#If only younger Manda could see me now

[shiroselia]

On the half a year anniversary of posting QuintSum on Ao3, I post Not QuintSum, but instead the most self-indulgent insane shipfic I've ever concocted in my life

[munson-blurbs]

Ghostin' (Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader): Chapter 5

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: After confronting Gareth, Steve is overwhelmed with his own insecurities. But with Vecna gaining strength, his decision to leave could prove to be fatal.

Warnings: language, S4 is canon, pregnancy, light smut (18+ only)

WC: 5.3k

Divider credit to @firefly-graphics

@kaybee87 @sidthedollface2 @chelebelletx @livsters @atombombbibunny @tattooedkiss13 @manda-panda-monium @charming-winchester @corroded-hellfire @trashmouth-richie @sweet-villain @slightlyvicked @hxllfired @yogizzz @tlclick73 @thefreakofhawkins86 @sheisjoeschateau @harrypotteranna23-blog @harringr0ve @josie955 @luna-munson83 @blhemmings @lxvesickreality @palmtreesx3 @stephierro

True to his word, Gareth shows up at Family Video the next day. He’s decidedly less confident than he was at Enzo’s, perhaps because of the shame he feels from hurting your feelings. He enters the store, clearing his throat softly and getting both Steve and Robin’s attention. 

“Can we help you?” Robin starts, looking up from the latest issue of Rolling Stone. She’s used to handling the customers, since Steve typically only pays attention to the pretty women. It takes her by surprise when he steps forward with a small, “I’ve got this,” but she doesn’t question it. Not when there’s an interview with Paul McCartney calling her name. 

Steve motions for Gareth to join him in the back room, closing the door behind him. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was about yesterday?” Steve asks, placing his hands on his hips. “Treating Y/N like that? Like she’s some kind of slut?”

Gareth shakes his head. “I know, I know,” he says sullenly. “I shouldn’t have…I was just shocked. Seeing her pregnant, seeing her with you…” He looks up at Steve, eyes brimming with tears. “Eddie was like my brother. He was my role model, my best friend. And when he started dating Y/N, she became like my sister-in-law. I even used to call her that.” He chuckles lightly at the memory. “And seeing you and her together, it makes it…real. That he’s really gone, y’know?”

“I know,” Steve lets his arms fall to his sides, heart breaking for the kid in front of him. “If I could bring him back, I would.” It’s the truth. Even if it meant watching the woman he loves be happy with someone else, he’d bring Eddie back in a second. “But I promise you, man; I’m not just messing around with her. This is a serious thing, and I’m gonna do whatever I can to take care of her and the baby.”

Gareth pauses for a moment before saying, “He would’ve been a great dad.”

“The best.” Steve agrees with a nod. He can picture Eddie holding Little Bean, letting them grasp onto his finger or tug on his long curly hair without complaint. Something he’ll never get to do now. 

Both of them are quiet for a beat, soaking in an awkward silence. Finally, Gareth says, “You said something yesterday.”

“Hm?” Steve cocks his head, still thinking about Eddie and Little Bean. 

“Yesterday,” Gareth repeats, “you said ‘I don’t get off on humiliating people.’ But that’s a lie.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve’s suddenly defensive again, crossing his arms over his broad chest and furrowing his brows. “I don’t humiliate people.”

“You humiliated me.” Gareth’s voice sounds like he has sandpaper in his throat. When Steve’s expression remains confused, the younger boy continues. “My first day of freshman year. I was lost and I asked you for directions, and you said, ‘What, you want door to door service?’ Then you and your buddy picked me up and tossed me in the nearest trash can.” 

Steve’s mouth goes dry, not because he remembers. The exact opposite, actually. He has no recollection of throwing Gareth into the garbage. And not because it didn’t happen—it sounds exactly like something the old Steve would’ve done. It’s because he and Tommy spent so much time hurting other people that each event blurs with the other. 

“So, yeah,” Gareth presses on. “I feel awful that I was mean to Y/N. She didn’t deserve that. But you, King Steve?” He scoffs, “you don’t deserve her.” 

“Shit,” Steve mumbles, running his fingers through his hair. “I-I’m so sorry.” He swallows thickly, carefully considering his next words. “Look, you don’t have to believe me, or forgive me, because I was a total asshole. A world-class piece of shit. But I promise you, I’m not that guy any more.” He looks around the stockroom. “King Steve is more like the court jester now. Working a minimum wage job, getting rejected from the goddamn community college…” Not to mention being plunged into an alternate dimension and nearly being choked to death by demobats. “The point is, I got knocked down a few rungs, and I realized that I wasn’t a good person. Not even close. And every damn day, I make sure I’m becoming the man I want to be. For me, for Y/N, and for Little Bean.”

Gareth’s expression softens, his posture relaxes just a touch. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Little Bean?” 

“Yeah,” Steve grins bashfully, “it’s what she’s been calling the baby.” He thinks about Gareth’s earlier admission, about Eddie being a brother to him. “Y’know, just because Eddie’s, um, not here, doesn’t mean…I mean, you’re still gonna be Little Bean’s uncle. If you want,” he hastily adds. 

Gareth laughs. “I think Uncle Gareth has a nice ring to it.” He forces himself to meet Steve’s gaze, expression once again serious. “I still don’t really trust you.”

“I know.”

“But if she’s happy…” Gareth blows out a puff of air, shrugging his shoulders, “then I guess we’re okay.”

Okay. It doesn’t mean everything is fixed, but Steve is starting to become more comfortable with the uncertainties of life, when things aren’t wrapped up with a perfect little bow. “Thanks.” There’s nothing else to say, so he just opens the door and watches Gareth walk out the door, waving goodbye to Robin as he exits. 

“Hey, Dingus,” Robin calls back, not bothering to look up from the magazine, “you good?”

“Yep.” No, he wants to say. I knew I wasn’t good enough for Y/N, but I thought it was all in my head. Now I have confirmation that it’s true. 

“Great,” his friend replies. “There’s a stack of returns here with your name on ‘em.”

When Steve comes home that evening, he finds you in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta. “I know I said I’d make burgers tonight, but Little Bean had other ideas.” you tell him apologetically, placing a hand on your bump. 

Steve musters up a laugh, kissing your cheek and bending down to kiss your stomach. “Little Bean, is she blaming you again?”

You swat at Steve and scowl. “I’ll eat all this myself and make you eat cereal for dinner, I swear.” The timer goes off, and you drain the pasta in the sink. 

“Not really hungry anyway,” he says softly, shrugging off his work vest and plopping onto the couch. When you look at him quizzically, he explains. “I spoke to Gareth today.”

Your face falls, reminded of the heated exchange at Enzo’s. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Steve fills you in on Gareth’s apology, omitting what he said about Steve not deserving you. He knows you’ll deny it and rush to reassure him, even if you agree with your friend. “He just misses Eddie—not that it’s an excuse to say what he said.” He sighs, watching you ladle marinara sauce onto the penne. “If I ask you something, do you promise to be honest with me?”

You bring your attention to the dejected man on the sofa. “Of course.”

“Was I…did I ever make fun of you in high school?” He stumbles over his words, embarrassed that he even has to ask this question. “Because apparently Tommy and I tossed Gareth into a garbage can, and I didn’t even remember.”

“I don’t think so,” you purse your lips as you try to reflect on your Hawkins High days. “It was more of Tommy being a dick and you not doing anything to stop him.” 

“Shit, really?” Steve buries his head in his hands. “What did we do?”

You bite your lip uneasily. “Tommy used to always call me and Eddie ‘Freak and Lady Freak,’ and you would just laugh and high-five him. But you never, like, called us that yourself.”

“Still wasn’t right,” he mutters. “I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve done that. I should’ve told him to shut the fuck up and leave you alone.” He gnaws on a fingernail anxiously. “Christ, I was such an awful person.” A tear slides down his cheek, and you instinctively put down your dinner preparation to comfort him, stopping only when he puts his hands up. “No, see, this is what I didn’t want to happen!” He raises his voice, taking you aback.

“What are you talking about?” Frustration boils up in your chest, and you try to force it back down and keep a calm tone. “You’re not making any sense!” He says nothing, not even bothering to make eye contact. “Steve, you’re not in high school anymore. You’re not the same person you were back then.”

Steve scoffs, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up. “Forget it, okay? Just forget I said anything.” He grabs his car keys from where he’d tossed them on the counter. “I’m going for a drive. Gotta clear my head. Don’t wait up.” 

If you weren’t six months pregnant, you probably would have been able to get to the door in time to stop him, but your slight waddle doesn’t allow for sprinting. Instead, you watch pathetically from the sofa as he lets the door slam behind him, listening to the sounds of his angry footsteps until they fade to silence. The bowls of pasta sit untouched on the counter, and as nauseated as you feel from the argument, you know that Little Bean needs nutrients. You cover Steve’s in plastic wrap, placing it in the refrigerator, before digging into your dinner. There has to be more to the story, you just know it, but you can’t do anything else with Steve gone. 

You feel a surge of anger pulse through your body, making you push your food away. Steve’s supposed to be here, with you, and he walked out. Just left you alone without a clue where he was disappearing to. For months, he had no obligation to stay, and he did. He’d barely left your side until you practically dropped off the face of the Earth after discovering your pregnancy. And now that he’d taken you on a date, kissed you, confessed his love for you…now he decides to bolt?

Tears brim in your eyes as you take in how suddenly alone you are. You’d thought you’d have a nice, relaxing dinner together–maybe discuss the status of your relationship, since it clearly was not following a typical timeline. But that dream has been dashed in an instant. Picking up the phone, you sniffle and try to stifle your crying.

“Hey, Robin, it’s me,” you say, attempting to hide your irrational annoyance at getting her answering machine. “Um, Steve left here and he was pretty angry. If he stops by your place, just let me know. Please.” You clear your throat. “Okay, thanks. Bye.”

Exhaustion overtakes you–a feeling you’ve become all-too acquainted with during your pregnancy. It’s hard to believe that you used to start your evenings at 10 PM, and now you’re ready to go to bed at 7:30.

You’re too tired to even put on pajamas, so you slip into bed in your jeans and t-shirt. The last thing you think of before falling asleep is how you and Little Bean will manage on by yourselves.

At first, Steve doesn’t have a destination in mind; he plans on driving around until he clears his head. But his subconscious has other ideas, and he finds himself pulling up in front of the Munson trailer. It’s dark, with Eddie’s Uncle Wayne probably at work. Steve kills the engine and watches Forest Hills Trailer Park dissolve into darkness as his headlights fade out.

“Fuck!” he yells out, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck it all!” He glances around the trailer park, dimly lit with flickering streetlights. A dog barks; a woman who sounds like she’s smoked two packs a day for the last fifty years screams at it to shut up. Steve steps out of the car and leans up against it for a minute before realizing that he’s been staring at the trailer door, as if expecting Eddie to come barreling out. Probably saying something ridiculous like, “Take a picture, Harrington; it’ll last longer.” And Dustin would cackle like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Steve can’t help but crack a smile at the thought, but there’s a pang in his heart when he remembers that it can’t happen.

He’s pulled from his thoughts and his pulse quickens when he hears some rustling coming from the bushes, gripping the car door handle in case he needs to make a getaway. He relaxes when he sees it’s only Wayne, too relieved to consider the fact that the man’s truck is nowhere in sight.

“Mr. Munson!” Steve calls out. “It’s me; Steve Harrington. One of Eddie’s, um, friends.” Friends. Because after a week enduring the worst trauma of their lives, that’s what they were.

“I know who you are, boy,” Wayne growls, crossing his arms as he approaches Steve. “You’re the punk who’s trying to take Eddie’s place, hm? Moving in on his girl, acting like the father of his kid. What are you doing here? Gonna sleep in his goddamn bed, too?”

“N-No, sir,” Steve stutters, hands clammy. “I was just going for a drive–” But he pauses when he sees the blood seeping from Wayne’s eyes; no, not Wayne’s eyes–Vecna’s. “I’m not even asleep,” he muses.

Vecna’s horrible laugh crackles through the air. “No, Steve. You’re not. I’m healing, getting stronger every day. And I might not be able to hurt you yet, but I will.” Vines take their shape down his limbs, snaking around like they’re choking him. “You may think that your inevitable death will be the end, but for me, it is only the beginning.”

Steve can only blink, feeling his legs trembling as he sinks down onto the muddy grass. 

“You see,” Vecna continues. The ground shakes with each step he takes. “I need to keep feasting on the town of Hawkins until I have regained all of my powers. It starts with you,” he points a gnarled finger towards Steve, “and I bet even dumb old King Steve can figure out who will be next.”

“Not Y/N,” Steve manages, summoning all of the courage he can. “She’ll fight you. She’ll fight you with everything she has, because she has Little Bean.”

Vecna lets out a low rumble. “She is strong, yes, because she knows she has worth to someone–her baby. This is why I need to start with someone weaker. Someone like you, who knows he only causes harm to the people he loves.”

“Th-That’s not true. I’ve changed. I’m not that kinda guy anymore,” he echoes your words from earlier, hoping that both he and the monster will believe them.

“Oh, but have you?” Another soul-sucking laugh. “Tell me, Steve. When Dustin asked you to substitute for Lucas at Hellfire, what was your response?” A pause of utter silence precedes his next statement. “Just like with Gareth, right? You don’t remember? Allow me to fill in the gaps.” A memory floods Steve’s senses. He’s suddenly back behind the counter at Family Video, phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear.

“Just move your date this one time!” Dustin’s voice bleats through the receiver. “Come on!”

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson? Uh, yeah…I’ll pass,” he hears himself say, cringing at his condescending tone.

The visual abruptly ends, and he’s thrust back into the trailer park. “You see?” Vecna sneers. “Not only did you ignore a friend in need to go on a meaningless date, but you insulted his friend while you did it.

“So, Steve,” the monster is right in front of him now, and he feels his hot breath on his face, “have you really changed? Or is that a lie you tell yourself so you can pretend to deserve her?”

There’s that word again: deserve. Deep down, Steve knows he doesn’t deserve you. That you’re only his—if you are still his after the way he left you—because Eddie is dead. 

“You can spare yourself the pain and come with me, Steve,” Vecna grumbles, holding out his hand. “We all know she’s better off without you. Everyone is.”

Steve swallows thickly, absorbing the information. A part of him is tempted to give up and give in. But then he imagines your face when you find out that he’s gone, too. Left on the trailer park grounds, nothing more than a heap of broken bones. He pictures your beautiful, perfect smile that feels like it heals him from the inside out. If he stays in the Upside Down forever, he’ll never get to see it again. 

Worse, he’ll be the reason why you’re crying. 

“No!” Steve shouts, a bit hoarsely at first. “No, I won’t go with you!” He scrambles to his feet, pushing through his nerves. “Let me go! I said, LET ME GO!”

Vecna tilts his head to the left, raising his arm. Steve feels vines slowly snake around his feet, gluing him to the browning grass. “I offered you the easy way,” he snarls, “and you opted not to take it. You are even more foolish than you appear.”

“Get…these…off,” Steve weakly protests as another set of vines pins him to a nearby tree. They wrap around his throat, restricting his air supply. “I’m not leaving her…not…leaving…Little Bean…” 

“You have no choice in this matter.” A low hiss escapes him as he winces, still not used to his weakened powers. “Besides, you already left, didn’t you? Ran away like the coward you are. You should stay far, far away from her.”

Dizziness from the lack of oxygen creeps into Steve’s head. He’s nearly unconscious when he sees a bright space open up behind Vecna’s body. 

“Steve!” Dustin calls. “Steve, are you there?” A brief pause. “Where’s the tape? We need the goddamn tape!!!”

“I have it!” Max. Her vision is still compromised, but she’s never stopped fighting. There’s an exchange, and the click of a Walkman closing. All at once, the intro to Black Dog reverberates through the air.

“Run, Steve, run!!!” Dustin cries out, and Lucas and Max echo his plea. “Run for your life!”

“We love you, Steve! We love you, and Y/N loves you, and you need to live!” Lucas’s voice cracks as he begs him to fight back.

Max pipes up, steady and direct in her instructions. “Listen to the music, Steve,” she tells him. “It’ll give you the strength to survive.”

The glowing space starts to shrink, and Steve instinctively starts to panic. He reminds himself to do as Max said, breathing in the lyrics as he struggles against the tightening vines.

All I ask for when I pray 

A steady rollin' woman won't come my way 

Need a woman gonna hold my hand 

Tell me no lies, make me a happy man

He remembers the joy both you and he felt listening to the song, secrets and tension melting away with each note. A new start for you, for Steve, and for you and Steve. He remembers coming with you to your ultrasound appointments, watching in awe at the tiny being growing inside of you. He remembers the way you kissed him, like your lips were meant to mold into his.

The vines begin to loosen, perhaps from Vecna’s more fragile state, but mostly due to Steve’s sheer will to live. His feet touch the ground again, and as soon as he feels the shock on his heels, he’s running faster than he’s ever run in his life. All he can think about is you and Little Bean.

Vecna howls in frustration as Steve narrowly escapes his clutches. Steve can only register pain as he slams back down to the earth, panting and shivering. Dustin throws his arms around him, and Lucas grabs Max’s hand and brings her towards their oft-unwilling babysitter. The three of them hold him well after his shaking subsides.

“H-How did you…” Steve starts, but he’s unable to finish his sentence before bursting into a fresh round of tears.

“We were at Max’s,” Lucas explains, rubbing Steve’s back and lowering the headphones from his ears. “Dustin thought he saw something weird, and when we looked out the window, we saw you…levitating. Like Max did at Billy’s grave.” 

Steve nods slowly. “But…but…the song…” It’s still playing, and Dustin leans over to click the pause button. The quiet seeps through eerily, but it allows Steve to formulate a coherent thought.

“It was Billy’s Zeppelin tape,” Max says softly. “I kept some of his stuff, and when Dustin told us that Black Dog was your safety song, I made sure to always have it nearby. Just in case.” Steve musters up all of his energy to ruffle her hair, heart soaring when she giggles. It feels good to make someone happy.

Steve looks at the kids, eyes wet and vision blurred. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I owe you guys my life.”

Lucas shakes his head. “Nah, man. You know how many times you’ve saved our asses? Let’s just call it even.”

“You’re a good one, Sinclair,” Steve says with a smile. He turns to Max. “Quit being so hard on him, all right?”

“We’ll see,” Max replies, but she giggles again as she says it.

Steve sits up suddenly, bracing himself and gritting his teeth as the world spins for a moment. “I gotta get home,” he blurts out. “I gotta get back to Y/N. I just left her alone, didn’t tell her what I was doing or where I was going…”

“You sure you’re okay to drive, big guy?” Dustin asks, furrowing his brows with concern. “I can always call my mom and ask her to take you.”

“Or I can drive!” Max pipes up, and everyone reacts with a resounding “no!”

“Jesus, you were bad enough when you could see,” Dustin mutters.

Steve wipes his hands on his pants, grimacing as the dirt smears on clean denim. “I’ll be fine,” he reassures them. He begins to take the headphones off from around his neck, then stops. “Can I, uh, borrow this?” he asks Max. “I’ll return it tomorrow. Just wanna make sure…for the drive home, y’know?” He knows how important it is for her to have this piece of Billy. 

She nods, reaching out for Steve’s hand. He takes it, squeezing gingerly. “Of course.”

Steve can’t get back to the apartment fast enough. He nearly snaps the key trying to unlock the door, and he flings it open so quickly that it slams against the wall. It’s loud enough to get your attention, but he doesn’t hear any reaction from you.

“Y/N?” he calls out tentatively, blood running cold when there’s no response. “Y/N!” He’s shouting now, yelling your name over and over.

He’s got her, he thinks. He sensed a moment of weakness and went after her, and I wasn’t here to save her. He dashes into the bedroom, a last resort before descending into complete panic, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you in bed, rubbing the sleep from your beautiful eyes.

“Steve? What the hell is going–oomph!” You’re interrupted by his lips crashing onto yours, hands cradling your cheeks. You can taste the salt from his tears as he sobs into you; he thought he’d cried himself dry, but seeing you safe and sound brought on a new batch. When you part, you can see the worry creasing his face. “Where were you?”

“He’s coming after you next,” Steve ignores your question, unable to hold back what he knows. “After me, he’s coming after you. And then the rest of Hawkins until he’s strong enough to conquer the world.”

“You saw him.” It’s a statement; you’re not asking. “And you didn’t have your music.”

Steve relays that evening’s events, stumbling over his words as he admits, “He said he’s starting with me because I’m…because I’m weaker.”

You look at him, puzzled. How could he be weaker than a hormonal pregnant woman with a dead baby daddy? “What do you mean?”

“I mean, the only reason we can even be together is because Eddie’s…he’s…I never would have tried to get with you if he was here,” Steve stammers. “And it doesn’t seem fair, y’know? He…he dies, and I get his girl?” He stands up and paces the length of your bedroom. “I’m disgusting, and I don’t deserve you. Everyone thinks so.”

Your heart plummets at his vulnerability. “Who said that?” you ask, voice hardly more than a whisper. 

“Gareth and…and him.” Steve can’t bring himself to make eye contact with you. He doesn’t need to clarify who him is. 

“Do you think I should be happy?”

Steve’s thrown off by your question. “What? Of course.”

“Do you think Eddie would want me to be sad forever? To never have another partner again?” you continue. 

“No. He…he wouldn’t want that.”

You motion for Steve to sit back down on the bed, and you take both of his hands in yours. “You, Steve Harrington, make me happy. When I thought life wasn’t worth living, you showed me that it was. When I pushed away, you pulled me back. And, yeah, this,” you point between the two of you, “wouldn’t be happening if Eddie survived. But, Steve? Torturing ourselves isn’t going to bring him back. It isn’t going to make us miss him any less. The best we can do is keep living. For him, for us, and for Little Bean.”

Steve lets go of one of your hands to feel your belly. “Not fair,” he teases gently. “You know I’ll do anything for Little Bean.”

You lean in and kiss him, bringing your lips to his ear to murmur, “Will you let me show you how much you mean to me?”

His eyes widen. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.” But a slight twitch behind his fly gives away his true feelings. 

“I want to,” you coo, nibbling on his earlobe and sliding your palm under his shirt and up to his hairy chest. “As long as you do.”

Reflexively, Steve nods, but his gaze quickly goes back to your bump. “We won’t hurt Little Bean, right?” 

You giggle. “Not at all. I promise.” Lifting your shirt above your head and tossing it to the floor, you straddle Steve’s thighs. His hands roam the expanse of your torso, and he wastes no time unhooking your bra. Your body waits for the feeling of lips latching onto your breasts, the way Eddie would’ve done, but Steve runs his fingers over the peaks, pinching them slightly. You moan out with pleasure in what will be the first of many reminders that different doesn’t inherently mean bad. 

Steve’s shirt is the next to go, and he sheds his jeans immediately after, grateful for the relief. As you palm him over his briefs, you’re hit with a strange pang of sadness; it’s a stupid comparison to make, but Eddie always wore boxers. He’d buy the most ridiculous ones he could find; only you two knew that under that metal façade lurked a pair of Bugs Bunny shorts. But this is Steve—Steve who wears briefs instead of boxers, whose hands are smooth instead of calloused, who smells like Drakkar Noir and hairspray instead of drugstore cologne and Newports. 

Different, but good. So, so good. 

He’s patient as you step down to wriggle out of your maternity jeans, but his eyes never leave your body. He drinks you in, pupils blown wide, and pulls you back onto his lap with a soft, “all mine.” The plush of his lips presses against your neck, and you thread your fingers through his hair, whimpering at his touch.

“I can’t wait until you can see me not pregnant,” you bite your lower lip, hyper aware of the way your bare bump nudges against his flat stomach. Being naked in front of someone for the first time was scary enough, let alone being nearly seven months along.

“No,” he says simply, continuing to kiss down to your collarbone while placing a large palm atop your belly. “I love the way you look. So beautiful…I don’t know what to do with myself.” He pulls away for a second to look you in the eyes; his are shiny and wide. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you, too, Steve.” The phrase followed by his name instead of Eddie’s is a new sensation, but it rolls off of your tongue easily. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” You punctuate each repetition with a kiss to his eager lips. You don’t even realize you’re crying until he wipes a tear from your cheek.

“What’s wrong? Is it–am I–” 

You shake your head. “Please don’t get mad at me.” Taking a deep breath, you start to confess. “I’m scared, Steve. I’m scared that you’re only here because you feel like you have to be, or that this is just some kind of trauma bond, and as soon as Vecna’s gone, you’ll figure out that you don’t really have feelings for me.” You cradle your belly in your hands. “And I’m worried that when you see how hard it is to raise a kid, never mind someone else’s kid, you’ll…”

“Hey, hey. C’mere,” he says, readjusting you so you’re sitting across his thighs. He rubs your back gently. “Did I ever tell you about my big, crazy dream of my future?”

“Six kids and a Winnebago?”

“Yeah,” he laughs lightly, “that’s the one. I’ve been thinking about it more lately. That’s what I thought that’s what family was: Mom, Dad, shit-ton of kids going on vacation together. And maybe it is sometimes, I dunno,” he shrugs. “But I realized that one of the reasons why I love you so much is because you gave me what I always wanted.” He stares into your eyes lovingly. “You and Little Bean–you’re my family.”

You scrunch up your face in confusion. “You love me because I’m having a baby?”

“No—shit—I mean, I do love that you’re having a baby, but that’s not why I love you. Let me start over.” He tosses his hair from his eyes. “I love you because no matter what’s going on in this dimension or any other, I feel safe with you. I love you because you’re patient, and kind, and thoughtful. I love you because you jumped into this crazy monster-fighting world without hesitating, just to protect the people you care about.” He pauses, taking your hands in his. “I love you because you’re you, Y/N. And when I’m with you, I can just be me.”

“Well, that’s good,” you reply, resting your head on his shoulder. “Because I love you just as you are. Just please don’t ever leave like you did tonight again.”

“I promise, baby. Never, ever again.” Steve looks down at you, taking you all in with his golden brown eyes. “And, Y/N? I…I miss him, too.” His last sentence lingers in the air; you’re not quite sure how to respond. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop. Isn’t that dumb? I knew him for a week and I miss him like I knew him my whole life.”

“‘S not dumb at all.” You lace your fingers with his and kiss his bare shoulder. “Like I said, the stuff we went through together bonds us forever, y’know?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, averting his gaze from yours. “Do you think I could just hold you tonight? It’s not that I don’t wanna do…this��but I want to make it special.”

“Of course, Stevie.” While you’re disappointed, you’re a little relieved. The last time you did this, you and Eddie created Little Bean. And then Eddie was gone forever.

You curl up into Steve’s arms, feeling yourself drift off to sleep.

But not before you hear the chimes.

--

[bechloeislegit]

25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020

Day 7 - A Daughter for Christmas (Part 2)

Author's Prompt: Follow-up to my 2019 Pitchmas gift A Daughter for Christmas. Four years ago Beca Mitchell was surprised on Christmas day when her biological daughter found her. Beca and her wife, Chloe, welcomed her to their family. Four years later, Amanda Henderson (aka Manda Mitchell) is back to celebrate Christmas with the Mitchells and she brings a few more surprises.

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Seven-year-old Sophie Mitchell stood in front of the large Bay window with her five-and-a-half-year-old sister Sarah. They were watching for their older sister, Amanda, who was coming to spend Christmas with them.

Beca Mitchell is Amanda's mother. Beca had given her up for adoption twenty-two years ago when Beca was only sixteen. Amanda found Beca four years ago and Beca, and her wife, Chloe, accepted Amanda into their family with open arms.

Amanda had a good life before finding Beca; she loved that the Mitchells were so welcoming. Amanda felt blessed because not only did she have her birth mother, but she got a second mother in Chloe and two sisters who absolutely adored her. The feeling was mutual.

"She's here!" Sophie cried out as a car pulled into the driveway.

Amanda and a young man got out of the car. The young man looked nervously up at the house. Amanda took his hand and smiled at him.

"Don't worry," Amanda told him. "They're going to love you almost as much as I do."

Beca and Chloe came out of the kitchen.

"Who's the guy?" Sophie asked, her brow furrowed.

"What guy?" Beca asked, rushing over to the window, Chloe close behind her.

"He's cute," Chloe said, looking over Beca's shoulder.

"Did she say anything to you about bringing someone with her?" Beca asked Chloe.

"Nope," Chloe said.

They watched as Amanda and the young man walked up to the house. There was a knock on the door.

"Manda's here," Sarah said, rushing to the door, followed by the rest of the Mitchells.

Sarah threw open the door and rushed Amanda, grabbing her around the waist in a hug.

"Manda!" Sarah squealed. "You're finally here."

"Hey, Sarah," Amanda said. "It's good to see you!"

"Let her go, Sarah," Chloe said with a laugh. "We all want a Manda hug, too."

"Sorry," Sarah said, letting Amanda go.

"Come in," Chloe said, ushering Amanda and her guest inside.

As soon as Amanda made it through the door, she was enveloped in a Mitchell family hug. The young man stood by watching Amanda with her family with a nervous smile on his face. Amanda pulled back and pulled the anxious young man forward.

"Family Mitchell," Amanda said. "I'd like to introduce you to my husband, Dylan Maxwell."

Beca and Chloe stood back, stunned. Amanda never mentioned having a boyfriend and now she's married?

"Husband?" Beca said. "Since when?"

"We made a quick stop in Vegas yesterday and got married," Amanda said.

"Does that mean we have a brother now?" Sarah asked.

"Sort of," Amanda said.

"How long have you two been together?" Beca asked.

"Six months."

"Six months?!"

"Beca, calm down," Chloe said, rubbing Beca's arm. "Welcome to the family, Dylan."

Chloe hugged Dylan.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell," Dylan said, pulling out of the hug.

"Please call me Chloe."

"Thank you, Chloe," Dylan said, smiling at Chloe.

"I'm Sophie," Sophie said and hugged Dylan.

"I'm Sarah," Sarah said, also hugging Dylan.

"Nice to meet you both," Dylan said, glancing at Beca.

Beca just glared at him.

"Be nice," Chloe whispered to Beca.

"She's only known him for six months," Beca whispered back. "And now they're married. That's too soon."

"I love him," Amanda said, having heard Beca. "And he loves me. We know we belong together."

"Are you pregnant?" Beca asked.

Amanda gasped. "How did you-"

"So, you are pregnant," Beca stated, interrupting Amanda.

Amanda gulped and nodded. Dylan moved to put Amanda between him and Beca.

"That's wonderful news," Chloe cried, pulling Amanda into a hug.

"I'm only two months along," Amanda said, hugging Chloe. "I wanted to tell you on Christmas day. And, I was going to do it all cutesy and everything."

"I'm sorry Mama Mitchell spoiled the surprise," Chloe said, turning to her wife. "Becs, don't you have something to say to Amanda?"

Beca didn't say anything. She just pulled Amanda into a hug.

"I am really happy for you," Beca whispered.

Beca wiped at her eyes when she pulled back from the hug. Amanda smiled at her and said, "Thank you."

Beca looked at Dylan and said, "We need to talk."

~~ Day 7 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

Amand paced back and forth outside the kitchen where Beca had taken Dylan to talk.

"Relax, Amanda," Chloe said. "You know Beca is all bark and no bite."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "But that was before she found out I was pregnant."

"She's happy about that," Chloe said. "She wasn't faking that. Everything will be fine."

In the kitchen, Beca offered Dylan a seat at the kitchen island.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Beca asked. "We have beer, wine, tea. . ."

"I'll just have some water, please," Dylan said.

Beca gave him the water and sat across from him.

"I'm guessing Amanda told you about us," Beca said. "About her being adopted and finding me after her adoptive parents died?"

Dylan nodded.

"She's become a big part of my family," Beca said. "Sophie and Sarah adore their big sister."

"I can say with absolute certainty," Dylan said. "The feeling is mutual. She talks about them, about all of you, all the time. I feel like I already know you."

"I admit I was a bit shocked when she first showed up on my doorstep," Beca said. "I was worried about how Chloe was going to react. I shouldn't have, because Chloe accepted her without any hesitation. Amanda has taken up space in all of our hearts. None of us want to see her get hurt. Especially me. Understand?"

"Believe me, Mrs. Mitchell," Dylan said. "I love her with every fiber of my being. And truth be told, I would have asked her to marry me even if she wasn't pregnant."

"Good," Beca said. "Welcome to the family. Be prepared to see a lot of us, especially when the baby is born."

"Amanda's already told me she wants you and Chloe there when the baby comes," Dylan said. "I'm more than okay with that. I am looking forward to getting to know all of you. I don't have any sisters, so Sophie and Sarah will be a welcome change from all the boys in my family."

"How many brothers do you have?"

"Five," Dylan replied. "Two older and three younger. The two oldest, David and Jeremy have two kids each. All boys, too."

"Do you think Amanda will have a girl and break the cycle?"

"My mom does," Dylan said with a laugh. "I don't care what the sex is, I just want a healthy baby."

"Good answer," Beca said, smiling. "Let's sit here for a few more minutes. I want to make Amanda squirm a bit for not telling us about you before today."

"She was really nervous about telling you about the baby," Dylan said.

"I know I didn't show it at first," Beca said. "But I really am excited for you both. For the marriage and the baby."

"Thank you," Dylan said. "That means a lot to me. To us."

"And, before I forget," Beca said. "I want you to truly understand how much I mean it when I say, you hurt her and you'll have to answer to me. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dylan replied, taking a drink of his water to quench his suddenly dry mouth.

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

It was ten minutes later when Beca and Dylan walked out of the kitchen, looking serious. Amanda ran over to Dylan.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

Dylan looked at Beca and smiled. "I've received the Mama Mitchell seal of approval and have been officially welcomed into your family," Dylan said. "And we came to a mutual understanding. I won't hurt you and she won't hurt me."

"You're such a softie," Chloe told Beca, kissing her on the cheek.

"I'm not going to apologize for being soft for all my girls," Beca said. "What's for dinner? I'm starved."

"Ooo, can we order pizza from Donatelli's?" Amanda asked. "I've got a craving for their pineapple pizza."

"Yes!" Sarah and Sophie squeal. "Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!"

"Okay, okay," Beca yelled over her daughters. "We can order pizza."

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

The next day, Beca pulled Amanda aside and asked her what she could get Dylan for Christmas.

"Can you find him a job?" Amanda asked and laughed. "He graduated in May and hasn't found anything yet." Her smile dropped as she said, "He's making himself sick, worrying about how he's going to support me and the baby."

"I can help with that," Beca said. "You're still on my health insurance so you will have coverage for any costs associated with your pregnancy. What was Dylan's major?"

"Advertising and Public Relations," Amanda said. "He wants to get into the entertainment industry and be a PR rep."

"I think I can help with that, too," Beca said, smiling. "I'll make some calls and see what I can do. Okay?"

"Thank you," Amanda said, hugging Beca.

"Now, what can I get him for Christmas?"

Amanda laughed. "He needs some nice work clothes for when he does get a job."

"Do you know his sizes?"

"Yeah."

"Great! Let's go shopping for Dylan."

Chloe said she'd stay home with Dylan, so Beca and the girls could go shopping.

"I'm surprised you want to go out shopping on Christmas Eve," Chloe told Beca as they were getting ready to leave.

"I want to have something under the tree for Dylan," Beca said. "Did you need me to pick up anything while we're out?"

"I think I might need a few things for dinner tomorrow," Chloe said. "I'll text you a list."

"Okay," Beca said, leaning in for a kiss.

Chloe kissed Beca and then Beca and the girls left. Chloe looked at Dylan.

"Care to join me in the kitchen?" Chloe asked. "I need to check and see what I need for dinner tomorrow so I can send the list to Beca."

"Sure," Dylan said and followed Chloe into the kitchen.

~~ Day 6 of the 25 Days of BeChloe Christmases - 2020 ~~

Christmas morning was hectic with lots of laughing and squeals of excitement as everyone opened their gifts. The family was sitting down to a late breakfast when Beca's phone rang.

Beca checked the caller ID and stood from the table, saying, "It's work. I have to take this."

"Beca," Chloe said. "It's Christmas. Can't you talk to whoever it is tomorrow?"

Beca waved Chloe over to her; once Chloe was close Beca whispered, "It's about a job for Dylan."

"Oh," Chloe said. "Go ahead then."

"Where's mama going?" Sarah asked when Chloe sat back down at the table.

"Someone from work called her," Chloe said. "She had to take it."

"Is she going to work?" Sophie asked.

"No, sweetie," Chloe said. "Once the call is over she'll be staying."

"Good," Sophie said. "I want to try out my new bike."

"Me, too," Sarah said.

"I'm sure mama will take you both out after we eat," Chloe said.

"Can we go, too?" Amanda asked.

"Of course," Sarah said.

Sophie and Sarah finished eating and asked to be excused. Chloe told them they could and they rushed off to play with their new toys.

A few minutes later, Beca came back to the table smiling. She looked at Dylan and said, "I don't know how long you were planning to stay, but I need you to be here on the 29th for a job interview."

"What?" Dylan asked, surprised. "What job interview?"

"The one I just set up for you," Beca said. "It's for an Assistant Public Relations Representative. It's entry-level and will get your foot in the door and help you gain real-time experience to become an actual PR Rep. What do you say?"

"I say, which of my new suits should I wear?" Dylan responded with a smile.

Amanda jumped up and ran over to hug Beca. "Thank you, Mama Mitchell."

"You're welcome," Beca said, patting Amanda on her back. "Merry Christmas."

Amanda sat back down and she and Dylan started talking about the possibility of living in L.A. if he got the job.

Beca started eating and Chloe leaned over to her and whispered, "Told you; you're a total softie."

"What did you expect me to do?" Beca asked. "He's the father of our first grandchild."

Beca suddenly paled and dropped her fork, causing a loud clatter as it hit her plate. Amanda and Dylan's heads whipped around to look over at her.

"Beca," Chloe said, caressing Beca's arm. "Are you okay?"

"We're thirty-eight," Beca said in awe. "Chlo, we're thirty-eight and we're going to be grandparents. GRANDparents, Chloe!"

Amanda and Dylan laughed.

"Beca," Chloe said, smiling as she pulled Beca toward her to kiss her. "Thirty-eight is a great age to become grandparents. We're still young enough to keep up with them. And we'll look hot doing it."

"I love you," Beca said. "Merry Christmas, babe."

"Merry Christmas, grandma,” Chloe said.

[pinkjeanist]

“the budding trees” || tamaki amajiki

     ⟹ After falling and crippling yourself in the woods, the forest spirit comes to your aid. [forest spirit/fairy tamaki - 2.6k words]

a/n: i thought of @knifeewifee​ while i wrote this just bc i know tamaki’s her fave, so consider this a pre-gift for another fic i’ll write for you soon, manda!!! this fic was completely based off of the idea of tamaki with antlers, which im going absolutely batshit for rn, and also because he’d make a cute lil fairy. if you guys want more of this, id be really happy to write more!!! i really like this idea, and i could make it a little series like the minecraft with shiggy, yanno? anyway, bone apple tit!!! [navigation]

There’d always been something a little odd about that forest, to say the least.

The trees were spaced considerably apart, with winding roots and huge canopies that held tens of bird nests at a time. In the morning there was always mist that kissed the earliest rays of sunlight. The streams were always clear, no matter how much washing was done in them from your small village on the outskirts of the woods. And every now and again, a white stag could be seen far away through the underbrush, just out of reach and swiftly out of sight. It was like something out of a storybook. Maybe that’s what made it so strange. 

You’d never ventured too deep. You’d gather what you needed, be it berries or nuts or firewood, and you’d scramble back to your village before sunfall. There’d never been anything threatening in the forest- at least, you hadn’t seen any bears or wolves there in your life- but to be there at night seemed...intrusive. That was the first word that came to mind, though you weren’t quite sure what was so intrusive about it. It was all just very odd. 

But there was one day you’d ventured out too far, too close to sundown, and found yourself rushing through the trees and over the winding roots to try and beat nightfall. The forest wasn’t so kind that night, however, as you tripped over one of the roots and toppled straight down the side of an overhang. 

Your first thought upon opening your eyes was: “Something’s broken.” You could feel the hurt, though you were sure you would have been able to feel much more of it if you weren’t so in shock. So you laid there, and cried after a while when feeling started coming back to your broken leg as the night loomed o’er. 

The patch of mushrooms beneath you glowed azure and violet, something you’d never seen from any forest, and the fireflies didn’t disperse with the lateness of the hour- instead, they began to grow closer, looking down at you before quickly flying off again. Then a badger came along, peering down from the overhang. You expected it to gouge out your eyes, but instead it made a strange noise, and hurried off just as the badger had. You felt strangely alone once it had gone. 

There was no one for a mile at least, you knew, and they would have been asleep by now. There was no chance at help until morning. You weren’t even going to try and stand; you already knew your leg was beyond repair. If, by chance, you were rescued, they would probably have to amputate it, like you’d seen happen to one of the village elders when you were younger. You’d always dreaded that happening. You guessed you had no choice.

The whole forest floor seemed to start glowing just as the mushrooms were; the azure and violet met brilliant luminescent greens, and you swore you could see something twinkling gold somewhere far away. It gave you something to focus on instead of the pain in your leg that you were becoming increasingly aware of. 

But then, from above the overhang, you could hear something approaching from the underbrush. You cried louder, unable to do much else, hoping it was a person. 

From the overhang, a white stag peered down, just as the badger, had. But unlike the badger, it slowly made its way down the hillside to find you, looking down at your twisted leg. It then called out to the forest, low and blaring, until a human pair of eyes peered down from the overhang after it. Well, they looked human, but you couldn’t be sure from the colossal pair of antlers on its head.

You closed your eyes and assumed you were already dead. 

Only, you were surprised to find that you weren’t when they opened again, this time to the inside of a little cottage of sorts. The gentle sunlight streamed through the open window and shined on a singular small room, its walls covered in shelves that overflowed with bowls and bottles. You were on a bed against the only open wallspace other than the small wash basin and counter beneath the window, and just to make sure you weren’t dead, you wiggled your toes.

You wiggled the toes of both feet, and only realized what that meant when you recalled what had happened before. 

A round little bird came to sit on the windowsill as you shot up out of bed, looking down at your legs. The one that had been broken still ached, perhaps too much to stand, but it was healed nonetheless. The bird chirped at you from its perch, and you looked at it hoping it would provide some answers to your countless questions.

Instead, the door opened, and the man with antlers ducked through the doorway with a bowl under his arm. His eyes widened at you when he looked up.

“Oh! U-Uhm, you’re…” He stared, seeming almost frightened, and you couldn’t help the initial dread that sparked in your chest. However, just as you were calming down, he set his bowl down on a stool next to the door and turned around to leave. You reached out a hand as if he wasn’t across the room. 

“Wait! Wait, please!” His hand was still on the door as he turned slowly his head, back still facing you. “I have...ah, a lot of questions, if you don’t mind.” 

You looked down at the little chair by your bed. He must have been sitting in it when he was healing your leg. “Uhm...can you come sit, please?”

His hands gripped the white, silk tunic that flowed around his figure, swallowing before finally turning towards you. He made hesitant steps towards you, in a way that reminded you of a real deer. You stayed still as he came to sit in the chair next to you.

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your body to at least partially face him before giving up. “Ah...what’s your name?” You asked. 

His hands wringed together in his lap. “Tamaki…” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Tamaki,” You smiled, then looking up to his antlers again. “Are you, ah...human?”

“No- no, uhm…” He swallowed, refusing to look at you. “I-I’m a fairy. Of this forest. The fairy- guardian- uhm…” 

“You’re the spirit of this forest?” You inclined, an old tale coming to mind. He finally met your eye, nodding furiously as he looked back down at his lap. His antlers almost hit you as he nodded, seeing as how they were really large. They seemed as tall as his chest, and fanned out even more so. The bird from the sill came to sit on them, as did another. 

You fiddled with the hem of the blanket. “My mother once told me a story about forest spirits. She said they were devious trickers to any humans who encountered them.” You looked up to find him gazing back, his nervousness faded with how much he was focusing on you. “You don’t seem too devious, though. You seem rather kind.” 

“I...we’ve only just met.” 

“I know,” You smiled again. You then inclined, “How long was I asleep?”

“Just the night,” He answered, looking down at your leg beneath the blanket. 

“You healed me overnight? How?”

His hands wringed together again. “Uhm...herbs-” He pointed to the bottles and bowls lining the shelves. “-and water, and- and magic.” 

You nodded over to the bowl he’d left by the door. “Were you going to heal me again?”

“Oh, no- I uhm-” He stood, quickly making his way to the door. His antler nearly knocked a bottle off of a shelf before he quickly caught it. You kept your giggles to yourself as he brought the bowl back to the bed. “-I was going to wash the herbs off. Replace them.” 

“Oh, I see.” You pulled the blanket back, realizing he’d dressed you in one of his floor-length tunics. You almost blushed at the thought of him having seen you undressed before you realized that nudity probably didn’t mean much to a fairy. But even with this assumption, you still watched him swallow as you pulled the tunic up to expose your leg to him.

It was wrapped in a fine white cloth, now stained green with the herbs packed beneath it, seeping through like dye. You saw him hesitate in reaching out, so you gave him a nod, trying again to shift your leg towards him and finding a bit more success than you had before. He started at our ankle where it was tied and slowly unwound it, careful not to let any of the now-used herbs touch the sheets. 

He grabbed the bowl and brought a wet cloth tentatively to your leg. His hand began to shake as the cloth made contact with your herb-stained skin, but you didn’t shy away. 

“Oh- I-I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful-” He began to apologize profusely, and you grabbed his wrist before he could pull away. Your eyes met his as you brought it slowly back to your leg. “I’m...I’m sorry…” 

“I’m fine, Tamaki. You can keep going. You have nothing to apologize for.” You let go of his wrists to instead grip the sheets for leverage. “Of course, for even as much as you have kindly healed me, it will still hurt- but no matter. You may do your work. I do not shatter so easily.” 

He bit his cheek as he looked between you and your leg. You sucked in a breath. “Though...if you wouldn’t mind...I feel I may find this easier to bear if you’d be so kind as to hold a conversation with me?”

Tamaki dipped the rag back into the bowl as it ran a bit dry. “Uhm...what kind of conversation?”

“Well, I’d like to know you better, if you don’t mind discussing yourself. 

“I-I’m afraid I do,” He stuttered, slowly ringing out the rag, “but only because I don’t find much about myself worth sharing.” 

“What nonsense!” You said, and he looked up at you with wide eyes. “You’re a fairy! No one knows much of fairies, much less of you! There is so much to discuss, Sir Tamaki!” 

He blinked, and slowly brought the rag back to your leg. You were too busy staring at him to flinch. “Well- ah, what would you like to know?”

You spent the next half hour asking countless questions about his species and his life as he cleaned your leg, and then continued to do as much as he pressed more wet herbs into your skin and muttered little spells under his breath. He told you how he was born from the trees, though he couldn’t quite remember it, and how he’d always been on his own. He’d only met a few humans in his lifetime, and sheepishly admitted that none had been as interesting or forgiving as you (you didn’t ask what he meant by “forgiving”). He said that the stag was the forest’s heart, and that he was the forest’s breath. It was all very strange indeed, but alas, you couldn’t keep yourself from hanging onto each and every word as if it were scripture. 

Tamaki must have grown tired of talking about himself, for as he finished wrapping and healing your leg, he began to ask about you. 

“I live in a village just at the edge of the forest,” You said, picking again at your blanket. “I don’t do much else but wash and sew clothes for others. I probably won’t have much to do until I’m married, anyway.” 

“I’ve heard of marriage,” He said, “though not much good of it.” 

“It’s not very good at all. At least, for me, I think. There’s no one I fancy spending the rest of my life with in my village, much less bearing children with. I’m just fine sewing men’s trousers.” 

“You’re not happy,” He said, more as an observation than a statement. You nodded. He looked down at his lap and picked at his tunic. “I don’t think I’m happy, either.” 

“Why do you think that?” You spoke, your voice growing soft. He shifted closer with a sigh.

“I...It’s very lonely, out here. Which is silly of me, I know.” 

“No, I don’t know. Why would you find that silly?” Your hand moved to rest comfortingly on his knee. He swallowed again. 

“Well...fairies are very...independent creatures. We live only to breathe life into trees. There is no need for another, and very rarely any longing for another, as well. And yet...when the birds stop singing at night...it all becomes rather quiet.” 

Your brow furrowed in thought. Though you hadn’t put much consideration into your next words, you were sure of yourself when you offered: “In that case, perhaps when I am healed, I can visit you?” 

Tamaki blinked up at you, and you smiled sheepishly at him. “It’s just...we are both so unhappy without another to keep good company. So...I would like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.” 

His eyes grew wet with emotion, and his hand slid over your own on his knee. You smiled even brighter at his touch. 

“If I may be so honored.” With shaking hands, he brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them delicately before resting it back on his knee. Your chest blossomed at the feel of it. “Though...I am not quite sure what companionship entails. I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” You repeated, leaning forward. Tamaki smiled back. “I’d be more than happy to teach you of companionship. I’m certain you’ll find it easier and much less daunting than it seems.”

He studied you for a long moment, antlers tilting just slightly with his head, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. He nodded warmly in return. “I’ll take your word for it.” 

You spent your time in bed chatting until you were well enough to walk that evening. In the morning, when it was time to return to your village, he lifted you effortlessly and set you on the back of the stag (who was so tall, it was hard to mount even as it sat for you) and led you to the outskirts of the forest. He stopped just far enough away that you wouldn’t be spotted by the townspeople and helped you off of the stag.

Your hands remained on his shoulders from where you’d used him as support, beaming up at him. “You have been so incredibly kind, Tamaki. When will I see you again?”

“A-As soon as you’re able,” He smiled, gesturing to your still-aching leg. You noticed that his stutter wasn’t so much from anxiousness as it had been before, and instead sounded with the implication of another meeting, another little adventure. It brought a warmth to your chest. “I’ll find you at night. You just have to wish for me, and I’ll feel you in the forest, wherever you are.”

“Thank you, Tamaki.” You stood on the toes of your good leg and pressed a gentle kiss into his cheek, perhaps as payment for the kiss he’d left on your knuckles before. His cheeks were flushed bright red when you pulled away, and you could feel your own heating with it. Your hands slipped from his shoulders as you stepped back. “Farewell, for now.” 

“Farewell…” You took one last look at him before turning and limping back towards your village. You didn’t hear the stag set off for another minute or so behind you, but you couldn’t blame him. A part of you wished you could stay with him forever. 

But, perhaps, some things come only with time...

-

taglist: @keigos-dove​ @/knifeewifee (already tagged uwu), @wesparklebitch​, @hanniejji​ @bvnnyclouds​, @katsukis-sad-angel​ @ushissugarcube​

- dm/inbox to be added or removed from a taglist. 

[silverwings22]

Angel With A Shotgun: Chapter 15 Cin Vhetin

Series warnings: Smut, language, Order 66, medical trauma, abuse, Canon typical violence

Chapter Warning: canon typical violence, canon character death, SMUT, Codywan (because it's adorable you will not convince me otherwise)

Translations: Ori'vod: older brother/sister, special friend

jetii: Jedi

ad'ika: little one

mesh'la: beautiful

ner cyar'ika: my sweetheart/darling

Cin vhetin: Clean slate or fresh start

Previous chapter: https://silverwings22.tumblr.com/post/669955395789422593/angel-with-a-shotgun-chapter-14-oya-manda

Next chapter: https://silverwings22.tumblr.com/post/669959743597674496/angel-with-a-shotgun-chapter-16-who-shot-first

5 BBY

Angel had sent Cody back to Obi-wan’s side only a few months after he joined them on Tattooine, knowing the two men needed each other. Her master’s loneliness was vast, and her brother’s guilt heavy as a collapsing star. Once they were reunited, the two of them were both better off. And she got to see them when she came for her lessons and brought supplies. Cody looked content now, helping Obi-wan around the house.

And the subtle way they stood a little closer together told her a lot about what was happening when she wasn’t there.

Today, she was coming by to see them with a dewback laden with supplies and a good mood. Boba was out on a hunt and she had all the time she wanted to spend with them. Obi-wan met her outside the hut with a chuckle. “Dear girl, you’re spoiling us.”

Angel laughed and dismounted. “Oh please, Master. You’re practically a brother in law now. Oh, don’t start blushing now. I know what goes on with you and Cody.” She teased, regarding him with a chuckle. He was flushing, hair entirely silver with only a little lingering red in his beard, but the pink cheeks seemed to return some of his youthful smile. She wondered, as she had many times before, what he’d been like as a fresh-faced padawan. He’d told her stories of coming to this planet with his own master when he’d been young, of meeting Anakin as a lost little slave child. Sometimes she almost understood the fall of the younger Jedi, when she took the totality of his life into consideration. Maybe that was why Obi-wan made sure she heard the stories. He was forever forgiving, even for the greatest sins committed against him.

Cody chuckled from behind her, shaking his head. He was dressed much like Obi-wan now, in light colored robes and a cloak she was pretty sure Obi-wan had made for him. She hugged him happily. “How goes it?” He ruffled her hair like she was still a cadet, despite the fact she was inching up on thirty years old.

Angel made a face. “Starting to regret picking up those fruit snacks you like. You’re messing up my hair.”

“Vanity, little sister.” he smirked.

“Fight me, ori’vod.”

“Don’t pretend I won’t still knock you on your ass like I did in combatives training.”

Angel just laughed. “Help me bring this shit inside and we can talk, tough guy.”

They all unloaded the dewback and Angel gave him a quick rubdown and some water before going in to enjoy her visit.

Obi-wan smiled fondly. “Dear girl, you need a lightsaber.” He mused. “A blaster is such an inelegant weapon. If I could find a way to get you to Illum…”

“It’s crawling with Imps, master. Besides, it would feel weird to carry a kyber crystal when I’m soul-bonded to one. Like carrying a person around.” She shrugged.

“You need that training, Angel. You could use the other one I have, the one I’m holding onto for Luke.”

Angel shook her head. “I know why you kept it master, but… I know what that lightsaber’s done. I don’t think I can carry it… it’s full of pain from the Temple… and it belongs with a Skywalker.”

That sobered him and he nodded. “I suppose you must feel what that crystal has done more heavily than I, and that day was personal to you as well. But I still think you need to be familiar with how to wield one… things will change one day, and you should have every advantage.”

She shrugged. “You’d have to teach me how to build one, you know.”

“I like teaching you, Angel. You’re quite an exceptional student.”

She chuckled quietly and nodded. He patted her hand and stood to go make tea, watching her settle into a cross legged position on his floor for the tea ceremony he always made her go through. She’d once found it interminable and boring, just wanting to sit back with her cup and enjoy it. But now it seemed more dignified and there was something relaxing and familiar about the process.

Cody just chuckled and sat down with her. “Getting too damn old to be getting on the floor.” He shook his head.

“Thought you’d still kick my ass.” She teased.

“Oh I will. I can do everything I used to. Recovery is just a bitch now. Just you wait, you’ll get old too.”

“I’ll look better when I get there. I moisturize.” She smirked and gave a pointed look at the crows feet settling at the corners of her brothers amber eyes. “Time’s marching on, and it’s marching right across your face.”

“You’re such a brat, you know that? I taught you how to swim and this is the gratitude I get?”

“Because there’s so many opportunities to go swimming on Tattooine.”

“Point taken. I do miss it sometimes... “ he pondered as Obi-wan came back with the tea and settled on his knees across from them. “I don’t regret this though. Being here.”

“Good. I don’t think Obi-wan could let you go again.” She smiled, a little softer, as Obi-wan put a gentle hand on Cody’s. They were happy, even with the weight of the past settled on their shoulders. They had each other to ease the burden.

She stayed late into the evening, between having tea and going through her katas with Obi-wan. Cody even joined in on some of the meditation, commenting that even without the Force he could see clear benefits of keeping his mind clear.

“I think dinner might be nice outside tonight.” Obi-wan mused as it got dark. “How about a campfire, and we’ll roast some of the bantha Angel brought?”

“Sounds good to me.” Cody chuckled.

Angel smiled and nodded. “I’m due for another camping trip with Boba soon. Might as well get in the mood.”

“Don’t get in that kind of mood.” Cody smirked. “I’m your brother and Obi-wan’s taken.”

“I would never dream of encroaching on your territory, Cody.” she laughed. “Besides, I got Boba coming home in a couple days.”

“Which means you’re visiting now so you won’t worry us when we don’t hear from you for a week.” Cody elbowed her.

“Shut yer face, Cody, and go get the damn lighter fluid.” She laughed, helping Obi-wan set up a firepit.

When the flames were crackling pleasantly, they cut up the meat and roasted it. Angel was smiling, cheerfully enjoying the company, when she felt something. Through the Force something ran out loud and sharp, a darkness she couldn’t explain that smoldered like the surface of Mustafar. “Master…”

“I sense it too, young one.” he murmured, reaching for his saber under his robe.

Cody tensed, regetting not bringing his blaster out. “What’s-” His words were cut off when something wrapped around his throat and snatched him backwards into the sand. His desperate choking made the hair on Angel’s arms stand on end.

“Cody!” She yelped, throwing herself after her brother as he was being dragged away from the firelight. Tendrils of the Force were wrapped around his throat, strangling the life out of him, and she fought against them with all she had until she heard a gasp of air and her brother went limp but alive in the sand. She cradled his head in her hands, checking for damage, when she heard the voice.

Colder than Hoth and burning with hatred all at once, it slithered down her back. “Kenobi.”

She spun around, protecting Cody with her body, when she saw the man approaching. A zebrak, heavily tattooed in patterns of crimson and black, was approaching the fire with death burning in his yellow eyes. She’d seen eyes like that once, years ago on Mustafar, when Anakin Skywalker choked his own wife in a fit of rage.

A Sith’s eyes.

Obi-wan simply stood, circling the fire as the sith approached. “Maul.”

Darth Maul smirked quietly. “Look what you’ve become. A rat of the desert.”

Obi-wan’s blue eyes were steely in a way Angel had never seen before. “Look at what I’ve risen above.”

Maul circled around, he and Obi-wan keeping pace with each other while Angel watched on. “I’ve come to kill you… but perhaps I should leave you here in your squalor.” He chuckled darkly. “Why would you remain in this place… unless you have a purpose. Perhaps you’re protecting something… or someone.” He glanced back at the two clones on the ground. “Not them, the girl moves frequently and the man hasn’t been here the whole time. What else are you defending, Kenobi? Perhaps, when I’m finished with you and your pet clones, I’ll find them too.”

The Jedi simply stiffened. “If you define yourself by your ability to kill, to dominate, then you have nothing.”

Maul snarled, activating a double-bladed red saber. “What do you have?!” he snarled, spinning the blades dangerously.

The sight of the red blade made something scream out in Angel’s chest. A tortured spirit reached her through the Force, begging for her help to escape the unending hate and pain swamping it. The kyber crystal inside had been bled, it was hurting… and she felt it. She clutched Cody closer, eyes wide. “Master!”

“Stay put, Angel. Protect your brother.” He said sternly, drawing his own saber. At first, he stepped into the stance she’d seen him practice before. Soretsu, with one hand extended and two fingers outstretched. Then he shifted, taking a step back and drawing the saber closer to his chest and blade straight up. The form he’d told her his master taught him first, long ago when he was young.

Her eyes widened as the Sith lunged, blades spinning. The sabers met once, twice, three times, then Maul froze and stiffened. His saber split in half and he dropped the severed ends, falling to his knees. Obi-wan immediately disengaged his blade and caught the zebrak, cradling his broken body like an old friend rather than a lethal enemy.

Maul stared at him, wheezing. Dying, Angel felt it coming like a distant fog rolling in. “Is he… the chosen one?” He looked at Obi-wan with those burning eyes, blinking painfully for a long minute.

“He is.” Obi-wan nodded quietly.

“He will… avenge us.” Maul muttered, a strange sort of peace falling over him before his last breath escaped. Obi-wan quietly closed his eyes and lay the fallen down, shaking his head at the sad loss of life.

Angel looked at him quietly. “Master…?”

“It’s alright, young one.” he breathed. “Is Cody alright?”

“Out cold, but no real damage…” she whispered. “Was that… a Sith?”

“He was. Darth Maul, the man who killed my Master, long ago.” Obi-wan murmured. “May he find peace now, that he never knew in life. I forgave him myself long ago.”

Angel pulled Cody onto her back and followed Obi-wan back to the house, eyes wide. “That’s… kind of you, master.”

“It is not the way of the Jedi to seek revenge. And he suffered more than most in this life.”

They lay Cody down and Angel sat beside her master as he slowly took apart Maul’s lightsaber. The red crystal lay exposed in the palm of his hand, heartbreaking in it’s pain. “May I?” She murmured softly. “It’s… crying.”

He nodded, laying the crystal in her cupped hands. The pain crashed over her, the loneliness and despair, hatred and misery that seemed to eke itself out into a line longer than the horizon itself, drowning in it’s depth. Angel brought it to her chest, worriedly stroking her thumbs over the smooth stone. “Shhh. It’s alright. Let me… help you.” She murmured, guided only by instinct and the stone in her own chest. She pressed the red stone to her blue one and felt a spark, hot and electric, jump from hers to the suffering one in her hand.

Obi-wan shielded his eyes from a brilliant flash of white light, and when he was able to look again Angel was… changed. Her hair floated up in a non-existent wind, her amber eyes completely whited out and glowing, the stone floating above her hands and rotating. She was speaking in a voice made of many whispers, in languages he’d never heard before, attuned to something like the Living Force itself as she soothed the pain from the bled crystal.

Then the light dimmed and everything settled, the stone landing in her hands a brilliant white now and radiating a peace he felt deep in his bones. Angel blinked, coming back to herself with a confused expression, and looked at it. “Hello, my friend.” She murmured. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

Obi-wan smiled. “Angel... “

She blanched. “What? Did I break it? Is that why it’s white?!”

“You purified it, Angel. You restored what was lost when it was bled.” He smiled quietly. “I think you have a crystal for a lightsaber of your own.”

She looked at it and smiled a little, weakly. “I guess we’re partners now, huh?” She chuckled.

The crystal pulsed, in time with the one in her chest, like it agreed.

“I don’t like it. Why the hell do you need a lightsaber? You’re not a jetii.” Boba grumbled. Angel was working on building a hilt, sitting cross legged in their room.

“I know, but it’s a cool thing to have. Plus we’re Mandalorian, right? Isn’t the planet leader decided with a fucking lightsaber?”

He groaned. “Woman, knock it off.”

“You just hate it when I’m right.” She grinned.

“I hate that you’ve been working on that stupid thing for four hours, and that you almost got ganked by a Sith, and that your brother got choked out.” He grumbled. “You’d have lost your shit if something happened to Cody.”

“Yeah. But Obi-wan looked out for us.” She smiled. “I’ll knock it off for the night… if you need my attention more.” She stood, setting her work away, and walked over to where Boba was sitting in his favorite chair, looking a perfect picture in his undershirt and pants. He eyed her, looking at her short shorts and his shirt she’d stolen.

“C’mere. I’ve been gone two fucking weeks.” He held his arms open, waiting for her to slide into his lap. Angel just chuckled, leaning over to kiss him softly.

“You’re so damn grumpy.” She cooed, nuzzling her cheek against his thigh. “Lemme make it up to you. How about you hop into bed, and I’ll rub your back? Since you’ve been hunting, I’ll give you one first. And then you can give me one, and catch up on the last two weeks.”

He growled lightly, eyes dark as he looked at her. “I think I’d rather just touch y-” She planted a hand in the middle of his chest and bunched his shirt up in her fist, pulling him to his feet. She then affectionately bullied him backwards to the bed and pushed him onto his back.

“Roll over and quit arguing with me, Boba. Let me do something nice for you for five minutes.”

He grumbled, but slowly did as she asked. “You’re impossible.”

Her weight settled over him as she straddled his waist, leaning forward to run her fingers down the flesh of his back with a featherlight touch before moving to actually start kneading his stiff muscles. “It feels like rocks back here, Boba. What did you do?”

“The closer I get to thirty, the more every damn thing started falling apart.” He muttered, but stretched out like a tooka in the sun when she worked her weight into the muscles of his shoulders. “Fuck, you're good at this ad’ika.”

Angel chucked, dropping low enough she could press a quick kiss to the back of his neck, enough to make his shiver, before she went back to picking apart the knots in his back with her hands.

It felt good, it really did. Boba could have dozed off like this if he wasn’t so determined to spend the night with her. He’d been gone too long, nothing was ruining it. Not even his sore back.

“Better?” she murmured after a while, laying down on top of him and squishing her chest against his back in an exaggerated cuddle.

Boba snorted. “You are ridiculous. I’m Boba Fucking Fett, and you’re stacked on top of me like a careless tooka.”

“I’m the tooka you like to pet the most.” She giggled. “I might take a few liberties… where you’ll allow it.”

“I’ll do more than pet you. Come here.”

He pushed her up lightly, yanking his shirt off her and laying her on her stomach. When his hands met the inked flesh, she stretched out and purred.

Boba growled softly. "Fuck, you look good. I missed this."

“You’re the one that picked that bounty, Boba-ah!" He pushed his thumbs into the knotted muscles on either side of her spine and she arched. "F-fuck… that feels good."

He practically purred. "Good. One of these days I’m gonna keep that promise of making you a real princess, and I'll make you feel good all the time."

She smiled dreamily. "What will w-we do?"

"First I'll get you settled in. " he breathed, massaging her deltoids until they unlocked. "Then I’ll find you the prettiest dresses you always wanted, get you all dolled up on a throne right next to mine… then that night I'm going rip the dress off you and fuck you all over wherever our palace is, and listen to you scream my fucking name. I don't get to hear you nearly enough."

"That sounds nice…" she crooned, arching again as he moved lower and kneaded the swell of her ass. "Can we grow flowers…"

"Any flowers you want." He murmured. "Make you a fucking queen. Anything you want, pretty dresses and every book you ever wanna ready, and gemstones that shine half as bright as those eyes of yours…"

When Boba got talking, it was enchanting. He made the stars sound like she could reach out and touch them. Her heart soared into her throat as he nudged her knees a little further apart and sank into her from behind. I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything.

The words were too heavy and she could only gasp as he bottomed out and leaned over her back, the weight of him solid and secure. "Pretty girl. " he murmured. "I'll give you the galaxy on a silver platter if you'll take it."

"You…" she whimpered. "Just want you."

A smile twitched its way across his features and he rocked his hips, driving into her deep and slow. "That’s always been yours.. " he leaned down to murmur in her ear, nibbling at the shell of it to make her moan softly.

Angel closed her eyes and fumbled for his hand, wrapping her fingers around it. Boba was a sandstorm, forever shifting and strong enough to kill and blot out the suns, but beautiful in it's deadly chaos. She wanted him to sweep her up and carry her away.

He bit into the back of her shoulder and kept his languid pace, purring against her trembling skin.

"Mesh'la, come for me. " he growled as he felt the building coil in her bubbling to the surface.

She got her wish, swept away, and followed his command, shuddering and gushing hot over his length buried inside her. His name was a muted whine on her lips.

"Fuck…" Boba all but snarled and snapped his hips into her twice more before she felt him twitch and come harder than he ever had in his life, warmth spreading through her stomach where he spilled. His arms gave out and he fell, squishing her into the mattress and burying his face into her hair. "Fucking hell." He murmured, exhaustion painted in his voice. "Ner cyar'ika. So good for me. "

She smiled, pulling his hand to her face so she could nuzzle it. These hands, best acquainted with killing and capture, could be so gentle with her… "My Boba…" she mumbled, feeling sleep starting to take her even as he shifted and twitched still inside her.

"Only yours, Angel.." He promised.

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) do you dare look him right in the eyes?  STAR WARS

Jangobi Week Day 4 - Forced to Work Together

A03

Jango lets out a grunt of pain as he throws himself behind cover, vocoder crackling in his  buy’ce, his leg and side burning in pain.

Arla was going to be pissed with him. His  aliit’alor  had told him,  ordered him even, not to get involved in the Sith-Jedi shit currently burning its way through the galaxy, but here Jango is, trapped behind the combat lines, with a downed ship, a broken leg, a dead bounty, and a damaged jetpack, trying desperately not to catch the attention of either side.

Jango had thought he could skirt around the worst of the conflict, thought he could just get in and out with the bounty that would feed his aliit for a month. His hunt had gone off effortlessly, the smuggler he was chasing had a lot of credits on his head if brought in alive, apparently having pissed off the wrong royal family when stealing one heirloom or another, and with how tight credits had been since Arla had denied to let them join in the war between the  dar’Jetiise  and  Jetiise, had stepped back from the army to put the  aliit first, despite the Mand’alor’s support being given to the Sith. Their family had lost a lot in the last number of generations; their Buire, aunts and uncles, so many of their cousins - they had all fallen in the line of duty, leaving Arla to lead their  aliit  too young. The older generations had been decimated, leaving only a child who had only just passed her  verd’goten to lead more children, all younger than her. Jango himself had only been eight when their family had died, fifteen years ago, he barely remembers it or them, but he remembers how it hurt Arla, even years later. When the Mand’alor had begun gathering  verde, he’d almost volunteered, he had wanted the chance to bring glory to his small  aliit, but one look at Arla’s face, her wild-eyed fear, had kept him quiet.

Instead, he’d gone back to bounty hunting. He’d done what he could to help provide for the younger members, for Arla’s children, for their younger cousins and nieces and nephews, but refusing the Mand’alor came with consequences. It was hard to find employers who didn’t have connections to their king, it was hard to find people who would pay for his time. Clan Fett had been blacklisted for refusing to rejoin the war, and their farm could only provide so much.

At least there were plenty of stuffy royals willing to pay a premium to be able to claim they had a  Mando’ad at their beck and call.

The hunt for the thief had gone off without a problem, he’d tracked to  hut’uun to where he was hiding, thinking that cowering behind the war would keep him safe. Jango had tracked him down, had taken him into custody, but the moment he’d tried to leave the planet’s atmosphere, his ship had been shot down. Jango had barely survived, his bounty hadn’t, and if he manages to get off the planet, it means that he’s lost his pay.

He’s trapped behind  dar’Jetiise  lines now, trying to avoid the hunters sent after him. He doesn’t like  Jetiise  - what self-respecting  Mando’ad  does - but at this point, Jango thinks he’d prefer them to their darker counterparts. At least  Jetiise were easier to fool, and would be more willing to let him leave the planet with all his limbs intact if he explained that he’s not one of the Mando’ade following the  dar’Jetiise. They probably wouldn’t like him, simply on principle, but if he could prove he wasn’t a combatant they would be honour-bound not to attack.

That is if he could ever get out of this kriffing nightmare.

Jango curses again, pushing himself deeper into the mud when he hears movement. Thanking the Manda that his  beskar’gam  messes with the Force enough that the  dar’Jetiise hunting him for sport wouldn’t be able to sense him. If he could stay hidden long enough for them to walk right past him, then he could keep travelling in the direction that he remembers the  Jetiise camp being when he’d studied the planet.

Kriff - he hates this.

Heart pounding in his chest, Jango carefully regulates his breathing, and lets himself sink deeper into the black mud. His HUD can pick up a body traveling towards him, growing closer and closer, and the Jango’s grip tightens on his vibroblade; if the  dar’Jetii gets close, he’ll be able to fight back.

Another voice lets out a curse, there’s a heavy splash, and a Human comes stumbling over the bush Jango has hidden himself under. Jango lashes out, grabbing the  dar’Jetii’s ankle and  pulling. When the Human goes tumbling, Jango drags himself on top of them, raising his dagger, and moments before he brings it down, he finds himself staring into wide  blue eyes in a young, mud-stained face.

A  Jetii.

Jango has a moment to curse, jerking to a stop, before the  Jetii he’s caught lashes out and flings him off of them. Jango finds himself plucked off of the Human by an invisible hand, and thrown like a child’s toy. He hits the ground, pain exploding through his body, and as he lays there, reeling and gasping, he expects the  Jetii  to follow up on the attack. He expects to be carved open by a  jetii’kad for his stupid mistake, expects to find himself suddenly passing into the Manda, to see those who marched on before him to join their ancestors.

But it never comes.

Instead, a blue  jetii’kad  is leveled at his chest. The  Jetii stands over him, and Jango finds himself blinking in shock, looking up into the fierce expression and burning eyes the same colour as the blade. The Jetii is scrawny, but there’s power in their shoulders, not at all hidden by the pauldrons on their shoulders.

“Who might you be, Mandalorian?” The  Jetii demands, white teeth flashing amongst the black mud caked to their face in a fierce grin. Jango knows it's a demand, despite the generally cheerful tone in the  Jetii’s voice. “Why have you attacked me? Are you a servant of the Sith?”

“I serve  no one.” Jango hisses, pushing back the pain, ignoring the memories of arrogant royals considering him nothing more than an exotic plaything. He’d needed the credits, had agreed to it, because he doesn’t have the reputation that would bring him the bigger bounties - not yet anyways. He’d agreed to anything to get the credits his aliit needed, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

He’d bend, but he’d never break.

“I’m just a simple man making his way through the galaxy.”

“A simple man, are you?” The  Jetii  says slowly, and Jango can almost imagine the eyebrow being raised under all that mud. “And you just  happened to have almost shoved a vibroblade through my eye?”

“Thought you were a  dar’Jetii.” Jango grunts, and the  Jetii’s head tilts.

“I was under the impression that the Mandalorians were fighting for the Sith?”

Jango growls, “Not  all  of us.” The Jetii continues to watch him, but those blue eyes don’t seem as intent anymore. “I was here for a bounty. Some  chakaar that was stupid enough to get caught stealing from a royal family. Pay was good, if he was brought in warm, but my ship was shot down.”

“Is that so?” The Jetii muses, but the  jetii’kad deactivates with a hiss. “Could I perhaps have a name, my new bounty hunting friend?”

“Jango.” He grunts, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. “Jango Fett.” He stares up into bright eyes, mind still reeling to catch up with the situation he's found himself in. He had come far too close to loosing his head for comfort, and the faintest stirrings of attraction deep in his gut is annoying - he doesn't have time for another crush on another person with a nice smile who could have definitely killed him without trying. "And we're not friends."

The Jetii  beams  at him, far too charming for his own good. “A pleasure!” He says cheerfully, stowing away his  kad’au, “I’m Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, and it seems we’re in the same kind of trouble.” Kenobi’s blue eyes sparkle, and Jango glares suspiciously, “What say you to a temporary alliance, Jango Fett?”

“Well,” Jango says slowly, and honestly, he’d prefer a baby  Jetii  to a  dar’Jetii, even if it's an annoyingly pretty one, “if you can use your crazy magic to help with a broken leg, I’d be in your debt.”

Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42 @tumceteri-fratres @etainskirata

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

Fools Rush In

ao3

ffn

and now for something completely different... (This general idea has been rattling around in my head for a while, but I got inspired to actually write it for a Discord contest with the prompt of “fools”...)

The light peaked in through the door of the hut.  It was almost midsummer, and the haze from the Mist above them never really got dark. 

“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread…” Mattias mused to himself out loud, looking out at the forest. 

“What are you talking about?” Yelena asked him. 

“It’s a poem my father used to like reciting,” he explained.  “The older I get, the more meaning it has for me.”

“You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“Yes…” he couldn’t lie about this.  Yelena knew his feelings.  “I hope she’s- I don’t know what I hope for her. I wish her well.”

“I suppose they think all of you are dead?”

“It’s been five years now.”

“And seventeen days,” she added.

“Of course…  so I’m sure they had a memorial for all of us years ago.  That’s what they’d do, I know it, but it’s always difficult when there are no bodies.”

Yelena looked at him silently.  He was never entirely sure when she was quietly angry with him or just thinking about something.  She always chose her words carefully.  He appreciated that, but sometimes he wished it wasn’t quite such a challenge to get a smile from her. A challenge could be a good thing, though.  He did like a challenge.  

Halima was never a challenge, not in that way.  

He thought about her a lot.  She was free, wasn’t she?  As far as she knew, he had been dead for several years.  Before the last time he saw her, he had noticed the other young men in town talking to her.  He had meant to make his move, propose to her, make it all official, as soon as he got back from this trip.  It was supposed to be a short trip, mostly ceremonial, after all.  Nothing risky.  

He couldn’t torture himself thinking about what might have been.  He needed to live in the present.  He could remember the past, there was nothing wrong with that.  She had told him very little about hers, as often as he’d ask. From talking to others, Mattias had learned there had been a young man, Mandas, who had been killed a year before the Mist had fallen.  Yelena never talked of him.  It had never been exactly clear how Mandas had died.  No one dared tell him there was anyone to blame for his death.  Accidents happen, though sometimes he had to wonder.

To forgive is divine, that was another line his father would often repeat, from that same poem.  He was never sure whether it was he or Yelena who needed more forgiveness.  It was impossible to know, since the fighting had been so sudden and violent.  All he knew was that more fighting now was tantamount to suicide. He often reminded his soldiers of this.  They were at peace.  They had gotten to know the people here; they were learning how to survive.

He watched silently as Yelena got up and went outside to start the chores for the day.  There was plenty to be done.  He would need to get back to his camp before too many people were awake.  It wasn’t a secret, but it was best not to be so obvious about it.

To err is human, he thought to himself.  It was time to start his day.

***

It was a little past midsummer, when the sky was still bright all night, and if the Mist weren’t there, the sun would have been skimming the horizon late into the evening.  

“It’s been twelve years and two months,” he said to himself, walking into the Northuldra camp, toward a group of playing children.

“Hello, Mattias!” one of the girls shouted as she got her hair braided by another girl.  

“Hello,” Mattias called back, “is Yelena around?”

“She took the reindeer up into the hills,” the girl replied.  

“And, you, Tara?” Mattias asked, looking at the girl doing the braiding.

“I didn’t want to go.  Linne and I are going to go find mushrooms when I’m done with her hair.”

“What about yours?” Mattias saw her hair sticking out from her hat.

“Mine won’t braid,” Tara said.

“My mother used to let me do her hair, would you like to see how it’s done?”

Tara nodded. Mattias kneeled behind her where she sat braiding her friends hair and began the work.

His mother, like his father, had died before any of this happened. His father’s work had often kept him away for days, sometimes weeks at a time, and on those dark, lonely nights, he would help with her hair, at first making a clumsy child’s attempts, but after she realized he was serious, she instructed him on how to do it properly. Then she taught him to sew. That had been useful the last twelve years, since the soldier’s uniforms were the only clothing they had, and he had taken on the task of mending for everyone.  It had been one of his main tasks in the winter, since he couldn’t fish like some of the others.

The fifth winter had been a difficult one.  His soldiers had stayed close to the lake, since several of them were already experienced with ice fishing, and that was at least a steady source of food.  The fish had helped them every winter so far.  Mattias hadn’t meant to stay away from Yelena’s camp that year, but it was winter, and everyone was focused on survival.  His people had ended up staying with the Northuldra the first winter, and it felt like begging and charity, taking food from them.  Every year since that first one, the soldiers had stayed by the lake.  

It was well past the Equinox when Mattias had finally seen Yelena again.  It took him a moment to realize that she had a sleeping baby strapped to her back. The baby was a girl, and her name was Tara.  Yelena refused his offers of help, but never stopped him from coming by to visit.  

Mattias finished off Tara’s braids, finding a spare string to tie them up in the back. She was finishing off her friend’s long braid at the same time, and reached back to feel the work.

“Wow!  Thank you!” she laughed.  “I suppose you have some line of a poem for this, too?”

Mattias chuckled as he stood up.  “Not today, Tara.”  

***

Mattias wandered by Yelena’s hut, kicking at the first fall leaves hitting the ground.

“What are you doing here today?” Yelena demanded. 

“You still have to ask that? How many years has it been, Yelena?”

“Twenty-five years, three months, and two days,” she told him.

“Of course,” he chuckled, grabbing a nearby leaf wafting by. He looked at it for a moment before sticking it in his pocket.

Yelena got back to tending the fire in the middle of the camp.

“So… where is Tara?”  Mattias asked. 

“She was…”  Yelena seemed to be considering her words carefully, “she went to see a friend.”

Toward the edge of the camp, they could hear sudden yelps and laughter from the younger people.  In the woods, Mattias could just see two people approaching on the back of a reindeer.  As they approached, he could see Tara sitting on the front, beaming, with a young man behind her holding her by the waist.  Mattias didn’t remember seeing the young man around, but recognized the hat as the style of the village across the mountains on the far side of the lake.

He heard shouts of “What did she say?” from the crowd.

“Of course I said yes!” Tara shouted, laughing, before the young man behind her could reply.

“Wait…” Mattias whispered to Yelena, “what’s going on?”

“You have to ask? How long have you been here, Lieutenant?” she replied, smirking.

“Oh!  Mattias!  You’re here!” Tara called out as the reindeer approached the center of camp.

“Hello, Tara, you said you might have something to tell me today…”

“I hope it’s a good surprise,” she said, almost nervously, giggling a bit. “I suppose it means I’m not an angel, now.”

“What?” he asked.

“You remember the line?” she smiled, “Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread.”

[hopeatermeetsgodzilla]

Chapter 18

Mothra softly landed in front of the temple, Battra not too far in front of her. She raised her head, a pang of nostalgia hitting her at the sight of Styx’s statue. “Sister?” Battra called, turning toward her.

Mothra shook her head, bringing a hand to her eyes. “Sorry... coming here always reminds me of mother.”

Battra frowned sadly, walking to his sister and putting his hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. Take a moment to steady yourself.” Mothra nodded, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

She opened her eyes. “Alright, let’s go.” Battra nodded, taking her hand and escorting her to the inside of the temple, approaching the basin of water in the small room before the main area. “Remember to wash up.”

Mothra nodded, soaking her hands in the basin as Battra moved on into the main area, which was hidden from view by a silk curtain she had helped him make. She turned back toward the basin, watching water droplets fall from her hands.

She knew what Battra wanted to show her. The flowers from the Tapestry were no doubt wilted, dried up from how much the planet had warmed. The yellow flowers representing deserts had probably spread, and the amount of white flowers for the poles shrunk. And where humans had built major settlement, flowers would’ve fallen.

She just hoped she’d be able to convince Battra to not go on a rampage.

Mothra dried her hands off, entering the main area of the temple. Battra was kneeling in front of the Tapestry, looking at the flowers that had fallen off. She approached him. “How many of us died?”

He looked up at her. “There’s only one monkey, one spider and one beetle left. Varan is dead, his island sunk. Titanos is dead, wound compliction. Bagan is dead, I have no idea what happened. Dogora is dead, starvation. Camazotz is dead, old age. Caesar is still alive, but I don’t like his chances. Same for Megalon, and it’s looking even worse for him due to having been asleep for so long. Your mate’s sister is not only also still alive, but she’s also not at risk, somehow.”

“Then why would you mention her-”

“Because if there’s one of us who was mostly guaranteed to die during hibernation, it’s her.” Battra explained as he got back up, hands full of dead flowers. “She bleeds too easily.”

“And she’s aware of how easily she bleeds. She wouldn’t have learned how to dodge so well if she didn’t.” Mothra reminded him, before taking a closer look at the mural. All of the changes she had predicted where there, so she wasn’t too surprised by that. So she directed her attention to Rodan’s flower. Indeed, it was closed, with the three, strange golden flowers representing Ghidorah close to it and also closed. Out of the way of reality. She smiled. “Rodan’s really starting to come into his role as a Guardian.”

Battra raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “Please take a good look at what his flower is surrounded by. Or rather, what it’s not surrounded by.”

Mothra frowned, before bringing her attention to it. Her frown deepened as she noticed the lack of other flowers, and her eyes widened when she brought her fingers to it, the stone crumbling to dust under her fingers. Dead. “Wh- what happened!?”

“Humanity happened.” Battra hissed. “By now, you should know that their arrogance will lead to the destruction of us all.”

-

“So, what was, like, the initial ‘worst case scenario’ Monarch envisioned?”  Florès asked, sipping from his cup of coffee. He and quite a few other Monarch scientists were currently in the break room, having lunch. Normally, the younger man would stay in his office, but the doctor had told him to take regular breaks where he wouldn’t be tempted to work to keep his stress levels low. “Before the whole Ghidorah thing, I mean.” Obviously, it wasn’t working as well as intended.

“It was generally agreed that the Titans sending us back to the Stone Age was the worst case scenario...” Coleman informed him. “Personally, however? We all personally have things we’d rather not see captured on camera.”

Florès tilted his head at that. “Like what?”

“... for me, it’s the inside of their mouths.” Coleman admitted, sounding queasy. “It’s just... urgh. Look up animal mouths, it’s disgusting.”

“We’re talking ‘Godzilla slaps is own eyeballs with his tongue to blink’ disgusting or ‘Rodan has fucked up goose teeth’ disgusting?” Florès asked, a smile forming on his face when he saw the disgust and fear form on Coleman’s.

“‘Rodan has fucked up goose teeth’ disgusting, and Godzilla had working eyelids.” Emma deadpanned from where she was sitting. “And anyway, the inside of a Titan’s mouth is preferable to understanding how their... powers... work.”

Florès tilted his head in curiosity. “I thought you’d like to know how all of that would work?”

“I do, but... if that information got out, who knows what people would do with it.” Emma muttered, shaking her head. “So, as much as I’d like to know how it works, I fear the worst-case scenario of it being used as weapons.”

“Oh, come on!” Florès whined. “I was expecting something stupid, not something straight from your heart! Dr Chen,” The mythologist turned toward the mechanic “Do you have any fucked up, but not sad Titan things you don’t want so see captured on camera?”

Chen seemed to think for a moment, before her face brightened in realization. “Oh! There’s multiple instances in mythology of Titans eating other Titan’s carcasses, especially their heart. While that kind of thing isn’t unheard of in both the animal kingdom and ancient civilizations, it is pretty gruesome, and could be used by anti-Titans group to showcase that they’re mindless beasts.”

“... Uh.” The mechanic took a sip of his coffee. “Hostia. Kind of surprised no one mentioned courting rituals and everything related to them.” Florès pulled a face. “Like, if there’s one thing I don’t want to see, it’s that.”

“... What do you mean?”

Florès gave a sharp smile to Coleman. “Look up animal genitalia.”

-

“... I’m sure it’s not arrogance.” Mothra started, trying to ignore how she felt she had been stabbed. “Humans probably don’t realize the full consequences of their spreading. As for Mara, I’m certain you’re doing what you did with Mu’s weather control machine: you’re blaming a whole for the actions of a few!”

Battra groaned, visibly exasperated. “You still insist on defending humans? After everything they’ve done!? Are you so blinded by your love of them that you can’t uphold your duty of protecting our planet’s life?”

“I am focused on my duty of preserving life, brother.” Mothra hissed. “Including the one of humans! You’re the one who’s blinded, by your anger. You keep letting the crimes of a few human warp your perception, and hurt innocents in the process! Poor Manda was crushed by your rampage in Mu!”

“My perception of humans is not warped! In fact, I see them for who they are more clearly than you ever will! They’ve hurt the planet and other Titans before, and they’ll do it again! In fact, they already have!”

Mothra blinked. She had seen the patch of death, but Rodan’s flower seemed healthy... “What do you mean by that?”

Battra said nothing, simply pointing to one of the larger flowers. A very much wilted, but still attached to the Tapestry, flower with large bright blue petals. Godzilla.

Mothra could feel her heart shattering in a million pieces. What in Terra’s name had happened on Mara!?

[iximaz]

Blood-Forged ch2

Summary: Din takes his young charge to a new planet with a new plan to hide. It quickly goes sideways after he meets another Mandalorian who has never seen her own kind.

Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Baby Yoda, enby!fem!OC

Pairings: Slow burn Din Djarin/OC because it turns out I’m a thirsty hoe

Warnings: Eh, right now it’s just in light PG-13 territory. Mentions of family death, some blood/violence/bodily harm. Will probably end up becoming smut later.

Word Count: 1466 (indefinite chapter count coming)

Part 1 Part 2 (you’re here!) Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

They made it back to the ship and Din led Aysa up the ramp; he waited, arms crossed, until the door was closed before he spoke. “Call me Din,” he said.

Aysa pulled her helmet off, blowing her bangs out of her face. “That determined to not let anyone else know, huh?”

Din nodded. Seeing her with her helmet off left his skin crawling uncomfortably, but he shoved it to the back of his mind.

“I’m not calling you Mandalorian out there,” Aysa said, setting her helmet on a nearby crate and folding her arms to mimic his posture. “Not unless you want to do the same. I’m just as much Mandalorian as you are.”

Din just turned and headed to the cramped medbay, where he rummaged in one of the cabinets for his container of bacta swabs. Aysa trailed in after him, and he set the container on the narrow counter for her to help herself.

“You said you take merc jobs here?” Din asked, and Aysa nodded as she peeled the wrapping off.

“Was just checking the payment details for my last run,” she said, and dabbed gingerly at her scabby lip. The tear slowly began to close up into a faint white scar. “It’s not a ton of money, but it keeps me pretty comfortable.”

“Would it be enough to pay for repairs?” Din asked.

Aysa glanced around the battered old junker of a ship and made a face. “Maybe a few jobs would be enough,” she finally said. “Is it urgent?”

Din hesitated, then shook his head. “Was hoping to lay low here for a bit,” he said.

Aysa’s eyebrows went up. “Well—if you need somewhere to stay—I could offer you, uh—“ Her face scrunched up for a moment as she tried to remember the word. ”Morut. Haven?”

Great. That put him in a bit of a bind—it was the Way to extend refuge to fellow Manda, and it would be incredibly rude of him to refuse. But the child was not one of them, and he doubted her invitation would be extended. Besides, the fewer people who knew about him, the better.

A soft cooing from the door caused Aysa to spin around, drawing her blaster and aiming it at the source. Din lunged to put himself between the child and the weapon, but Aysa was already lowering it when she got a good look at her target.

“Is that a baby?” she demanded.

The kid peered around Din’s leg briefly before hiding behind him again, hands curling in the fabric of his flightsuit.

“I’ve been looking after him,” Din grudgingly admitted, and was surprised when Aysa’s expression softened.

“Is he your Foundling?” she asked.

The question caught Din off-guard and it took him a minute to find the words. “No,” he finally said. “Like I said: I’ve been looking after him.”

Aysa crouched down so she was closer to the baby’s eye level. “Hey, little one,” she said. “Din’s been taking good care of you, I’ll bet.”

Din bristled internally. “I have,” he said shortly, and Aysa glanced up at him.

“I meant it,” she said.

“…I know,” Din lied. He was unfortunately used to people giving him crap for not doing a better job with the kid. Personally, he thought they should try looking after a toddler with both the entire Bounty Hunter’s Guild and the remnants of the Empire breathing down their necks the whole time. See how well they did then.

The kid peered around his leg again and tentatively extended a finger towards Aysa. She smiled and held her own finger out until their hands touched. She had an odd look on her face, and she glanced up at Din. “You feel that?” she asked.

Din looked down at her. “What?”

“The kid, it’s like…. I dunno,” Aysa said. She kept staring into the deep, dark eyes, like pools of onyx. She felt lost in them, drawn in by some unseen power. “Like I can sort of feel he’s there.”

“You are touching him,” Din pointed out, and Aysa wrenched her gaze away.

“Does he have a name?”

Din hesitated.

“…How long have you had him?”

Din briefly closed his eyes. “A few months.”

“You’ve had him for a few months and you haven’t given him a name?”

Din half-lifted his hands in agitation. “I’ve been calling him a Womp-Rat, it’s worked fine for now.”

Aysa groaned. “Well, if you aren’t going to give him a name—“

“I will,” Din insisted. “At some point.”

“Well, I can’t just call him ‘Womp-Rat’,” Aysa said. “Baby?”

“Call him Baby if you want, I don’t care.” Din picked Baby up and carried him back to the bunk. “You were supposed to have a nap,” he scolded.

Baby reached out for his face, claws scraping lightly against the visor as he cooed.

Din sighed and set him down. “Stay,” he repeated.

Aysa leaned against the doorframe of the medbay, watching with a neutral expression carefully fixed on her face. Maybe Din was onto something about the helmet rule. “He might not be your Foundling, but you’re definitely his dad,” she said.

“We have the same ears,” Din said dryly.

“And hair, I’ll bet,” Aysa said. She glanced at Baby. “You wanted to lay low because of him?”

Din nodded.

“Alright.” Aysa let out a low breath. “I can point you towards some jobs,” she finally said. “There’s too many for me to claim them all, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding work. My apartment’s not too far from here—we could put Baby in a crate, hide him under a blanket, get him there easily enough.”

Din stifled a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Great, glad that’s settled,” Aysa said. “I think you owe me some information now.”

Din’s stomach turned over, not just at the memory but at the knowledge of what he’d have to break to her. “Yes.”

“About the Mandalorians.”

Din turned and climbed up the ladder into the cockpit; Aysa followed, ignoring the way her armor pinched uncomfortably. She was used to it by now.

Din was already sitting in the pilot’s seat when she came up, and he gestured at the seat in the corner. She sat, watching him nervously.

“It was called the Purge,” Din said. He turned back to the galaxy map, calling up a hologram of Mandalore—now a desolate, smoking wasteland. “It didn’t happen overnight, but Mandalore was driven almost to extinction. The tribe that took me in was one of the first to go into hiding. How long ago was your clan killed?”

“Sixteen, almost seventeen years ago,” Aysa said. “I was four.”

That made her a little over a decade younger than him, then. He nodded, head bowed in sympathy. “Yours was one of the last to be wiped out,” he said. “My tribe thought we were the only ones left. There’s about thirty of us now, but our numbers keep growing with Foundlings as the years pass.”

Aysa looked like she wanted to ask something; Din could guess what.

He killed the hologram so they wouldn’t have to look at it. “You want to join?”

And at this, she hesitated. “It would mean adopting your Way,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“I think so, yes,” Din said, almost apologetically.

Aysa slumped back in her seat. “I couldn’t do that,” she said. “I… I know I don’t have much of a history with my culture, but it is mine. A-and if I’m the only one who’s left, I gotta preserve what I can, don’t I?”

Din nodded. “I understand,” he said, and he did. It was hard, impossibly so, to give up your sense of self for the sake of fitting in. His thoughts wandered to Omera and he wondered briefly how her village was faring.

“Would I still be allowed to… meet them, maybe?” Aysa asked hopefully, and Din could have kicked himself.

“Of course,” he said. “They would be pleased to know others survived.”

Aysa beamed and threw her arms around his neck before he could react; he startled and pushed her off him and she backed away, apologizing profusely.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, I just—it’s like—I’m sorry, I’m just, you know?” she said, wringing her hands.

Half-amused by her enthusiasm, half-nettled at having his personal space invaded, he nodded. “I know,” he said. “It’s good to not be alone.”

“When can I meet them?” Aysa asked, her eyes shining.

Din gnawed on his lip. When he finally spoke, he sounded rather sheepish. “That’s just the thing,” he said. “I don’t know where they are.”

Aysa’s face fell briefly before determination took its place. “Well then,” she said. “Guess that means we’ll just have to go find them.”

[shiroselia]

If only younger Manda could see me now <- Has so many fucking shipfics planned how am I sitting here age 20 having just discovered I can apply my insane literary analysis abilities to my writing and I've decided I'm going to do with this what I've always known I was destined for

Giving myself the content nobody else fucking can

[tanadidreamer]

Pretending

Notes: Rhys and Kayla belong to the wonderful @outcastcommander and this is a continuation of Come Back!

(((((((((()))))))))))))))

Jax’s good eye drifted open as he felt a familiar presence enter the makeshift medical tent to see Kayla moving towards him, which caused the teen to roll over onto his side with his back facing the older girl as he closed his eyes and pretend to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Jax.” Kayla said as she sat beside the cot. “What’s wrong? More migraines?”.

“Like you care!” Jax muttered as he glared at the tent wall. “I’m not an idiot, okay? Jordan was right, you just used me! Just like everybody else!”.

“Jax…..”.

Jax sat up and turned on her. “You abandoned me there, Kayla! For what, huh? A good meal and a warm bed? Some shiny coins?” Jax demanded as he attempted to shove her away, which just lead to him falling against her and tears brimmed his good eye.

“I…..I couldn’t be anywhere near my mother.” Kayla answered quietly as she actually hugged him as Jax noticed something off about her presence, there was somebody else here aside from Bralor, who was quietly observing from where he had been going over some paperwork. “I...It wasn’t safe, not for the….the baby.”.

“You’re……” Jax began to say. “That scary blond…..he’s the dad, isn’t he?”.

Kayla nods slightly as she rested her chin on his head. “I didn’t……”.

“You didn’t abandon me?” Jax asked quietly and hopefully as he leaned against her before something dawned on him. “W-what are we going to do? Your mama and my father both want to make you pay! What if they go after the baby to get to you? The Trues are probably going to cast us out too! What are we going to do!?”.

“Hey, shhh, shh, don’t get yourself worked up again.” Kayla muttered. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We always do, yeah?”.

“Like hell, I’ll let Jaster cast you two out.” Bralor said from his corner which startled Kayla and caused her to release Jax and shove him behind her with a snarl. “Relax, kiddo. I’m a neutral party, you two are staying where you are. Even if I have to sedate that farmboy.”.

“How much did you hear?” Kayla snapped back which caused Bralor to smile slightly. “Enough to see that you’re not entirely a coldhearted bitch, my dear.” Bralor answered as he tapped something on his datapad and walked over. “Might I ask how far along you are? What signs have you noticed so far?”.

“Morning sickness.” Kayla answered warily. “My mother was acting strange last time I saw her.”

Bralor hummed thoughtfully at that. “When was that?”.

“About eight weeks ago or so?”.

“I see, and she’s a full-blooded Cathar.” Bralor muttered as he tapped at the datapad. “I’m not going to ask about your, ah, relationship with Rhys. It’s blatantly obvious who’s the father. But I would like you to keep me posted, hybrid species such as yours are known to have various complications.”.

“Speaking from experience?”. “Ingrid Meek is a Zygerrian-Zabrak hybrid, the pregnancy was not easy on her mother at all. Izan Lok ended up losing his wife and child, he was a hybrid like you were but his wife was human, so yeah. Speaking from experience.” Bralor offered them both a soft smile. “But don’t you worry, I’m quite the miracle worker if I do say so myself. You’ll be just fine, kiddo.”.

“He’s not lying.” Jax muttered to his sister as he looked at Bralor warily and felt some weird mix of concern, fondness, and exasperation from the tired doctor. 

“Well, more like very hopeful. But you two can trust me, I did take an oath after all.”.

The two young exiles exchanged wary looks then looked towards the doctor who smiled in return.

(((())))))))

Myles quietly watched as certain warriors glared in his direction which caused him to glare right back at them, damn them and their stupid closeminded behavior. Myles knew his father had his secrets, hell, his mama had her own secrets, that’s how Clan Rau stayed on top of stuff, each member had to have their secrets to keep stuff going. Papa saw potential in Rhys for whatever reason that Myles wasn’t aware, and ancestors knew the old man had a thing with knowing stuff so what did he know about Kayla? Did he see potential in her like he did Rhys?

Then there was the Vizsla heir, that guy…..Myles had never seen somebody so terrified of anybody in his life, Vizsla was utterly convinced they were going to kill him on the spot just for being Force-sensitive.

“Rau!” Myles broke out of his thoughts as Rhys practically roared his surname, which sent a chill up his spine as the older teen moved towards him. Speaking of unexpected behavior.

“Everything alright, Rhys?” Myles asked calmly as he tried to smile at his best friend, only to wince as Rhys glared at him with cold, flat and dark eyes. “Have you lost your kriffing mind, Rau?” Rhys asked as he glared down at the shorter teen. “They’re both Death Watch! Kayla’s already proven she can’t be trusted!”.

“Kayla’s proven that there’s more to her than she seems.” Myles corrected as he raised an eyebrow at Rhys. “You didn’t seem to care what she was when you two were messing around with each other.”.

Without warning, Rhys lashed out by grabbing Myles by his collar and picked him up with ease. “You really need to learn to shut up, Myles.” Rhys snapped as he proceeds to throw Myles to the ground roughly. “Out of all the people I expected to be a Death Watch sympathizer, you’re the last person I expected to be one.”.

“What’s gotten into you? Rhys, I know you love her! And Vizsla, hell, did you see how he reacted to Jaster and Kayla?” Myles snapped back as he quickly stood and glared at the taller teen, as well as shifting his posture to dodge if need be. “He’s more scared of us than hostile!”. 

“I was an idiot to think she could actually change.”.

“How kriffing blind are you, Rhys? She has changed!” Myles pointed at him. “Are you that thickheaded not to see that you did that? She’s Death Watch born, Rhys, survival is a default setting! D’you honestly think she’d choose you over Vizsla?”.

“She….”.

“In all the time we’ve known her, I’ve never seen he that kind and gentle! Even with you!” Myles nod towards where Kaz had taken up camp. “It’s her brother, Rhys. Ancestors know I would do the same if I were in her position, I know you would too!”.

“She tried to kill Jaster!”.

“I’m not changing my mind, Rhys. I honestly don’t know what Papa saw in making you his successor if this is how you’re going to handle this!”.

“Oh, so is that why he’s missing now?”.

Myles tensed at that. “What do you mean by that?” The younger teen asked slowly.

“You heard me.” Rhys answered as he glared at Myles. “Where’s Cedric, Myles? How’d old Montross talk ya into offing your own father?”.

((((())))))

Nico scowled as he dragged Rhys away from Myles, who was being restrained by Alastair and Nina. “Get him out of here.” Nico told the preteen and teenager as he started to back up with Rhys. “Rhys, c’mon, it’s not worth it.”.

“Let go, Nico.” Rhys snapped back.

“He’s thirteen, Rhys. We both known thirteen-year-olds do stupid crud, you need to calm down.” Nico said as he continued to pull Rhys away. “I know you’re hurting but beating the hell out of Myles isn’t going to help, you’ll regret it later on.”.

“Back off, Nico. He started this!” Rhys snapped as he went to elbow Nico who dodged it and kept his grip.

“And I’m ending it, you’re the Cab’alor so start kriffing acting like it!” Nico snapped back as the younglings vanished out of sight. “I know you’re pissed off and hurt, mate, but taking it out on Myles ain’t gonna help. Hell, do you want Madam Rau to kill ya? She’s one scary bitch when she’s want to be, and hurting her kids brings that side out.”.

“Do you think I care? She’d side with me too!”.

“Would she?” Nico asked as he released Rhys and let the younger man turn on him. “Rhys, listen to yourself! That kid looks up to you as a mentor! Clan Rau does shit like this all the time, we may not agree but they always have their…..”.

Without warning, Nico was cut off by a quick, but painful sucker punch that decked him. “Y’know, for somebody who’s supposedly mute, you sure like to talk a lot.” Rhys snipped as he looked down at Nico coldly. “Hell, are you adopted or something? Every Mereel here is against this except you!”. “My uncle….”.

“He’s just making Bralor happy, you know how vicious that man can be.”.

Nico sighed as he sat up and wiped at his nose, duly noting the blood on his hand. “That better?” Nico asked as he went to pick himself up and just looked at Rhys coolly. “Because the first shot was free, next time I’ll return the favor.”.

Nico really had no problems admitting he preferred talking over fighting, but he was no pushover either. Rhys could be like this with anybody else but Nico didn’t appreciate it one bit and he glared at the younger man who snarled at him.

“Listen, I might not like Kayla being here but what about that kid, Rhys? What were we supposed to do? Hand him back over to Tor to become manda knows what?” Nico proceeds to question as he stepped away from Rhys. “So, tell me, Cab’alor, what would Cedric do? You…..”. Nico stepped to the side as Rhys went to punch him again and stook his foot out to send the asshole stumbling a couple of steps. “You really aren’t listening, are you?!” Rhys snapped back. “Kayla….” “Broke your heart and Myles was doing what his daddy would’ve wanted so you tried to beat him up.” Nico chimed in as he frowned at Rhys. “Mate, you are a strange one. The Rhys I thought I knew would’ve probably tried to help calm that kid down, understood why Kayla did what she did, but this? Who are you, Rhys?”.

“I could ask you the same, Nico.” Rhys snapped as he tackled Nico to the ground with a clash of metal and a snarl from both young men.

[lizzybeth1986]

Nuestra Familia (RCD MC: Astrid)

Book: Red Carpet Diaries

Rating: G

Pairing: Astrid-centric, minor Seth x Astrid

Summary: Astrid realises she doesn't know her family as well she had thought. Minor crossover with The Freshman/The Sophomore/The Junior.

Author's Note: This is a bit late for MC Appreciation Week, but I figured I'd put it out there anyway. This is my origin story for Astrid Ortega, my second RCD MC, who is involved with Seth. There's a cameo of one character from TF/TS/TJ in the end and I have a feeling you folks have already figured out who it is 😅 I used (of course) the "crossover" prompt from this list for my fic. I'm tagging @choices-mc-rules, in case they would still like to reblog this.

Translations:

Nuestra familia - "our family" in Spanish.

Chanclas - slippers/flip-flops

Tres leches cake - Typically a very moist chiffon cake soaked in a mixture of evaporated milk, condensed milk and heavy cream. Tres leches literally means "three milks".

Abuela - one of the terms used for ‘grandmother’ in Spanish.

Ita - Short for Abuelita, also used for grandmothers. Astrid calls her grandmother the former, her mom Teresa calls her grandmother the latter.

Manda Huevos - Can mean a lot of things according to context, but generally used to express a range of emotions, such as annoyance, disappointment, contempt or disbelief. In this context, Teresa means “it's not fair”.

If I've gotten anything wrong in terms of references, please do tell me, and I'll definitely fix it in the fic.

“One more foot inside my kitchen and it'll be my chanclas for you later.”

Teresa Ortega said these words to her daughter Astrid, in the same tone one would use to offer a guest some tea.

It wasn't that her mom didn't allow her kids to help with the cooking. She did. Salome was too young to do much but set the table yet but Astrid (and her big sister Letitia, whenever she was home) often pitched in to help with the meal.

But heaven help anyone who tried to help Mom with her tres leches cake.

This recipe was from Mom's Ita’s faded little diary, passed down to her by her mother on the condition that she would learn its recipes off by heart. It was her pride and joy, Mom would often say. Her baby before her actual babies came along.

And today it was even more essential Mom get this cake right. Astrid's abuela was visiting, and ever since Astrid's mother insisted on naming her Astrid (“She’s already named my first and last - at least leave the middle one to me!”) she could do nothing right.

Perhaps it would've been easier to handle if Dad wasn't Abuela's only son, if Mom had someone she could jointly ignore Abuela with, if they had cousins they could play with while the adults sorted out their issues. Or perhaps not. Still, it would have been nice to know.

“Easy, mom, I'm not going to touch your precious cake,” Astrid said, grinning, “Lemme demolish it at lunch instead.”

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't tempted, though. She could get the scent of baked cake wafting in all the way from her bedroom, and her mother was already starting to combine Carnation milk, condensed milk and 1/4th of a cup of heavy cream into a thin, but somewhat creamy, mixture.

Mom raised her eyebrows. “Why are you here, then?”

Astrid felt the muscles around her neck tense up, but schooled her face to a look of injured innocence. “What, can't I just want to talk to my mom once in a while?”

She craned her neck a little further behind Astrid, a tiny frown beginning to form between her brows. “What's that you're holding behind your back?”

Ding! The cake was ready now, just in time for soaking. Astrid let out a sigh of relief. She wanted Mom to see this wedding card, yes - it was why she came to the kitchen in the first place - but now was probably not the time for questions. Questions about family or about secrets. Not when she knew how important it was for her mother to get her weekend cakes right.

“Family” was always a big deal around the Ortega table. Dad was his mother's only child, and Mom’s parents passed on long before any of them were ever born. Her father was as annoyed by Abuela's antics as her mother was, but it never stopped him from having her visit every Sunday because “she's the only family we have left”.

It was as if he needed her to keep himself rooted, as if without her he would be floating aimlessly, no aim or identity, taking his wife and children down that path with him. Abuela knew this. By God, did she know this.

Or so I thought, Astrid said to herself, gripping the wedding card tightly and creating new creases where the word Ortega was written.

Mom was gritting her teeth now, carefully pouring the three-milk mixture over the cake and muttering to herself. “One more word about dry cake this time and I'll give her soggy toast, I swear I will.”

Astrid would have stood up last week and said something to Abuela, if only Mom would let her. It was probably a good thing Leticia wasn't around, she'd fire shots at Abuela for less. She was protective over all of them and often in the heat of the moment she'd forget she’d be landing them all in further trouble.

She was still muttering. “Wants chiffon cake. Screams bloody murder if I use box mix. What, Teresa, looking for shortcuts again?” Mom's voice was raised in an accurately nasal imitation of Abuela's voice. It was almost like she'd forgotten Astrid was there. “Then I make it from scratch like she wants. Then it's Oh Teresa this is so dry oh Teresa it tastes like sawdust. Why else do you think I use box mix, eh? You want it from scratch and you want moist. ¡Manda Huevos!”

The diatribe kept Mom occupied while she finished pouring, so Astrid kept silent. Mom needed this. This wasn't something she can say in front of Letitia (resulting in another Sunday screaming match) or Dad (what would he do?) or Salome (no way would the kid ever take Salome, language! seriously again). Mom needed someone to have her back, no matter how silently or secretly. And that someone had better be her.

“If only Linda had stayed…”

Astrid froze. “What did you say?”

Mom looked up, blinked twice, then stiffened. “Nothing. Nothing.”

Silently, Astrid handed over the card she'd been holding, all this time. She found it while searching for her dad's treasured García Lorca poetry collection, hidden between a page that exalted love and a page that mourned loss.

Mom took it from her, her eyes widening as she read the words.

LINDA ORTEGA

and

DOMINIC SANDOVAL

request the honour of your company at their wedding.

“Dad always told us he was all Abuela has, right,” Astrid said, “The only Ortega for miles around."

Mom answered by busying herself with more activity than ever. Keeping the soaked cake in the fridge. Pouring the remaining milk mixture into two glasses. Washing her hands. Washing the dishes.

“I'll do that for you,” Astrid took a plate from Mom's hands, “Just talk to me.” She grabbed a sponge and dish washing soap, cleaning vigorously. “All this time, Dad's been telling us Abuela's the only family he has, Mom. Like, he has no one else. Like, we have no sisters or brothers besides the three of us. Was he lying?”

“You're wrong,” Mom said, her voice suddenly sounding sharper, harder, “Abuela's the only family he has left. Your father didn't lie.”

“Just omitted the truth, yeah,” Astrid wished she knew how she felt about this. Right now there was so much she was feeling that she didn't exactly know where to begin. “There's no “together with our parents” above their names either. Not like yours’.”

Mom sighed, picked the card up, then held up two glasses of milk-mixture in front of her. “Take one and give the other to your sister. I have a lot of work to do.”

On any other day, Astrid would have grabbed that glass and relished its creaminess, wiping the milk-moustache off her mouth with a flourish. But today no amount of sweetness was going to take away that weird metallic taste in the roof of her mouth.

“I'm not done asking about this,” Astrid said, scowling, “to you or to Dad. If I have aunts and cousins out there, that's something I wanna know.”

Astrid did try in the weeks to come. But she never saw the wedding card again, and neither Mom or Dad ever responded when she raised the topic again. Still. It felt nice to dream.

Every time Abuela made a snide remark at lunch, she imagined her cousins there. A snarky younger girl who’d make smartass comments. A strong boy her age who’d shut Abuela up with just a glare. A nice aunt who’d take Mom's mind off all this nonsense. It didn't help much, but it felt nice.

It felt nice knowing she had company out there. Somewhere.

--

6 years later.

“Donuts, Iowa?” Seth’s eyes were gleaming at the prospect. He was more a bag-of-chips kinda guy most days, but he also liked having massive sugar rushes before a comedy gig.

“As long as the insides of six of those are practically spilling over with fruit jam, I'm game,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It felt exhilarating, freeing. She hadn't felt this normal in a while - normal enough to kiss her boyfriend without worrying about paparazzo jumping out from a bush. There was a guy in a leather jacket she didn't recognize - three blocks across - looking at her like he wanted to talk, but not in a way that made her feel unsafe.

That was the nice thing about Northbridge. People looked, sure, but they were less likely to make you feel like an exhibit from a zoo.

“Wait here, yeah?” Seth said, planting a kiss on the lips instead, “I'll be back before you can finish spelling “OHIO” with your arms.”

Astrid laughed. Seth said the most Ohio things sometimes. Neither of them had had this much fun since she was offered a lead role in Tender Nothings, which was why Seth always jumped at a chance to take up gigs in Northbridge, and why he always offered to take Astrid along when she was free.

The guy from before stepped forward a few minutes after Seth entered the donut shop. The summer heat must have been too much for him - his leather jacket was now slung over his shoulders. “Um, hello. Astrid Ortega?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, mouth pursed into a thin line, a tiny curl slipping carelessly from his hair and resting on his forehead. She caught a peek at the tail end of a bird tattoo (Owl? The tail looked pointy) on his left arm.

“Yeah,” Astrid said, wondering whether it was her or Seth he wanted to talk to, “but I don't know what your name is.”

“ Zigmund. Zig for short,” he replied, looking behind him from time to time, “My sister Lucy’s a big fan. Asked me to help her get an autograph from you.”

“Is she here?”

“Yeah. But she doesn't want to come out. She's shy.”

Ah. So that was the cherry-red blur barely hidden by that building. She learned long ago that no matter how friendly you appeared, your image would precede you and intimidate people anyway. Autographs were great, but somehow she didn't want to stop at just that.

“Would she come out now if I asked?” she gave him her sunniest smile, “Tell her I won't bite.”

Zig hesitated, then nodded. Astrid watched him walk to the other building, move his hands expressively as he tried to convince his sister to join him (from that angle he almost looks like Letitia, Astrid thought), and return with a curly-haired, starry-eyed teenage girl.

“H-hey,” she said, then blushed, clearly embarrassed by her nervousness. Silently, she hands over her autograph book. She keeps her eyes studiously away from Astrid's face. “I, um, I like mystery films, and I really, really liked Tender Nothings.”

A girl after my own heart. “Maybe you'll like Sunset Boulevard, then,” she said, smiling.

Astrid could have just signed and left it at that, but there was something about these two. Something about the way they stood together, or exchanged glances, or something, that reminded her of home. Which was silly. But it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to leave a good impression on them.

“What would you like to be when you grow up, Lucy?”

Lucy didn't miss a beat. “Ballet dancer. Like my brother.”

Astrid smiled, particularly at the look the girl gave Zig. Yes, she could see on second glance that even though some people would say he didn't have the body of a dancer, he held himself with a certain grace, a certain lightness that belied a stronger core. Hit by a sudden rush of inspiration, she quickly scribbled a little note to go with her signature, and asked Lucy to read it.

To Lucy and Zig, future (hopefully!) best ballet dancing duo in America. Be sure to save me a seat when you folks get famous. Love Always, Astrid.

“Wowwww,” Lucy whispered. Zig suppressed his smile, trying not to let how he felt show, and failed. A corner of his mouth lifted upwards, revealing an almost-invisible dimple.

The two left before Seth brought his box of donuts,but they thanked her at least thrice as they walked away.

“Wait till I tell Mom about this,” Astrid overheard Lucy tell her brother as they left, “I told you she'd be really, really nice.”

“You did,” there was a note of indulgence in Zig's voice.

"Ortegas all around the world. Wherever we're from, we're nice.”

Had Seth come out a moment later, Astrid would have probably walked up to them and asked. Perhaps asked them where they were from and their parents’ names.

But Seth was here, with donuts, and there was never a moment she could take her eyes off either.

“Do you know those two?” Seth asked her, passing her a tres leches cake donut that was claimed to be one of their best, “They looked familiar.”

“”No,” Astrid replied, closing her eyes in bliss. Mmmm. The treat was taking her back to Des Moines, back to home, back to her mother's little kitchen. “But I wouldn't mind meeting them again.”

--

[sithhoplite]

Lak is on leave

In the AU Lakverse the Empire has launched an assault on the mid-rim to build a buffer zone around Leritor. Lak of course volunteered for this and is now home on leave. The problems of the battlefield follow her home despite the safety of her parents house. The dialogue is from a few rp chats @lordviridis and I have had. 

********************************************** Night had fallen on Kaas City as the city slumbered awaiting the new day to begin. The war in the Mid-Rim had been ongoing for over 9 months, three planets had fallen to the the might of the Empire, Nexus Ortal, Manda, and Lahsbane. The final prize that would provide a secure buffer zone for Leritor was the planet Ord Pardron. To prepare for that invasion the planet had been cut off with a blockade but they still had yet to yield. The realization that a ground invasion of this heavily fortified yet small planet would have to take place to subdue it.

The three legions that had seen most of the hardest fighting, the 75th, 33rd and 11th were sent to Leritor to rearm and get replacements. This lull allowed many of those a chance to go on leave to rest and see loved ones. Lord Lakadimos, commander of the 11th Imperial Legion was one such person.

The adopted daughter of Alastar (Darth Mortis) and Indran( Darth Kalma) Marwill, apprentice to the late Darth Gravus and current apprentice to Darth Scyph. She and her legion had distinguished themselves in multiple battles on the three planets. Tonight however she just wanted to be Lak. Looking down at her chrono she knew that her parents would either be watching the holo or reading in the living room. If anything they were creatures of habit.

The taxi she had taken from the spaceport dropped her off a little ways from the house so she could mask her force signature to surprise them. Walking up the path to the house she stopped and took a deep breath before opening the door. Greeting her was a human slave, Nico. Putting her finger to her lips she saw he understood what she was telling him, he backed away slowly and out of sight.

As she made her way to the living room she could hear the holo, that was good it would help mask her footsteps. Her stomach twisted into knots as the sight of seeing them though, that was unexpected. They had kept in contact exchanging letters throughout the campaign but Lak had kept hers very sanitized as to not alarm them. The letters she sent to her two younger step-brothers were even tamer. It was only after she was wounded that they had more of an inkling of how dangerous it was, three months after the fact. The scar from that encounter remained over her right eye.

Turning into the room she broke out into a large grin at seeing her parents. She was only 24 when Darth Gravus had been killed and they had offered to adopt her, 25 when it became official and she was now only 27. These two had taken her into their family, given her their name and treated her as one of their own. It had been a bit turbulent that first year but she had settled into the family and was better for it.

She knew it wouldn’t take long before one of them looked up and saw her but she etched this scene into her memory to hold onto when she left in two weeks time. Slowly her mother’s head rose and her eyes locked onto Lak. The smile that crossed her face was wonderful. Before she had time to register much else she was in the arms of Indran.

She held onto her mother savoring the feeling of her mother’s force wrapping around her. Smiling up at the warm red eyes as she pulled away for a moment, “Hi mom, surprise.”

Mortis who wasn’t one to be very affectionate physically took her into his arms. He wrapped his Force around her and she loved it. A kiss on the top of her head he let go.

“How long are you home for?” he asked knowing the campaign wasn’t finished

“Two weeks, all the legions are getting rearmed and put back into full fighting strength for the final push. Most of us who could choose to go home on leave..”

She could tell they were scrutinizing her and it made her slightly uncomfortable. Indran ran her fingers over her scar that ran across her right eye. Lak closed her eyes at the touch.

“Mother I’m fine, it’s over five months old now.”

Mortis called a slave over and she knew it was to get her room prepared for the night.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming,we would have met you at the spaceport.?”

“I wanted to surprise you father, and I succeeded.” she grinned rather proud of herself.

After catching up and eating Lak headed upstairs to go to bed. She had hoped that being in her own bed, in the safety of her parents home would deter if not at minimum lessen the nightmares. Sadly she was wrong.

Two Days Later

Lak could feel the gaze of both of her parents on her as she pushed the breakfast around her plate. Their worry over her clear in the Force. Looking up at her mother, "Nightmares, some nights bad, other nights bearable. Last night was a bad one. I've gotten used it it. I'll be fine mother, just tired. I found a way to fall into a dreamless sleep.” Glancing in her fathers direction, “ I will replace the scotch I drank."

"Lak, you don't have to get used to it. You know you can talk to any of us and if you need it, we can find professional help. I know several people who know to be discreet."

She sighs, "But if it's just a good night of sleep that you want for starters, there are some teas that can assure you a dreamless sleep for a night or two."

Lak scoffs at her mother's suggestion, "Who the hell am I going to talk to in the middle of a war zone exactly? I can’t tell them, oh wait an hour to attack so I can talk to someone about the night I had. I don’t even know if I will get leave again before this is all over, and that’s if  I survive. The amount of close calls I have had has gone up with each battle. My eye, a Jedi who got a little too close for comfort. Just an inch either way and I would be dead. You don’t understand mom."

"You can always call us. And if you want, I'm sure my father would be happy to share ways to deal with all those feelings. He's had more personal experience than I've had and knows how to deal with those feelings."

"War is never easy, and we all do our part. What you are doing is hard, but it is important. But know that if you want to do something else, we'd be happy to find you a place where you can do what you want."

"I am a soldier, that is what I have trained for since I was 7. There is no greater honor than giving one’s life for the Empire and I will if I have too.You realize I may not make it through this, our final target is the most heavily fortified planet we have tried to take. My men depend on me." she gets up and starts to pace to ward off the anger that is growing  "It just tears me apart seeing them die in front of me and not being able to save them. I'm tired mom, just tired." she sits back down defeated for the moment

Indran gets up, wrapping her arms around Lak as her fingers gently comb through Lak's hair. "I know dear. I know you feel responsible for each and every one of them, but you are more than just a soldier. Never forget that."

Lak groans as a recent injury to her shoulder shoots a sharp pain but doesn't move from the comfort and safety of her mother’s arms. "I am and will always be a soldier mom, it’s who I am and who Gravus trained me to be. I have to prove myself more than the others since I was wasn't born Sith and according to some my blood is “tainted”...when I'm in the thick of battle I don’t feel I just act, it’s a feeling I can't get anywhere else and watching the flag be raised over a new capital is, I can’t even describe it."

Indran notices Lak's reaction, sending a small amount of healing energy to sooth out the worst pain. She was hardly a healer, but this little she could do."As long as you feel it is what you want. But never think you need to prove yourself to us. That you have done time and time again already.”

“Wait, did you mention you would need to replace the Scotch?” Mortis asks as what she said finally sank in

She snorts, "You aren't supposed to take up our bad habits you know."

"It wasn't your bad habit I picked up Father, you can thank Gravus for that one. He always did have some top shelf alcohol."

Indran does her best to hide her laughter as Mortis shakes his head. "Of course you would."

"Well she isn't wrong, Julian always did have the good stuff," Indran snickers.

“It works when we have a couple days of downtown in the field and allows me to sleep. Why fix what isn’t broken?” she asks realizing where this conversation might lead too. She was in no mood to be lectured for drinking to deal with things they could not possibly understand. “I have a feeling where this is going to lead and I am not in the mood for it right now. I need to report in at the Citadel and see if I am needed for anything.”

It was just after one in the morning and Lak bolted up from another nightmare. Groaning she swung her feet to the floor running her hands through her hair. Walking down the stairs she went into the study where she knew her father kept the alcohol. Unknown to her she was being watched. Bending down she picked up the other bottle of scotch and a glass, before she had a chance to pour a glass a voice stopped her.

“Lakadimos.”

Hearing her full name come from her father’s lips she froze. Turning around quickly she saw his red eyes staring at her in the dark. “Put it away, now.” His tone left no room for argument and Lak obeyed without hesitation.

“Father...what….wha...what are you doing up?” Lak stammered

“I was working but I sensed you were on your way down and wanted to see if you were going to do what I thought you would. Congratulations for not surprising me.” seeing she was going to try and say something he cut her off. “Do not act as if you were not going to drink tonight to ward off any further nightmares, I am not stupid.”

“I can’t sleep so I thought I would have a drink or two then try to go back to bed.”

“Here I thought your mother and I covered this during breakfast, it seems I was mistaken.”

“I-”

“I don’t want to hear excuses Lakadimos, this is not healthy and you know it. You are ignoring the issues that are causing this and simply drowning yourself in very expensive bottles. As your father I can not let it continue.” noticing she was getting up he turned to her, “Sit down, we are not finished. I can not understand what you have seen or done, that is true but that is because you will not talk to either of us. You are here for a short time and we would like to enjoy it, not have to lecture you and lock away the alcohol.”

Lak’s head dropped as the words sank in. She knew he was right, jumping into a bottle was not helping, it hadn’t so far and there was no reason think it would now. Looking up at her father, her eyes showed sorrow, pain, and regret. Putting her face in her hands she tried to control the tears that threaten to spill over. Wiping her eyes, “I’m sorry father. I don't know how else to deal with this. ”

Walking over he pulled her into his arms and kissed her head. “It’s ok, you are having to do things neither your mother and I can understand. We are here for you and want to help.” a slave brought in freshly made tea and set it on the small table. “Drink this, you will have a dreamless sleep tonight I promise.”

It was quiet while she drank the tea that was surprisingly good. “Walk me to my room, I have something I want you to read.”

They walked up the stairs, Mortis watching her in case she started falling asleep so she didn't tumble down. Waiting at her door Lak returned quickly with what looked to be a journal.

“I..I can’t talk about it, not tonight. I kept this journal from the day we left here until I landed two days ago. You and mom can read it. Maybe it will give you an idea of what I have been through and we can go from there.” walking over she wrapped her arms around his waist putting her head on his chest. His Force wrapped around her as did his arms, giving his hurting child what comfort he could.

“Get some sleep Lak.”

“I’ll try dad, love you.”

Kissing her head, “I love you too, now go.”

He waited until she was in bed before he walked back to the master bedroom. The light was still on as he approached which alerted him that Indran was still awake.

“Everything alright dear?”

“No, I caught Lak trying to use what was left of the scotch to sleep. I stopped her and gave her tea instead.” he told her as he pulled her close.  “She gave us this to read.”

Indran spied what was in his hand,”Is it a journal?”

“Yes,  hers. She said she couldn't talk about it but if we read this we would have an idea of what she has been through. As much as I hate invading her privacy she's right.”

As they read random entries the horror of what their daughter had seen and done began to sink in. They both knew war was horrible but not like this.  It now made more sense why Lak would want to escape reliving this by almost anyway she could.

Indran could feel and see the worry in her husband's eyes,”We need to get her help before she leaves.  I'll make a few calls tomorrow.”

The following morning Lak walked into the dining room sitting down for breakfast ignoring the concerned looks from her parents. She could tell they had read at least portions of her journal by the way the Force weaves around her.

Looking at her parents, "I need help to deal with this mom. Dad was right, I can't keep running from this. I'm sure you have more of an understanding now."

"I'm glad that you realise that. And thank you, for telling us what you've gone through. We know it can't have been easy." Indran tells her,  concern clear in her eyes

"I'm sorry I drank the scotch. It was good though, really good and smooth.” she ignored the glare she received from Mortis, “I hope my journal wasn't too worrying for you.” the words spilling out before she can stop them

"It's fine Lak. We'll find you a therapist who knows how to help." Indran tell her knowing how nervous Lak is at the moment

"We are glad you felt able to share that. It helps us to understand what you've been through and what you need."

"Thank you mother. It's hard to talk about but I need too. Are there are any other questions you want to ask? I’ll answer if I can.”

"Only if you don't mind us asking. And if you don't want to answer, we understand that. But is there any way for you to relax during any of this. They can't keep you at the frontlines all the time, exhausted soldiers aren't at their best."

"Yes they could keep us there and have for quite a while during some of the long stretches.We get maybe a couple of days in the rear but it's not nearly enough. Writing helps, that is why I have my journal."

"Is there anything you need there that we could get you?"

"Food packages are always welcome, as are books and of course letters. Getting letters always helps, it reminds us of why we fight."

"Of course."

"Caitlin will use this as an excuse to bake, won't she?"

"Dear, she has a hobby. Just because you think it's not suitable for a young Sith won't make her stop."

“Caitlin’s baking is great, I’m not about to say no to anything she makes.”

Quickly Lak’s somber mood returns, "I guess I should stop drinking too.  I just rarely have time to really deal with what I've seen and it’s not that hard to get ahold of alcohol being Sith.”

"Yes, that would help. It might feel like an easy solution now, but in the end it will become a crutch."

"I'm sorry if I've disappointed you by all this." Lak drops her head not looking at either of them

"Lak, you haven't disappointed us."Indran sighs, "We just wish you'd have been open about all of this earlier."

"I didn't want to worry you. That's why I hesitated tell you when I got wounded the first time." she makes a vague gesture towards the scar on her eye

"Lak, we are your parents. It's literally our job to worry and to help you through all this."

“You have three real kids to look after, I should be the lowest on your list.” Lak snarks back

“Excuse me, what did you say?” anger coming from both Indran and Alastar , “You are our child, biological or not. When your mother and I adopted you we promised you and ourselves we would treat you no different than your siblings and we have. You may not share our blood but we love you just the same. I don’t ever want to hear that coming from you again. Is that understood?”

Thoroughly cowed by her fathers lecture Lak nods.  A moment later speaking but not looking up out of shame, "I'm afraid I won't make it through this."

Indran and Alastar share a worried glance before turning back to Lak. "Lak, you are strong and we know you have the power to triumph in this battle. It might currently feel overwhelming, but you have all the power and ability to get through this."

"I know that but I've had way too many close calls the last time we fought mom. This has changed me...but I'll do my duty no matter what." without knowing it Lak has reached out to her parents through the Force

They both easily feel Lak's attempt at seeking them through the Force, both answering on almost instinct to it. "I know. Please dear, just try to rest while you are here and not think about it more than necessary. I promise we'll find you someone who understands this better than we do and you feel comfortable talking with."

"You're right. I'm glad to be home, I missed you." Lak gets up and walks to Mortis leaning against him. "I'm going to go for a walk. "

Mortis runs his fingers through her hair. "Would you like some company?"

"Yea, wanna join me dad?"

“Of course.”

Indran watches as they get up and head towards the garden. The worry she has continues to grow thanks in part to the conversation they just had. She hopes that spending some time with Alastar will make her daughter more relaxed. Picking up her holo she begins to make a few discrete calls for a therapist.

[pinknerdpanda]

Secret Santa

Word Count: 1188 Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam Warnings: Dean, Alcohol, Annoyed Sam Requested by: Nonnie

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Panda Presents celebration. This was beta’d by @hannahindie and @wheresthekillswitch.

x

Secret Santa

“You don’t think it could be Jody, do you?”  Dean’s brow creases in concentration as he sips his beer lazily. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jody. Who doesn’t? Amirite, Sammy?” Dean elbows his younger brother suggestively at the same time Sam is bringing his own bottle to his lips. Golden droplets of liquid spill onto the table and Sam jerks his head to look at Dean, annoyed. Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he shrugs, “Sorry. I mean, I just don’t think of her like that.”

Sam shoots me a look across the table and I shrug. For the last two days, the only topic of conversation Dean has been interested in discussing is that of the identity of his “secret admirer.” The envelope actually says “Secret Santa” but Dean seems to have made up his own mind as to the intentions of the mysterious benefactor.

As soon as he'd laid eyes on the neatly wrapped package, he started rattling off the names of would-be senders. The list includes every woman Dean has ever laid eyes on, it would seem. Everyone from Donna, to Rowena, the lady in Lebanon that cuts his hair, the waitress at the truckstop in Reno; for a second he wondered if Claire had sent it. But the thought was too troubling for him to think about too long.

Every time he brings up another candidate, my heart sinks a little more. Of course, he doesn’t realize that, because he’s hardly stopped to breathe, much less consider the idea that the only woman he has yet to name may actually be said sender.

Sam knows. He’d guessed before I’d said a word. And now, as I endure another one of his long, deliberate stares, and Dean rambles on, I regret the whole thing.

“I mean, I can’t say I would blame her,” Dean’s lips twist in a cocky smile. I don't even know who he's talking about and I'm not sure he really knows at this point either. “I mean, she’s not the first woman to wish she had another ride on the Dean-train. Woo-woo!” He honest to God holds his fist up, imitating a conductor blowing the whistle on a train.

That’s more than Sam can handle and he stands, beer in hand and makes his way to the furthest pool table. Dean turns to face me, and the knot in my gut tightens. His olive green eyes are sparkling in the light directly above our table and being this close I can count the freckles splayed across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. He smiles, the lines around the corners of his eyes pronounced and his lip curves up on one side. He takes another swig, and wipes his thumb across his lower lip and I swear on everything that is good and holy, it’s in slow motion.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Dean’s gaze is locked on mine and I can feel my brains scrambling. “You got any ideas?”

My eyes dart to the bottle between my palms and I bring it to my lips, trying to stall for time. I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was just one of those times where you see something and think of someone and just know that they will love it. So you buy the thing. But then, to keep the thing from being misinterpreted as too big of a thing, or to avoid questions like “How did you know I have always wanted this thing? Are you stalking me?” or “What does this thing mean? Does this mean you want this thing to be a thing? Or is it just a thing?”, you take the anonymous route, rather than confessing ten years of unrequited love and hope for the best.

This is not the best. This is the worst.

“Dean,” my eyes roam over every detail of the label on my bottle of beer, refusing to meet his. “I, uh...it’s just that…” I clear my throat. “It was me. I gave you that present.”

There. It’s all out there. For better or for worse, it’s all on the table and there’s nothing I can do to take it back or explain and oh my god is it getting hot in here and the music is just so loud right now, I can’t even…

“I know.”

My mental ranting comes to a screeching halt and I jerk my eyes to meet his. An amused smile is playing at his plush, pink lips and I make a concerted effort to keep from staring at them.

“What?”

“I know it was you.”

All of the anxiety I’d just been swimming in begins to boil in frustration as I gape at him. “How long did you know?”

He licks his lips and looks at the table. “As soon as I opened it.”

“Dean Winchester! You are either lying to me, or you are an asshole,” I roar. He doesn’t look remotely afraid by this, incensing me more. “Actually, the answer is c. all of the above. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, you’re probably right. I can be an ass,” his eyes are warm as they find mine again. “I really didn’t mean to drag it out this long. I just kept thinking you would own up to it eventually. After a while it was fun to watch your reactions and so I tried to see how jealous I could make you. You're really adorable when your face turns that bright pink color and your nose scrunches up. Yeah! Exactly like that.”

I look away, my face on fire; whether it’s from the beer or the frustration or embarrassment, I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter.

“Oh come on, don’t be too upset,” he lays his hand on mine and I try really hard to play it cool and nonchalant. But I wrench my head to look at our hands on the polished table. He chuckles. “I loved it, y/n. It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten. Honest.”

I snort, still not trusting myself to speak and risk looking a bigger fool than I already do.

“Actually, since we’re being honest. I guess,” he starts, his hand trailing up my arm, over the curve of my shoulder and up to my face. His rough thumb sweeps across my cheek and it feels like heaven. “I guess it would be a good time to say,” he leans in and presses his lips to mine. He tastes like mint and beer and for a second I feel like I am floating ten feet off the ground. He pulls back enough to look in my eyes. “I love you, y/n.”

He kisses me again and this time, there’s a fire to it that is exciting and sexy and probably grossly inappropriate in a public setting, but I don’t care. This time, when he pulls back, we are both gasping for air.

“Well, since we are being honest,” I begin. Dean grins, his thumb rubbing absently across my jaw.

“Yeah, y/n?”

“I want a 1964 Mustang convertible for Christmas. Light blue, please.”

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all:

@wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emilywritesaboutdean @fandommaniacx @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @deansdirtyduchess @fandomismyspiritanimal @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @zenia3 @charliebradbury1104 @9769997118 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67  @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @almusanzug @feelmyroarrrr @captainradicalpassion @bethbabybaby @thinkwritexpress-official @akshi8278 @hexparker @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m  @easelweasel @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @sylverminx @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @carryonmyswansong @sandlee44

Christmas Tags: @sillesworldofwriting

[surveys4ever]

26.

Have you ever been in weather below 0 Fahrenheit (-17 Celsius)? ...yes. Literally every year. There’s usually a week or two in January when it gets down to -50 to -75 F. 

Have you ever been caught outdoors away from shelter during a thunderstorm? Maybe when I was a teenager? I’ve definitely been caught in the rain, not sure about a thunderstorm tho.

What’s your favorite macaron flavor? I’ve actually never had a macaron! But I don’t like meringue so I don’t think I’d enjoy them.

How often do you have friends over to your house? Literally never.

Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? YES. The assistant manager at the last job I had was insane. She tried to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to leave town on the weekends in case they needed me. LOL girl bye.

How many times have you stayed at a hotel in the past year, and where? 0, covid.

Have you ever done a flip on a trampoline? Noooo.

What about a flip off of a diving board? I’ve never even been on a diving board.

Are you embarrassed by your school yearbook photos?  I believe in the 10th or 11th grade I hated them but I was on the yearbook committee so I finessed some new ones to put in hehehe.

Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? I believe I learned at school.

Currently how many pictures are on your cellphone? 9,008.

Do you think dimples are cute? Oh hell yeah.

Would you rather chew fruity or minty gum? Minty.

The last time you went to the mall, who did you go with? Beebs!

What’s something you used to collect when you were younger? Rocks and lip balm.

Have you watched a movie today? Yes! We went to see Dracula.

Aside from your own, whose house did you last set foot into? We went to an indoor garage sale a couple weeks ago.

Do you love soft pretzels? They’re alright. They smell better than they taste in my opinion.

Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? Does my dog count? Bc she’s just a drama queen and I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

Are you more likely to like someone before you really know them, or do you feel you like them more after you know a lot about them? True love is when you like them a ton before you actually really know them and then like them even more after.

Do you buy people cards on special occasions, or do you prefer to make your own? I honestly think cards are a huge waste of money so if I do give one, I made it. But I have a Circuit and I’m pretty creatively inclined so it’s pretty easy.

When was the last time you were being hypocritical? It sounds pompous but I honestly think I'm too self aware to by hypocritical.

Where on your body was the last cramp you had? Why did you have this cramp? My hip, because I was sitting weird.

What is the weirdest name you’ve ever heard? Someone I know named their kid Emanda. Unsure if its pronounced ee-manda or just regular Amanda. Haven’t wanted to ask. Another named their kid Albrea. I just call her Algebra. And another named their kid Annekke, pronounced Anika. She will forever be a-neek-ee to me.

Do you get embarrassed when people hear you sing/compliment you on your singing ability? Bold of you to assume I ever let anybody sing.

Are you good at comforting people when they’re upset? I’m the big sister to like a bajillion children. Yes I’m good at it.

Do you have any exercises you do everyday? Newp.

Do you own one of those singing fish? Do you think they are silly or funny? Hahaha I don’t but I literally just saw a Billy Bass at a thrift store yesterday. They were funny then and they’re funny nostalgic now.

Has anyone ever accused you of being bipolar or any other mental disorder? Do you really have any mental disorders? I have a pretty severe anxiety disorder but no one’s accused me of having it because like...it’s pretty obvious? 

Did you buy the last thing you bought with your own money? If not, whose money did you buy it with? Haha yes! We bought movie tickets, a drink, and peanut butter m&ms.

Do you like to put your feet up on the dashboards of cars? Do you parents yell at you if you do that in cars? Our car is too short for that but yeah, my parents always yelled at me for it when I was young.

Which Beatle is your favorite, or do you love them all equally? I wouldn’t say I loved any of them but John Lennon is absolute hot garbage.

Do you enjoy classic rock? If so, who are some of your favorite classic rock artists? Uh...not really?

Did you ever own a Tamagotchi? Yes! They were all the rage in the 6th grade.

Are you more of a dog or cat person?/ Dog, definitely.

Have you ever failed math? I very, VERY narrowly passed the last math course I needed to graduate and I did the math and because of the mark I got on my final, I should have failed by 3% but I got 1% over what I needed to pass. Pretty sure my math teacher just didn’t want to deal with me taking the course over so he passed me BUT my math could have been wrong, haha.

Skittles! What's your favorite color? Lordt. I haven’t purchased skittles in ages. I think I remember red being my favorite?

Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? Yeah, actually.

What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? I would just want my husband to know how much I love him and that I’ll be waiting for him in whatever form of afterlife there is.

Can you sleep with the light on? If I'm dead tired.

What’s the most bizarre horror movie you’ve ever seen? I mean...Dracula is supposed to be a horror movie. The only thing horrific about it was the acting.

What band can’t you stand listening to? I honestly can’t think of one right now.

Would you ever take a lie detector test for your significant other? I mean, if I had to? But we trust each other 100% and I’m brutally honest about everything so he would never require that from me.

What is your favorite Mystery/Crime/FBI related show? Murder, Mystery, & Makeup Mondayssss! Sha na sha sha na sha sha na sha sha sha na shaaaaaaaa!

Would you ever have a bird as a pet? Absolutely not.

How's your relationship between you and your grandparents? I love my mom’s parents to bits. My grandma is one of my absolute favorite people in the world and my grandpa is very quiet but he has a lot of really sweet moments. My dad’s parents are awful fuckin people. My grandfather died like 5 years ago and I really had to try hard to feign sympathy about it to him. My grandmother is still kicking it but we haven’t spoken in over a decade for good reason. She also changed their joint Facebook account to just her Facebook account less than a week after he died loooool. She hated him as much as I did I think. And then my bio dad’s dad is dead but he was also a piece of shit but his mom is a sweetie. We facetime every so often and she holds the phone a grand total of 6 inches away from her face the entire time and tells me the same stories over and over. Bu

Ever had a forbidden love or lover? Newp.

Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No, thank god.

Do you know someone who’s been cremated? My grandma’s dog.

What is your current problem? My eyes are blurry because I’m tired.

Do you like canopy beds? Tbh, canopy beds are the epitome of glamor in my eyes.

What is your favorite animated movie? Onward.

Would you rather live in a small town or a big city? I like medium cities. You won’t get mugged walking down the street, traffic doesn’t absolutely suck, and you can get clear across town in 15 minutes.

If you could summon any animal to come to your rescue, what animal would it be and why? Uh? Why am I in trouble? Why can’t I call a human? What’s happening here?

Have you ever watched The Golden Girls? I tried watching a couple episodes but it didn’t pique my interest.

Did you ever like the Ninja Turtles? Noooo. Beebs loves them though so he tries to make me love them and it’s just not happenin, buddy.

Last alcoholic drink you had? No idea tbh.

What are you known for? For being talented and having big hair.

Has anyone ever threatened you? Oh yeah. There was this one guy who was constantly sending me really graphic messages about how he wanted to put a gun to my head and kill me or he hoped I would get XYZ and die. I tried to block him but he would immediately make 3 more accounts to send me the same shit.

Have you ever gone frog hunting? Noooo.

Do you ever suffer from dry skin? Yessss. My body is the Sahara.

Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal? No, I sleep with a husband.

What’s the weather like right this moment? It’s rainy!

Do you bite on straws, lollipop handles, or ice cream sticks? Nah.

In what type of area was your first sexual encounter? Beeb’s bedroom. His stepfather interrupted and made him come outside to talk to him for some reason and then very weirdly pointed out his half boner? V. uncomfortable all around.

Where is your mother’s side of the family descended from? Somewhere where white people come from idk.

What do you occupy your time with on flights? iPad games usually.

Do you dog-ear pages in books? No, I’m not a heathen.

What’s a made up word of yours? We call pickles ‘pickies’ and hamburgers ‘borgers’ or ‘borgs’ because we’re gross.

Do you use Q-Tips? In my ears? No. To clean out tight spaces of things I've thrifted? Yes.

Ever gone out with somebody you didn’t like? Noooo.

What hero or heroine do you most relate to in history, fiction, or song? ....No.

What makes you dizzy? Getting up too fast usually.

Are your parents liberal or conservative? Bleh, conservative. If you have liberal parents, consider yourself blessed.

Do you like your teeth? Did you have braces? I got away with having just an appliance/Invisaligns but I still don’t like my teeth. They’re perfectly straight and white enough but I have body dysmorphia and for some reason I think they’re atrocious and I hate them??? I can’t explain it.

Are you happy with your height? I’m 5′11 and I wish I was shorter sometimes. Hugging my husband would be easier.

[takadasaiko]

Weird and Perfect (a Rowdy 3 fic)

FFN II AO3

Summary: Martin learned the hard way when he was younger that those that seem to have all the answers don't always give those away out of the goodness of their hearts, and he's not willing to risk their Drummer Girl hurt.

Weird and Perfect

He'd thought they were going to die. It had been a long time since that fear had been so real, but the longer he'd hung there, suspended between the grey-blue tiles that had started to remind him of a tomb for the half-coffin he was strapped to, the more he had felt it coming. The hunger gnawed at him and Cross and Gripps went quiet for long stretches that gave his imagination time to run wild. He checked with them and he could hear how their voices weakened with each passing day and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He'd just hang there until one day one didn't answer. Then, sometime later, he'd lose the other. Maybe if he was lucky he wouldn't outlive them by much. He wasn't sure he could take it.

Then everything had exploded. Literally. The water bottles at either side of his head shattered and more water than should have poured out from them. The glass never had a chance to cut him, though, and somehow he had found himself sitting up in a pool of water, choking on it, and his brothers at his side. Amanda. Amanda had been there, and between trying to remember to breath and the starvation he had been sure he heard her say lunch and point them in the direction of it.

It was chaos, but the more comfortable kind that included feeding and stomping down some baddies that were threatening people they cared about. Vogel just about took them off their feet once the immediate danger had been offset and Martin had held onto the younger Rowdy, ruffling his hair and feeling relief sweep over their link. They were together. He might not know where they were, but they were together and he would never let anything separate them again.

Wendimoor That was the name of the place they were in. It was bizarre and colourful as far as they could see, but the excitement that ran through the little camp and energy that had flooded them after the feeding kept them moving. They danced and hugged and reveled in the fact that they were all close again. Martin had gathered Amanda up in his arms, breathing her scent deep and whispering a soft thank you in her ear. He'd missed her. Damn, he'd missed her, and her arms going around his neck felt like a level of home that he had wondered if he'd ever truly be able to have. They'd only had her for such a short while. It had been like a dream.

Their first night there had been a party that never ended. It was perfect. They had smiled and laughed for the first time in months. It was a celebration, but he couldn't help but notice, even in the midst of all the joy that flooded their senses, Amanda and was distracted. No matter how often someone came for her attention, her gaze always returned to the snail lady Wakti Wapnasi. She didn't smell right, but she had helped Amanda get them out of Blackwing, so Martin was willing to give her at least a little room at first.

They'd been there days now, and it was starting to wear thin. They were friendly enough, welcoming enough, but Martin was getting anxious. So were his brothers. The Bofuki Nepoo were enjoying weaving flowers into their hair and creating something better from the jumpsuits they still wore from their imprisonment, but the Rowdy Three weren't meant to sit still so long. Martin, Cross, and Gripps had been locked in one place for three months. They needed to move.

But Amanda didn't seem to have any interest in moving. She was too focused on this Wakti Wapnasi.

She was spending hours and hours with her each day to the point that she was starting to smell like her. It made Martin nervous. It made him jittery. He hadn't been able to protect his brothers from Blackwing and he'd be damned if they all found each other just to lose Amanda now. He wasn't sure what it was yet, but something was wrong about this. Something bad.

"You do not trust me."

A soft growl left him at the trilling voice behind him. He needed a cigarette, not a forest witch. "I don't know you, lady."

She hummed softly, the sound driving a spike into his brain. He wondered just how far her powers reached. Could she rummage around in there without him knowing? He didn't like that idea. The only ones he was willing to share freely with were the Rowdy Three.

"But you do trust Amanda."

Dark eyebrows drew together. He hated how she said Drummer Girl's name. "Yeah," he grunted. "And she trusts you, but that don't mean she should."

"Why is this?"

Martin stood from the place he had been crouched down, straightening slowly and turning an icy glare on her. He tilted his head a little, his voice slow and deep and dangerous as he spoke. "You come outta nowhere tellin' her you can teach her all these things. Only you have the answers."

"Amanda has the answers," Wakti corrected and Martin stiffened, motioning at her.

"But you've got the way to find them. I've heard the line before. That gives you power over her. Control. Influence." He jumped forward, his movements explosive, and suddenly he was snarling in her face. "Somethin' don't smell right with you, lady, and if you hurt her-"

"Martin? What's going on?"

He blinked, pulling back instantly at the sound of Amanda's voice. He had been so focused in he hadn't sensed her approach, but there she stood, confusion and a little bit of irritation wafting his way from her, and he took a purposeful step back.

"Your friend does not trust me," Wakti chirped and Martin bit back a growl of frustration, but was surprised to both see and feel Amanda soften as he dark eyes came to rest on him.

Her lips thinned out and she motioned for Martin to follow her. He did so after only a breath of a pause and did his best to ignore how he felt the witch's gaze followed him until the moved out of her line of sight. He hoped, anyway. He still hadn't shaken that feeling of ever twitch being watched, but he wasn't sure if that was Wendimoor or left over from the latest round of captivity in Blackwing.

Amanda found a fence that she immediately jumped up on to perch on the top bar and fix him with a firm look that didn't quite match the tangled emotions he could feel from her. He couldn't shake the idea he was about to be lectured.

She dug for a moment in her jacket pocket, finally pulling a beaten and worn package of cigarettes that looked like they'd been through hell. She frowned as she opened it and only one bent cigarette fell out with the lighter. A determined look set onto her features as she set to trying to light it, finally pinching some of the broken paper to ensure the smoke traveled through it. After a couple of deep drags she handed it over to him. "Last one. Better make it count."

He nodded and leaned back against the fence, putting the cigarette to his lips and breathing it in deeply. That felt good. The nicotine buzzed through his system to ease some of his tattered nerves.

Amanda sighed next to him. "I know you've got a crazy protective streak, but Wakti helped save us. You, the other Rowdy Three, me…."

"She's using you," Martin huffed, sounding more sure than he actually felt as he passed the cigarette back over.

"How so?"

"Not sure yet, but people like that… the ones with all the answers…" He closed his eyes, fighting the suddenly overwhelming feeling of being caged. He could almost feel the straps across his chest, the metal at his back. He loosed a shaky breath, the words riding out on it. "They take advantage."

Martin jumped a little at the hand suddenly on his shoulder and Amanda handed the cigarette back. He took it and saw his own hand shaking just a little as he did. He didn't think she missed it either and she shifted so that she had a knee on either side of him and she could wrap her arms around him from behind. He leaned back into her, focusing on her and on the smoke traveling down his throat and the fresh air surrounding them. Free. Safe. Mostly.

He tried to hand the shared cigarette back and Amanda shook her head. "The rest is yours," she said softly and he tried to relax into her. She wasn't letting him go any time soon, but he was okay with that. It felt good after only metal and cloth for company for so long.

"She's not Blackwing," his drummer girl murmured after a long moment. "She's not Riggins."

"You don't know that."

"I know you guys would still be stuck in Blackwing without her and Vogel and me would be dead."

"They make you trust them, 'Manda," he said, turning so that he could turn to face her. She needed to understand. He needed her to be safe from the mistakes he'd made before more than he needed to lose himself in the cigarette and her voice and her touch and…. no. Focus. She needed to be safe. "They make you think they're doing it for you, but then they hurt you. I won't let her hurt you."

Amanda was staring at him, her expression pained and she reached up so that her palm rested on the side of his face. "I'm not going to let them get you again, Martin," she whispered, her voice strained.

"This ain't about me."

"Yeah it is." Her tone wasn't accusing. It was soft and tender and he grimaced a little. "They hurt you. I know they did before, and I know this time wasn't better. Martin…." She blinked hard and he watched her dark eyes glass over as her hand shifted to the back of his head. She guided him in and rested her forehead against his, breathing in deeply. "I'm going to do whatever I need to to make sure you guys never go back."

Martin pulled in a deep breath and the scent that was so distinctly Amanda filled him up and eased him a little. It was her. She was there and maybe they would be okay.

"You're special, Drummer Girl," he murmured softly and he felt her finger playing with his hair at the base of his skull. "I can't give you answers how, just that you are. Weird and perfect."

She choked out a laugh. "Weird and perfect?"

"Yeah."

Her smile lit his world and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in, never leaving her seat. He folded in around her in the hug. "You too, Martin. I missed you."

He breathed out a small sound of affirmation and tightened his hold. He couldn't tell the future. He wasn't sure if Wakti would be good, bad, or neutral yet, but he had the people he cared about most with him. That's what mattered most. As long as they were together, he could take on anything.

Notes: Anyone else madly in love with the Rowdy 3 reunion? Me too. So much. That hug still has me grinning like a loon.