-to example of this, because she did. It was the S3 climax and a huge moment for Adora’s personal arc! And then the show even reinforced it by having Adora throw a robot directly at Catra’s face with pretty unambiguous intent to kill, or at least severely wound, in "Flutterina”. But it’s not dealt with; instead, we get one questionable line of dialogue about pretending it never happened. Having Adora admit she was wrong to give up on Catra and swearing never to do so again could have been a really powerful moment, but instead of trying to do anything with the thing we saw happen onscreen, it’s just shoved under the rug. It’s bad writing and a huge waste of interesting potential. (It’s also bad planting and payoff; we get the setup in S3, the reminder in S4, and then it’s outright retconned away.)

4) Catra’s redemption arc is actually kind of bad. It’s not as bad as Hordak’s, which I only barely consider a redemption arc because it’s super truncated and he never admits to even doing anything wrong, but it’s bad.

First, it’s super fucking rushed. Literal years of seething, constantly building resentment disappear offscreen; there’s never a point where she meaningfully grapples with it or comes to realise that being “Shadow Weaver’s favourite” was also a hellish experience just in different ways. She does her one big redemptive act, gets forgiven instantly by everyone (including Adora, for whom it feels badly out of character given the aforementioned giving-up, her suspicion in “Princess Prom” before Catra had even tried to ruin her life once let alone six times, etc.), and her resentment just...vanishes in one hand-hold. It was her defining personality trait and the underlying cause for most of her time as an antagonist; it really should have been, you know, dealt with, instead of just forgotten. It does try to deal with her anger issues and problems expressing vulnerability, but that’s like saying that now that Azula has agreed not to torture small animals everything is fine; it’s far from the deepest issue here and pretending otherwise does the character and the show a disservice.

Worse than that, nothing she actually did feels like it means anything because the show just shoves it all under the rug. I’m not asking that she spend an episode personally making it up to each person she’s harmed a la Zuko, not least because after her participation in the sack of Salineas that’s more episodes than a long-running daytime soap opera, but at the very least using her actions in seasons 1-4 for something could have led to some really interesting scenes and good character moments and all that potential is instead just wasted. Angella’s death is just plum forgotten despite how important it was last season; the parallels between Catra’s actions in “White Out” and Horde Prime’s chips are never explored; the Shadow Weaver parallels the show’s been building for four seasons and explicitly stated in the graphic novel tie-in are just ditched and nothing ever comes of them; everyone who might not forgive Catra in under five minutes is mind-controlled until the season is almost over, contributing to the sidelining of the strong ensemble cast. It just feels like they didn’t know how to square Catra’s actions in seasons 2-4 with how they wanted her arc to end, so they just opted to pretend those actions never happened, and as a direct result the whole mess lacks texture and weight and doesn’t feel like a satisfying development for her story. It never feels like she’s dealing with the consequences for her actions, because her actions don’t have consequences.

Noelle once said that the driving question for Catra was “what happens when you’re the toxic friend”, and now we have the answer: nothing. Catra faces no long-term consequences for being the toxic friend. Perfuma’s one minute of being angry is the longest gap between Catra seeming sad and Catra getting forgiven. Nothing she did matters in the long run except in the sense that she’s kind of sad about them in aggregate. None of her bridges are burned so badly they can’t be fixed. And that’s a bad answer, because in real life when you’re the toxic friend people do refuse to forgive you instantly when you say sorry. Relationships do get trashed so badly they never recover. The pain you cause matters, and the traits that made you the toxic friend take work to overcome...unless you’re Catra, in which case the pain you cause suddenly stops mattering and your issues can be dealt with in under an hour offscreen.

Or at least, that’s my attitude. Like, if you liked the season, I’m not saying you’re an idiot or have bad taste. But I hated it. It could maybe have been good if it had been two seasons, actually allow Catra’s arc to breathe instead of speedrunning the whole thing, done more with the ensemble cast etc., but what we got was a rushed mess and telling me that “lots of people liked the rushed mess actually” is not relevant to that assessment.

(Just as a side note, if you really don’t want to start a fight, I’m not sure sending passive-aggressive asks to the tune of “have you considered that your opinions are Wrong actually and mine are Right” is the best way to go about it.)

[miraculouscontent]

Askplosion #11:

(note that I know I mentioned a “Voiced Askplosion” last time in the tags for anyone who put a 🎤 in their ask, meaning they wanted to hear me respond verbally to it, but I only got one and it wasn’t anything serious - just a tease from someone I know - so I either won’t be doing it at all or will be holding off)

Asks responding to previous posts:

ALYA NO!!!

(the idea of Sabrina avoiding not only Ms. Mendeleiev, but also Alya, is very amusing to me)

The fact that the special focuses on the love square instead of Sabrina and Delmar is a crime.

(also note that “Need some help?” is rhetorical in this context; Alya doesn’t care)

Highly recommended, honestly, otherwise it just turns into a big shame because there are shows I really like but with some content that I don’t like, and why torture myself with it when I can cut it out instead?

Just to give a rough idea, here’s my cut of “Desperada”; mind you, this is just my quick cut of it (basically a “beta” version where I just removed everything I disliked without much care for transitioning/having everything make sense; some of Marinette’s friends talking, the guitar scene, Aspik, etcetera), as I’m not comfortable handing over my “perfect” cut of it since it’s like my personal copy.

Yeah, that’s a super awkward scene. As much as I’d like to imagine that Adrien just doesn’t understand the “guy time” thing (which I still hate), the fact that they use the word “guy” specifically is--ugh.

I wasn’t aware of what he said in the French dub, so thanks! It’s really painful to see her throw so much love his way, openly and publicly and obviously, then be so humiliated for it, only for Adrien to feel nothing for her.

Say whatever you want about Chat Noir’s advances and how sAAAAAAD he is when she rejects him, but her rejections are just that; in private. There aren’t other heroes who are around and Chat is never really humiliated. Even in “Prime Queen,” Chat wasn’t the target - Ladybug was, and then Ladybug shifted it to Nadja - so Marinette is the one taking all the heat in love while Chat gets to sit on the sidelines (plus, then “Oblivio” happened and now people probably all thing they’re a thing).

Yeah! That’s the group I was thinking of!

Thank you!

I’m so sorry that happened. ;—;

I’m not aro but I am ace and I’ve gotten the whole, “oh it’s just because--” stuff before, so I know what it feels like to have people put on the pressure/invalidate you.

YES.

IT’S GORGEOUS.

I’m not really familiar with how holidays are celebrated outside of the bare basics of Christmas/New Year (which I am trying my hardest to forget lol), so I couldn’t say.

Sorry!

New Asks:

10/10 thought, would fantasize again.

Though would also accept MC Audrey just doing some “spring cleaning” of the whole staff in general. I have no idea how she’d replace Jeremy since he’s the company’s poster boy but most of the writers have to go at the very least and Jeremy should be given less power.

I think MC Audrey would appreciate how Kagami carries herself, though potential bonus if - while Tom and Sabine just openly trust whatever Marinette wants - Audrey does a bunch of digging to make sure Kagami is “worthy” of being with Marinette (she takes this all very seriously).

Double potential bonus if Kagami takes it just as seriously, so here’s Audrey and Kagami acting as if Kagami dating Marinette is like some sort of job interview.

Kagami handing over a “resume” of her accomplishments to Audrey. Audrey has already looked all of it up herself but appreciates the effort put in.

If the question in Miraculous is, “Do we really need a--” and the thing being introduced is something the staff came up with then the answer is usually “no.”

The movie will look pretty and that’s all I’ll expect. It’s just Jeremy’s take on Miraculous. Luka and Kagami probably won’t even be around so I’m not even interested.

I’ll watch it, but I’m also not interested lol.

Honestly, I’d rather turn into bubble froth.

oddly specific but... I mean, damn

I have no idea, and I try not to throw around words like “spite ship” because I know people could genuinely like the ship, though I will say that I went on AO3 and - unless I read from - the first Maribat fanfiction on there was posted after the airdate of “Chameleon.” I think it might’ve started with inspiration from “Marinette moves schools” ideas at the very least.

Non-Miraculous Asks responding to previous posts:

Oh, I understood, no worries! It was just funny for the split second it took me to figure it out.

My bad, that’s not how I meant to come off (especially since “magical girl shows” is a little broad; I mean, obviously I don’t think something like Cardcaptor Sakura is aiming for fanservice when Sakura’s--like... ten). I answered all those asks in the last askplosion in the same day so my brain was a little fried by the time I got to that ask.

I’m not even talking about Sailor Moon either; it’s just that I knew there are shows with fanservice and there are certain magical girl outfits where I kind of give the side-eye.

Absolutely zero problem with girls fighting in pretty outfits though. I fully admit that I’m a bit of a prude so sometimes I see fanservice where there might not be any. Super short skirts without shorts, for example, inherently throw me off (shout-out to Saint Tail - which I discovered while looking up “pretty magical girl outfits” - because the main character does have a skirt in “magical girl” form but also tights/boots and a cute hat, which is one of the more unique ones I’ve seen).

Non-Miraculous Asks:

Do you mean Sailor Moon Crystal? Yeah, the only reason I hesitate on Sailor Moon in general is because I’m not crazy about the transformed designs. It’s not really a matter of animation but more a design choice that takes me out of the experience.

I have seen all of Cardcaptor Sakura anime though, and then all of the Clear Card arc. I like the former, despise the latter, and I tried to keep up with the manga but once one of the big plot details were revealed, I officially dropped it.

As for Revolutionary Girl Utena, I looked it up a while ago and don’t remember what exactly turned me away. It might’ve been the darker tone though if what you say is accurate that it’s a darker take on a magical girl show.

Also, I may or may not have looked up the ending of at least Princess Tutu and I’m sorry, I’m sure it’s a great anime, but if there isn’t a happy ending then I give whatever anime a hard pass.

(note: yes, I realize the hilarity of saying that when I continue watching Miraculous)

-

(More Madoka Magica talk/salt below!)

Ohhh, it started a trend? I had no idea since I don’t actively keep up with every anime out there; descriptions need to really pull me in (the only current anime I’m keeping up with is Hanyou no Yashahime, Otherside Picnic, and Cells at Work (Season 2)).

The focus on specific--uh--body parts in magical girl transformations also reminds me that I think that’s usually what kills it for me, not because of the sexualization but because I expect transformations (especially ones that get repeated over and over) to be really dynamic with changing angles and such, which is harder to do when the camera is trying to draw focus to specific places.

Obviously you have to do it for some moments (I’ve always imagined Miraculous transformations like a potential sheep or another one for rabbit, then rabbit!Jean from Leave for Mendeleiev and fox!Juleka from LadyBugOut) because things will be weird if you focus on nothing, but I think there are ways to draw the eye without trying to sexualize.

Not having Ladybug-esque bodysuits is a good start. It reminds me too much of the Catwoman with just a bodysuit so it leaves nothing to the imagination.

How did I forget about that Sayaka scene? omg (though I dunno if the Bechdel Test is hard to pass if there aren’t really any endgame male love interests? are there rules about that? not saying a pass isn’t a pass but it feels like cheating)

It is nice when fans can respect the opinions of others without having to outright attack. I have had a few people come to me with, “I see your point/respect it even if I disagree,” instead of accusing me/others of--well, you get it.

Fandoms can be really messy, particularly as they get larger. I think there’s a certain balance between small fandoms that all know each other and a big fandom that’s out of control. Then there are things like “loud minority” and it’s just uggggh.

Anyway, back to the asks themselves, yeah, I’m not crazy about taking things that are just meant to be positive/cute/whatever and being like, “OKAY BUT WHAT IF IT WAS EDGY AND SAD.”

n o ,  p l z

Oh, I’ve never heard of that one!

Sayaka dying didn’t really do anything for me either. It’s hard to explain when I saw it so long ago, but it was just Sayaka’s attitude about the whole thing and it made it feel underwhelming. It was a shame too because I liked her and she had potential.

She was Madoka’s friend so I was just like, “Yeah, she’ll die soon.” Probably didn’t help since I knew what I knew about the show being “dark.”

Madoka/Sayaka is probably what I’d support the most out of all the potential shoujo ai ships. To my knowledge, none of them are really canon, though I remember a special song after the death Sayaka and Kyoko which I guess makes them the most canon and that did basically nothing for me since their relationship didn’t interest me (nor did I care for Kyoko as a character). The PSP game might have more intimate potential between the girls, but I never played them so I can’t make those claims (I only remember something about everyone potentially living and then a bad ending for Sayaka where part of her body was decayed when they didn’t get her soul gem back in time).

The tomboy argument makes me think back to a conversation with a friend of mine where we were discussing tomboys in anime and... we couldn’t really think of any? At least any that really qualify as “tomboy” for me.

Like, Misty from Pokemon, for example. I knoooooow everyone really likes Misty, but regardless of my opinion on her, it’s hard to see her as a tomboy.

I feel like they try to lean that way by making her super aggressive and violent (because... m E N) and I think Ash makes a comment once about her not being “like a girl,” but... I feel like that’s just how general “aggressive” female characters are written?

I mean, that’s tsundere female characters I’ve seen in general. Really loud (and not in a “gIrlS aRe sO lOuD aND ScReEcHY” way but like... the way anime gives them big heads while they scream at whatever male character they’re mad at), angry a lot, short fuse, etcetera.

But Misty is still crazy about clothes and dolls, she still gushes about cute things and romance, and both of those things seem pretty indicative of what “standard girl character” would be defined by, since they’re all “stereotypically girl thing” (I say stereotypically for obvious reasons since boys can like blah and girls can like blah and gender exclusivity is blah--). I get that she dresses differently, but that’s about it, and it comes off like, “she dresses differently and she’s ANGRY and VIOLENT, so she’s a tomboy,” which... yeah. They even gave her three beauty queen sisters with CURVES and BUSTS as if to say, “See?? These are GIRLS, not TOMBOYS.” (busty females can exist who are also tomboys, thank you have a nice day).

This becomes more complicated in magical girl anime since girly clothes are usually part of that so “tomboy” means that frills and skirts probably wouldn’t be a factor.

I mean, if you gave those sorts of outfits to me, I’d be like, “SCREW IT, I’M NOT A MAGICAL GIRL ANYMORE. IF LOOKING PRETTY IS REDUCED TO SKIRTS AND FRILLS, SOMEONE ELSE CAN SAVE THE WORLD.”

I’d also like to see some mixes between personalites and “tomboy” things. Like, non-stereotypical tomboy personalities doing tomboy things. Mix and match, y’know?

This was really rambly, but to answer the question... no, I wouldn’t count Sayaka as a tomboy.

All of this.

I think it also exemplifies the whole “dark and edgy magical girl show” thing because... ugh, how do I put this...

The “girls are overly emotional” thing is already bad, but then you realize that there not being any magical boys is also because that doesn’t hit the “shock value” threshold as much.

Y’know, because boys equal dark and edgy shows, so if there was even one magical boy it wouldn’t be as shocking when Mami gets her head chomped. They could’ve done, “emotional teenagers are the target because they’re in that vulnerable stage; smarter and more physically capable than children, but not as mature/stable as adults,” but having some boys in there for balance (it makes me feel weird saying that when I’m all for girl power shows with an all female cast, but in this show’s logic, it’s a different ball game) would make the show seem less bright and “girly” and thus lessen the shock value.

Does that make sense?

[destielreboot]

Something Worth Celebrating

Summary: Dean’s tired of Cas not understanding his not-so-subtle hints that he’s in love with him, so panics his way through using a movie to make his point clear, as if that makes any more sense.

Words: ~3.8k

Read on AO3

Dean never really celebrated his birthday, not in any way that mattered. It was a date that marked him maybe surviving another year, and he figured it couldn’t be all that accurate a marker anymore given that he’d died so many times. Was he supposed to subtract the four months in Hell? Was his birthday now after Sam’s? None of it mattered much, and he was not about to accidentally jinx himself or something by celebrating an arbitrary day. Instead, he grumbled all the way home about the snow and salted roads being bad for Baby, then immediately went to his room and started flipping through his movie collection with the hope a new case wouldn’t come in for at least a few hours.

“Dean?” Cas knocked once and swung the door halfway open. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch. I figure I deserve a bit of R&R after the week we’ve had.”

“Of course. Ghouls are never particularly pleasant, although the hunt went well, all things considered.”

“Hell of a lot better than the last one. You stickin’ around for a while?”

“I have no plans to leave.”

Dean looked back down at the drawer full of DVDs and smiled softly. “Good. It’s nice to have you here.”

“Dean? Can I… watch the movie with you?”

“Uh, yeah, as you wish.”

Dean’s hands shook slightly as he picked up a DVD case. It was dumb—so recklessly stupid—and if it didn’t work out, he’d have to live with that, but Cas hadn’t said a word about the mixtape. Not a damn thing about something he’d spent hours anxiously perfecting. Odds were good this would go over his head as well, but hey, at least they were spending time together. And not even Cas would leave during a movie unless there was an emergency, right?

“What are we watching?” Cas timidly sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, the usual comfort level gone as this was Dean’s space, and Cas had become nothing if not respectful of that boundary.

“A classic from my childhood.”

“It’s designed for children?” Cas narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“No, it’s—it’s about… pirates and thieves, sacrifice, rewriting destiny—” The words slipped out of their own volition, as they weren’t quite true, but then again, Dean wasn’t solely focused on the plot of the film. “Um, it’s about overcoming evil forces, fighting for those you care about, and outsmarting the enemy.”

“No cowboys?”

“No cowboys,” Dean chuckled as he put The Princess Bride into the DVD player. He plopped down onto the bed and kicked his feet up, instinctively patting the place next to him so Cas wouldn’t stay perched on the edge. “Settle in, I think you’re gonna like this one.”

Cas inched closer, far too conscious of Dean’s repeated complaints about lack of personal space to get close, but he let himself relax slightly as the movie started.

“This time period is inconsistent with most pirate-centric media. Dean, what does this ill child have to do with the plot you described?”

“Shh, just watch.”

Cas begrudgingly obliged, although biting his tongue was never his strong suit. He’d joined Dean for enough movie nights to know his questions would not be answered, and silence was the preferred initial viewing state—aside from laughter, that is; the uproarious joy that bellowed from his best friend never failed to elicit a smile from the angel.

The first few times he heard Westley say “As you wish” seemed inconsequential, as Dean had been incessantly quoting movies at him for years, and it wasn’t difficult to see why he would relate to this roguish character. He was vaguely aware of Dean glancing back and forth between him and the screen, no doubt to make sure he was paying attention, a task that would be much easier if he didn’t feel Dean’s eyes on him quite so often.

For the most part, Cas did well at keeping quiet, though certain absurdities in the movie had him itching to ask questions.

“What is the point of her throwing herself down this hill? I understand that it’s too steep for comfortable walking, but there has to be a more convenient way to reach the bottom.”

“I guess it’s supposed to be sort of romantic?” Dean shrugged. “She’s just been reunited with Westley after believing he’d died; she doesn’t want to waste time getting to him.”

“Hmm.” Cas looked pensively at Dean for a moment, then turned back to the tv with a hint of a smile.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while,” Westley declared.

“Do you believe in the existence of true love, Dean?” Cas asked innocently.

“I—uh—um—I’m gonna go grab a drink,” Dean stammered. He did his best to nonchalantly leave the room, an action made far more difficult by his pounding heart. Once safely in the hallway, his pace quickened dramatically. If he was going to have a panic attack, it’d be away from prying eyes. Jack may have been at Jody and Donna’s, but Sam was home—he couldn’t see him like this. Diverting his path, he headed for the Dean Cave instead and sunk into one of the recliners.

He knew it was stupid to be panicking over something so small, but this was the closest he’d ever come to outright stating how he felt, and it was scary, goddammit. Growing up, he would’ve been beaten for even entertaining the idea—John didn’t raise no goddamn fruit—and that intense unease had settled itself into his very being, become a core tenet of his identity. Undoing several decades of damage was more difficult than he’d ever imagined, but fucking hell, he wanted to try.

It took longer than he’d hoped for his breathing to return to normal, which amped up the fear that Cas would come looking for him, and he realized on his way to the kitchen that he’d probably need an excuse. He grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge—maybe Cas would drink one, maybe Dean would end up chugging both—and turned to go back before thinking better of it. He pulled some popcorn out of the pantry and tossed it in the microwave, hoping Cas wouldn’t know how quickly it cooked. Once it was done, Dean took a few deep breaths to steady himself, dumped the popcorn into a bowl, and walked as calmly as possible back to his room.

Coming back with a snack seemed to somewhat assuage Cas’s concern for Dean having been gone so long, but Dean could tell he would be asked about it later.

“You missed the Fire Swamp and something called the Pit of Despair? I can’t find much validity in the mechanics of the machine, although the concept is interesting. Taking time off the end of life, which is by its very nature uncertain, rather than reducing to a set number of years.”

“Try not to think about it too hard.” Dean smirked, holding out the second beer as he settled in. Cas habitually accepted the offer, even though everything tasted like molecules. He didn’t mind too much; partaking always seemed to make Dean happy, a sight Cas didn’t see nearly enough.

“I agree with the pestering child on this one, killing off the hero of the story this early makes no sense. Unless, of course, they live in a world like ours? Is there someone who can return his soul to his physical form, as I did with you?”

Dean choked on the handful of popcorn he’d just stuffed in his mouth. Cas looked on, worried, as Dean coughed and took a swig of his beer.

“Uh, no, nothing like that… They’ll, uh, they’ll explain it.”

“Hmm. Are you alright, Dean? You seem… preoccupied.”

“What? I’m fine.” He picked up the bowl and held it out. “Popcorn?”

“Dean.” Cas took it from him and set it further down the bed as he pivoted to face Dean, sliding a bent leg across the blanket between them.

Dean made a show of rolling his eyes. “I said I’m fine, Cas. You’re missing Billy Crystal.”

“We could pause the movie, if you’d like. Ordinarily I wouldn’t push—”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, sure. Can we just… not do this right now?” He raised his hands in resignation and let them drop without looking, one landing on the outside of his left thigh, the other on Cas’s knee.

Dean immediately felt heat rush to his cheeks as they stared at each other, unmoving, for an undetermined amount of time. He was vaguely aware of the Miracle Max scene happening in the background, containing yet another discussion of true love, and he prayed Cas wasn’t paying attention. This had to happen now?

“Dean?” Cas asked softly, finally breaking the silence enveloping them despite the continuing movie, which was obviously oblivious to the quiet scene of bi panic unfolding in front of the screen. “You seem uncomfortable and in distress. Can I—”

“I’m fine!” Dean responded a little too loudly, too quickly. He jerked his hand back, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist, his thumb rubbing over his fingertips, as if trying to force the feeling of touching Cas’s knee into his memory.

Cas continued to fix him with that concerned gaze he was all too familiar with, so he downed the rest of his beer as a distraction. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Cas run his own fingers over his leg exactly where Dean’s hand had been, but surely it was out of discomfort, right? Friendly pats on the back and occasionally the knee were common enough, but accidental lingering touches? Not so much.

“I need a refill. You?” Dean asked, although he didn’t wait for an answer, once again quickly making his way down the hall.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Dean just about dropped his empty bottle, having not noticed Sam seated at the kitchen table with some sort of preposterously healthy grain bowl in front of him.

“Will everyone stop asking me that?” he huffed, his free hand on his chest. “I’m fine.” He set the bottle on the island and pulled the fridge open. They were down to their last few beers, and, simultaneously thinking too much and not enough, Dean turned around to search for something stronger instead.

“Don’t bullshit me.” Sam gave Dean his best bitch face—probably the best he’d seen in years—and stood, crossing his arms. “Is this about what happened with the ghoul? Because there’s no way we could’ve—”

“Yep, that’s it. Congrats, Dr. Phil, you’ve done whatever psych crap and managed to cure me. How on earth do you do it?”

“Dean.” Sam followed him out of the kitchen and back toward the library, where they’d most recently stashed their rolling booze cart—yet another feature of the bunker Dean still couldn’t quite wrap his head around, although he had to admit it was rather nice.

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me, I’m fine. It’s been a long week, cut me some slack.” He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and poured a generous amount into a glass. Sam shot him another exasperated look. Dean sarcastically saluted as he backed out of the library.

He stopped just outside his door and took a quiet breath, releasing slowly, urging the tension in his chest out with it. He glanced in and couldn’t help but soften at the view in front of him: Cas was engrossed in the wedding scene, albeit a bit confused by the clergyman. Dean watched him take a drink of his beer and wince, an instinct he almost always suppressed around others.

Once Inigo, Fezzik, and Westley were back on screen, Dean sauntered back in. Cas immediately turned and smiled at him, but his brow furrowed at the sight of the whiskey glass. Dean shrugged and took a sip, savoring the slight burn and the slow spreading warmth. He flashed Cas a reassuring grin as he sat down on his side of the bed.

Everything was fine, it had to be. Besides, Cas had definitely missed some important dialogue, so all Dean had to do was get through the end of the movie and shrug all his anxious behavior off as lingering effects of the hunt; there was a good chance Cas wouldn’t believe him, but if he got adamant enough, he’d be left alone. Not that alone was what he really wanted, but it was better than rejected or ridiculed, and he was far too accustomed to being by himself—yet another thing to thank his father for.

They got through the rest of the movie without another incident, even if the silence was a tad tense. As the credits rolled, Dean glanced over and noticed Cas was frowning.

“So… uh, did you… did you like the movie?”

“I still have many questions that have gone unanswered. Or, rather, we were otherwise occupied while they were explained, I suppose.”

“We did, uh, miss a few things.”

“Also, I’m no expert on the matter, but I’m old enough to know with relative certainty that there have been kisses more ‘passionate and pure’ than that one. I assume this particular kiss isn’t leading to the consummation of their relationship, as carnal desire would prevent it from being pure, I suppose, but I’m afraid I cannot agree with the story’s assessment.”

“The slow-burn romance wasn’t drawn out enough for you, huh?” Dean laughed.

“She only believed him dead twice, Dean. I think our own experiences have reduced the impact of that. Besides, their relationship required more exposition. With what we were given, you can’t expect me to be truly invested.”

“Maybe she should’ve died at least once, just to shake it up a bit.”

“My sentiments exactly. Westley cannot understand the same levels of grief without experiencing it firsthand, and it’s always more interesting to allow characters beyond just the hero the chance to die. Imagine how monotonous our lives would be if we only consistently lost one of us.”

Dean closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a goofy smile plastered on his face. His shoulders shook as he laughed, the bed eventually shuddering along with the movement.

“I don’t understand what’s so funny, Dean.”

“It’s just… Our lives are so ridiculous. No one else watches this and thinks it’s not realistic enough because only Westley dies and gets resurrected.”

“I’m aware it’s outside of the usual human experience, of course, but I also can’t help but—” He paused, eyes widening slightly. “Never mind.”

“C’mon, Cas, you know you can’t do that! Say it.”

“I’d really prefer keeping it to myself, thank you.”

“Cas, dude, just say it.”

“You won’t let this go, will you?”

“You know I won’t.” Dean smirked.

“Fine,” Cas sighed. “I can’t help but see similarities between the characters and, well, our family.”

“Oh, of course, I project us onto characters all the time! I’m Westley, right?”

“Buttercup, actually.”

“I—” The smile slipped from Dean’s face. “You see me as the princess? Why?”

“You’re both stubborn and remarkably willing to sacrifice yourself for those you love.”

“You know, I did not show you this movie just so you could turn around and attack me,” Dean grumbled, but he flashed Cas a small smile so he wouldn’t take the complaint too seriously.

“I feel it’s a proper evaluation of your character.” Cas shrugged and grinned back.

“Does that make you Westley, then?”

It took Dean approximately two seconds after the words left his mouth to process what he’d said, fear twisting his stomach into knots as he realized the implications of it. Cas, on the other hand, chuckled quietly and looked down at his beer bottle.

“I suppose Westley saving Buttercup from the quicksand does mirror me pulling you out of Hell, at least a bit.”

“Lightning sand. Way cooler than quicksand,” Dean corrected, latching on to anything that would distract from his question.

“Ah, yes. Lightning sand. It’s no match for Hell, but I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Yeah… Hey, I don’t think I’m ready to turn in for the night yet, would you want to watch something else? You can pick, if you’d like.”

“As you wish.”

Dean froze, his hand halfway to his whiskey glass, the gears in his head screaming into motion. It wasn’t every day that Cas made a movie reference, especially one with such a blatantly romantic connotation. He was well aware of his own intention in saying it before the movie, but was Cas just emulating him? Picking up on yet another of his habits? Or— No, no. Dean had to remind himself that Cas wasn’t human, that he couldn’t experience affection the same way, that everything else had completely escaped his understanding.

He figured he’d put his foot in his mouth enough times that evening, he should just change his mind about stretching this out any longer, just go to bed. But the thought gnawed at him, the silence had continued to the point of becoming awkward, he needed to say something.

Dean turned to face Cas and swallowed down his pride and insecurities, hope and fear clashing across his features. Cas was waiting patiently with a soft smile, his bright eyes crinkling beautifully.

“Did you just—” Dean whispered, his voice getting caught in his throat.

“I believe so. Did I use the line incorrectly?”

“No—I… I just never thought—”

“That’s fine, too,” Cas quickly cut him off, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Cas.” Dean reached out and tentatively brushed his fingers lightly across the angel’s stubbled cheek before settling on his shoulder, thumb resting softy on the side of his neck. “Why do you think I said it?”

It was as if someone had just powered Cas back up, he so nearly glowed with joy, and Dean thought to himself that this was the most angelic he’d ever looked. Messy hair, glassy-eyed, and all, he was stunning.

Dean felt the knots in his stomach unravel, the weight he’d been carrying for so long lessened. The hesitation of entering unknown territory faded as it started to sink in that Cas wanted this, too, and he stopped thinking, painfully aware that if he thought about it too much, he’d never do it. And he so desperately needed to do this.

He leaned forward, making his intent clear while also looking for consent, and Cas eagerly met him in the middle. It wasn’t the most graceful kiss, as they were both a little out of practice and had yet to learn each other’s rhythms, but Dean was looking forward to learning.

Cas rested his forehead against Dean’s and sighed contentedly.

“With a little more practice, I think we could top Buttercup and Westley’s kiss.”

“I’d like that,” Cas laughed, his warm breath tickling Dean’s nose.

“Their slow-burn seems almost boring next to ours.”

“Oh, speaking of…” Cas straightened up suddenly, causing Dean to have to catch himself before he fell face-first into the angel’s shoulder.

“Speaking of?”

“I missed how they brought Westley back,” Cas said sheepishly. “Would you mind explaining?”

“A little distracted, were you?” Dean smiled cheekily and leaned in for another kiss, something he could never imagine getting tired of doing.

“More than a little.”

Dean launched into a detailed explanation of the Miracle Max scene, the chocolate-coated miracle pill, and the plan to break into the castle before the wedding, going so far as to include all the dialogue he could remember off the top of his head. Cas tilted his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder and laughed at the exaggerated voices, each distinct and absurd in their own way. When the story was over, they slipped into a comfortable silence, Dean’s arm snaked around Cas’s waist, personal space no longer a concern.

After some time, Cas glanced at the clock on the nightstand and was startled to find it was nearly midnight.

“Oh, before it gets too late…” He lifted his head and placed a hand gently on Dean’s cheek. “Happy birthday, Dean. I would’ve gotten you a gift—”

“There’s nothing I want more than this.”

…

The following morning, Dean woke up early and decided to make breakfast, tossing some slabs of bacon on a baking sheet to crisp up in the oven. Sam stumbled in a few minutes later, drawn in by the aroma. He gave Dean a questioning look and was met with a broad grin.

“Rise and shine, Sammy! Are you going to eat like a normal person, or do I have to separate your eggs for you?”

“I… uh, just the whites would be great, thanks.”

“Normal person breakfast, it is!”

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned on the coffeemaker, but he smiled quietly to himself, glad to see Dean had gotten over whatever had been bothering him the night before.

Cas wandered in as Dean pulled the bacon out of the oven, and Sam just about choked on his coffee; instead of his usual trench coat and suit, Cas was wearing a soft purple and blue flannel he’d most definitely pulled from Dean’s closet, and he’d neglected to button nearly the entire top half.

“Mornin’, sunshine!” Dean slapped his hand away from the hot tray and passed him a mug of coffee instead. “You lookin’ to burn yourself?”

“I’m an angel, you ass,” Cas chuckled, stepping around him to reach the bacon. “I can do what I want.”

“You can’t even taste it properly.”

“Dean, too much grease is bad for your health,” Cas deadpanned as he took a bite of the still steaming rasher. It was hotter than he’d anticipated, but nothing a little grace couldn’t fix.

Sam cleared his throat loudly and gestured at the stovetop, where the eggs were burning.

“Fuck!”

“Good morning, Sam.” Cas took a sip of his coffee as he walked toward the table. “How was your night?”

“Evidently not as good as yours.” Sam looked up at him in stunned disbelief. “You two finally figure your shit out?”

“Hell of a way to phrase it, but yeah.” Dean beamed as he set the plate of bacon on the table, his other arm slung around Cas’s shoulder. “This idiot’s in love with me. Who knew?”

“Practically everyone else,” Sam laughed. “But I’m really happy for you guys, I don’t know anyone more deserving of this. One request, though, seeing as Jack and I live here, too.”

“Shoot.”

“Minimal PDA in communal spaces?”

“No deal.” Dean grinned and promptly pulled Cas in for a kiss.

[bangtan-dreamland]

Golden Crowns, Silver Lockets

Pairing: kth x reader

Word Count: 18.3K

Genre: e2l, medieval!au, modern!au, reincarnation!au, genie/fae!Taehyung, some angst but mostly fluffy!

Warnings: none I can think of?

Summary: This is the story of the princess who held the crown and carried its weight at an age too young, and the genie who made her into an excellent queen… 

or

You are only twelve years old when you mourn your parent’s death, and, in an attempt to become a worthy queen, you call upon the genie trapped in your locket, V.

A/N: This is part of @ficswithluv​‘s ‘The Luv Library’ project, one of which I had a lot of fun being a part of- I finally had that push to finish an actual fic! Though admittedly this isn’t really that good to be included in the list lol but I spent a month working on it and I’m mostly content with how it turned out. Now I’m off to actually make the first chapter of another series that popped into my head the other day...

Masterlist

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

In the daytime, the castle ruins are bathed in a solemn atmosphere. The sunlight gently streams in through the cracks that serves as their roof- flowers here and there add a touch of peace and calm to the scenery, making the place feel otherworldly. There is a word for the feelings you get from these type of places, you think to yourself. Desolate is not quite the right word- wistful, perhaps? Hiraeth seems to be a good word to sum it up as well.

The camera on your neck swings a little from side to side as you walk around, and you admire the engravings on the walls. So far you’ve been content with just walking around, not having particularly planned out a route. The castle grounds, big as though they may be are still easy to navigate through… somewhat. And besides, it isn’t as though you plan to follow any staircases leading up and/or down, so, really, you should be fine.

Your eyes light up with awe when you step foot inside the last room.

It is- huge, the first word that comes to your mind. Second is beautiful, its charm and the pull it has on you even greater than the previous rooms. Here you find yourself standing still, awestruck at the leftover parts of what must have been once a grand ballroom.

There are the broken down remains of chairs and tables scattered around, as well as pieces of torn fabric, faded and ripped.  Scorch marks litter the room, from the floor to the walls, and grass in random places where dirt must have gotten blown in the wind. You walk around slowly, mesmerized, before you stop at hearing a slight rustle.

You’re alone. You have to be. You haven’t seen anyone, since you stepped into the ruins, and you think you would know if someone has been here before you, but you don’t see anything and-

Oh. It must be an animal. Right? You are near the woods, so it would make sense, if an animal was in the ruins. Right?

You hear the rustling again and look around, now curious to find out what it is making the sound, before you finally pin it down to a small clearing a dozen or so feet away from you. You ready yourself, clutching the bag by your side should you need to swing it, before approaching. When you’re only a feet or so away, you take a deep breath, and go.

You take a step closer and- oh.

Oh.

There is not a wild animal as you thought, but instead a man seemingly around your age, sleeping peacefully on the grass. Even though he’s wearing a turtleneck and pants, you aren’t even sure if he’s a human- there is something very much ethereal about him, his beauty transcendental and you feel as if you are intruding on something sacred.

You take in his features- dark, curly hair that ends just above his eyes, unblemished skin, lips softer than anyone you’ve ever seen… his features that seem to be sculpted by the gods (how else could he be so beautiful?)

A part of you is itching to take a photograph of him- surely one wouldn’t hurt, right? How could you pass up such a beautiful subject? More than that- there is something about this stranger that draws you in…

You catch yourself just before you turn on your camera. Beautiful as he may be, you couldn’t just take someone’s photo without their permission. And waking them up for that- if you were shameless, maybe you could do that. Even now the words seem to burn against your tongue, painting your cheeks red. You turn around, willing yourself to walk away no matter how much every part of you seems to be begging you to stay with him.

“Are you lost?”

The baritone voice that suddenly echoes through the small field makes you stop short. Surprise runs through your veins at not only how deep they are, but how familiar they seem to be. You look back- the strangely familiar-but-not-familiar stranger seems to be looking at you, a small, inquisitive smile playing at their lips. You’d say it’s one of excitement, but it can’t be. Why would he be excited to meet you? And you know you’ve never met him before.

He raises an eyebrow at you- you realize that you haven’t replied to him or anything.

“Uh-“ you stammer the words out, flustered to be caught watching him sleep. “Well, no? Maybe- um.”

You pause, gathering your words. “… I was just wandering around… I’m sorry. Did I disturb your rest?”

At your reply, the stranger (you really should get his name, it doesn’t do to keep calling him stranger in your head. You could call him Mr. Handsome, but… yeah, no, you don’t want to call him that and then accidentally call him that out loud to his face later on) smiles even more, softer this time. “No, not really. It’s fine,” he stretches his arms, sitting upright afterwards and you can’t help staring at the minute flex of his muscles. When he speaks again, you flush at the knowing look in his eyes and the smirk that has overtaken his smile. He cocks his head at you. “You seem much more interesting compared to taking a nap, so I don’t mind.”

“And you seemed otherworldly when you were resting, so I didn’t want to wake you up, lest I incur your wrath,” you jokingly reply. You copy his action and tilt your head at him, smiling at him in a teasing way. “Though I guess you must hear that a lot- the otherwordly part, I mean.”

“I do, but coming from you it’s different,” he chuckles. “My name is Kim Taehyung. It’s nice to meet you- and you?”

You tell him your name, and you know it’s not just your imagination this time when he looks at you, even for just a split second, with eyes full of love and longing. It’s over like a flash though, and then there remains the friendly smile on his face.

“If you’re not in a hurry, stay and chat with me? You’re the first person I’ve seen here at the ruins. Just take it as a small break if you like.”

You tilt your head, considering his words, breaking out into a smile of your own. “Alright, I guess I can take a break.”

It should alarm you, you think. But this man- Taehyung, for whatever reason he seems to be reacting to you as though you are an old friend, it doesn’t raise any suspicion or fear within you. Instead there is the blooming of warmth and a lighthearted sort of giddiness. So when he pats the space beside him, you sit down- he leans back on the grass and you notice with a degree of amusement that his hand has ‘magically’ appeared close to yours. Note the quotation marks.

“So… a tourist, huh?” He casually brings up. You nod your head, then remember he can’t see you.

“Well, I guess you could call me that. This was where my family used to live, from our ancestors- until my mom and dad moved to a new city and began a new life away from here,” you tell him. He looks up at you, the interest in his eyes more visible than before as is his silent urging for you to speak.

“And you came back here to…”

“To look at the town I would have grown up in another life, I guess,” you finish for him.

“What difference do you think you’d have with the other you?” He asks. You chuckle at the odd question.

“Well, I’d probably be more into photography instead of the course I’m taking right now. Have you seen this town? It’s gorgeous,” you say, grinning.

“It is beautiful,” he agrees, before nudging you softly with his foot. “Are you staying here then?”

“For the summer, I guess,” you reveal. “I’m staying over at our old family house- the one near the woods, with-“

“-the big gate?” He finishes, before grinning. “We’re neighbors then. I live in the next house over- the one with the huge garden.”

You gasp- you’d seen that garden on the way to the ruins, and it had been as huge as it was gorgeous, no doubt well taken-care of. “You’re the one who owns that garden? It’s the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen!”

A pleased smile appears on Taehyung’s face, cheeks pinkening a little. “It’s just a little something I picked up for someone. Though she was more keen on enjoying the flowers than taking care of them.”

You feel disappointment wash over you- of course he’s already taken. Kind, sweet, gorgeous and attentive… although he never stated it outright, you had a feeling he was talking about a lover.

“Wouldn’t she be jealous then?” The words leave your lips before your mind processes them, and you backtrack on your words hastily. “Uh- not that I mean anything by what we’re doing, it’s just- um.” You freeze- Taehyung lets out a laugh.

“Nah, it’s okay, she wouldn’t mind it at all,” he says, shuffling closer to you, until there is less than a feet between the two of you. “I’m pretty sure she’d be happy if she knew, actually.” Red blooms across your cheeks again, and not for once since starting to talk to him that you find yourself wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“That- someone, I mean, she must be lovely.”

“She is,” he hums, eyes softening at the very mention of his beloved. “I’m lucky I got to be with her before...”

“Before?”

“We got separated,” he reveals, sorrow and loneliness entering his eyes, before he closes them. When he opens them moments later, the darkness is gone, and he shrugs and says in a much more lighthearted tone, “but I know we’ll be together again, eventually. I just have to wait for her.”

“Oh…” You look at him with confusion. What does that even mean? What was she to him? But before you fumble for words- the previous topic having unexpectedly gone down a dark path, Taehyung speaks again.

“But that’s enough about me- since we’re going to be neighbors, why don’t tell me about yourself.”

“If you ask me that, then I wouldn’t know where to start,” you mumble, before adding with a self-depreciating laugh, “besides, I don’t know if there’s anything intriguing about me.” He hums again, making you feel at ease, oddly enough.

“That’s alright. You can tell me anything- even what you’re thinking right now, I’d still find it interesting.”

You don’t know if it’s the way with which he utters the request- soft, pleading, or the way he looks at you- captivated, as if he could drink in your attention, or the way it feels as though you could weave out the minute fabrics of your life and he would find it as the most intricate tapestry that has you spilling words, but you find you don’t mind.

It’s strange. It’s really strange, and if Taehyung was another person you would never believe you could be like this- careless, some might say. But Taehyung is different, which is perhaps why you speak.

You tell him about what made you decide to come- the sense of wonder and curiosity you’ve always held for this place when you were young, but the fact that your parents never had the time to come back to this town held you back. You talk about finishing your semester, finally getting a break for a few months without schoolwork to keep you occupied. How you decided to come here, the journey, arriving here and arranging your stay. Hearing about the castle and making an impulse decision to explore. When you finish speaking, he is silent, attention still solely focused on you, and you quirk up a smile for him.

“… And then I encountered you and the rest is history, you could say.” You take a small drink of water before continuing, the hours of talking having made you thirsty. Even then Taehyung watches you, though you don’t feel anything but subtle contentment from being under his full attention.. “I’m glad I came here. This place… it has this feel to it- like I’ve stepped back in time. The good kind.”

You take another look around the ruins, at the way it seems to have stayed through countless decades with little to no human interference, remaining tranquil and unbothered. It isn’t long before Taehyung speaks again.

“This castle is always a huge point of interest to new people,” he agrees, before adding, “Though no one from the town really comes around these parts of the castle ruins.”

“I noticed that, but, do you know why?” You blink, eyes wide before you ask curiously. “I mean, this seems like a beautiful place, even if you argue that’s all that’s left are ruins.”

“It’s rumored to be haunted,” he shrugs, and you raise an eyebrow in response. There’s nothing that indicates the castle is haunted- when you think ‘haunted’ you picture a heavy sense of gloom, a sense of uneasiness and fear and you find none of those staying at the ruins.

“Haunted?”

“There’s a story behind the fall of this castle- it’s an old folktale around these parts at this point,” he explains.

“An old folktale, huh? I’d like to hear it myself… No one would tell me anything about this place,” you admit, remembering the way the residents had looked uncomfortable with a mention of the old palace ruins.

“… If you want, I still remember the story, somewhat,” Taehyung offers, chuckling at the way your eyes light up at his words. “Though, it’s a long one. It’d probably take me a few hours to tell you the whole story. Considering it’s early afternoon by now, I could probably tell you the story on the way home- hm, have you eaten anything yet today?”

“Not if you count a milkshake for lunch.”

“I have food with me- I can tell you the whole story, we can have a snack, and then I’ll walk you back home in the evening?” There’s a hopeful look in his eyes that makes you smile shyly- the next words slips from you so easily.

“That’s fine by me.”

“… Aren’t you wary being alone with essentially a stranger?” Taehyung’s next words are laced with amusement and disbelief, and you avert your eyes before replying.

“I would,” you fumble with the bag you’re carrying as you speak to him, the way your cheeks redden at the implications behind his words making it impossible to look straight at him. “But… for some reason, you’re the exception.”

“I’m the exception,” he echoes, voice softer, and you refrain from looking up, too embarrassed to look at his reaction.

For a few moments, you hear nothing but the chirping of birds far off in the distance, but then the grass rustles beside you and you see a hand offered to you. You take it- Taehyung tugs you down into lying on the grass with him, and, smoothly intertwining his hand with yours (and pretty much making your heart beat triple fast at the same time), he starts talking, his voice hypnotic.

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Centuries ago, when kings and queens still ruled the land, there lived a girl. She was crowned heir to be at the young age of twelve, as her parents fell under their untimely deaths. Her uncle, the king's brother, took over as regent, trying to shelter her from a truth she knew all to well- too young to truly be a ruler, and under heavy grief as well, the kingdom held little expectations for her.

Truly she would have, too, had she not had her mother’s locket, one rumored to grant wishes. One night she opened it- and out came a genie.

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His first thought of you, his new master is of not much worth- only that this time, he is under the beck and call of a human younger than anyone he has had before. There is nothing about that you that he finds special and he knows not why or how you were able to become his master when your predecessors have tried and failed. Still, it matters not to him in the end. This, he thinks, will be like every other encounter he has had.

You are the one and only child of the late royal couple, and it shows in every way. Decked out in nothing but the finest silks and jewelry that he remembers is from a queen who married into the throne centuries ago, you were, he suspects, one heavily doted upon by your parents. A pearl in the palm of their hands, so to say.

It would explain the heartbroken look you wear as you sit on your bed. The exhaustion evident in your movements, as well as your wan appearance. Beautiful eyes offset by the dullness of your gaze, pallor skin that reveals your lack of sleep, and the tear tracks on your face that are barely visible in the dim light of the candle…

And then you raise your head, and though surprise flits upon your face, it is soon replaced by a touch of hope, and then hesitation. You recognize him, what he is. You speak- he prepares himself for work.

The princess first asked for her parents back.

"No," refused the genie. "Death is irreversible."

“The myths are true, so it would seem, as there stands a genie right before me.” There is no fear or hesitation in your voice. It sparks a small amount of intrigue from him, as there is the lack of greed or lust for power as well.

“They are.” The gaze he sets upon you is with little emotion. He watches you slowly take in the fact that there stands a magical being in your room, a captured fae, able to grant your wishes.

“And you-“ here you pause, wariness and desperation warring against each other as you look at the supposedly magical being in your room. “You are to turn my wishes into reality?”

His lips curl in distaste and he prepares himself for whatever whims you force him to grant. “Only three.”

You look at him carefully, and then decide to throw caution to the wind- there is a fragile hope in your tone when you speak. “Then I would like my parents brought back to life, as they were days before.”

“I cannot grant you that wish.”

You chuckle bitterly, tears threatening to make a reappearance on your face. “Of course. And why not?”

The bite in your tone is thick at the instant answer he gives, the way you phrase your words a demand. It sparks an age old indignation in him, but the way your small frame curls up in disappointment makes him bite back the harsher words he would have said. Instead, he sighs and looks upon you with a little pity.

Death is never kind. Humans may be egotistical, selfish beings, but grief is special yet in the way it brings out the worst in anyone- a fact that he should know.

“Princess,” he starts. “Magic may be powerful, however, even magic in all its glory cannot bring back the dead. Were you to ask any other genie in regards to your wish- all that they will be able to give you is an illusion that they are still alive. And even then, it would only be for a short while. … I advise you to pick another wish instead.”

The princess cried out angrily. "Then what use are you, if you cannot do your job?"

The genie laughed angrily. "I, who have been and under rulers greater and grander than you, do you think I would choose to serve the likes of you?"

“I do not desire for anything else. All I want is my family back,” your voice wobbles, bitterness and frustration thick in your tone. You glare at him over your tears. “Are you truly a genie, if you cannot even grant my wishes?”

He sneers at you, sympathy for your situation vanishing like mist.

“And you are of the belief that I want to grant your wishes? That I chose to serve some selfish brat who believes them free to use magic without repercussions, out of my own volition?” His gaze darkens as he remembers the humans that set out to capture and enslave his kind, burning down forests and using sacrifices and rituals, all just to use them as inexhaustible tools of power. Hunted and secreted like shiny jewels- made to kneel in front of selfish, greedy, filthy mortals. It sickens him, even to this day, to think what has become of his brothers. Genies, they called them, merely another term for the fair folk captured and bound to human possessions- turned into human possessions. “Believe me, princess, I do not want to be in your presence as much as you do mine.”

You falter at his sudden change of attitude, before going on. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He purses his lips. “… Nothing. Is that really all that you wish for, is there nothing else? Toys, perhaps, or jewelry? The ability to read minds? Though it seems the latter is of little use considering you barely use your own.”

“Is that any way to talk to your master?” You scoff at him, and, in an attempt to get back at his comment you find yourself grabbing at a small detail. “If you cannot remember, then I will remind you- the moment you came out of that locket, you were bound to me as my servant.”

He hisses at the words, rage burning bright and true for a moment at the stark reminder of what he has become- the resolve with which he maintained to be civil with you disappearing. He comes close to you instead, the glare on his face glacial.

“Take heed of this, princess,” he growls, taking vindictive pleasure in the way you flinch back from him, fear crossing your face before you try to hide it by tamping it down. “I have been a fae longer than you have been a human, longer than this kingdom even existed. I have ruled and I have been with rulers for as long as time has been immemorial, and I will even after you die. Believe all you like that your position offers you protection, but I will not tolerate your disrespect towards me.”

A sudden sense of pressure bearing down on the room robs you of your breath- making it feel as though there is something pressing down on your whole body. Your genie’s voice softens as he continues, though there is no denying the amount of anger hidden in it. “My power may not reverse the laws of nature, but a twist of my fingers is all it would take to make you suffer. Do not test me.”

“You would never hurt me.” You barely get the words out with the way your voice shakes. He chuckles at the way you so obviously try to seem brave.

“Is that so, princess?”

“No, you would not,” you confirm, your voice becoming steadier as you continue, determined not to give in to his intimidation. “For the reason that if you did, you would be hurting yourself. Or have you forgotten about our contract?”

Silence follows your words, though the way he bristles is enough of a reply. The unnatural pressure vanishes so quickly, the air you greedily take in seems like heaven as you right yourself on your bed. Still when you regain your composure, you find him staring at you with equal amounts of disdain and hatred. Fair enough. You steel your gaze, look him in the eye, and click close the locket that lies on your neck.

“Leave. I have no wishes that need granting right now.”

At once he disappears, and you are left alone with your thoughts.

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Animosity instantly festered between the two of them- the princess, sunk in grief and the heavy weight of responsibility that came so suddenly, and the genie, in a permanent state of apathy and hatred. But as the princess realized the impossibility of her wish, she sent him back. All would have returned to normal, were her parents to come back to life, but the present was set in stone and instead she was to be the heir to a throneless kingdom.

Oh, her uncle tried to help her, but the princess was wise and clever, and she knew her situation. With little to no support from power hungry nobles, she struggled under their scrutiny. The crown was surrounded by enemies, ones that sought to use the death of the king and queen as a way to do whatever they wished, never minding how the smallfolk suffered, letting criminals and corruption fester in the kingdom.

But the princess’ most defining trait was how she cared. Family. Duty. Honor. She strove to become an excellent queen, instead of collapsing underneath the pressure. She set her mind to preventing the kingdom from falling into chaos, and instead create an era of peace and stability for everyone.

So out came the genie once more, and this time, she made her first wish.

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You find yourself opening the locket only a month after your disastrous first meeting.

“I am in need of your help.” You hope the words come out as you intend them to- calm, confident, even if the words speak otherwise. The genie- your genie, floats in front of you with a neutral look on his face, no ill feelings flashing across his face that might remain from your first meeting. You continue. “That is to say- I request you to teach me about my country.”

And isn’t it frustrating, to have to ask a genie, a captured, bounded fae, of all… beings, to ask for help? What would he know? Yet even so you are aware of how close you are to the edge, how much you need his help.

With the death of your parents, you understand that the kingdom has fallen into chaos- nobles of all ranks vying for power, and the citizens under their rules left to suffer. Oh, it may not be obvious now, you acknowledge with a grim look, but already plans have been set in motion to sabotage and replace certain people working under the crown.

Including you.

The moment the bells tolled, you knew you lost most, if not all of the people you could trust. And how could you not? The way your parents died… were murdered, it could only have been by being betrayed by someone they fully trusted. The lack of evidence all but proved that.

So here you are, hoping for the protection and knowledge of a genie (a fae, your mind corrects, a fae trapped by your kind, that hates your kind, and is it not ironic how you are asking them, in a way, to save your people?)

“Is that your wish? For me to give you knowledge on your country?” He raises an eyebrow at your wish- there is a gleam of surprise that flashes across his face all too quickly. To wish for knowledge is not unusual- that the knowledge will not serve you directly in power is the difference. Spells, weapons, servants- to those who wish for them, he is familiar. To history, however, he is not. Living as long as he has does not mean that he knows nor remembers what happens around him- he has never held a desire to stay and see the destruction wrought by his masters, regardless of his involvement. No matter though, his magic will see to it that the wish is fulfilled anyway.

“Make me into an excellent queen,” she asked of him. Under their bond of master and owner the genie complied, and though unwilling he taught her everyday what her tutors could not, in place of the king and queen who could no longer impart their knowledge to her.

You tilt your head and refute him without a second thought. “No, I do not believe that will suffice for a wish… if you must take it as so, then I ask you to teach me all you know in managing a kingdom.”

He looks at you in surprise, for once showing something other than indifference or displeasure. “And here I thought the princess had the sense to not act on our mutual hatred,” he drawls.

“Whatever gave the impression that it was mutual?” You counter back easily. The cold stare he gives you in turn, as if asking ‘is that so?’ makes you shiver, but you hold your ground. You swallow back your fear and go on. “Besides… as much as it pains me to admit it, you are the only one I can trust and are knowledgeable enough. Do you acknowledge my wish or not?”

He cocks his head to the side, amused and yet confused as well. Who asks a genie whether they will comply to their wish or not? There is steel behind your words that declare you will be heard one way or the other, but all the same, it is not a demand, but a request. Something seems to have changed since your first meeting, but a master he can at least tolerate is not something he will question.

“Two years,” he states, but you shake your head firmly. Two years is not enough- then again, how many years must pass before you are? However, you know you need all the time you can bargain for. You have been given the opportunity to ask for a mentor greater, if not at least on par with your (parents, you miss them, but they’re gonegonegone and you would be lying if you denied spending every night curled up in your bed, shivering from the lack of a warmth so familiar to you) would-be mentors.

“Ten years.”

“Four years.”

“Until my coronation in six years, then you are allowed to go,” you negotiate, fixing him with an unimpressed look. “Or am I asking too much of your abilities? So much for your ‘having accompanied many rulers’.”

He scoffs at your blatant attempt to bait him into accepting, even if all the same he agrees. “Deal.”

He snaps his fingers- there is no visible indication that your first wish has been placed into effect, however, you can feel magic heavy and warm settling around you like a cloak. A part of you knows that it is what binds you to him- you cannot quite see it, but you can feel it. How wonderful. Note both sarcasm and relief.

“Now where do we begin…?” He muses, for the first time a smirk breaking out on his features. Snapping his fingers again finds you suddenly sitting on your chair, a perfect distance from your desk. Another and several stacks of books appear to the side, a heavy thud indicating their presence. You feel a part of you quiver in fear at the sight, but you steel yourself.  Your genie, it seems, senses your apprehension anyway, because he chuckles low and long, the smugness evident.

“The first step to becoming a capable ruler, is discipline,” he says, smirking, before he tilts his head to the side. “Ah- before we start, little princess, you may call me as V.”

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"Do you not wish for anything for yourself?" He once asked her. The queen declined the genie's offers for riches grander than any other, for power so great that it was untold.

The princess smiled wryly. "I am to be queen- I live and die for those who serve underneath me."

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“You’re still studying, I see.”

It is late- you do not know exactly what time it is, though you wager it to be somewhere in the middle of the night. The moon rising overhead offers you little light, but the candle on your desk provides an ample amount that you are thankful for.

The warm glow of the flame illuminates your genie at the corner of your eyes- V, floating alongside your desk. There is the mask of indifference on his face as always. Though it sometimes slips, and you see him visibly smile or frown sometimes. Tonight though, it seems as if he has donned it tighter, closer, until you cannot tell where his mask begins and ends.

“Yes, I suppose I am. One cannot simply learn the trades of a market without seeing how it works,” you state, attention half on him, the other half remaining on the book you are reading. You do not see him study you with open puzzlement on his face, that underneath the ever present hatred for humanity he feels, there is something else making itself known. “Though the fact that every book I’ve gotten so far gives only examples and never explanations on how the barter system works in detail is a point of frustration.”

You turn your full attention back on the book as silence greets your answer, a confused frown coming on your lips at the complications listed in the book.

“Studying so much- what is the use of it?” Just as you wonder if he’s back in the locket, you hear his voice next to your ear. “In the end, all your position will ever amount to is a figure of power. Human men have hardly changed since the beginning of time- believing that the world runs around them, that a woman’s power will never equal theirs. Your advisors and generals… given your word, they would run the country on your behalf.”

“I would have to trust them first to give them even a fraction of power,” you scoff. V it seems takes your words as they are, falling silent for a while before speaking again.

“Wish on me then, princess, and I will give you the utmost loyal of servants. What would you desire for them to have?”

“V-“ you sigh out his name, a serious look in your eyes that compel him to hold his tongue. “Everything that I can accomplish by myself, I will. Am I not already under your guidance? Your wishes, on the other hand, I would rather keep them safe until I truly need it. For one, if a plague beset my people, I would use a wish to ensure their safety.”

Although you cannot see him, you can sense the magic in the air wavering, thick and heavy. The book on the table is forgotten, at this point, your attention fully diverted to the genie by your side. There is a look of frustration on his face, as well as confusion. “For your people? What do they matter in comparison to you?”

You consider your next words carefully, wanting to tell him nothing but the barest truth for some unknown reason. It has been half a year since your first meeting, and during this period you have grown to know more about V, as well as the limits placed on both of you through your contract. He is bound to you in every way, he cannot harm you, he is to give you three wishes, of which afterwards the locket will never open again until a new master has received it. It is these three facts that have allowed you to loosen and relax, knowing you are under no threat from V.

With that, lessons with him has allowed you to see more than the bitter fae bound to the locket you hold near to your heart, instead seeing him as a respectable figure. From what you have heard and guessed, it is not a surprise to learn of the hatred he holds for humans… you have accepted it. People with power often go mad, as they say.

Furthermore V grants you your wish without fail- and when he teaches you, it is riveting. He teaches you not by telling you what or what not to do, but by giving you examples, small pieces of history lost to everyone but him, of kings and queens past that have ruled over kingdoms far bigger than yours. Although they have all fallen now, their lessons still remain, and you find yourself with a growing amount of respect for V. Perhaps, that is why a part of you desire his respect as well.

You close the book gently, and speak slowly. “Someday, I will be queen. But even before that, I am a princess. A royal. I do not live for myself- I live for the people I rule over, and when the time comes I will die for them too.”

V looks at you with an indescribable emotion in his eyes, before he says a small ‘I see’. You do not know if your words reach him, the underlying meaning in your answer evident enough for him, but if it is, he shows not any sign of seeing it.

He asked less, after that. But what once was sharp, cutting words grew softer, and he stopped giving her undue grief from his mischief.

The next day, when you wake up you find a book lying by the table on your bed. There is no title that gives a clue of the content inside, though flipping it open reveals statements and stories of alleged merchants, on trading and travelling and bartering. You grin.

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As she grew up, her love for her kingdom and her subjects only grew even more. From the little that she could experience under her uncle's strict care, she made the most that she could, taking in every moment that she could see her subjects.

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Today is a good day, you think to yourself happily. The sun is shining, the clouds plenty, and the wind just right- even the weather decrees it so to be perfect. The people around you currently yelling, squealing, happily dancing in the full view of everyone around- the music drifting across the street and enticing people of all ages to dance… yes, it was a good decision to sneak out of the palace and wander around the festival. You always were interested in the kingdom’s festivities, though two years ago you would have been cooped up in the palace, playing, separated from the merrymaking. And although the past year has been filled with grief and suffering, life moves on, and so eventually when the festival’s date drew closer, you found yourself contemplating options previously locked to you before.

And although you would have liked to attend the festival with your parents… you look to your right, finding V with the usual mask of indifference on his face, as though he thinks little of the merrymaking. You smile widely anyway, moreso when he catches you smiling.

“Remind me again why I was persuaded to accompany you on this dreaded activity of you humans,” he grumbles. You beam at him, the bubbly joy of the people around you infecting you.

“Would you not agree it necessary for a ruler to know their subjects? More than that, today is a day of celebrations!”

“What is there that you do not know about this festival,” he rebuts. “Or shall I remind you of how the meetings for this festival planning occurred?”

“Perhaps I merely want to see for myself what it’s like up close,” you shrug. He raises an eyebrow at you, ignoring the slight flush to your cheeks.

“Why is it so hard for you to admit that you want to join the festival?” He mutters, fixing you with a dry look. “Even more, having me come along as your ‘bodyguard’ when I could protect you from inside the locket.”

You find yourself momentarily struck speechless at his words. “You say that as though it is a crime to ask you to accompany me,” you huff, a frown forming at your lips. “But if you really disdain it that much-“

“No need to be so aggravated,” he interrupts you, waving a hand in the air as a smirk forms on his face. “Human you may be, but you’re not that bad for company. That aside, so this is what you wanted to see so badly you asked me for help in escaping the palace today.”

You roll your eyes at him- would anyone from the palace see you, they would scold you at how unrefined you are right now, but the thought only spurs you to let yourself loosen up even more. Today, you are not the princess, the queen-to-be, you are merely a commoner girl wandering around the festival, followed by your good friend, an older brother of sorts.

Or so it would seem to other people, not being able to see underneath the magic that V has woven around the two of you to appear normal to other civilians.

It never fails to amaze you, how V’s magic is wonderfully intricate. It seems there is no end to the uses magic provides, from the smallest tasks such as straightening your clothes, untangling your hair or rearranging your books, to big ones such as teleportation and invisibility. It took you a long time of bartering- you never wanted to use up a wish for something so menial such as this, but all the same you wanted to roam around and experience the festival for yourself. It was only when you baited V again that he finally relented.

A child passing by with their mother brings your attention back to the festival, and your eyes widen- the two of you have walked straight into the main street of the festivities while you were unaware. The people milling around everywhere, coupled with the activities and the decorations turning even the drabbest house colorful- it is a mess of sensations that makes you quickly look around, trying to get every detail in.

“Awestruck, are we?” V chuckles even as he shields you from the crowd, a teasing note in his voice. Another thing that has changed recently- V, it seems, has taken to lightly teasing you, though you let it slide as there is no malice or ill will to be found in his tone. It seems as if he has taken you as someone he can look upon favorably- or at least with some degree of comfort, to joke around with you.

“Of course not,” you deny. “Just- so many people surround us…”

V tilts his head in contemplation, before nodding. “Ah, yes. You’ve never left the palace, now have you?”

It seems as though today brings you another surprise, when you feel the warmth of another hand envelop your own. You cannot help tensing up, eyes wide as you look at him. He raises an eyebrow at you, as if the thought of him initiating contact with you is not something that should be made a big deal of, before speaking. “Don’t misunderstand. If you get hurt because your attention is all over the place, that will reflect back on me through our contract.”

“Uh-“ you stammer. “Right. I… I suppose that makes sense.”

He nods and assumes his mask again, though his hold on your hand tightens. “In any case, since the little princess has brought me out for protection, then perhaps you should use what remaining time you have to fully immerse yourself in and learn about the culture of your own people firsthand,” he offhandedly suggests. You feel your lips curl into a grin at the way he plays along with you and excitedly nod your head.

This time, when you look around, you let yourself fully take in the joy of the people, the activities that surround the two of you.

There are stalls on the side, offering various kinds of food, and music from bards and singers all around. There is no end to the list of new things you are only seeing today.

You stop at a particular stall- the flowers bright and colorful, yet blending into the scenery as well. You scan the display, brightening when you find a certain flower.

V only raises an eyebrow when you talk to the merchant, several coins leaving your pocket as you exchange it for what a few stalks of small, blue flowers.

“Thank you!” You call out- there is a skip in your step as you bring the flowers close, inhaling the sweet scent they emit. You then place them in your pocket, careful not to press them or destroy  them.

A brief glance at V reveals him looking at you with interest in his eyes- you smile shyly. “Forget-me-nots are my favorite flower, just from the name and its meaning. Besides that… I thought it would be a good token to remember today by,” you admit.

“Should you not get more then, rather than a few?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to place them anywhere- forget-me-nots are rare here, and would anyone see they would probably spread rumours of all kinds,” you say, laughing at the thought.

V furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Still, the flowers will be in a poor state from this crowd.”

“I guess so, but… any later and there might not remain any more to buy… if it truly is in pieces when we return, then I suppose I will just have to let it be,” you shrug.

The two of you resume walking, and you find yourself falling in love all over again with the kingdom you live in. What truly takes your breath away though, is the presentation currently happening in the middle of the plaza. There, in the midst of the crowd, is a group of young men and women, seemingly dancing to the beat of a tune louder and heavier than the others. There synchronization in their movements amazes you, the grace with which they execute their actions a thing of beauty itself, not to mention the aura they seem to exude. 

You take a step closer, just to get a better look at them, but find yourself rooted to the spot as V’s attention seem to be elsewhere. You huff, waving a hand in front of him, but he does not react at all and you finally resort to pulling him close to the crowd of onlookers with you. Once you are as close as you can be- and with a clear view of the performance, you find yourself even more excited by their brilliance.

“V, look!” You tug on his sleeve repeatedly with your free hand, immediately pointing at the dance with your head when he turns to look at you, attention back from wherever he has previously been. The furrow in his eyebrows tells you your efforts were successful, though he seems to be irked. His next words come out in a grumble.

“I may have asked you to hold onto my hand as protection, but that doesn’t mean you can just drag me around-“

“Your mind seemed to be off elsewhere,” you chide him. “Besides, won’t you come watch- woah!”

You see for yourself with wide eyes the sudden, beautiful way the group seems to throw themselves up into the air, before landing with practiced movements, the easy cooperation with which they move spellbinding.

“Beautiful…” you breathe out, mesmerized. V rolls his eyes, though you cannot see it at the moment.

“You truly consider that stunning? I have seen casual street performances held by elves that hold more flair,” he dryly states.

You turn to him, a spark of exasperation and annoyance evident in your posture before you admonish him. “Can you not just appreciate it for what it is? You-”

The sudden fierce mumbling of the crowd grabs your attention and you look back at the group.

The problem is evident as soon as you look. One of the members performing seem to be struggling- though they push on the performance, and, throwing the other in the air, they prepare to catch them, but they trip-

You gasp, as do the people around you, before somehow, by some miracle, the catcher finds themselves with renewed strength as they correct themselves and catch their fellow performer. The crowd breathes out sighs of relief in unison, but your breath is still taken away, and you turn to V-

“You just-“ He scrunches his face in annoyance, scoffing as he interrupts your sentence.

“If they got hurt, it would only ruin the performance. No need to let something lackluster become even worse,” he huffs.

You tilt your head with a smile, biting back the giggle building in your throat. “Alright, whatever you say.”

The rest of the day proves to be less exciting, though still as enjoyable, and when the two of you return to the castle, it feels as though it is over all too soon. That the flowers you bought at the start of your excursion has been bruised so, well, you try not to let it dampen your mood too much. You leave it by your bed, unwilling to throw it away.

You find yourself smiling at the pressed flowers, forget-me-nots preserved and yet somehow the color still so bright, the aroma strong, lying by your bed the next day.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Her heart, though it was tempered by steel, remained kind as ever- never turning away those who needed help, and holding a compassionate and fair mind when dealing with any problems that arose.

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“How is it that you still have paperwork?”

You release a heavy sigh as you look over the documents in your hand, a weary look on your face.

“A drought recently struck the western province. One of the barons near the border has volunteered to provide relief goods, but it’s still necessary we check over the supplies to know if it will be possible or not…”

‘You could leave it to your retainers to organize this problem’, he wants to say, though he knows it would be useless. He already knows what you would reply. Something so important- a drought, delivering supplies to those unfortunate to have been living there- left in the hands of incompetent, scheming, corrupted fools? There would be no way you’d agree to that.

“I do not live for myself- I live for the people I rule over, and when the time comes, I will die for them too.”

It is exactly that phrase that forced him to acknowledge you are different. It was that moment that he thought, ah, you recognize sacrifice, the kind that consumes your very being, the kind that goes hand in hand with love and determination, the kind that you should never know fully of, because it means that you have understood the suffering that begets it. At so young an age, at only fourteen years old you already understand and accept the heaviness of the crown, a ghost upon your head as it may be for now.

Not for once he curses the fact that you are in such a precarious position, loathes the circumstances that led you to where you are, and maybe even hates you a bit too- why do you have to care, so much? Here you are, running on fumes and still you insist on performing duties that should be underneath you.

You care too much, and even he cannot deny that he’s come to care for you too, too much as well. He had long resigned himself to hating humanity, to burying deep inside any remnant of the fae he once was, before everything changed. But you bring out all the parts he has done his best to forget.

Your head droops a little as a lapse of exhaustion washes over you, but you pinch your leg- there is only a few days before the paperwork is due, and you cannot waste a single moment.

Although your head aches terribly- you struggle to remember which line you were reading, before you feel magic envelop you, and in a moment the fatigue in your body eases. You shoot a look at V, who only utters a, “move over.”

You scoot over to the side and give him an inquisitive look that he ignores. V slides into the seat next to you, half a foot of distance remaining between the two of you, and you feel yourself relax from being in a closer proximity. Not for the first time you wonder if it’s because of the bond between the two of you, but your sleep deprived mind urges you to return to the issue at hand. Snapping out of your thoughts, you turn back to your paperwork, ready to review the next piece-

The mountain of paperwork on your desk stands a little more securely halved. The other rests on V’s side of the table, with the genie himself reading over the reports. You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised, but V only says in a matter of fact tone, “Leave the logistics to me, while you handle the situation reports. If all this is left up to you, you’ll get not a single wink of sleep tonight.”

“I do not believe I would take that long,” you hum, although there is no denying the smile on your face.

“You place as one of the most meticulous masters I have ever served under,” he drawls. “Dawn will break before you finish- and you would be in a poor condition come morning.”

“Then you would not be in any state to learn from me, and what would your wish have been for?” He finishes with a scoff, even as your smile grows wider. It’s ridiculous, how happy you suddenly seem to be. All the more so that his own mood improves with your own.

“Alright, alright, I concede your point,” you chuckle, before playfully leaning your head on his shoulder. In a soft voice you whisper a thank you to him, and try as he might, he cannot deny how his heart (and oh, he thought it was already dead, buried away forever, but like everything else you bring it to life) skips a beat.

Too much, indeed.

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"I could make them disappear," the genie told her. "With one word from you, a flick of my finger could turn them into willing servants."

The queen laughed. "No, thank you. What would come after then? I do not wish to rely on your magic."

"You are unlike any other master I have ever had," the genie said, the tone in which he said it conveying how odd and fascinating he found her. Yet still there was respect in his tone as well.

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“If you wished it of me,” V’s voice is low, barely a murmur- indistinguishable to everyone but you in the room. “I could erase all traces of corruption. I could turn them into people devoted to the future of their queen and country.”

You keep up a docile façade as the people in front of you- dukes and marquis speak over each other in chaos, insults and barbs laid throughout their speech as though somehow putting down the others will prove them better than the other. As usual, the yearly councils lead nowhere, nothing but bickering achieved. Truly petty, and more than that, your time wasted when there could be better use for it- for one, reviewing documents. Instead here you are, with a dull throbbing in your head from the noise and what would you not give for some peace right now?

When I am queen, truly queen, I will do something about this, you promise to yourself. A heavy exhale leaves your lips as the men seem to forget your presence, voices becoming closer to shouting, no matter that you are the highest ranking in the room.

“No, thank you,” you instead respond to V, deeming it safe enough to at least whisper to him- no one is paying attention to you after all. “Besides, let us say I allowed that. What then of the next generation? Or should I wish for that too? Will your magic be strong enough to account for every future noble then?”

“Of course not,” he says, a raised eyebrow in place. “I doubt even magic can hold back human greed.”

“Then there you have it,” you tilt your head to the side to look at him better, a wry smile on your lips. “I do not wish to use your magic on something that needs to be solved by us humans.”

“It was merely a suggestion,” V shrugs, and you close your eyes in relief as you feel magic sweep over your body and your headache, disappear. As the ringing in your head disappears, you realize as well that your surroundings seem to have been muted a little, the voices on a level easier to handle.

When you open your eyes, you find V looking at you with a soft smile, one that you wonder if he knows he’s making right now.

“You are the strangest master I have ever had,” he murmurs. “Perhaps even the strangest human I have met as well.”

You feel a smile bloom on your face, the first one you hold all day. “Is that a compliment?”

V raises an eyebrow. “Does it matter if I say yes? You seem to take it as one anyway.”

You stifle back the laughter bubbling in your throat, and turn back to the meeting- it would not do to seem absentminded, after all, in case someone would glance at you.

If you feel V’s presence though, unseen but felt solidly next to yours, a warmth around your body and whispers in your ear that makes the meeting bearable, well, that’s for no one but you two to know.

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With the genie, too, the years eventually brought them close together, as comrades. What once was hatred and prejudice turned into grudging respect.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Do you think- if they saw me right now, would they be proud?”

On the third anniversary of your parent’s death, you find yourself reminiscing over old portraits of the three of you, looking over old possessions that you found hard to even touch- the grief too strong then.

And although the grief is still there, a heavy weight on your soul, you find it easier to deal with- the raw edges smoothened, even if the hole in your heart remains so.

In their room, untouched by anyone (you’d forbidden it so, and who would deny the wishes of an orphaned child, to leave their deceased parents’ rooms so?), it feels as though nothing has happened- everything is the same as it was years ago. The only detail that would say so otherwise would be the thick dust that has settled over the room- though one snap of V’s fingers had seen to that.

“Yes, you have grown to be a fine princess under my tutelage after all.” That V is sitting so close to you is perhaps the only reason you are not currently weeping, his presence offering comfort, a reminder that not everyone you love, you have lost. After all, he still remains, and the feel of his hand on yours- an anchor, it keeps you grounded.

“I miss them,” you whisper. V holds your hand tighter, and, throwing caution to the wind, you lean on his shoulder. The warmth that he emanates helps you keep your tears at bay, especially when you hear his voice a gentle murmur.

“I know.”

And with respect came tentative trust,

“Have you ever had family before?” The fact that fae apparently have cool bodies is a hidden blessing you always make sure to take advantage of, pressing close to V in order to escape the dreaded summer heat that has currently befallen the kingdom, worse than the previous ones. You close the book shut- the forget-me-not in your hand having long been a wonderful bookmark.

Rarely do you ever take a break from your duties- but this is an exception, the heat too much for you to focus on anything. Therefore here you two are, sitting in a pavilion situated somewhere far off from the castle (V had rolled his eyes as he magicked the two of you here, and scoffed that it would be easy to do the same when you declare it time to return, why use the castle rooms where there was still a chance of people overhearing you?), for once you turn the topic of conversation to V, curious about him. Three years and then some- it had been surprising to realize how little you know of him.

“I once had six brothers,” V reveals, after some time of deliberation, an eyebrow raised at your sudden question. “I was the second youngest.”

“Six? You had a big family then,” you muse, trying to imagine it. You tilt your head at V- focusing on him. Would his brothers have looked a lot like him, you wonder, with features that were too beautiful to pass as human? “How are genies even born, I wonder?”

“How should I know?” V replies, a bemused look on his face. “Besides, it isn’t as though we were bound by blood as humans are. Fae simply come into existence- the brothers I mention of ones I’ve been with my whole life.”

“Childhood friends in a sense, then,” you murmur, before you ask him again, softly. “If it’s okay with you- what were they like?”

V looks away from you with an indescribable emotion of his face- for once, after years of being by his side you find you cannot read him. But then he takes a deep breath and turns back to you- there is nothing but a soft nostalgia on his face, and the tender way with which he speaks his next words makes your heart ache for him.

He tells you about his brothers- Jin, their eldest, always there with a smile and a laugh, who always looked after them, who came up with the worst jokes and was like what a mother would be to them. Suga, their second eldest, stoic and seemingly grumpy, but always ready to help them, soft inside even as he talked and acted otherwise. J-Hope, their third eldest, who radiated happiness and warmth like the sun, who was always there to cheer them up when they needed it. RM, fourth eldest, always a source of calmness and tranquility, ready to offer impartial advice and obscure knowledge when asked. JM, third youngest, their angel and fairy, who never failed to be there for them, love spoken through the many little actions he did for them, renowned as the best gift giver among them- JK, their youngest, mischievous but so so loving, always starry-eyed and a source of laughter from the endless amount of times he’d do the strangest thing just to get them to laugh and be happy, his adoration of them all so clear and plain to see.

And him- V, second youngest. He stalls a little, words petering out as if confused, and there is a blank, bordering on dazed, look on his face that makes you wonder if he has simply forgotten what he used to be like before he became a prisoner trapped in your locket. After a few moments he simply regales you instead with the other small details that he can remember, the few that remain.

And you listen. You listen as he tells you about the years they grew up together in a community of only supernatural creatures, how they found each other and created a bond so close that was unheard of even with other fae, the days they spent laughing and having fun, before they realized their own dreams, their goals, what they would dedicate their whole lives to.

V trails off when he reaches the end of their hundredth birthday, but it takes little to figure out the reason why, and the far-away look in his eyes makes you long to pull him into an embrace, comfort him like he has done for you. Instead you squeeze his hand- I’m here, you see, I’m not leaving, and hope that it comes through to him.

All too soon you notice the sky darkening into shades of pink and violet, dusk well on its way, and reluctant as you may be, you know you have to go soon. But when you look at V- at the wistfulness that can be openly read on his face, you find another set of words dying on your tongue.

“Speak up,” V says, “One look at you and I know there is something you want to say.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to you and your family,” you softly say. Perhaps you do not, and will not ever know what it feels like to have your kind be hunted and used, but losing your family, feeling as though you are trapped and surrounded by enemies… that you can relate with. It hits you for the first time, seeing V stare off into with a distant look in his eyes, that he has lost much more than you have, and it makes your heart ache to think of all that he has gone through.

When he speaks next, it is as if you can feel the emotions rolling under his voice, thinly masked by a layer of restraint and forced disconnect.

“Humans have always been power hungry, them coming for us was only a matter of time.” He closes his eyes, as if doing so will make whatever image in his head disappear, and you press closer to him, almost pulling him into a hug, I’m here, I’m right here. V leans his head against yours, and when he opens his eyes again you see the vulnerability thick in his gaze, though he still doesn’t look at you. “However, it isn’t as though you’re part of those who wish to harm and use us… so don’t be sorry.”

Dusk blends into night well before the two of you retreat back to the castle, the stack of paperwork sitting on your desk a perfect distraction, and if the morning after finds you with your bodies laid haphazardly across the bed (collapsing on the soft mattress after working on so much seemed absolutely tempting and V was not immune to it either), well, it only elicits laughter from you, moreso when you notice the (not the first time, but to this extent, perhaps) messy state your genie is in.

- and a steady friendship-

“You need a break.”

“You say that as though it is anything new,” you idly remark, a part of you wishing you had something sweet to drink right now- a cup of milk appears near you, steam wafting off the surface. You raise it and take a sip- the drink exactly how you prefer it to be. “Thank you.”

You feel V’s presence near you- he leans over your shoulder, and you need not turn to the side to know that he’s raising an eyebrow at the papers in front of you. “No need to mention it- what are these, anyway?”

“My suitors,” you explain, before amending it. “Or, well, people I might be betrothed to in the future.”

V nods understandingly. “Ah, the human intricacies. That a woman cannot be in power without a man to guide her.”

“Rightfully so,” you let out a chuckle at his words, though a part of you remains frustrated at the situation. “It is what it is, though,” you shrug, before a thought comes alive in your head.

“Tell me- do genies marry?”

“Marry,” V’s words are tinged by bemusement, making you chuckle again. “A human tradition.”

“Do the fae not hold concepts of romance?”

“We do,” he says, “Though not like you humans do. When we decide to mate, we swear our hearts to each other, and thereafter hold a ceremony by magic to keep our souls together. Much more meaningful than swearing on nothing but rings and to an audience of loyalty and faith.”

“Far better than the ones we hold, then,” you agree. V smiles at your response, before continuing.

“Quite so. Grand affairs too, with merrymaking that lasted for days on end and laughter everywhere.”

The thought brews in your mind. What would it look like, you wonder? Thinking of everything that magic has shown you over the years, and the little things that V tells you about his time as a fae, it does nothing but heighten your curiosity.

“I would have loved to see one,” the words spill from your lips easily, a sigh accompanying it. More than beautiful- you don’t doubt it would have been one of a kind, besting any wedding by humans. Still, it isn’t as though you can ask anyone to show you one, now can you? The thought pulls you back into reality, and you sigh as you turn back to the papers on the table, the task seeming even more uninteresting now.

It’s only when you pick them up that you find yourself surprised as your surroundings seem to melt away into nothing, being replaced by a sudden wave of colors that settle and-

Oh, you find your breath taken away at the dazzling display of magic and wonder- looking around shows that you are (somehow) in a clearing, surrounded by trees that are decorated with lights and tables and chairs and oh, (how? It must be by magic, you conclude, but it doesn’t take away the curiosity and awe in your reaction) the fae (they have to be, you have been talking about nothing else) fluttering around with laughter in their smiles and happiness in their eyes. It’s easy to get swept away, lost in the moment- a warm hand covers your own and you look at V with dazed eyes.

“Come on,” he hums, a smile spread across his face as your reaction is open for the world to see. “My magic can only hold up for so long, and all this is is a memory, but still- I hope it suffices.”

“Suffices?” You echo, flabbergasted. “More than that, this is beautiful though, what is this? V, did you-“

“This is far better than reviewing the profiles of men whose worth will never measure up anywhere near yours, I assure you.” V’s smirks, one that you cannot help returning with a chuckle as one fae in particular breaks into dance.

“Alright,” you concede, letting thoughts of other men disappear from your mind, determined to enjoy this present as much as you could. It’s the right decision, the best decision, you think, as you witness V beam radiantly at you. “Thank you.”

The two of you spend the evening dancing, laughing, singing and your dreams that night are filled with magic and wonder. When daybreak comes, you awaken to find yourself holding the locket in your hand, a smile on your face- not even the babbling of the nobles who have come to see you for some trivial matter can make the bubbly feeling in your chest disappear.

- lastly came solid affection.

It’s currently early morning- too early, some might say. There is not even a hint of the sun’s warmth or light, the only hints that it would be coming soon the twittering of the birds outside. The coldness of the night has not left yet, and so you feel the blanket covering the two of you is more than heavenly- it feels right, somehow.

V is warm against your skin- a detail that had made you giggle notoriously as he denied using magic to change his body temperature so, after you remarked that it would be nice to have a fireplace in the room- something you could not have as there were simply no space in your room for any, nor were there any fireplace built there in the first place.

When had the two of you gotten to this point, you wonder? Lying in bed with each other, your bodies pressed close to each other- V holding you tightly (he always does, though he denies it in the morning) to his chest, arms wrapped around you and a leg thrown over you as well (it will never fail to amuse you remembering the journey he took in knowing how to use legs and feet again, it may have been the one and only time he’d needed your help as a helpless babe did, as being a genie he only floated on air). The tips of his hair (of which you can still scent the rose oil he’d washed your hair with, and then you for him- V’s hair is luxuriously, puzzlingly, infuriatingly soft and you really should order more oil) tickle your shoulder from where he is nuzzling your shoulder, and surrounded by this, surrounded by him, you find that you cannot care at all, for once, what others might think.

V makes you feel like yourself, and the thought that this- blessed normalcy, that it might disappear soon fogs your head with dark thoughts. You find yourself shifting until you turn around, and, reciprocating V’s embrace with your own, you softly speak against his chest.

“There are still two years before my coronation.”

“I know.” V’s voice is a deep rumble, especially first thing in the morning, the raspness of his voice evident as well. His hands don’t pull you closer, but they stay where they are, a solid imprint of warmth on your back against the cold of the morning.

“And even after that, I still have my two wishes,” you continue, voice still a faint murmur.

“I know,” he repeats, and you curl deeper into the hug, hoping that actions will send your message across where your words may fail.

“Even when I am crowned queen, I would still need you, even if my wishes should remain as for reserve. Meaning- you cannot leave me then, even after I have become queen.”

V sighs, and you are struck with a sudden fear that you’ve overstepped some sort of boundary, although you know not what it could be. However, he only rubs circles against your back, making you instantly hum softly at how relaxing it feels. “Obviously, now go to sleep.”

You don’t answer, but the way your hand, curled against the shirt he is wearing, loosens is an answer in and of itself and he himself falls back asleep soon after.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Still, as she grew, so did the corruption escalate, and whispers of crimes committed in secret grew worse. The princess tried, she did, but the result of her investigations only proved a horrible truth she did not want to know- the root of the corruption was from her very own uncle. From her parent’s death, to the suffering of her citizens, it was a bid in ploy to control her kingdom and remain a ruler in the shadows. It broke the princess, torn as she was between family and duty.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The glass falls to the ground, the sound of it shattering echoing loudly in the room. You stare dully at the scattered pieces, your mind repeating the information you found out on a loop.

He never held any remorse, any remnant of guilt, and perhaps that was what made it worse.

“What happened-“ You look at V blankly as he materializes from your locket- previously still asleep from the heavy amount of magic he consumed the day before, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled, but his eyes alert and looking over you for any sign of a problem.

“I should’ve known,” you croak out instead, remembering the meticulous way your… their murderer (oh, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts and it feels like your body is shaking from the force of the tears you’re holding back and you just want it to stop) had discussed their deaths, the plans he made for them, for you.

“You couldn’t have.” The only thing keeping you grounded in reality is V’s hold on you, his embrace warm, and were it any other time you would find yourself embarrassed, but, now, all you do is lean into his embrace, your tears soaking his shirt.

The realization that V knows not what happened makes a part of you want to laugh, despite the situation. A larger part of you, numb, explains calmly that you should tell him, V must be confused, even if he doesn’t seem to be so should you not speak up already.

“All the evidence was there- my-“ you pause, a heavy shudder runs through you from the weight of the tears, “regent, my uncle, I heard him, he was the one who planned it, why was I too blind-“

“You couldn’t have known,” he says firmly, holding you tighter, as if doing so will make you tears stop flowing. You hiccup and grip him just as tight, the thoughts in your head never letting up.

“Why did I let myself be fooled for so long? All the clues were there, but whenever the thought would appear in my head, I pushed it down… because I was afraid of what would happen if it turned out to be true.”

“And it is,” you bitterly laugh. “You know what the worst part is too?”

“I still love him.” V remains silent as you choke the words out, his presence your anchor to reality. “I hate him so for what he’s done, but I still love him. I’m a horrible person, am I not? To still consider a killer family.”

“He is your uncle,” he finally says. “Someone you have known your whole life. Someone you have loved your whole life. Whatever it is that you are feeling right now… it is alright. You can love someone and hate them too. It is what makes you human after all.”

“I wish I did not feel so anyway,” you whisper. V smiles wryly in response, though you cannot see it.

“Perhaps not, but I do not think feelings work that way, princess.”

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In the end, though, she chose duty.  She chose justice. And as her day of coronation grew nearer, she planned for a rebellion- one that would fully clean the roots of corruption in her kingdom.

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“You chose him?”

V levels a dry look on Sanha- your lips twitch into a smile at his unimpressed look.

“Yes- do you not approve?”

“Would you not want someone more suited to ruling a kingdom?” He bluntly states as Sanha almost trips over his own feet, the packages he’s carrying falling from his hands, but thankfully enough being caught before it hits the ground. Sanha lets out a sigh of relief- another man, one he has never seen before but presumes might be Cha Eunwoo rights him back up, and, laughing, helps him deliver the packages in his hand.

A servant. You found a servant of one of the prominent noble families serving under you to be the leader and your successor- there is no more surprise to be found from him at this point, he thinks.

“All that is needed is someone to guide him,” you explain, giggling at the deadpan look on V’s face, before you smile a little softer. “Besides, what I find most important to me is how they see the kingdom and how they treat the people. Sanha sees them as family, and he treats them as one too. He will be a wonderful king with training.”

V remains silent for a while, watching as the two men are happily greeted by almost everyone they come across, and the enthusiastic way the duo reply. “Not as wonderful as you though,” he eventually grumbles. “After all, you were taught by me.”

“No, I guess not,” you laugh.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Her second wish was thus for her kingdom once more- to secure that the rebellion would happen without a hitch.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“My second wish,” you murmur into the wind, though you are still sure that V can hear you, his chin propped on your head. Down below you can see the soldiers dragging Park Jin Woo’s family out, the yelling of the people you serve reaching even where you are, on a balcony several stories high. Your gaze lands on Jin Woo, and as you see his expression turn stony and hateful, you close your eyes. It begins, you think. “I want for you to fake their deaths- give them anonymity to everyone but Sanha.”

“Understood.” And with a flick of his finger you feel the world around you shift, the air stilling and everything, for a brief moment, blurs, before it becomes clear again. Below you, the scene has changed- although it seems to be the same for everyone, you can clearly see the faint shimmer around Jin Woo and his family, the only sign that they are constructs of magic. Jin Woo will wake up in Sanha’s bedroom, incorporeal, unseen and unheard to everyone but Sanha, who you have also already put plans in motion for, to guide him into being the leader of the rebellion.

You mourn for them, for the innocent boys you will be taking away and replacing with soldiers and tacticians. But duty demands it so, the rebellion is a necessity and you cannot let the responsibility fall to any other. Sanha- the highest ranking servant of the Yoon family, a charismatic and determined individual, trusted intimately by almost everyone. Even in the family he serves he is adored (to the point that he holds their surname, a highly irregular thing for a commoner) and you do not doubt that were he to lead, the Yoon family would follow. A person from both worlds, uniting the nobles and commoners- you can only hope it to be enough.

“You will be unanimously hated by your people after this.” V’s voice brings you back to the present, as the two of you watch the crowd of men and women all but fight the guards who do not hesitate to fight back, leaving injured civilians bleeding. Thankfully no one is dead- you have forbidden them to kill.

The screaming crowd is a testament to the influence that Park Jin Woo holds, as a peasant scholar famed in the kingdom. Having served many years as a sort of middle person for both nobles and commoners, if there is anyone who knows about the corruption and schemes in this kingdom, it is Jin Woo. Not only that, he is tenacious, and his loyalty fierce. You could not have picked anyone better, really.

“I know,” you affirm. “I accepted all those when I decided this.”

“You really will be all alone, at least until after it’s done,” his sigh is faint, but still you hear it. You smile a little, turn around and press your forehead to his- silly V, really, shouldn’t he know-

“Not true. I have you, do I not? You would not leave me alone, would you, V?” V smiling, slight as it may be will never fail to make you feel warm inside, moreso when he nuzzles his nose against yours and your smile grows wider, sadness and guilt alleviated for the moment.

“No, I suppose not.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

The night of her 18th birthday, there was a festival held by the kingdom. The princess, soon-to-be-queen, looked over her kingdom then- the weight of responsibility settled over her like a shroud she gladly bore, one she was fiercely proud of. As queen, she would do her best by her kingdom, over the people she ruled.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Envious, are we?”

You bat away V’s hands as they prod against your cheek, presumably to pinch them. His resounding chuckle is something you hear over the noise of the festival below- but only barely, and you feel his arms rest around your waist, you roll your eyes.

“Not really,” you clarify. “Just- it reminded me of the festival we went to years ago.”

V raises his eyebrows. “You still remember that, do you?”

“Of course I do! You were still so cold back then,” you protest, before grinning back up at him as you remember fondly the past. “I never knew then, what to make of you. I mean, of course, you looked and talked as if you didn’t care all the time, however, your actions always said otherwise.”

“What care would I have for humans, before and even now,” he scoffs.

“And yet I remember you helping that little girl,” you point out cheekily.

“I’m pretty sure I already told you that was for the performance.”

“Oh, whatever you say,” you laugh. “I would be lying if I were to say that I am not mad at myself right now. I should have thrown caution to the wind then, taken their offer to dance back then.”

“You speak of it so- what, pray tell, is so interesting about dancing anyway?”

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at V, who sports a bemused look on his face. “Is dancing truly unfamiliar to you? Have you never danced before?”

“Genies have no need to dance,” he says with a huff. “But if you must know, I’ve partaken in activities that included dancing a few times in the past, though mostly for celebrations.”

“Huh.” You scrunch your nose, trying to imagine V dancing. “Do you miss it?”

“No. And certainly not dancing like that.” He grumbles. You pout at his swift refusal, casting an envious gaze at the people down below.

Joining them is impossible- even if you were to use V’s magic to disguise yourselves so, you find it hard to relax among people anymore, especially in places so crowded. More than that, you find it hard to relate to them- the festivities and celebrations tempt you to join so, but you know that were you to step into the streets, you would only find yourself feeling out of place, suffocated.

Still, it does not diminish the feelings of wistfulness, the idea of joining- of being, of belonging, and you wonder, not for the first time, what you would have been like, were you not to be queen.

But that was a dangerous road to travel.

You shake your head to get the thoughts of your head, and then you are surprised as you hear someone loudly clear their throat- you turn around to find V, bowing, with a hand outstretched to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Well?”

You stared at him in surprise. “Are you… asking me to dance? But… I thought you considered dancing beneath you.”

“I do,” he drawls. “But further thinking led me to realize that this is not entirely a bad idea, if only because otherwise it would be a waste of your having dancing lessons.”

“You were not even the one who gave them to me,” you point out quietly, a smile growing once more on your lips.

“Does it matter?” He raises an eyebrow at you, his eyes flickering from your face to his hand as if to say ‘come on.’ “Well, what are you waiting for, princess? Dance with me.”

You let out a laugh as you take his hand- he smiles, raises his hand, brings your knuckles to his lips and gently pulls you into a dance.

What seemed to be a good idea at the moment turns out to be not so good though, when you step on V’s feet a few times. There is nothing on his face that gives away how irritated he must be- you wince and say a few words of apology anyway. “Apologies… I find it hard without music,” you admit.

V sighs- you flush, embarrassed, but then a soft melody surrounds the two of you, fireflies seemingly coming out of nowhere and providing a dreamy glow to the balcony. Your eyes widen as you look around in awe- V grins and whispers in your ear.

“Satisfied?”

“Very much so,” you grin.

“Don’t be arrogant,” he says, flicking your nose, ignoring the squawk of indignance you let out. He holds out forget-me-nots to you afterwards though, making you smirk as he waves his hand, and the flowers settle on your hair like stars crowning the night sky. “Tonight is merely because I was feeling generous for once.”

You stifle back the laughter building in your throat- would it kill him to admit he cared for you so? Instead, you lean your head against his chest, the dance taking a more intimate, vulnerable turn.

This is nice, you think. Under the endless expanse of stars in the sky, dancing with V (your closest, most important friend, no matter if he’s not human), it feels as if for once, you are being given a brief respite from the duties that bind you so.

Tomorrow, you will have to return to reality- return to the fact that you are trying to save a dying kingdom by setting it alight with the flames of a revolution. To the reality that tells you you are surrounded by no allies from either nobles or civilians, all of them hateful of you (because you hold the power, for the nobles who wish to obtain it, and to the civilians who want for nothing but a secure life but have to deal with the greed of nobles, who think that perhaps it is because of the princess that they run rampant so.) The thought of returning to such a thing is disheartening, and you cannot help wishing, even if only to yourself, that the night would never end.

“When I opened the locket- I find myself being thankful everyday for that moment. Meeting you is a blessing- thank you for staying,” you mumble into his chest. A pause descends on the two of you- he sighs and pulls you in closer, his reply so faint you almost miss it.

“You say that as if I would leave any moment- where else would I go, if not by your side?”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

"Have you ever wished to be anything else?" The genie asked.

"This again," the queen sighed, though she remained silent. After a while, she spoke.

"To be normal- perhaps, once or twice, I desired to be without responsibilities and care," the queen wistfully replied, but then she smiled. "Though it matters not in the end. As a commoner, I would not have had the chance to meet you, and I love my kingdom so. Those are what is most important to me in the end."

The genie laughed. "So you admit you need me."

"Perhaps," the queen replied.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“A question I asked you countless times.” V’s voice is like honey to the ears, you think absentmindedly to yourself. Sweet, velvety, deep and the way his fingers run through your hair makes you feel melting into his lap, though if the way he looks at you is any indication then it must be pretty obvious. He pinches your cheeks, as if to say ‘pay attention’, and you scowl at him- but you try and force yourself not to fall asleep anyway. “Though not once have you ever given me an answer.”

“Is there truly nothing you have wanted in your life for yourself?”

“You say that as though I want for nothing,” you say, sighing.

“You seem close to it, though, that sometimes I wonder if you do,” he grumbles. “You never seem to have any that you would be willing to wish for, anyway, and those that you do I cannot accomplish.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I am, perhaps, already content with what I have?”

He scrunches up his nose at your response. “Alright then, let me amend my question. The confines of the crown- is there truly not a single time you wished to be free of it?”

“You- are truly insistent,” you grouse, but you take in a deep breath and try to sort out the words in your head. When you speak, your voice is low, but firm.

“Countless times I have wished to be anyone but the person I am right now. To be a commoner, with less responsibilities and cares, to live how I want to,” you admit, before you place your hand on V’s cheek and pull him closer. “But in the end I’d always choose this life, even if I were given a chance to change it.”

You look straight into his eyes, and think, yes, I choose this life, I choose you, though you would never admit so out loud. “After all, I have you, do I not? And though I loathe the days my duties tire me so, I still love the people I serve.”

“After all, I have you,” V repeats, smirk growing wider on his lips, though the distance between the two of you remains so. “So you finally admit my magnanimity, how fond you are of me?”

“Perhaps,” you laugh.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Finally, the day came for her coronation. It was the day she planned for the rebellion to happen, as most if not all of the nobles that were corrupt in her kingdom were in attendance. The procession was grand- the following celebration even grander. It hurt her to know that she had planned for the deaths of people who she once thought were family, but she chose duty and duty demanded justice, retribution for all the crimes they committed.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“You will do no less than amazing.”

As you stand in front of the mirror, you find yourself running a critical eye at the woman reflected back at you. Clad in a pristine blue gown, the intricacies and design of which makes you look like a figure of power, you wonder if the woman in the mirror is true. Are you a queen deserving of this kingdom?

V comes to stand beside you- the hand around your waist a comfort you greedily take advantage of, leaning close and surrounding yourself in his scent.

“You believe so?” Your voice, when it comes out, is small and quiet. V interlaces his fingers with yours, aware that this is the first time in months, perhaps years, since the vulnerability in you is as clear as day.

“I know so. There exists no finer queen than you in the world.”

“I know, I know. Because you taught me,” you huff, a slight smile appearing on your lips, but V only turns you around, and, looking into your eyes, he cups your cheek and says solemnly.

“All the magic in the world could never change a person’s true personality. You were always made to be a ruler.”

And with that, he presses a kiss on your forehead, a small wreath of forget-me-nots placed on your head. “I will be by your side the whole time.”

In the midst of the party, the nobles were surrounded by the servants. The nobles, suspicious from the unrest, sought to leave early- and so, the plan was set into motion far earlier than intended.

Fighting broke out in what once was the elegantly decorated ballroom, turning it into an arena. The citizens, greater in number and no less trained in the art of fighting than the nobles, began to win.

“V!”  You cry out his name, a whimper leaving you as you cradle his body in your arms. “No no no no…”

All around you, the fighting is no less intense that it had been when it broke out- though, you know, now surrounded by V’s magic, dwindling as it was, no harm would come to you.

“Must you really cry? You know I never know how to comfort you when you cry…” You ignore his words, your tears falling like rain on his face, and you hurriedly pull out the locket in your hands.

The queen, though, was left in the middle of the celebration, surrounded by swords and knives and spears. In an area too thick with the highest seated nobles, she found herself at grave danger. Though she tried to escape, she found herself in the direct path of an arrow- she awaited her death, but then...

Instead, magic, raw and wild lashed out around her and she found her dearest friend, the first one she made, closest to her heart and the one she trusted most out of anyone, lying over her.

In front of them, lay a cracked locket that she immediately tried to fix, but to no avail.

“It’s impossible-“ V hisses the words out, pain (oh god, never have you heard him be in pain before, no no no no), “once broken, it will remain broken.”

“What do you mean, ‘impossible’!?” You burst out, fear (for him, for you, for the two of you) hate (for the people who came after you, for yourself, maybe even for him) and deep-seated panic (because V cannot leave you, he cannot die because if he does, so will your heart) raging inside you “I wish- I wish- for you to heal, be okay, don’t die, please, V.”

“My apologies,” V’s voice is a faint murmur now. “My magic is too weak for so big a wish.”

The queen wept. She had come so far, planned for almost everything, but none that foresaw her without her the one closest to her heart.

It was then that the forces of rebellion noticed the flaw in their plan too. For all that they had foreseen every detail, they failed to notice that their enemy had a failsafe, one that they used immediately in the time of distress.

At once, the grand castle was set on fire.

“Should you really stay,” his voice a faint whisper now, strained. “Nothing but death awaits you if you do not leave.”

“And go on living without you?” You say, furious that he would even suggest doing so, before the heat leaves you and you brokenly ask him. “Do not suggest that, please.”

The crowd around you is long gone- having left in a stampede to leave the fiery inferno that the ballroom has turned into. All around you there is fire, but even then you know without a doubt that should you choose to do so, V’s magic will protect you as you leave.

But, sitting on the base of the throne that for so many years cast a shadow on you, V’s dying body in your arms, even if you are given a choice, you would always choose to stay. Pressing a kiss to V’s forehead, you grip his hands.

V levels a soft smile on you, nothing but warmth and love in his eyes, and you blink back the tears that never seem to stop. “Really now princess, was it not you who begged me to teach you how to be a queen all those years ago? What of the rebellion? What will happen to your kingdom if you are not there to lead them?”

“I made those plans because I assumed you would be with me the whole time!” You yell at him, your blurred vision offering nothing but his gentle smile. You hate it- why does he have to look so accepting of what is to come? You sob. “I cannot do this without you.”

“I love you in all the ways my heart will let me,” he says instead, an apology and a goodbye in one. The admission of love, put into words, even after both of you have declared it so in so many little ways, in a situation where you are forced to realize saying it back will lead to no future between the two of you anyway- it breaks you.

The queen was forced to watch her love wither away- and as the locket in her hand crumbled, so did her heart.

Servants and nobles alike scattered, the remaining forces of the rebellion swept up the ones that tried to escape.

But no one saw the queen.

The forces of the rebellion surrounded the castle instead, and as morning dawned, the ruins of what once was a glorious palace offered nothing but ashes and rubble. But nobody knew what happened to the queen. Some say that she died in the fire, while others say that she escaped with the help of her genie.

In the middle of what was the ballroom, they found the remains of a metal locket and a wreath of forget-me-nots, side by side.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“Are you alright?”

It’s only when Taehyung asks that you feel the tears dripping down your face, and you hastily brush them off, unsure of when you even started crying.

“What? Oh, no, I mean…” you trail off, eyebrows furrowed as you try to gather your thoughts. “It’s just, it’s sad, I think. She did all she could to save her country, but she died before she could see it happen.”

“You think so?” Taehyung’s lips quirk up into a secretive smile. “She did have her third wish though, she could have wished for her to escape.”

You frown at his suggestion. “And leave V alone? That doesn’t seem like what the queen in the story would do, in either version.”

“True,” he nods, before falling silent. You wipe discreetly at your tears in the meantime, stewing over the ending in your head. Is that really what happened in the story? No wonder the townspeople left the castle alone. Knowing that such a beautiful site holds such a sad history, you would’ve… well, it still wouldn’t have kept you away, you would have come anyway in the end, but… you would’ve been more respectful, you think. More appreciative, knowing now the history, the stories that envelop the castle.

You don’t know how long the two of lie there by the ruins, watching the night sky turn brilliant, decorated by the endless stars above. The silence between the two of you- it leaves you sorting out our thoughts, the chaotic mess that the day had turned out to be.

“I should probably go home,” you say regretfully, your heart still heavy after hearing the ending.

“You should,” he agrees, though he makes no move to get up as well for a while. It’s only when the two of you hear an owl hooting in the distance that he tugs you to your feet as well- you startle when you realize the two of you have been holding hands the whole time. “Come on, I said I’d walk you home, didn’t I?”

“Alright then,” you mumble. “Thank you.”

Taehyung’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, one that you can’t help returning easily- is it really so surprising to say that today has been one of the best days you’ve had? You can’t remember feeling so- so content, for a lack of a better word. Just his touch makes you feel calm and happy, as though all is right with the world. As if you’ve regained a missing part that you didn’t even know you had been missing.

“You know, there’s another version of the ending that I know,” Taehyung suddenly says as the two of you walk along, the moon bright enough that you can see the road clearly. Your hands stay connected anyway.

“Is it better?” You ask, tilting your head, and Taehyung’s smiles turns softer.

“I hope so.”

“Well, go on then, tell me about it.”

“She had her third wish, of course. But she couldn’t bear to leave him behind, and he was on the verge of dying- and in the first time of her life, she wished for something that was wholly for her and her only.”

“She wished for him to marry her.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“You promised to stay with me no matter what, did you not, V?” You grip him tight, unwilling to let go- your next words ringing out sure and determined. “If your promise still counts, then… marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me. Only a few more minutes remain until this place collapses, and so I would prefer it if we get onto it,” you say, staring into V’s eyes- wanting him to see that you are nothing if not serious. “The kingdom will be fine. They have Sanha as the next king, and Jin Woo will be there to help him if needed. They will be okay without me… but I would not be okay in any sense of the word without you.”

“I.. I’m not in any state to hold a marriage,” he says, stunned. You grin, widely, even as the world around the two of you rages, fire burning high and bright.

“Then,” you declare. “I wish- to marry you. Let magic bind us together. You are the only one I wish to be with, even in my next life, and the next.”

“You have-“ he laughs. “ You have the strangest wishes.”

“Perhaps, but this one is the best yet, isn’t it?” You say, winking at him, before you squeeze his hand playfully. “A marriage in human and fae traditions- with magic binding us… if only I remembered to bring my parent’s rings.”

For a few seconds he does nothing but look at you, as though to make sure that you are certain about this- you look straight back at him. A smile as wide as yours breaks out on his face, and you feel magic, faint but true and solid, wrap around the two of you. The wreath of forget-me-nots on your head are quickly taken off, repurposed into rings and the symbolism makes you blink back tears.

“A fae’s true name is known only to the fae themselves… you already know the stories of how much power a name holds,” he murmurs, before he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Too much time has passed- I barely remember my own true name.”

“Still I swear to you, not as V, but as Taehyung, to love and cherish you even into our next lives. Whatever burden you carry, I will carry alongside you- and even in our darkest moments I will never abandon you. As a friend, as lover, as the only one that makes me feel alive, with just your existence. There will never be another after you, should we be separated- no matter how many lifetimes come and go, I promise to love you still.”

Taehyung slides the ring onto your finger and you feel your heart swell with his declaration, before you repeat the vows. When you finish, you put the ring on his finger as well- you press your forehead to his and eagerly press a kiss to him. The barrier disappears, the flames instantly drawing close, loud and angry. You do not mind the blaze anymore, and if the look on Taehyung’s face is anything to go by, neither does he.

“I will see you soon- in our next life, and the ones that follow.”

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

“That seems wonderful,” you sigh in awe.

“Isn’t it? A wedding by magic that bound them together.” You don’t see the way Taehyung looks at you- asking, pleading, for what you might ask if you knew, the grip he has on your hand tighter, though his voice remains even. “They say their souls were intertwined so, that even after death and beyond, the queen and her genie are still together.”

Together… Taehyung’s words reminds you about the person he grew flowers for- the thought that he’s already taken makes you feel hollow. You can’t even get angry at yourself for hoping that this someone is only a friend, family, and not a wife or a lover like you first thought. It’s only been a few hours since you met him, that’s true… but there’s a pull to Taehyung that you find yourself gravitating to.

You feel guilty for holding hands, but the larger part of you is wholly satisfied by the way his grip on you is tight, as if he doesn’t want to let go. Neither do you, admittedly. You can’t help the sigh that leaves you when you see your house- only a minute or so before the two of you have to part.

“I like that version better,” you say, as you finally take the last few steps to your gate.

Taehyung hums. “I hoped so. I do too,” he admits. You smile at that, the two of you standing still in front of your house, neither of you making the first move to separate. When the moment lasts too long, though, you finally, reluctantly, let go of his hand, turning around to open the gate- before you gasp and turn around.

“Wait! I… will I see you around?” You ask him, cheeks red but the words sincere.

“I’ll always be here,” he promises, grin wide. “But if you want, I’ll come over in the morning with coffee.”

“Okay,” you say happily, finally stepping into the gate. “Tomorrow then. … Goodnight, Taehyung.”

He raises a hand to wave goodbye- when you enter your door, you turn around and see him finally moving from his spot, making you giggle, and in turn you watch Taehyung walk away until you can’t see him anymore.

It’s only when you get ready for bed that night that you discover a wreath of flowers on your head, beautifully crafted and intertwined together. You look at the flowers in surprise- bright blue, and the strong, sweet scent they emit makes you wonder if these are made from labs, not to mention you never even noticed them on your head.

Maybe Taehyung placed them there. Your mind jumps to the story of the queen, of her genie, of the ruins that lie as proof- you wonder if that makes you his queen, and Taehyung, the genie. You laugh at the thought, even as it makes you feel warm and you shake it off- placing the wreath near your pillow, you eventually drift off to sleep.

When you dream that night you see desks and parchments, a never ending sea of faces, and a locket on your neck- and when the flames swallow you whole, you wake up with a gasp.

[therodrigator6]

She-Ra Season 5... Let’s See:

Someone asked me just why precisely I ended up disliking Season 5 the way that I did, and yanno, I’m gonna lay down my honest thoughts here for ya’ll who follow me and mught be interested in my very particular take.

AND IT MUST BE SAID BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE, my Ultimate view of the season... and I guess my final take on SPOP as a whole is Askewed, because by the final 2 or 3 episodes I began to skim a lot, just trying to END IT, so bear that in mind I guess.

I mean, there were a good bunch of things from this season that were very much disappointing to me.

I felt as though, many of the conflicts AND GROWTHS that had been established for the characters and their relationships, obviously I mean Bow, Glimmer, Catra and Adora were somehow... either modified, forgone entirely, or diminished for the most part.

One I’ll mention right now would be Glimmer’s and Adora’s. Leaving from season 4, the conflict within their friendship and the strain generated by Glimmer’s dispair of losing her mom, activating the heart and hurting Adora were, to my perspective atleast, played to be a BIG pivotal moment in the show, and a Huge deal in terms of the exploration of that relationship...

And it was resolved in a half minute teary eyed apology... I guess. Suddenly all the guilt on both parties fell away... No more LITERAL DISPAIR to have each other safe...

Then hanging off of those same conflicts.. Bow and Glimmer’s?? which, I personally appreciated the fact that we got to see Bow affected by Glimmer’s actions and we also got a taste of an ideal of redemption and atonement for one’s mistakes through Glimmer... but same thing? Half an episode of some RATHER OOC... harsh looks and words between them? And that was that.

It must be said, I liked a lot of the clashes brought up within the princesses themselves. Entrapta and Mermista’s scene with the antenna was very nice for me.

And oh Boi, the Big Fish.

Catra and Adora. This one just straight up hurt, AND NOT EVEN FOR THE REASON YOU MIGHT THINK!   I LEGIT... Would not have minded Catradora AT ALL, But I always set a high price for it.

Through the seasons, specially 3 and 4, I UNDERSTOOD that Catra and Adora had a very weird, askewed and very much not healthy relationship, one that, although was forged and maintained with much TRUE LOVE AND AFFECTION, also had a struggle of understanding. Both had erroneus views of one an other and of their love.

Ultimately, to not analize Catra and Adora’s whole turnabouts... by seasons 3 and 4, My understanding was that Adora was ready to move on from a person who had simply MADE A DECISSION, who, no matter how much she would try, would hurt her out of resentment.

And by season 4 I understood out of Catra, that she had burned all the bridges she could ever have, she was alone, she made her choice right?

So how could their romantic Love come to fruition? Again, this was very much MY particular understanding of their relationship, BY SEASON 3, ANY UNCONDITIONAL LOVE THEY HAD, I THOUGHT TO BE GONE.

So my... ideal? I guess, was: In order for them to be okay with one another again, both of them have to grow independently.

JUST ON CATRA ALONE? I had such big hopes for the way her redemption would’ve been met...  In my eyes, no matter how much hardship she had went through, she ultimately became a terrible person, fueled by a horrid desperation and emotional torment yes, but she still had choices, she chose.

To me, her redemption had to have been wanted out of an understanding that she would have to make up for ALL her wrongs, because she felt that would be the right thing to do in the end...

My big hope would’ve been for GLIMMER to teach her that.

That’s another thing I hated so MUCH about this season, 2 episodes worth of being in space jail, and they talked a total of 2 TIMES!!! :D And I guess that was enough :V

And Catra saves Glimmer yes... but not because it was right? SHE DID IT FOR ADORA!

Don’t get me wrong, it was a good moment to say Oh She Still Loves Adora.

BUT AGAIN, SO SHE REGRETS NOTHING??? NONE OF THE PAIN AND WRONGS SHE CAUSED TO OTHERSSSSS???? JUST TO PROTECT ADORA.

Go off I guess.

Then we move on to Adora... desperately and unconditionaly STILL wanting to save Catra, Which I sort of get??? But the reasoning the story gave me was... that it was Out Of Unconditional Love... again.  A PROMISE~

God I mean, to me that was such a terrible lesson to teach, a horrid message.

“All your wrongs CAN be forgiven, so long as I love you, and You love me back! We promised each other as much! :V”

Hell, Noelle said it herself at some point: “What happens when you’re the toxic friend?”

What happens when you are the person who is making others miserable?

What I would’ve hoped for, was for the answer to be: “That sometimes you end up burning bridges when you hurt those you love, and sometimes it’s impossible to rebuild them, but if you understand that what you did was wrong, and your willing to fix your wrongs and atone? You can heal, and you can heal others”

But what the show gave me... in my eyes: Was that “The Hurt you experience will lead you to do terrible things, but those who love you unconditionally will Always be with you, if You make them feel loved, no matter what!”

In the end apparently they were wholly in love the entire time, all is forgiven and must be forgotten. Happy ending for all.

These are just those 2 or 3 examples, there were other Themes that just felt outright dropped?

Catra and Adora’s refusal of Shadow Weaver as a parental figure for the fact that she was mostly their abuser for all their lives?

Naw forgiven, they still loved each other Unconditionally.

Catra’s growth outside of Adora?

Adora’s CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT ON HER OWN AND THE DISCOVERY OF A NEW FOUND FAMILY TO LOVE AND PROTECT?

No they loved each other undonditionally, sorry.

TBH, so many of the interactions with the main characters felt as though they reversed to A Season 1 status, they did a full circle by just REVERSING everything ruegbsiusgsr

It legit FELT, like I was watching your Run of The Mill Catradora Fanfiction.

It was at the FOREFRONT.

And I mean, gimme my clown shoes and the trumpet red nose, but like, for the longest time, people had been saying “The Show is about Catra and Adora’s Relationship”, and WITH ALL THAT I SAW HAPPEN THROUGH THE SEASONS

I thought that was wrong.... I thought the core of this show was Friendship, ACTUAL FRIENDSHIP.

But alas it’s over.

I think... if I watched the season again? Knowing already what I’m getting into and doing MY BEST to forget season 2, 3 and 4? I’d prolly even enjoy it at face value.

Right now, I’m hesitant of even wanting to understand Catradora More and seek to enjoy the show as is? Just because this fandom (mostly outside of tumble happily) has shown me to be so... vitrolic with all the othe character conflicts and relationships outside of Catra and Adora’s, and the posibility that theirs, was not a good one.

So that’s that on that.

Knowing me, maybe in a couple days, maybe a weeK, I’ll watch the final episodes FULLY and just... make my peace with the show and move on in Fanon, WITHIN the smaller space I’ve chiseled out of fandom.

I’ll miss She-Ra for what it gave me, and I’ll Yearn for it, for what it could’ve been.

-As a sidenote: Hey, might not be my taste in the development of a relationship, but ATLEAST it’s a lovefilled WLW relationship in a cartoon show for kids, and that’s got some merit. so bye bye.