#a decade ago i said if i could sit done with anyone and question them for any hour about anything

[zimshan]

Corporate greed is outta control and antitrust action is the best reason to vote for Biden this fall.

It’s time to declare the debate over. In 2021, the total corporate profit increase was $730bn, or a little over $2,100 a person. That’s a large chunk of the inflationary increase in costs. Moreover, the price-fixing in the oil industry, which contributed roughly $200bn of that, isn’t an anomaly.

Take post-Covid rent hikes. One software and consulting pricing firm for landlords, RealPage, specialized in telling its clients to hike rents more than they otherwise might. As of December of 2020, RealPage had nearly 32,000 clients, including “10 largest multifamily property management companies in the United States”. There are multiple antitrust suits accusing the private equity-owned firm of organizing a massive price-fixing conspiracy to inflate rents across the board.

Beyond rent, the Biden administration or private plaintiffs now have credible antitrust claims against firms engaged in price-fixing in meat, hotels and large online sellers like Amazon. Corporations in a range of industries have made comments similar to those of Sheffield.

Alex Cisneros, an executive for Red Roof Inn, told a trade outlet that Red Roof Inn was using a software package called STR from CoStar to systematically hike prices across the hotel industry. “Red Roof’s franchisees for the most part are making more money with less occupancy,” Hotel News Now explained. “Red Roof is now providing more data to franchisees to educate and get them comfortable commanding higher rates.”

According to a lawsuit, an unnamed executive at Smithfield, a pork processor, summarized the advice he got from Agri Stats, a consulting firm that coordinates production in the industry, as: “Just raise your price.”

Rent, meat, oil and hotels are big sectors, so criminal activity in the form of price-fixing to boost profits should bust through the illusions economists have about how our markets really work. There are also a number of concrete steps policymakers can take to respond to this price-fixing.

The first is to arrest or sue the offending executives for criminal activity.

The second is to strengthen price-fixing and merger laws, allow more private class-action suits, force judges to speed up cases and increase the budget of antitrust enforcers to make collusion more difficult.

The third is to reform the Federal Reserve so policymakers there stop using macro-economic models that avoid considerations of profits and price-fixing.

And the fourth is, frankly, political. One key reason there is action on these schemes is because Biden has prioritized antitrust enforcement. He hasn’t put enough into antitrust, and he doesn’t talk about it very often. But he should, or else Americans are likely to fall into the trap of thinking that what is good for big business is good for their pocketbooks, when the opposite is so often the case.

[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (175)

We did it, everyone! We made it to the end. I had no idea what I was getting into over six years(!)ago, and I probably would have balked if I had, so it’s for the best I didn’t.

This is — tough. These two have been constant companions for over half a decade, and in that time I thought about them, without exaggeration, every single day. It’s really difficult to leave that behind. But it’s the right place to leave them, and it’s time.

The LBTE answers some questions re: timeline and the like. I haven't tackled any asks yet since I didn't want to accidentally spoil anyone, and that worked out, because a lot of the asks are answered below.

Okay. Part 175.

Here's the series page one last time, for those following along. Scroll all the way to the end.

Brian’s the one who gives them the news.

Brian does not have to give them this news, frankly it should be Dave, but Brian finds out and he’s so excited(!) he calls Bryce right away. In case you’re wondering if Brian is still the best GM.

He doesn’t know what it takes to be untouchable, but he’s pretty sure trading a Conn Smythe winner with a sweetheart deal would get Brian run out of Vancouver.

The Cup win is a year before the epilogue takes place. Yes, Eastern teams are getting kind of pissed off about this run of Western Conference winners I have going on. Especially because the Scouts are still in the wings, being an annoying as hell dynasty.

Bryce signed an 8x8 in the summer following the end of IJ(aoe). 64 million dollars is obviously nothing to scoff at, but he could have made 9+ on the open market, easy.

Jared’s was 2.5x4. Which is MORE than he’d get open market, especially regarding term, but like, did you just see the hometown discount Marcus gave them? His husband being there is kind of a condition.

Okay, so maybe Jared isn’t exactly calm, because he doesn’t think running through negative scenarios is calm, exactly, but it does calm him just enough that he isn’t plastering himself to Bryce in an attempt to eavesdrop.

Maybe not plastering himself, but he is inching closer and closer as this conversation goes on.

“Yeah, he’s sitting right beside me,” Bryce says. “He hasn’t ripped the phone out of my hand yet, but he’s definitely considering it.”

And glaring. Oh, the glaring Bryce is on the receiving end of right now.

“I’m up for the King Clancy,” Bryce says.

A leadership and humanitarian award, though the Mark Messier Leadership Award (HAH) is defacto now more straight team leadership, and the King Clancy has mostly become charitable impact in local community. Though it does tend to go to players in leadership roles (captains, alternates), it isn’t exclusive to them.

"Wouldn’t I just be a distraction?” Jared asks.

Bruh. You think Bryce would go to the Awards without you? Like, for any award, but the one for starting a charity that he never would have been in the mental place to start were it not for his relationship with you?

If he’d thought for even a millisecond before opening his mouth he would not have said this. Some things have not changed in the Marcus Matheson household.

“Us doesn’t take things away from me,” Bryce says. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t met you.”

“I know, but—“

“No, seriously, J,” Bryce says. “That’s not — you think the guy you met would have done like, any of this? I couldn’t even think about shit without needing to climb out of my head.”

So like — if IJ(aoe) was the traditional storyline following a hero’s ups and downs, the hero pretty clearly would be Bryce. And when the hero’s struggling and lashing out and pretending to be someone he’s not, and hating both himself and the person he’s pretending to be, he gets assigned community service and he meets the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

And now he has to face those parts of himself he’s trying to bury, because those parts are loudly telling him he needs to be around this person every single second of every single day.

And this person doesn’t like the persona the hero’s put on. He likes the person the hero is, which is sensitive, and empathetic, and emotional, all those things the hero’s been told he can’t be, shouldn’t be, that’s what the love interest wants him to be. Exactly who he is.

Bryce wouldn’t have had the guts to take off the mask if, every step of the way, Jared wasn’t letting him know, with word and deed, that guy under the mask was the person he was in love with.

And that’s not even getting into the fact that, from the beginning, Jared is much more comfortable with his sexuality, and people knowing about his sexuality, than Bryce is.

Bryce kisses him quiet, and Jared’s grateful, because he wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, stomach twisting just saying them. He suddenly felt this visceral, totally illogical anger toward someone who doesn’t actually exist, or like, exists somewhere, not knowing there’s this huge hole in his life because Bryce Marcus isn’t in it. Fuck that guy, though. Better him than Jared.

Jared doesn’t fight but he’ll make an exception for that guy.

“You’ll come?” Bryce asks.

“Yeah,” Jared says. “I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.”

An echo of all of one part ago! Of course. Jared’s answer to Bryce’s question is of course. Even if it’s a ride in an obnoxiously showy convertible or a trip to Las Vegas in June.

Or any other month, he supposes, though the league’s getting pretty deep into talks to make it an expansion team, so that may change.

I still haven’t decided vis a vis expansion teams (and certainly haven't decided when that would take effect) but I’ve realised I can yoink players from other teams and then put them on one team TOGETHER, like one big summer camp, and that sounds chaotic and fun.

Bryce squeezes his knee, like he knows he’s thinking angry thoughts. Probably not hard to guess. They pass a building’s display flipping from the time to the temperature. 106. That’s a life-threatening fever. They’re in a life-threatening fever.

I checked the temperature in late June over the course of four years so this would be accurate, and accuracy is a high grade fever. If it’s 106 inside, go to the hospital. Outside, you’re in Vegas in late June.

“Did you know it’s forty-one degrees out?” Jared demands.

Bryce squeezes his knee again.

“I know,” Jared mutters.

Look at Bryce handling him without a word.

snapping a picture of the view from their window for the group chat, captioning it with Man’s hubris, then changing for dinner.

Jared Matheson, everyone.

He’s halfway through a reply when the elevator doors open, which means he doesn’t realise he’s sharing the elevator with Brandon Simcoe until the doors have already closed behind him, and now he’s trapped with him for the next 23 floors. Unless he hits the button for the next floor, but that’s showing weakness, right? Jared’s pretty sure that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to do when faced with an apex predator. What’s he supposed to do, though, ignore him? Play dead?

He’s such a drama queen. Shithead’s harmless.

(This is not true even a little; it’s fun that the first real view anyone got of Shithead was Joey’s, because Shithead IS harmless to Joey. He loves Joey! Then you’ve got Holden getting cross-checked black and blue by him even though Shithead likes him in COTT. Bryce? Not his friend. Not harmless.

“Yeah,” Jared says. What’s he going to do, disavow his own husband to save his skin? It clearly wouldn’t even work. “That’s — yeah, I am.”

Got to love Jared’s moral calculus does take into account whether going ‘Bryce Marcus who?’ would save his skin, and only rejecting that option because Shithead clearly wouldn’t believe him.

“Cool,” Simcoe says. “You know, my best buddy back on the Scouts is gay. Fucking love that guy.”

Joey: Bud you gotta stop telling everybody that.

Shithead: That you’re gay?

Joey: That I’m your best buddy.

“What, that I love him?” Simcoe says. “Oh man, I didn’t mean that way, he’s got a fiancé. And I’m not gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Obviously. You know.”

;-; Brandon

Anyway, no ScratchnMoney marriage yet. We haven't gotten THAT far into the future.

“We’re not like—“ Jared says. “You know we don’t all like…talk, right? We don’t have a gay player group chat or anything.”

“You should, it’d be sick,” Simcoe says.

I’m with Shithead on this. Get on it, Marc.

The elevator doors open, and Simcoe claps him on the back so hard Jared has to put a foot forward so he doesn’t careen right into the elevator wall, says, “Love is love, man, love is love,” then walks away.

Your periodic reminder that Shithead is the Bruins’ YCP rep.

He sums things up to the group chat while he waits for his heart rate to slow, his knees to cooperate again. He’s just finished when Bryce walks out of the restaurant across the lobby, beelining for him like he’s got a Jared-dar.

I spelled that so many ways before I settled on Jared-dar. Jaredar. Jared-Dar. Jare-dar. Nothing feels right.

Anyway, Bryce definitely has one of those installed.

“You’re sure you’re good?” Bryce asks, fingers in Jared’s hair now, like he’s feeling for bumps and bruises.

Jared laughs. “Oh my god, the most violent thing he did was pat me on the back a little too hard.”

Bryce starts patting down Jared’s back.

Both of them reacting like Jared just got out of a tiger enclosure is great.

Summers, thankfully, doesn’t take Bryce ditching him over an elevator conversation as an insult. He thinks it’s hilarious, in fact, and it ends up being the nicest dinner Jared’s had with both of them. Which isn’t saying much, really, but it is something.

‘My husband was stuck in an elevator with a dude I’ve punched in the face like half a dozen different times’ is delightful to Dave. Emergency accepted.

Anyway, Bryce and Dave aren’t suddenly David and Dave, they still tend to get under each other’s skin, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not, but they’re both getting better.

Elaine and her boyfriend arrive from Vancouver not long after they wrap it up, and Bryce shakes his hand and says his name without scowling once, which is also a first.

Never mind the reams of paper I could have written about the road to the Cup, and the Cup, and Raf’s wedding, and Chaz’s wedding — this right here could have been an arc in itself.

He’s definitely had help. From Elaine, of course, but Jared suspects Ash’s involvement too, along with possibly Erin’s — ‘my beloved sister’ certainly sounds like her doing. He wouldn’t even be surprised if PR Grace took a swipe at it — some of it has that PR gloss to it, though not so much that it feels over-polished.

All have had a hand in this speech, yes. Also Stephen and Gabe. (Bryce used Stephen as a stand-in for Jared in the ‘make sure this isn’t too cheesy’ aspect.)

“Really,” Jared says. “You can probably cut the stuff about me by half, though. Possibly three quarters. Just leave it at, I don’t know, ‘shoutout to my husband Jared’ and move right on?”

It’s cute you think that’s even worth the effort of saying.

Jared’s in a custom tailored suit made with ‘summer fabric’, whatever that is, other than cooler than the usual suit fabric, thank fuck.

It’s just linen. Jared tends to tune out immediately where any of this is involved because he knows Bryce has it handled.

He’d originally protested that he could just wear the suit he wore at Raf’s wedding, because Bryce was practically obsessed with him in it at the time

That suit was tailored to perfection. Bryce wants to know the name of Raf’s guy.

Anyway, not so subtle implication minimum two years have passed since the end of IJ(aoe) as Raf’s wedding was a year out from the end, and Jared isn’t talking about Raf’s wedding like it was a week ago.

Also summer fabric’s not a bad thing, considering he’s got four weddings to go to in the next three months, including Gabe and Stephen’s. Canucks just can’t stop proposing. It’s frankly gotten ridiculous.

Okay, another ask I got: was the Stanley Cup recent or older. The epilogue is a year after they win the Cup — most of those proposals took place in the weeks following the Cup, and now, a year later, the weddings are happening.

Including Gabe and Stephen’s, and yes: the original just city hall with immediate family ceremony is no longer canon because the sad eyes Gabe would get from his entire team. Why does he not want them there. etc. (Gabe’s mom is so happy I changed this.)

Right now he’s grateful for his suit, because as hot as he is — and he is disgustingly hot — at least he isn’t wearing wool like the poor kid in front of him. He looks miserable. Also about twelve years old, but then, he’s there for the Calder. He isn’t going to win it — there’s a very clear front runner and it’s not him — and Jared feels kind of bad that he’s not only a loser, but a loser in a hot as fuck suit, who’s too young to legally do anything Vegas was built for.

Have been asked a few times who this is. No one who’s been established in the ‘verse, but I fucking feel for this dude. Him and the Calder winner should totally hook up later. For tradition’s sake.

Jared may as well go over to the group, sign some autographs and take a few selfies while he waits for Bryce and Elaine to catch up. He plans on taking his time, but one of the girls asks Jared to marry her, and then asks him to sign her chest.

Jared misses anonymity.

“I said no,” Bryce assures him.

“I wasn’t worried,” Jared says. “You being gay is kind of why we’re here.”

“It was a guy,” Bryce says.

“Still not worried,” Jared says.

“You don’t ever have to be,” Bryce says, very seriously, and thankfully Elaine pats Bryce’s arm so Jared doesn’t have to. Like he said: not worried.

Jared has absolutely zero concerns about Bryce straying. Less than zero.

Jared would protest that it’s just a nervous habit, but that would directly contradict him telling Bryce he wasn’t nervous right before the red carpet, and Bryce clearly knows it.

Why must you call Jared on his lies, Bryce?

“I feel like I’m at the draft again,” Jared says, wiping his palms on his slacks, even though the AC is so high he’s actually a little chilly. They must have it cranked to the max in a war with the swelter outside.

It's fun to send Jared to Vegas in June after he bitched so much about Tampa in June. Boy does not handle heat with grace.

"I've mentioned that I'm proud of you, right?" Jared asks.

"I know you are," Bryce says, which is a very nice way of saying no.

Another call back to last part! Because Jared is his father’s son whether he likes it or not.

"I know, babe," Bryce says. "You telling Ash and Grace and Erin their partners are losers who've never even been nominated for anything was kind of a sign. Which like, you remember Julius won the Calder, right? Because Erin definitely does."

This didn’t make it into the final bit, but Jared receives this immediately after Bryce wins the King Clancy:

"Okay phew Bryce won so I can send this: I WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU THAT UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE (your wonderful husband that you do not deserve) JULIUS HALLA WON AN AWARD IN THE VERY 1ST YEAR OF HIS NHL CAREER AND MOREOVER WAS NOMINATED…" She would have sent it anyway, Jared's pretty sure, she just would have waited until tomorrow.

"Fuck," Jared repeats. He wasn't one of the top finalists, because the Oilers sucked hard even with all he did for them, but still, he was. "Erin's going to be on me about this forever."

Deservedly. How dare you forget Julius’ Calder.

“If they don’t give you the award I don’t know what I’ll do,” Jared says. Maybe burn the theatre down, though he’d probably die of heat stroke before he pulled it off.

Jared turns to arson quicker and quicker as this series goes on.

“Hey man, good to see you again,” Simcoe says, then looks at Bryce, mouth flattening. Bryce looks back, mouth just as flat as Simcoe’s. They hold eye contact for long enough that Simcoe’s date coughs, giving Jared an awkward smile.

I knew what the people needed: more Shithead.

“I can’t see past his head,” Bryce complains.

“Not my fault you’re short, bro,” Simcoe says, without turning around.

Shithead’s a monster. Like, physically, as well as everything else.

“Be the bigger man than him,” Jared murmurs to him. “Proverbially, if not literally.”

Bryce scowls, foot coming up in position dangerously close to seat kicking.

I think repeatedly kicking the seat in front of you may lose some points on the leadership aspect of the award, but also, the committee might make an exception because it’s Shithead.

“Do not,” Jared says.

“Or what,” Bryce says.

“I’ll switch spots with Elaine,” Jared says. “Hang out with her boyfriend for the rest of the show. Do some nice bonding.”

Bryce makes a furious noise, but lowers his foot to the ground from its current ‘in preparation to kick’ position, so Jared considers it a win.

As you can see here, Bryce is taking Elaine dating with tremendous maturity and dignity.

The show itself is excruciating, a mix of bad jokes, a rock-ish country-ish band Jared’s pretty sure he’s obligated to like as a born and raised Albertan, but refuses to due to the fact they suck, and a distribution of all the awards everyone already knew the winner of.

I’m not vagueblogging about Nickelback or anything, just describing a significant number of bands from Alberta.

Bryce mutely holds out his hand, and Jared takes it, squeezing when Bryce gives him a slightly sickly smile. He looks nervous as hell now, and any other time Jared would point that out, but not right now, not today.

The smile Jared gives Bryce is just as sickly, for the record.

but when Bryce stands up, he does too. Has to, considering how tightly he’s holding his hand.

Literally one unit.

“Can I kiss you right now,” Bryce says. They may be out, but they haven’t, not in public. Even when they won the Cup they settled for hugs until the cameras were put away.

Bryce wholly intended to just hug Jared this time too (or else they would have discussed this before like, that second) but he just — really wants to kiss Jared right now.

“Please,” Bryce says, and Jared’s barely nodded before Bryce is hauling him in.

Needs to, really.

And objectively, it’s a shitty kiss. Has to be one of the worst they’ve ever shared, and neither of them can stop smiling long enough to fix it even a little. But with Bryce’s hands cradling his head, Bryce’s grin splitting his face it’s so fucking wide, Jared can’t bring himself to mind.

And like their engagement, and their wedding, and Bryce doing all the machinations to get himself to Vancouver, the kiss fucking sucks. Because, once again, they’re both grinning too hard to kiss each other properly, but they can’t stop smiling long enough kiss each other properly, and they refuse to stop kissing.

And yeah. In the traditional story, the hero goes from the talented but angry, terrified, self-hating player walking into a hockey camp for community service because it’s that or probation. And then, around decade later, he’s kissing his husband on a nationally televised show, after accepting an award for working with LGBTQ youth athletes, with the frankly too hot for him love interest supporting and pushing him the whole way.

If you’d have told a 20 year old Bryce that was coming, he’d have probably punched you (Oilers fan was a time traveller: confirmed). But he’s done so much growing up — not just from who I thought he was, or Jared thought he was (neither of us gave him nearly enough credit at the start), but from who he thought he was, or had the potential to be.

I wrote the as sort of a summary of the final part about a year ago, an encapsulation of the entire series in one sentence, to keep in mind as I finished the series.

The biggest goal for Bryce, along the way, is being seen and accepted for who he actually is. Bryce wants that for others too. Jared just wants it for Bryce.

The hero of the story doesn’t narrate this one, but the narrator is, without a doubt, his biggest fan.

(He is aware he shares this title with Elaine.)

[bow-of-aros]

What do you want, Pete?

I decided to just say fuck it and post this here in its entirety just for funsies :))

Summary:

What if the thing that Peter Spankoffski treasured most wasn't Stephanie Lauter, but instead his older brother who'd gone missing months ago?

Guys. I've gone literally insane over this series. Ted and Peter are so babygirl to me I love them so much. I just. ALDSJDKSJLDAJKSJK you know?? Anyway, enjoy this idea that took over my brain until I got it out!! <33

One of you must give up the thing you treasure above all else. 

Those words ring in Peter’s ears. Vaguely, he can hear Steph offer something with a very unpleased reception that makes him cringe out of some deep-seated survival instinct, and he feels fingers that are longer than they should be and uncannily boneless card through his hair.

“Steph?”

His voice reverberates through his head as though coming from underwater. His eyes land on the gun in her lap, and something in the back of his mind whispers danger!

It’s drowned out by the crash of memories that yell TED!

Ted Spankoffski, Pete’s older brother by over a decade and the only family member who’d ever bothered to give half a shit about him. Their parents had dropped Peter off at his doorstep at the ripe young age of six, right when they realized that a second child wasn’t going to be the thing that saved their failing marriage and fucked off to who knows where. The only contact he had with them was when they sent Ted money to put towards supporting a whole ass other person when he was just barely out of college.

Every time he met someone, they would raise their eyebrows and say, “Spankoffski? Like Ted Spankoffski?” and then pat him on the shoulder sympathetically when he said yes. Pete always had to push down the anger that threatened to bubble up because, yeah, Ted could be an asshole, but nobody even bothered to know him before making their fucking judgments.

Ted had had a shitty life, with the same shitty parents Peter had, and then had a child dumped on him before he’d even had the chance to properly figure out who he was.

By all accounts, Ted should’ve been an awful guardian, and it’s what everyone seemed to assume. But damn if he hadn’t done his best.

He’d driven Peter to school until he was old enough to take the bus on his own. He’d shown up to every science fair and asked a shitload of questions just to make Peter smile as he answered them. He dressed Peter up for every pointless graduation and cheered embarrassingly loudly when his little brother walked across the stage.

When Pete got older, Ted had been the person to cut his hair and take him shopping for new clothes when he first came out as trans. He’d sat the kid down and told him that he’d always have Ted, and always have a room in his apartment. Then, he’d added that if any of Peter’s dork-ass friends ever needed a place to crash, that the door was always open.

A few months ago, Ted had left mid-hookup with Charlotte Sweetly to pick up a bruised and bloodied Peter from school. He’d almost made it through the school day before bumping into Max Jägerman on the way out and Ted had made it across town in an amount of time that had to have been illegal. They’d spent the rest of the night after getting Pete patched up and sitting on the couch watching trashy TV, Ted muttering increasingly absurd threats of violence towards someone half his age the whole time until Peter finally cracked a smile.

The next morning, Peter Spankoffski had woken up, and his brother wasn’t there.

It wasn’t a big deal at first. Ted might’ve gone to work early (unlikely) or met up with a friend (what friend?). But, after hundreds of unread texts and unanswered calls, Peter asking anyone he could think of if they’d seen Ted to no avail, and waiting up every night until he passed out from sheer exhaustion straining his ears for footsteps that never came, well…

It’s Hatchetfield. People go missing every day.

“Pete?” A hand on his shoulder ripped him back to the present, and Peter scrubbed away tears as he looked at Steph’s terrified face.

He turned his face away from her.

He blinked.

And he found himself looking into the glowing yellow eyes of the crazy-ass goat man who seemed to already know him. T’noy Karaxis, a voice whispered into his ear, a foreboding sense of familiarity washing over him, making his blood run cold.

The Lord in Black grinned impossibly wide at him, blue tongue lolling out and the stench of death radiating off of it.

“Hi Petey-pie!” It laughed, and the laugh grated against his hears for seconds and for eons, “I think that I know what you want~”

Its voice had a horrible sing-song quality to it, like someone who’s thrilled to know a secret that you don’t. The longer that Peter looked into its eyes, the harder his head pounded. Its rectangular pupils stretched far and wide, twisting into never-ending corridors that sent bursts of pain through him as his brain tried to wrap itself around the impossibilities.

“HEY!” The hand on his shoulder yanked him back, the paths of yellow fading as he saw Steph standing between him and that monster. “Leave him alone! What the fuck is your deal?!”

Its smile didn’t fade and Peter could feel its eyes burning into him even through the girl in front of him. The intensity only increased when he blinked to find Wiggly standing next to him, beaming with the sort of glee he would attribute to a kid on Christmas morning.

“Now, now,” He chided, “I’ve convinced my brother here to give up something very dear to him and it wouldn’t be nice if my little fwendy wend didn’t hear him out.”

Peter tried to smile reassuringly at Steph, but the It’s okay, I can do this that he’d wanted to convey had probably leaned more into Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Either way, she seemed to understand what he was getting at and stepped out of the way.

The second she did, a bright yellow flash blinded him. He could feel reality warp around him as the chilling screams from across hundreds of thousands of universes converged in this one fragile moment. When Peter opened his eyes again, blinking away the dots seared into his vision, what he saw nearly brought him to his knees.

Ted looked exactly as he did the last night they saw each other save for the tear tracks that streamed down his cheeks, soaking his shirt.

His brother looked up and a small gasp escaped his lips.

“Petey?”

Suddenly, this ritual meant nothing. The Lords in Black and Max Jägerman and this whole fucking town could go fuck themselves because Peter wasn’t alone anymore.

“Ted! Holy shit!” Neither of them mentioned how Peter’s voice cracked as he launched himself into his brother’s arms, sobbing into his chest as familiar arms wrapped around him and held him so tight he felt like he might explode. Finally, finally, he was safe.

“How touching.”

Except he wasn’t.

Their arms tightened impossibly more around each other as they looked up at Wiggly through teary eyes, clinging onto the flimsy hope that they wouldn’t be separated again if they could only will it hard enough.

Surprisingly, it was Ted who spoke first, “What the fuck do you want with my brother you sick fucks?! AM I NOT FUCKING ENOUGH FOR YOU?!”

Wiggly didn’t bother to acknowledge the outburst, attention solely fixed on Peter, green light seeping out of him and into the teenager’s pores, filling every inch of him with a sense of wrong.

“This is the other option,” The Lord’s eyes shone as maliciousness seeped into its voice, “Tinky has enough Teds to last him a good, long while, but things will be a little empty without him there. So, if you want us to take Maxwell off your plate, you can trade him,” A crooked finger pointed at Steph, “for her.”

Immediately, Peter and Ted started talking over each other.

“What?! I don’t even know where he’s been—”

“She’s a fucking child you can’t put her in the Box—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Wiggly silenced them both. His wrathful tone is in stark contrast to the rest of the Lords grinning and dancing behind him.

He stared down at them, “Alright, let’s make this a little more interesting. If you don’t want to trade him in, you have to send him back. You need to say the words I condemn my big brother to an eternity of torture to save a girl who talked to me for the first time a few weeks ago.”

Wiggly’s arms were spread wide, palms up like a benevolent god, “Your choice, Peter. Of course,” He said, walking back over to Steph, “You won’t have to give up your brother if she puts a bullet through your skull. Just think, you could set your brother free, and you have options!”

A cacophony of laughter echoed through the gym, rattling their bones and reverberating against the crash of thunder that sounded outside.

“We’ll leave you to decide. Hopefully, Maxy doesn’t get you first!”

And then they vanish, but not without Tinky leering as the still entangled brothers and whispering Tick-fucking-tock.

Silence rings through the space, the only thing keeping Pete grounded being the warmth of his brother at his side. Steph is looking down at the gun in her trembling hands, tears slowly starting to drip from her eyes as Grace just stares down at the Black Book, blood drained from her face and seemingly catatonic.

“Pete. Petey.” Ted turns to look him in the eye and there’s something achingly different. Aside from the sliver of yellow that rings his pupils, they look so old and so scared. Like he’s been away for decades instead of months, seeing things no one should ever have to see.

And from what he’s heard, that might not be too far off.

Still, Ted pressed his lips into a firm line to steady his voice before saying, “You have to send me back. The Box is no place for a kid and you will not fucking die, do you hear me?!”

No matter how tight Ted is holding on, Peter can still feel how he’s shaking, can still hear the slight break in his voice as Ted’s eyes dart frantically across his face, drinking in the sight of the brother he thought he’d never see again.

“I can’t. I can’t.” He’s crying again, but Peter can’t be bothered to give a damn right now, “I love you. You’ve been gone for months and it’s been horrible. I can’t do this without you Teddy.”

Ted flinched at that, squeezing his eyes shut and taking in a shaky breath as emotions flickered across his face too quickly for Peter to decipher.

“I love you too, Pete. That’s why I can’t let you be fucking stupid, okay?!” Ted ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but you have to let me protect you. Send me back and never even think about the Lords in Black again, graduate high school and live your life and date Stephanie fucking Lauter.”

At her name, Peter’s eyes flickered up.

He looked at her.

He looked at the gun in her hands.

He looked back at his brother.

“You’ve protected me my whole life. It’s my fucking turn.”

Peter disentangled himself from Ted despite his frantic protests and ran up to Steph, wrapping his hands around hers and, subsequently, curling her fingers around the gun.

“Steph—” He was cut off almost immediately.

“No. Nonononono Pete I won’t. I can’t.” She pleaded with him, “Trade me in, I don’t have anything left here anymore. My dad’s dead, I never really had any friends, and any potential I had went down the gutter years ago.

Her gaze flickered over to Ted who was not-so-subtly trying to in closer to Grace and the Book, much to Grace’s growing annoyance. “But you can get your brother back! I know how much you’ve missed him, how much he means to you. You’re going to make a real difference, Pete. You have shit to live for and I don’t.”

Ted was walking up to them now, having given up on Grace, and seeing how determined he was to keep them safe only solidified the decision he’d already made.

“Look. I’m not sending either of you into whatever Hell dimension Ted literally just got out of.” Peter turned to face them both, speaking fast and leaving no room for interruption, “I’ll let Max kill me before I do that to either of you. I’m dying either way, let me at least do something good with it.”

Something shifted in Steph’s face, a realization that Peter wouldn’t be swayed, and she nodded shakily as she adjusted her grip on the gun.

“Do it, Steph. Please.”

He took a few steps back, ignoring Ted’s desperate Nononono Petey you can’t fucking do this! He tried to rush forward, but Steph raised the gun and aimed it right at Peter’s forehead.

BANG!

A force knocked Peter down, sending him to the ground as pain exploded through the back of his head.

Wait. The back?

Peter fought through the swimming in his head to pry his eyes open just to see that what was weighing him down actually wasn’t the darkness coming to claim him.

It was Ted.

“Ow! Ow ow ow fucking OW!” Ted rolled off from on top of his younger brother, clutching at his shoulder, “Your aim is fucking shit, Lauter! Jesus Christ.”

Peter quickly scrambled to his knees, hovering over his brother who had just taken a bullet for him, tears welling up again for the millionth time, because apparently today was the day for it.

“Shit Ted!” He wasted no time in ripping off his sweater, leaving him in his white collared shirt, and pressing it to the rapidly bleeding wound in his shoulder, “You dumbass! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

And Ted laughed at him, “What the fuck was I thinking? What the fuck were you thinking?! That bullet wasn’t even going to hit you in the head!” Peter pressed down a little harder and Ted hissed out a breath from between his teeth, “Holy shit being shot hurts more than I thought it was going to and I have had a lot of shit done to me.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“Well, well, well,” Thunder rumbled through the gym, seemingly disregarding trivial things like walls and ceilings in its volume, “Look at what we have here.”

“Oh God. He’s here.” Steph crowded up against Peter and Ted, shielding them with her body as Peter desperately tried to keep the pressure firm with his shaking hands.

“I didn’t know that there were two dork-ass Spankoffskis!” Max walked out from behind the bleachers, a mock pout sitting on his lips, “But I was really hoping that Steph was going to make my job a little easier and get rid of the little bitch. Too bad, now it looks like I get to kill two for the price of one!”

“But first,” His hand whipped out unnaturally fast, grabbing hold of Steph and throwing her off to the side, “I’m going to deal with you. You lured me to my death! You betrayed me, you fucking Judas!”

“So you do know the Bible!” Oh. So that’s where Grace went.

“Your brother’s going to be just fine, Peter.” The nurse looked down at him with sympathetic eyes as he hunched over Ted’s hospital bed in the uncomfortable plastic chair that seemed to be mandatory for some insane reason. “He got lucky and the bullet didn’t hit any major arteries. Maybe you should go home and get some rest. Take a shower, get a change of clothes, we’ll keep an eye on him until you get back.”

Even the thought of letting Ted out of his sight drenched him with fear, so he squeezed Ted’s hand tighter and said, “No, thank you. I think I’m going to stay here until he wakes up if that’s alright.”

For a brief second, Peter could’ve sworn that he saw a brief flash of annoyance accompanied by a yellow shine in his eyes before it was gone and an understanding grin took its place. It was so convincing that Peter almost started questioning whether he was losing it but, after everything he’d been through recently, he wasn’t going to be taking any chances.

The door swung open and in walked Steph wearing mismatched clothes from the lost and found and trying to dry off her damp hair.

“Hey, Pete.” She said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “He wake up yet?”

His eyes fell back onto his brother. Even asleep he looked exhausted, deep lines worried into his skin that hadn’t been there before. When was the last time he’d gotten some rest?

Peter shook off the question, adding it to the pile of shit he was going to be asking Ted when he woke up.

“No. Not yet.”

She pulled back with a slight wrinkle of her nose, “Yeah, well, no offense Pete, but you fucking reek. I left a pile of clothes that I think might fit you on the chair, so please go take a quick shower. I don’t care if all you do is rinse yourself off, you have to do something.”

“But—” He didn’t get very far before Steph gathered his free hand in hers.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to him, okay?” Steph looked him in the eye, “Pete. I won’t even blink until you get back, I promise.”

And, you know what? He believed her.

Peter gathered up the clothes with a grateful smile and a quick glance at Ted who was still lying there, “I swear to God, Ted, if you’re not still here when I come back I am going to climb into that Box and kill you myself.”

The hospital walls were bright and seemingly endless and too close to the labyrinth he’d seen in that thing's eyes, so it was a relief when he turned into the washroom and locked himself into a shower stall.

There was a mirror in there and wow he looked like shit, no wonder people kept telling him to take a shower. But something was off, and as he looked a little closer, Peter realized that his eyes weren’t the usual brown.

Instead, they were a bright yellow.

His reflection grinned at him, and that stink of death roiled over him as it spoke.

“Just you wait, Petey-Pie! Soon, I’ll have you and my precious Teddy Bear back in my collection.” His skin started peeling from his face as his jaw stretched until it dislocated and then kept going until a long blue tongue spilled out, “Oh boy! We’re going to have so much fun.”

And then Peter blinked, and his own pale, terrified expression stared back at him again. Brown eyes and all.

The worst part was that he could still smell it. He must’ve taken the fastest shower in his life, scrubbing himself until he was nearly raw before throwing the clothes onto his still-soaked body and rushing back to Ted’s hospital room.

He crashed through the door, heart pounding, just to see Ted and Steph exactly where he’d left them.

Except, Ted looked over at him with a weak smile and Peter nearly collapsed in relief.

His brother extended an arm in invitation and Peter basically dove into the bed beside him, holding on tight and telling his racing heart to calm the fuck down because Ted was here.

“Hey, Petey.”

Ah, shit. More tears because of fucking course there would be.

Peter managed a wobbly grin because everything was finally as it should be and said, “Hey, Ted.”

It was a nice moment until Steph cleared her throat a little pointedly, causing both Spankoffski’s to jolt guiltily.

“Jeez, Pete.” Ted jostled him a bit, mindful of his healing shoulder, “You’re a terrible fucking host. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

Peter went to sit up, and Ted’s arm tightened instinctively before letting him go, even though they didn’t fully break contact. “Yeah. Yeah! Uh, Ted, this is Steph.” Steph waved with a fond smile on her face, “And Steph, this is my brother, Ted.”

Ted reached out with his good hand, “Nice to meet you. Kind of insane that my brother managed to pull someone so far out of his league, but you’ve got a good guy on your hands.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Steph had to raise her voice to be heard over Peter’s groan, “And I know, Mr. Spankoffski, I’m just happy that he decided to give me a chance.”

“Oh God, kid, don’t call me that. My name’s Ted.”

As Peter listened to them talk, he laid his head on his brother’s chest, revelling in them all being alive. As sleep overtook him, the melodic harmonies of Ted’s heartbeat and the clock on the wall settled within him. A promise that they would make it through.

Thump-thump.

Tick. Tock.

[zukkaart]

4 and 18. I like that this one could be going in either direction lol

Couple #4: Zutara

Prompt #18: “Do you ever shut up?”

From this prompt game!

~~~~~~~

Two years after the war ends, the ambassadors and rulers of the nations gather in the Earth Kingdom to discuss progress in rebuilding.

“Chief Hakoda, what does the Southern Water Tribe require to rebuild?” The emissary from the Earth Kindgom enquired, still visibly confused that the Chief brought his two young children to the meeting. Sokka was almost 18 now, but that meant nothing to a room of grumpy old men. Although, none of them dared to minimize what those Water Tribe children had done for the world.

The emissary thought to himself that he shouldn’t think much of it considering the Fire Lord barely just reached 18 himself a few weeks ago. Said emissary had been very diligent in voicing his opinion this entire meeting. He considered it his duty to place the people of the Earth Kingdom in the highest priority considering how large their population was compared to the others. Because of the Earth Kingdom’s size it also had sustained the most damage during the war, and he only thought it fair that he have a substantial stake in the rebuilding allocations.

It was a long, dreary process that would probably take decades more, but luckily everyone in that board room was dedicated to making things go as smoothly as possible- at least for the most part. It’s sometimes hard to be civil when your people are hurting, but you must remember that others are hurting as well.

Chief Hakoda nodded to his daughter at his left. She straightened her back along with her scroll before standing to address the room. It was obvious to anyone in the room that this particular question was her area of expertise. Well…almost anyone.

“Thank you ambassador, the Southern Water Tribe is making real strides towards establishing a thriving independent economy again, but-“

“Excuse me, but shouldn’t your father be handing this discussion girl?” That same Earth Kingdom man spat the last word like a curse. “Sit down”

Now, it is worth noting that this man would not have been so bold had he not been so absorbed in himself that he did not take note of the Fire Lord slowly losing his composure with every word he spoke. It was not until Zuko himself stood that the green-clad man realized his mistake.

“Do you ever shut up?” Zuko looked as poised as his portrait but his words were laced with an unmissable venom.

“Lord Zuko I-“

“Enough, how dare you speak to her that way?”

The man tried to open his mouth once more but was quickly silenced.

“Do not interrupt me. I do believe you have advocated the needs of your people quite thoroughly. Would you agree?” The man nodded in agreement with Zukos statement

“Good, now sit down. And let her speak,” The young Fire Lord then turned to the Water Tribe emissary. “I apologize ambassador Katara, please. Continue” Zuko returned to the floor as if nothing happened, and sipped his tea contentedly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour after the meeting ended Zuko was reviewing his notes. His robes were abandoned on the floor and he sat hunched over his candle lit desk in only a pair of black trousers, his hair pulled half up with a wooden pin.

He was just about to abandon the seemingly endless scrolls in lieu of maybe getting a good nights rest for once when his door slammed open.

“What the hell was that about?!” Katara stormed into his room, nearly tripping over the layers of fabric strewn across the wooden floor.

Zuko jumped to his feet, startled. “What are you talking about?” The look of genuine confusion on his face almost gave Katara pause- almost.

“In there! With that Earth Kingdom emissary! You know, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, I can defend myself just fine! Might I remind you that I held my own against much worse months before you even cut that stupid ponytail off!?”

“Katara I’m sorry I was just trying to-“

“I don’t want to hear it! You completely undermined me!” She was pacing about the room now, Zuko was sure she hadn’t even glanced in his directed since starting her rant, he began to look around frantically for a shirt to throw on to no avail. “They have to learn that I am my own person and I don’t need some man to defend me”

Finally, she sat on the edge on his bed and placed her face in her hands.

“I didn’t do it because you’re a woman, I did it because I am the Fire Lord and you are an emissary and friend to me. I would not let someone disrespect you. I would have done the same if it was Sokka. I was looking for an opportunity to tell him to shut up hours before, you just gave me a perfect opportunity. I guess I should be thanking you for that.” At that moment, Zuko noted a red silk scarf on the edge of his desk, he quickly pulled it over his shoulders to cover his chest and stomach.

Katara finally raised her head, and looked as if she was about to speak for a moment. She closed her mouth and cocked her head to the side quizzically. She then let out a laugh.

“So, do you just casually wear silk scarves around your room?” Zuko blushed.

“No, I-“

“Oh come on Zuko, it’s just me,” She strode over to him and gave one end of it a sharp tug, causing it to fall freely to the ground. She gave a satisfied smirk at the slightly embarrassed look on Zukos face. Katara was just about to leave, happy with the verbal berating and light embarrassment she had just filed out when her eyes drifted slightly south.

Her gaze landed on a dark twisted scar taking up a monopoly on Zukos skin. The large burst where his ribs met arcing out down his stomach and across his chest in thin lines. Azulas lightning.

Lightning that had been meant for her.

Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, barely moving. It wasn’t until then that Katara noticed that she had placed her hand upon it. Before she could process what she was saying she asked.

“Did you keep seeing the healers like I told you to?”

“I-Uh, of course I did” Zukos blush reached his neck that time.

“So no then. At least let me help while I’m here. Lie down,” If there was one thing Zuko knew at this point, it was that there was never any use fighting Katara. So he obliged as she collected the bowl of rose water left on the night stand.

“You haven’t been treating it so this might hurt a little,”

“It’s okay, I’m used to it” It was Zukos turn to speak without thinking, but he didn’t need to explain. They had all felt their fair share of pain over the last few years. His companion simply nodded and hummed lightly as the water began to glow.

“Agni have mercy” Zuko found himself murmuring. That hurt way more than he thought it would. Okay, no more skipped healers appointments. He felt like he was going to pass out at any second. Suddenly, the glowing stopped.

“Woah, woah, hey. Are you okay? All the color just drained from your face” Zukos next words were entirely incoherent, no better than if he had way too much fire whiskey. “Okay, that’s enough for you.” Katara then soaked a cloth and cooled it with her bending before placing it across his forehead. “There, you’re gonna be just fine.”

Zukos entire world was spinning, but then again- it tended to do that whenever Katara came around. He forced his eyelids open to look at her. There was so much worry and care painted across her face, and his head was too foggy. He said something, but neither of them had any idea what, so he tried once more.

“I love you, Katara”

The last thing he saw was her shocked expression, a dusting of pink across her dark complexion, before darkness claimed him.

[chronicallymargaret]

the beginning

One morning in February of 2012, my mom had knocked on the door to wake me for breakfast and I told her I didn’t feel well. She went and grabbed the thermometer and it read 102℉. There was a sickness going around the high school at the time, so she told me to take some meds and rest. The next morning, my mom woke me up again to check my temperature and it had barely gone down. I stayed home again and followed the same regime. After my fever finally broke, my body didn’t feel right. I thought maybe I was just overly tired from being sick or maybe it was just the cold medicine wearing off. Eventually, I got to the point where I really didn’t think about the pain because I didn’t want to worry anyone. The family wounds were still healing from losing my first best friend, my grandpa, six years prior to cancer. Plus, I never liked people worrying about me because I knew that no matter what, I would always be okay - or so I thought.

High school was hard enough - let alone having a medical condition that not a single doctor in the tri-state area knew a single thing about. I kept my symptoms away from my parents for a very long time. Eventually, like most parents, they caught on that something wasn’t right with their kid. In December of 2012 along came the typical parental questions: “Margaret, are you doing drugs?” “Come on, kid, just tell me what’s going on with ya.” “Kiley Mae. Sit your ass down and start talking.” And then the never ending conversations and tears started to flow. I explained that, no - I was not doing drugs (I really was quite innocent here, Ma and Pops. Only a couple of times, I swear.). I finally broke down to my parents and told them the truth: Ever since that February morning in 2012, I’ve had a headache and chronic pain nearly every day.

Next thing I knew, my mom started researching and researching and more researching. She tried countless times to get clinics/doctors/specialists - you name it, she called them - to even listen to her. She called Mayo Clinic nearly EVERY DAY - practically begging on her hands and knees to fit me in to be seen by someone, anyone. She was my voice because no doctor or person took me seriously. I was “craving attention, a drama queen, drug addict/seeker, hypochondriac, lazy, not good enough, problematic, selfish, waste of money, time, and space.) I watched my dad’s hair slowly turn more and more gray as he worried about whether he should go to work to make money for the never-ending medical bills or go with his wife and daughter to find out the answers. (I hate how corporate America works. Since when has money become more important than one’s health? It’s disgusting and I wish we could change the system.) I watched my sister lack the attention from my parents that she deserved because they were constantly worried about me. (I am in no way, shape, or form calling out my parents. They have ALWAYS done their best in EVERY situation and that is why I am so proud to call them my parents - my heroes.) My high school friends secretively raised money to buy me a miniature pet pig to try to help make me feel better - my parents appreciated the kind gesture but said no because I needed to focus on my health. (I WILL own a pet pig one day - Dallas has already approved.

I have had a majority of my POTS symptoms under control over the last 10 years, but 2023 really screwed up my body. Due to all of the trauma and stress from not only everyday life, but miscarriages, surgeries, and mental health episodes as well - my body has been in FULL overdrive. I've been struggling trying to keep my life going and trying to ignore my health because I don’t want to give in to the fact that my POTS is getting WORSE and not better like I had been telling myself - and everyone I know - since the day I was diagnosed in July of 2012. Back then - yes, this was a frickin’ decade ago .. totally gross, I know. [“POTS was only seen in approximately 500,000 Americans. (https://www.aafp.org/pubs/afp/issues/2012/0901/p392.html)."] Imagine being 15 years old and you're a literal drop in the ocean of people who have something medically rare. What in the frick are the odds of that?

Flash forward to now, February 2024, I have nearly every symptom back plus new ones. My chronic symptoms are headaches - different intensities and locations, lightheadedness and dizziness, severe brain fog - I try not to drive on these days as I typically forget everything, insomnia, anxiety (omg .. I said the BIG “A” word), and depression (oooopps, I did it again bahaha). My new symptoms are: chronic abdominal pain - intensity and location has varied over approximately three months now, dry heaving, hot and cold intolerance (I told my work mom’s I feel like I’m going through menopause with how many hot flashes I have .. they giggled and said “Ohhh Kiley Mae, you have no idea what you’re in for - this is hardly nothing.” Also, can we talk about how important work relationships are? I love my work moms and work family - I’m very blessed on that front.), and vomiting.

The news that I learned today was that due to the dry heaving and vomiting, I now have a large hiatal hernia - part of my stomach is on top of my diaphragm. I’m currently waiting for a call to schedule a barium swallow test and I have a referral in with the University of Nebraska Medicine with a POTS specialist. I personally believe that I’m going to have chronic headaches and abdominal migraines - but I’m holding onto a little bit of hope that the doctor I currently have is going to confirm that the abdominal discomfort is from the hernia, not POTS. I plan on keeping this updated regularly because after I figure out what’s going on with me - I want to share my path of life so no one has to go through the medical trauma that I have.

Medical trauma is a huge part of not only who I am as a person but talking about it is the therapy that I am working through right now. I will eventually spill all of the emotions, but for today I’m going to talk about today. Because today was a very good day and I deserve to celebrate it.

My parents have become “snowbirds” and fly to southern Texas for the winter. Unfortunately, my endoscope ended up being scheduled while they were gone. I told my parents they didn’t have to come back home because it was a simple procedure, and everything was going to be okay. (Yes, I’m 27 and still take my parents to certain medical appointments because I’ve been hurt - I’m working on it.). I don’t know if it’s because I finally did it by myself or if the staff was told to be extra careful with me or what - but I had the most relaxing experience ever. No one looked at me like I was weird when I stated that I had POTS and would need an extra bag of saline. The first anesthetist actually shared with me that she also was diagnosed with POTS. I immediately got a smile on my face and asked if she was kidding. Coming from a small town, not very many people understood what my diagnosis is and again - I’ve been used to being a single drop in the ocean.

The anesthetist made sure to mark my charts and inform the rest of the care team my condition, what to expect, and what I would need after I woke back up. Anesthesia tends to send me into a flare up - especially with cutting off food and water after midnight. Once I got taken into the operating room, my actual anesthetist started asking me questions about POTS. He stated that he had heard of it, but only until recently. I started to explain how long I’ve had it. Then I just started word vomiting because this was a whole new experience for me - how I just want some answers but I’m sure they wouldn’t find anything. I had already come to terms with the abdominal migraines starting. He looked at me in the sincerest way and said, “Wow. You’re a strong woman. You’ve been through a lot but you’re so cool about it.” That statement right there hit me. I realized in that moment that, holy shit, I’ve persevered. I’ve climbed a huge hurdle today and I can’t wait to keep climbing.

If you've read this long - just know that I see you and I love you.

[renee-writer]

Secrets

For @flashfictionfridayofficial 188 prompt. A bit of family intrigue.

She didn’t expect to find anything unusual in the box of books. Needing the space, she is preparing for a yard sale. The books that haven’t been read or even looked at, for over a decade seem perfect for the sale.

 

Old romance novels, westerns, and science fiction greet her as she lifts them out. She places them in separate piles based on what condition they are in.

 

She is almost at the end when she sees it. A journal slipped into the pile of romances. Lifting it out she notices two things immediately. The first, it is old, much older then the books. The second, that it is her great-grandmother’s.  Intrigued, she sits down amongst the books to read it.

 

September 3rd,

Oh, what am I to do! Papa will surely skin him alive. How do I even tell him and mama? They expect so much better out of me.

 

September 5th

 

I have barely slept and can hardly eat. I keep praying for a miracle but, alas, my curses have yet to come. I have told Tom. He vows to stand by me.

 

“Tom?” she says a loud. Her great -grandfather’s name was Paul, or was it? She carefully turns the page.

 

September 10th

 

Lord help me! Tom done ran off. Papa went to get him to help with the cows and he was gone! Now what do I do?

 

September 15th

I was sick at breakfast this morning. Mama say me down and I told her all. She wept with me and said we must tell him. We will do it after the crops are in.

 

September 30th

 

Today is the day. We can’t hide it anymore. Mama is looking poorly. I cannot keep this on her head. Oh, I am scared. So scared. But it must be done.

 

October 1st

 

He got so quiet I thought he may be having a stroke. Me and mama say all quiet and waited. I know we were both a praying. Then he looked at me and said, “My daughter, tisn’t your fault. Tom best stay gone. We shall find a good husband for you.” 

 

October 30th

 

It has been a while but so much has happened. My papa brought home my husband the next day! A gentleman named Paul. He said, “Paul meet Hazel. You will be wed tomorrow.” Well I didn’t know what to say nor do. Just took his hand, lowered my eyes and said, “How do you do?”

Mama told me that night that he was a good God fearing man who had been looking for a wife. That he and papa had talked and he offered him some acres on our farm and to build a house if he would take my hand and give my child a name.

What else is there to do? We were wed in our living room with my parents as witnesses.

We sleep side by side, Paul and I, but he has yet to touch me. A gentleman indeed.

 

She slips to the end

 

May 3rd

 

Paul Edward Junior was born early this morning. He looks like me, praise God. We are so happy.

 

She sits holding her great-grandmother’s well kept secret in her hands. Questions run through her head. What happened to Tom. Did her great- great- grandfather find him? Were Hazel and Paul as happy as they seemed? Did he ever look at his son and wonder about the long gone Tom? Did granny ever tell anyone else her secret? Oh, she wishes she had known so she could tell her that her long buried secret was okay. That everyone makes mistakes.

 

She carries it down and places it in the old hope chest that belonged to her granny long ago. That is where it belongs. Then she heads back up to the attic to fetch the books for the yard sale.

[letrune]

The party stands shocked. Gilra, the elf warrior, loses hold of his axe. Ukthi, the dwarf, barely holds back a curse. Intril, the mage lizard we picked up from a university a few weeks ago is confused more than anyone else. And me? I'm fully flustered.

"So, uh, yea. They are my mothers."

"....how?" Gilra coughs between surprised gasps.

"You see..." Egi, the first witch, smiles.

"...we were...." Keti, the second witch, adds.

"...lonely..." Hari, the third witch, finishes. Well, she just leaves it hanging. Guess everyone is unsure how to explain that three witches of elven origin had a child who is, for all intents and purposes, is a giant feline.

"Okay, I am getting more confused by the minute." Intril says. "I am versed in the ways of gestalt intellects, but... how?"

"All right all..." the witches start.

"...sit down there..."

"...and we can tell."

Decades ago, the three witches finished on their new potion and bottled it for some traveller who will come next week. They knew how it goes, an adventurer needs a last minute draught, a princess got to wake her spouse from a curse coma, a dragon needs a dwarven shape for a few days to meet their love.

"My sisters, the potion is done."

"But the cauldron is hot and bubbly, we can make one."

"And yet for all, we are lonely... Aren't we all?"

They all sighed.

"We could make a child."

"But children leave their homes, we'll be lonely again."

"Not if the child never wants to."

"Who would we be, keeping a life under lock?"

"We made ourselves into three, just so we had company. One more life may help us."

"Make the three four?"

"Not in that spell. More like... a child."

They all agreed and made a potion, thick as blood and heavy as life, each had stayed one by one, for three days to make it their best potion.

"Our child should not be like us."

"Shall we make them strong or agile?"

"I say we make them anything they want to be."

"Let the life form itself?"

"Seems like as good as any way."

"But... If they leave us?"

"They will. It's the world's way that children leave, they go on their own adventures."

"Besides, they will visit us!"

They all agreed and made the spell. The form shaped itself in the cauldron, but not yet finished.

"I give your a gift. A free spirit that finds joy in all." Egi said and the form became humanoid under the fluid.

"I give you a gift. A strong heart and spine, to never leave your chosen path." Keti said and the body became an elven-like feline's.

"I give you a gift. Life itself. You will be as we all, born this moment like we do." The form shaken and curled up, whispering and groaning.

"Your mothers give you the gift of life." She cried up.

"And here we are." I said, embarassed for this all. It felt like if someone who should you the most embarassing images from your life.

"I thought you are just some adventurer from a far away land." Ukthi says to me as I curl up in embarassment, the witches giggling a bit.

"I just wanted to have no questions about my past."

"She grew up well..."

"...made her own life..."

"...and isn't it the joy of all mothers?"

"I... Yes..." I agreed and smiled at them, still flustered as my adventuring friends had sat peacefully. They not seemed to mind but had questions, and Egi and Keti happily answered them all.

Hari gently held my hand.

"You came for a potion, didn't you."

"We did, yes."

"Smith? From the village?"

"No, professor Lin."

"Oh, here it is. A very good memory enchancer. He needs it at some time."

"Thank you. So... So happy to see you again, but... I am embarassed."

"Because you had a different backstory in mind to them than your own?"

"...yes. i am barely even four years old, but they needed a seasoned adventurer and all..."

"Sometimes, it is better to tell the truth. But nobody said you have to tell all the truth." She gave me a wink and put the potion in my bag, followed with another potion. "If you guys ever get in trouble, just throw the green one at the trouble. It will change their whole life, I tell you."

"Is it some poison?"

"Lots of dust and glue."

you and your party are on a sidequest for a witch’s potion and you have to go inside their hut. But when the coven of three discovers you, they’re overjoyed and you’re just embarrassed, you look to your party and say “everyone, these three are my moms”

[intofclklore]

stale cigarette smoke lingers on every inch of eddie’s van, and the only reason penny doesn’t complain is because the smoke is just that. stale. they’ve known each other long enough that he knows she’ll flick any cigarette he tries to light out of his fingers before he can even think about reaching for a lighter. she likes to think it’s because he cares about her lungs, too. either way, it’s something she appreciates.

they stay in his van for a few hours. nowhere to go, nothing to do. a rainy day with both of their respective relatives slash roommates home. if they want privacy without getting rained on, it means they sit in the van. not for the first time, not for the last.

thinking about the smoking thing makes her mind wander. her brain must be bored on a day like today because it’s working overtime. it gets her thinking about all the other things they do and have done to adjust to the other. habits or quirks they’ve developed or picked up from each other. the list is probably endless.

���isn’t it crazy how long we’ve known each other?” she voices out loud. “i think you’re my oldest… person.”

it feels wrong to call him a friend when they don’t even acknowledge each other at school half the time. only if she’s turning her nose up at him in passing or he’s mocking her in the halls. she used to feel bad about that. about refusing to be his friend in public because he’d ruin her image. but over the years, she’s realized that that may be true for him, too. the guilt’s less heavy nowadays.

plus, she kind of likes that this - whatever it is, friendship, whatever - is just for them. no prying eyes. no questions. no judgment.

“we were such kids when we met,” she continues.

eddie nods. "we were sixteen. maybe less, maybe a little more."

her face contorts into a look of bewilderment. brow furrowed, eyes wide. “are you high? i just turned eighteen like four months ago, eddie, we were not sixteen when we met.”

she does math quickly in her head. as quickly as she can at least. not exactly her best subject. she tries to determine if maybe he is right, if he was almost that old when they first met. she forgets the age gap sometimes. it’s so small it’s practically nonexistent especially these days. but no, she’s still correct. neither of them were sixteen when they met.

“i said maybe less.”

that makes her laugh, shaking her head at him. “i was twelve.” when she speaks this time, her voice is softer. fond as the memory plays in her mind. “you were probably thirteen. maybe fourteen. no hair.”

it makes her laugh. not because he’d looked funny back then. but because she’s imagining him with a buzzcut in present day, and she thinks he’d look funny now. the longer hair just suits him, that’s all. the way her mind and eyes linger on it makes her need to touch. a finger curls around a strand of it, looping it around loosely until it slips away from her.

“i didn’t care about you at first,” she says. she doesn’t mean it in a cruel way and they both know that. it just was what it was. he was two grades ahead of her. only a year older, but the year she moved to hawkins was the year she had to repeat a grade. she was starting her last year of elementary school - again - and he was in the seventh grade already. a small gap but at that age, it could have been a decade between them. he wasn’t a concern of hers.

until he was.

until they were at the same school for more than a year. when she entered her freshman year and realized this random freak who lived in the trailer next to hers may be more of a problem for her than she anticipated.

ah, shit. the realization strikes her. he was sixteen when they started hanging out. damn him for being half right. she won’t admit this out loud. she’s still not wrong either. they can both be right in their own ways. semantics and all that.

it’s funny but feels fitting that this all began because she stomped over to threaten him not to tell anyone they lived in the same trailer park. had nothing to threaten him with. held no insider knowledge about his life to hold over his head. he had all the power. but he still agreed. never told a soul that they knew each other. never told a soul when she started buying pot from him. never told a soul when she opened up a little, admitted it was for her dad, that he was sick and in constant pain. it was evident from the jump that he was someone who would hold her secrets safely for her.

but it still snuck up on her. the attachment that formed between them. she never saw it coming. she doesn’t think either of them did.

“are you implying you care now?” he asks and she can hear the shit-eating grin threatening to spill across his face depending on her answer.

she won’t confirm or deny. “i’m done reminiscing now.” she huffs like she wasn’t the one who started this, then reaches for the door. “i’ll be back. i’m getting a popsicle.”

“get me one.”

“no.”

she does anyway.

[plus-size-reader]

Should Be

Damon Salvatore x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2897 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Damon’s human partner gets jealous of Katherine when she gets out of the tomb.

—————————————————————————————————

Katherine coming back from the tombs wasn’t ideal for anyone.

There was a reason she’d been locked away for as long as she had and really, you didn’t get why they were letting her out in the first place.

The world was going to keep turning whether or not they let her be a part of it. At least, that was what Damon had assured you when the news broke that she had resurfaced.

You didn’t want to care.

In reality, her coming back to Mystic Falls wasn’t any of your business. You hadn’t ever had anything to do with her, and you wouldn’t, even if she came back.

Still, it would be a lie to say that you weren’t really comfortable with it.

The two of them, Katherine and Damon, they had quite a bit of history and you just couldn’t fit the feeling in the pit of your stomach that it was going to be bad news for you. It just didn’t seem right.

Maybe you were jealous, or insecure, or something like that but it didn’t really matter. All you knew was that you weren’t itching for her to come back into any of your lives.

Damon was different, for the better, than when the two of you met but Katherine had quite the hold on him for a really long time and you were worried how her poking around in your lives would affect him.

It couldn’t be good, even if she was magically on her best behavior, somehow.

You just didn’t see that happening.

You weren’t jealous, of course, you had to keep reminding yourself of that. You and Damon had been together for several years, and you knew that he loved you. It was the sort of connection that you’d never had with another person, having been enthralled with him ever since he saved your life.

As it would turn out, that was quite the bonding exercise.

However, no experience you and Damon had ever shared could compare to all the time he and Katherine had been together.

They had been in love, and whether it was real for her or not, Damon had never really even gotten over her betrayal. He cared about her deeply, and you couldn’t imagine how seeing her again would make him feel.

Until recently, you thought that you trusted Damon more than anything.

You trusted him with your life for God's sake and you were sure that nothing would ever change that, but evidently, Katherine had decided to challenge that notion.

Ever since she’d come back into all your lives, she had made a choice to just inject herself into every situation you were in. Even now, from where you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth, you could hear her talking to him in the adjacent bedroom.

It was nothing more than pathetic small talk about their past together but it was more than enough to make your blood boil.

You knew more than enough about the bond they had shared and the time they spent together, you didn’t need to hear it from her on top of everything else that was on your plate.

She might not have been too much of a real threat to you, because you knew that no matter what she did, there was no undoing what she’d done to him but that didn’t make you like her any better.

Frankly, even knowing that, you’d had enough of Lady Katherine.

Her presence here, where you lived, was like a slap in the face.

Decades had passed since they were even in the same room and even then, she had done nothing more than treat him like dirt.

It seemed like common sense that she was just going to do it again, but he was letting her. Damon was barely even putting up a fight and really, you were finding it hard to believe.

After everything that she had put him through, why would he even entertain her presence in this place.

He didn’t owe her anything, not anymore.

You thought that what you and Damon had was more important to him than anything else, but if her coming back into his life was enough to make him question that, it said a lot.

So, even though you wanted to go tell her to get out, you kept it to yourself.

Not well, but you kept it to yourself.

You may have been brushing your teeth more aggressively than you ever had in your entire life, but you hadn’t said anything yet.

For you, that was a win.

Deep down, you weren’t really worried about losing him to her. If Katherine had actually bothered to get to know him all those years ago, she would know that Damon was one of the most devoted and loving men in the world.

He was now, and you were sure that he had been before all this.

You just had to break down those walls of his first.

It took some time but it was well worth it once you earned his trust. You knew that he would do anything for you, and anyone else he loved, she just didn’t actually care.

Not that it mattered to her what kind of bond you two had.

As far as she was concerned, you were just some temporary fling that Damon would get bored of and feed off of at some point, like he did most of the others. He had never actually kept a girlfriend around for very long.

He wasn’t the kind, and in any case, she was sure that you couldn’t hold a candle to her.

She had a hold on him that had lasted, at least somewhat, for all the time that she’d been locked away and in a matter of days, she was sure she could have the raven-haired male eating out of the palm of her hand.

It was that easy.

All she had to do was prove it, and at this rate, it wasn’t going to take long at all.

Here she was, sitting new to him on your fancy little bedspread with him, practically hanging on her every word while you were tucked away. Before long, she wouldn’t have to put up with you anymore at all.

He was bound to come to his senses at some point, and she had nothing but time.

She could wait it out.

Tonight though, she couldn’t have gotten away from you that easily.

You could only hide away in the bathroom for so long and once that time had run out, you entered the bathroom with a casual sigh leaving Katherine’s lips at the sight of you.

Just when she was starting to bring up all those good memories they shared, here you came to ruin it all.

“Could you please move over?” you asked, only looking at her as much as you absolutely had to, catching the tail end of an eye roll that you would have been okay with missing entirely.

All she did was scoff, clearly inconvenienced.

“Why? Am I hurting you here?” she asked, not bothering to cover up the hatefulness in her tone, not that you or Damon was surprised. Speaking of, the dark haired male was still just sitting there, waiting for someone to lunge at the other.

He wasn’t a huge fan of her being here either, but he was trying to be civil.

There was a chance they would need her and burning that bridge too early could cause problems along the way, or at least that was what Stefan told him.

He’d lived without her for a long time and he’d be fine if she fell off the face of the earth tomorrow. Though, if she kept testing you, she may not make it until tomorrow.

She may have had the upper hand over you as far as vampire strength was concerned but you all knew that if she tried to do anything to you, he would turn her head so far around that she’d be the one really out of place.

He wasn’t going to let her hurt you, not if it really came down to it.

“That’s where I sleep,” you explained, gesturing to where she was, sprawled out on your side of the bed, without a care in the world. It wasn’t the kind of thing that you even thought you had to explain but she was pushing you.

She wanted to start a fight.

To Katherine, this was all a game and she had nothing to lose.

There were no rules and she was betting on the fact that she could break you with very little effort.

However, there was one thing she was forgetting. You and Damon shared something she could never hope to have with him, something she had given up a long time ago.

Love

You respected Damon and you cared about him.

The two of you were together through the good times and the bad, not just when you needed something from him or you were bored. In that way, she couldn’t hope to touch what you shared.

Still, there was one thing that worried you.

Katherine was gorgeous.

Her body was incredible, and she had no problem showing it off which she had made very clear tonight. Where you would have wanted to hide away and never go outside again, she just strolled around in nearly nothing, without a care in the world.

Emotionally, you and Damon couldn’t have been closer but physically, you couldn’t help but feel like she would beat you had there been some kind of competition.

Even you would have chosen her over you in that regard.

When she stood from the bed, dramatically throwing her hair over her shoulder to give Damon one final wink before leaving, you got a good look at her long legs, even further making you rethink yourself.

Why was Damon with you when he could have had her all this time? Sure, he didn’t know she was down there until today but now that he knew, there was nothing keeping him from picking her.

After she’d left, you plopped down on your side of the bed, immediately turning away from Damon and cuddling into your pillow.

You knew it wasn’t his fault you were having these thoughts about yourself, but you didn’t want to be around him right now.

You didn’t want him to be reminded of what he could have had.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, after a few seconds of sitting in the dark, staring at the back of your head without a kiss on his lips. You always kissed him before bed, but tonight, you didn’t even seem to care if he was breathing.

It was unlike you and it worried him, not that he would ever admit it.

You didn’t answer right away, letting his words simmer in the air for a few moments as you thought about what you wanted to say. There weren’t really words that would make any sense to him.

From where he was sitting, you would seem jealous and out of your mind but this wasn’t about Katherine anymore.

For you, this was about how he’d settled with the wrong woman and you couldn’t help but feel like he was lying to you about his feelings.

How could he be attracted to you when you looked like you did?

You had asked him before, on a bad day when you woke up feeling huge and ugly, but this was different. Katherine prancing around here had shown you everything that you could have looked like.

What you should have looked like.

“It’s nothing, let’s just go to bed” you tried, far too physically and mentally exhausted to have this conversation.

For now, you just wanted to get some sleep, you could deal with Katherine and all her business tomorrow.

As for your body, that was just going to have to be tomorrow's problem as well. Physical exhaustion always won out over mental anguish, no matter how much you tried to force your own hand in that regard.

All you could hope was that you felt better in the morning, and maybe then, you could explain all this weird stuff to Damon.

~

You woke up to a cold bed, which was pretty much par for the course when it came to sleeping next to a vampire but when you rolled around and found he was gone, that was when you got a little worried.

That was new.

Damon never got out of bed before you, if he even got out of bed when you did, and you couldn’t help but be concerned about what he could have been doing.

Knowing Damon, it could have literally been anything.

Though, the last thing you expected to find when you turned the corner was the man you loved, trying and failing to make what smelled like chocolate chip pancakes and scrambled eggs.

“Good morning my love, would you care to explain why I went to bed without a goodnight kiss?” he wondered, focusing more on the glass of bourbon in his hands than the breakfast that was surely burning on the stove.

He always tried his best where the more domestic stuff was concerned but it just wasn’t his strong suit. He just wasn’t as much of a wiz in the kitchen as he liked to pretend that he was in moments like this.

“After I put out the grease fire you’re about to start” you sighed, moving the pan from the fire and setting it in the sink.

Damon wasn’t going to let you get off easy after last night, but the most you could do was buy yourself some time before you made an absolute fool out of yourself.

He wasn’t about to just let this go.

He never did.

“I’m serious, you got all squirrely after Katherine left” Damon prodded, his hands falling on your hips, which he used as leverage to turn you toward him, trapped between his body and the sink.

You sighed, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t have to have this conversation but knowing that you would.

It was embarrassing.

Part of you, the mature part, knew that this wasn’t that big of a deal but the other part couldn’t help but hate her. She wasn’t just some beautiful girl, Mystic Falls was full of those, but Katherine was a threat.

This was much more about how she was clearly trying to take Damon from you than actually just trying to be a friend to any of you.

She wasn’t that kind.

“Excuse me if I’m not thrilled to have your psychotic ex girlfriend prancing around in her underwear” you scoffed, not understanding what it really was that he was missing.

You were projecting, of course, but there was no real way around it. As insecure as Katherine made you, her being here was just as much of the problem. You didn’t want her injecting herself into your life.

It wasn’t her place, and the idea that he wanted you to somehow be okay with it was really messing with you.

“Cute”

From Damon, that was little more than a casual huff but he knew you better than to just believe that. It wasn’t like you to act like you did last night, not with him, even where she was concerned.

You were better than that.

You were better than her, that was why he didn’t think anything of her immature little games.

“Now the truth” he prompted, a soft smile on his face as he waited for you to tell him what was really eating at you. This had been dragging out for way too long, and he really just wanted to get it over with.

He wanted to help  you feel better, and he would do anything he could to make that happen, you both knew that.

Damon would have gladly turned her inside out if it would make a difference, but first, you had to tell him what was bothering you. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. You had to give him something to go off of.

“She is what I should be, what you deserve” you muttered, the words barely leaving your lips as you thought about them. You didn’t want to admit it to him, almost as much as you didn’t want to admit it to yourself.

You didn't like that she got under your skin, because she knew that she could. The more you let her, the more she got what she wanted.

...and you hated that.

“I think I’d rather have you” Damon shrugged, not even hesitating in his response. Given the two of you, and the person that Katherine was, there was nothing in the world he would have rather had than you.

He definitely didn’t want her.

Katherine had turned her back on Damon a million and one times, and at the end of the day, she couldn’t have given a damn what happened to him but you weren’t like that. You had the biggest heart of anyone he’d ever known, in several lifetimes.

There was nothing he wouldn’t trade, if it meant that he got to keep you.

At the end of the day, you were his person and he knew a good thing when he had it.

[raphmybeloved]

Here's a snippet from an AU that wouldn't leave me alone. It's in the style of a celebrity interview

From Hot Soup to Hotcakes: Lou Jitsu talks fatherhood, his return to Hollywood, and breakfast foods

Bring up the name Lou Jitsu to anyone you know and their first thought will be of cheesy action films from the 80s. Beloved by many for their unique action sequences and cheesy one-liners movies like Punch Chowder and Hot Soup Forever have become classics. 

The second thought of anyone hearing the name Lou Jitsu would be his disappearance. For a long time one of the biggest mysteries of Hollywood, how a popular star managed to vanish without a trace. There have been many conspiracy theories and tabloid articles about the event but never any concrete information. One day Jitsu was filming and the next day he was gone. 

To say his reappearance ten years later was a shock would be an understatement. Not only did the old action star emerge from hiding but he also announced his return to film. “I’ve missed acting,” the star said to me, the same yellow sunglasses that had become his signature perched on his forehead all these years later. “And I figure I should get back to it while I’m still young enough to do my own fight scenes.”

The diner in which he agreed to meet me is dingy in the best kind of way. The vinyl on the seats is cracked and the decor looks like it hasn’t been updated since the 90s but the coffee is hot and the atmosphere just calm enough for an interview. Jitsu doesn’t look like he’s changed much either, his hair is in the same style it was ten years ago and dispite not having done an interview in a decade he seems relaxed and comfortable as we speak.

“You can thank my boys for that,” he tells me with a smile. “When I told them I was doing this they spent an hour making me answer questions into a hairbrush. Hardest interview I’ve ever done, three year olds can be ruthless.” 

The biggest change to Lou Jitsu is sitting next to him devouring pancakes. Learning that the action star had adopted children in his years away from the public eye had been a surprise to everyone. Lou tries his best to keep them out of the spotlight, me even seeing his son today is due to a scheduling conflict. “It’s father-son day.” Jitsu explains “With four boys it’s difficult to make sure they all get their own time with me and I wasn’t going to cancel. Besides, when Red heard that he could get pancakes he insisted he come.”

Jitsu’s oldest son Raphael appears quite happy as he enjoys pancakes and chocolate milk, the child dressed head to toe in red wearing a too large football helmet. When asked how old he was he had proudly held out four fingers. “Dad can’t make pancakes,” he says around a mouthful of food. “He can’t make waffles either, he always sets off the alarm.” Jitsu flushes a little and laughs. “Cooking is not my strongsuit. I’ve been trying to get better for the boys but we still end up eating a bit more cereal than we probably should.”

When asked how his sons feel about him returning to work Lou tells me that they had been pushing for it since they first saw one of his films. “They are huge fans. I can’t go one day without hearing ‘hot soup!’ usually followed by the sound of something breaking.” Young Raphael certainly seems excited. “He’s gonna beat up bad guys! It’s going to be so cool.”

Our interview is unfortunately cut short when Jitsu receives a phone call and informs his son that his brothers need them back at home. “Duty calls,” he informs me apologetically. “Perhaps one day I’ll be able to actually finish an interview before my sons try to recreate a movie stunt.”

Lou Jitsu’s new film Hot Soup: The Reheat premieres this upcoming July. 

[themerrypanda]

The last of my Stardew Valley AO3 reposts! This was first a Luau Festival prompt, but next my take on a backstory for Sebastian’s line: “One year Sam put a pound of anchovies in the potluck soup. Ever wondered why Sam leads the town in community service hours?” Personally I like to imagine this story taking place the first summer after Sebastian’s 18th birthday.

Title: Luau Mayhem

Word Count: 1,598

Summary: Someone sabotaged the soup! While the governor is being treated at the clinic, Lewis hopes to find out who did it.

The good news: the Luau was stopped abruptly.

The bad news: the mayor was furious.

Sebastian watched as the visiting governor writhed in pain and began to swell upon tasting the potluck soup. His half-sister Maru and Doctor Harvey quickly rushed him to the clinic to treat him, while everyone else who was still on the beach when they left were forced to help with cleaning up the event, all while Mayor Lewis pulled people aside one by one and interrogated them behind the run-down cabin.

Sebastian had wandered all around the beach, picking up litter in an effort to stay low enough on Lewis’s radar that the true culprit would be found before he could reach him. He noticed Abigail doing the same thing. Sam, however, was holding his toddler brother while his mom helped with taking down the decorations. Unfortunately, Sebastian’s efforts were in vain. His desire to hide away from the festival brought him high on the pecking order, and despite Sebastian’s pretending to not hear him as he picked up trash from the ground and rounded behind groups of people, Lewis only got angrier and started shouting his name to the point that everyone else was watching too.

Reluctantly, he followed Lewis behind the cabin. Thankfully his mom didn’t try to clear his name, and trusted that Sebastian could clear his own. Or she thought that he may have done it? Whatever.

Lewis pulled a small notebook from his pocket and clicked a pen. He glared into Sebastian’s eyes, willing them to be intimidating. Joke’s on Lewis; he stopped being intimidating a decade ago.

“Good day, Sebastian.”

“It wasn’t me, old man. And if you have any other questions, just get to the point already.”

Lewis huffed, but flipped through his notebook.

“Right then. So, at what time did you arrive at the Luau?” he asked.

“Same time as my family did, I don’t know. Nine in the morning?”

Lewis hummed as he jotted a note in his book. Probably to keep track of people’s alibis. Ridiculous. “And who did you… hang out… with?”

“No one. I walked on the dock and sat behind the Fish Shop the whole time.”

“Uh huh,” he said skeptically. “Did you ever go back to the beach for refreshments?”

“Twice. Once for some crab cakes and punch, the second time when the governor tried the soup.”

Lewis raised his eyebrow. “Where were you when the governor tried the soup?”

“Edge of the beach, right next to the dock.”

“And how close did you get to the cooking pot?”

“Never touched it.”

“Hmm…” Lewis thought aloud again. “Recite to me the events surrounding when the governor tried the soup. Start at about when you heard me announce the time for soup.”

Lewis was looking for something specific. There was no way he could find it in Sebastian; Sebastian was sure of it. “Alright. I was sitting on the dock when you called for everyone to come in. I sat up, extinguished my cigarette, and walked onto the beach. You said something about hoping everyone put in high-quality ingredients.”

“I’m going to interrupt you–”

“Just get to the point.”

“What did your family put in the communal soup?”

“I believe Mom and Demetrius gathered some of his extra mushroom specimens and added them to the soup.”

“Have you seen what anyone else added to the soup?”

“No sir, I was sitting at the dock, like I’ve said a few times already. Are you already getting forgetful, old man?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here!” Lewis thundered. He glanced into his notebook. “Now, where was I…?” He ignored Sebastian raising his eyebrow. “As you were with the story.”

“Fine. After the last call for putting in ingredients, you took a ladle, filled a bowl, and passed it to the governor. You saw the look on his face, right?” Sebastian couldn’t help but to smirk here. “His face twisted up like he tasted something rank, and so he spilled the broth back into his bowl until he found a fish in his giant spoon. It was the funniest thing I saw all summer.”

“What kind of fish?”

“I heard a buncha folks say it was an anchovy. I never saw it up close though; I was away at the edge of the beach.”

Lewis wrote some notes, and scanned over them.

“Am I clear to go now?”

“One minute.” Lewis wrote for another minute, then finally passed a note to Sebastian. Sebastian raised his eyebrows, appalled. The fine read:

On this day, the 11th of Summer, Sebastian has been sentenced to 15 hours of community service, to be completed by next week, as consequence for putting one pound of anchovies into the potluck soup at the Luau festival.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve looked over my notes, and you’re the most suspect.” Lewis said matter-of-factly.

“With what proof?”

“You have no witnesses to say where you were, for one.”

“Abby was also on the docks! She’s seen me go to be alone.”

“You have no idea what else was added to the soup.”

“Because I don’t snoop around asking people what they put in.”

“And finally, that empty tin of anchovies in your hand!”

Sebastian was furious. “I was helping pick up the litter on the beach!” He shouted indignantly. “And I can’t give you fifteen hours in the next week. I have a big project to finish up by then.”

“Then you should have thought of that before you put the anchovies in the soup.”

“I never put anchovies in the soup!”

“Mayor Lewis!” The two turned to see Sam walking over with a very guilty look on his face. “It was me. Leave Sebastian out of it, I acted alone.”

“Don’t tell lies to get your own friends out of trouble.”

“It’s not a lie! I have my receipt from Joja Mart right here.” Sam fished his hand in his pocket and handed Lewis a crumpled up Joja blue receipt. Sure enough, it recorded the transaction under Sam’s name.

Lewis grunted. If Sebastian was only suspecting that Lewis had it out for him before, this only confirmed it. He glanced to Sebastian, then to Sam, then took back Sebastian’s fine for community service, and wrote on it again. This time, he crossed out Sebastian’s name and wrote down Sam’s in its place.

“Don’t forget the hours reduction for coming out clean,” Sam said with a muted smug smile. Lewis grimaced as he crossed out 15 hours and wrote 10 in its place.

“Fine. Sam, I expect to see you on the front steps of my manor at eight o’clock sharp in the morning.”

“I’ll be there, sir!”

Lewis huffed. But now that the culprit has been found, he decided his attention was better spent going over to the clinic to check on his beloved governor. And at that point, the beach was already cleaned up. The sun hadn’t even begun setting. Sebastian dared glance at his watch. It was only 2:30 PM.

Sam let the fullness of his cheeky grin shine. “Good work, Sebastian!”

“Hey, you too. Great timing.”

Sebastian suddenly became aware of Abigail walking up to them from behind. “I can’t believe it worked!” she squealed.

For Sebastian especially, the Luau was easily his least favorite town festival. Not only was it always planned on the hottest day of the year, which often was cloudless, but everyone was expected to spend nine to twelve hours sweltering outside on the beach next to a giant cooking fire, all to worship was usually a barely mediocre soup. The best part, though no one ever said so aloud, was Gus’s appetizers. He’d make so many, anyone could easily fill themselves without ever touching the soup.

“Thanks for suggesting to hang on to the receipt, Abby.” Sam said. “Lewis nearly booked Seb anyway despite having no evidence.”

“I honestly thought that he’d accuse me. He’s been looking at me funny ever since I started dying my hair.”

“I’m not surprised.” Sebastian shrugged. “I swear, the old man’s been out to get me ever since I started smoking in public.” He shook his head. “Makes me feel less sorry about this.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you figured out Governor’s aller–”

Sebastian shushed him.

It was pure luck that he was just outside Lewis’s manor when he overheard him talking on the phone with the governor a week ago. But it was Sam’s idea to use the governor’s fish allergy to end the Luau festival early. As long as they don’t mention the allergy itself, they can play off the incident as an honest prank gone wrong rather than malicious. Everyone knew that the vegetarian-friendly requirement Lewis recently established for the soup was suggested by the governor’s wife and not the governor himself. The governor had been seen on several occasions stopping at the Stardrop Saloon during his travels to enjoy a large steak or an occasional crab cake before making his way back home.

“Ten hours later for ten hours now? I’ll take it!” Sam cheered. Sebastian was just relieved his friend the saboteur volunteered to take the fall from him. “Maybe this time Lewis will finally have me start building a skate park.”

Abigail laughed and turned toward the bridge to town. “So, my place, guys?”

Sebastian and Sam nodded, and together, they nabbed more of Gus’s appetizers and made their way to the General Store. With so much more day ahead of them, finally they could enjoy their own Luau traditions of snacks, video games, and movies, all under an air-conditioned roof.

[360iris]

Wanna Be Down (George Weasley x Reader x Fred Weasley)

Warnings: Pure smut! She/her pronouns for the reader! No funny business between the boys I promise! There’s bound to be some typo that I missed, sorry ‘bout that!

Word count: 1,628

Summary: There’s a birthday, a bunny costume and The Twins... What could go wrong?

A/N: This was originally meant to drop on their birthday, April 1st... I’m 28 days late for that but hey, better late than never! It’s been collecting dust for the entire time and I wanted to set it free. I hope someone enjoys it!

“You want me to- to wear a bunny outfit and have the two of you…” You faltered nervously, the words seemed foreign on your tongue.

“-fuck you in it.” Fred finished for you with a wide grin, as if this was the most in the ordinary activity to plan.

The twins wanted to sleep with you? This was the first you’d heard of it, that’s for sure. And though the thought sent waves of excitement through your body, the prospect was daunting.

You’d been friends since diapers, a meager six hours separating your births. And whether the bond that formed later was predetermined by fate, or by pure chance, it was wholly indestructible.

Through the years, the three of you operated perfectly insync. Remaining quite persistently glued at the hip; completing every task deemed worthy enough as an odd unit.

There was an unspoken rule that each of you would make sure that the others felt equally included in activities.

So why should taking your virginity be any different?

“We’ll be twenty in a few hours, Y/N. Don’t you want to kick off the new decade with a bang?” George asked, his face genuine and voice laced with just the right amount of sweetness. He always did know how to persuade you into going along with Fred’s crazy schemes.

“Quite literally in this instance.” Fred added cheekily and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Both of you have had sex before though. Plenty of times in fact! You told me about it afterwards! In vivid detail at that! Why are you so worried about me now?” Your brows were furrowed, lips turned downwards in a pout.

Sitting criss-cross on your bed, you tugged one of the many pillows on your bed into your lap. Squeezing it tighter when you met their gazes again.

Fred had his hands tucked into his jean pockets, happy as ever. He acted as if it was only a matter of time before he’d get the answer he wanted.

George on the other hand, at least looked like he was having a conversation with you; and not like he was just waiting for you to realize you’d never actually said no to them before. His eyes were soft, assessing your demeanor before approaching your spot at the foot of the bed.

“You know you’re our favorite girl. Don’t you, Y/N?” He questioned and you suddenly felt smaller looking directly up at him. Ginger waves caressing his cheeks and pooling at his shoulders.

“I mean- I suppose.” You replied dumbly.

“Who do we always come back home to?” He asked again, his left hand lifting up from his side to comb through your hair. The pads of his fingers brushing against your cheek as they went.

“Me.” Your answer was hushed, though it was only the three of you in the flat. They’d closed the shop downstairs hours ago.

“And who trails after me as much as she can during the day, practically jumping into my lap the first opportunity she gets?” His voice was getting lower and his gaze remained fixed to you, you tried your best not to squirm.

“M- Me.”

“Lastly, whose the babygirl that slips into my bed at three in the morning because she stays up too late and gets scared?” He was teasing you now, you knew it, but still gave him a reply.

“Me, George.” Both of his hands were cupping your face now, fingertips laced in your hair, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

“So when I ask my favorite girl to put on the outfit I picked out for her, so I can make her feel good on her birthday, what do you think I want to hear back?” A single brow arched as he waited for your answer, ignoring Fred’s quiet “I helped choose it too, y’know.”

Wrapping your fingers around his wrists, you thought about all the times he and Fred had slept with other girls. How deep down you’d wished they’d looked at you the same way.

He allowed you to remove one of his hands, a dark smirk splitting across his face when you’d slowly brought it between your legs. Only coming to a stop when he was cupping your heat.

“I think- I think I’ve been holding out for you.” It was no higher than a whisper, but it’d been the truth nonetheless. He smiled wider at this confession, leaning in and pressing a light kiss on your forehead.

“All the more reason not to disappoint.” He responded, you faintly registered rustling from behind him.

“Y/N, dear?” Fred called.

“Hm?”

“Time to put the outfit on.”

It’d been relatively easy to slip into the get-up. The bodysuit, wrist cuffs and neck piece fitting like a glove.

“When did you get my measurements?” You asked, looking down at yourself.

“Since when have we not had your measurements?” Fred laughed, pulling you onto the bed with him until your back was flush against his chest. Your head comfortably leaning back on his left shoulder.

George following after you, settled for sitting up in front of you, his knees digging into the pink duvet.

“The ears are a nice touch.” He remarked with a pleased smirk. “Don’t you agree, Fred?”

“Absolutely. All white suits her.” He replied matter-a-factly, hands already roaming your torso. Ghosting over your exposed thighs, he hooked a finger under the bikini line of the bodysuit and let it snap back into place. Your hips jutted outwards at the impact.

“Want to hear you ask for it, Y/N.” George was palming your calves, making you feel small again.

“What do you want me to say?” Your brows furrowed curiously at the request, breath hitching when he utilized his grip to pull you further down Fred’s chest. Your ankles eventually hooking against George’s shoulders.

“Want him to play with your little cunt, don’t you baby?” Fred asked from above you, heat rushing to your face at his words.

“Y- Yeah.”

“Then ask, darling.” He grinned at your eyes widening as you met his gaze upside down.

Turning your attention back to George, you absentmindedly bit at the end your thumb nervously. Sure you’d used curse words like anyone else in the world, but the thought of actually asking the twins to fuck you was on a level you’d never thought you’d reach.

“Georgie?” You tried carefully.

“What is it, baby?” He replied softly, a smile playing on his lips, patiently waiting.

“Want- Want you to make me feel good.”

“How?” He prompted, delighting in your fidgeting. Fred however wasn’t feeling as patient, sending a soft smack to your inner thigh.

“Don’t have all day, bunny.” He chided, slowly massaging the site.

“Want your cock, Georgie.” You finally relented, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands, but you feared being spanked again by Fred. 

George rewarded you with a kiss, palming your clit through the material. He swallowed up every whimper that escaped your lips, only answering by expertly thumbing the area faster. 

“Let’s see how wet you are, bun.” Fred whispered, pulling the bodysuit aside to reveal your heat. Running a finger through your folds, he promptly brought it to your mouth. Smirking widely when you began meekly sucking at the digit.

“I’m gonna get you ready, okay sweetheart?” George asked, mouthing at your neck. He didn’t move until you garbled something close to “okay” through Fred’s fingers sadistically pressing down your throat.

Armed with plenty of lube, the first finger sliding into you felt like nothing. By the third, he resorted to distracting you by rubbing your bud to ease the initial stretch. Although nothing could have prepared you for how uncomfortable taking his tip was.

It was a slow process, full of the boys tenderly guiding you to breathe deeply and relax your muscles. With the abundance of their attention focused on outweighing the discomfort with pleasure, eventually the mild pain began to blur around the edges. 

The level of satisfaction that rolled over you when you’d finally reached the hilt was like no other. 

“Good girl.” Fred purred into your hair as George wiped away a stray tear from the corner of your eye. “Took it like a champ, didn’t she, Georgie boy?”

“Sure did, Fred. Squeezing me so nicely too.” He replied smiling proudly.

“Full- So full.” You whimpered blearily, not sure which boy you were grasping for. Each accepted one of your wandering hands, giving them an encouraging squeeze.

“You’re doing so well, babygirl. How about you let me make you feel good now, hm?” George’s voice was gruff as he patiently waited for you to nod back in response.

Soon the discomfort had melted away, leaving only the easy slide of George’s length and the gratification of being engulfed between the loves of your life. 

You promptly got lost in the jumble of mouths, hands and pleasure. 

“Gonna come for us, love?” George asked, holding your hips done to focus his thrusts. 

“Can I- Can I, please? Please let me come!” You whined desperately, unable to distinguish whose hands belonged to who.

“Go ahead, bunny.” George answered and it was all you needed to hear. Your visioned blurred as your toes curled, the only thing you could register was that he was fucking you through it. Fred’s fingers circling your clit didn’t let up until you were pathetically trying to pull at his wrist.

A weak mewl fell from your lips as George pulled out of you spent. Simpering under his praises, you closed your eyes. 

The sudden smack against your face was sobering, leaving you blurrily blinking up at Fred’s eager grin.

“I hope you didn’t think you were off the clock, bun.”

[ragingbookdragon]

The Brother's Keeper

A Dick Grayson and Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, References to Past Abuse

Author's Note: Another story edited and re-posted! Enjoy! -Thorne

Despite having not lived at the manor for almost a decade, she still knew every hallway and room like the back of her hand, every sound was a familiar net of reassurance she could count on. The hum of the hidden wall closing behind her, the creaking of the third step from the top that they always avoided, the clicking the bats above made. She descended the steps into the cave, balancing the heavy manila files in one hand, the other holding two protein shakes, knowing her father probably hadn’t consumed nutrition in at least a few hours since he called her.

Her eyes fell on him where he sat at the Batcomputer; he’d changed out of his suit and was in a pair of joggers and a long sleeve shirt. She walked over, setting the files down beside the keyboard. “Here’s the files you asked about, dad. I alphabetized them too…and color tabbed ‘em but that’s not important.”

He glanced at her with a warm smile before nodding and turning back to the screen. “Thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate you doing so.”

She leaned an arm on the back of the chair, propping her chin on his shoulder as she stared at the screen. “New antidote for Scarecrow’s toxin?”

“He’s synthesized a new formula, so I need to make a new antidote in case anyone gets gassed,” he replied, tapping at the screen until the numbers were apparently in approval with whatever he was thinking about—who knew.

She hummed, taking note of the lack of noise. “Where’re the chuckle-heads?”

He chuckled and tipped his head towards the locker room. “They put their suits away and went to change.” She nodded again and patted his shoulder before walking off in the direction of the room.

When she got there, she didn’t see them, but she could hear them harking on one another in the locker room, and she moved in that direction. She stepped into the room and took in the image of the four of her brothers standing in front of the mirrors in their underwear, pointing at each other like they were shocked to see the other.

“Do I even want to know?” she asked, unblinkingly.

Their heads shot up and they saw her; Dick greeted, “(Y/N)! What are you doing here? You usually don’t come to the manor.”

(Y/N) shrugged and stepped inside, taking a seat on one of the cool metal benches. “Dad needed some files over a few previous encounters I’ve had with galactic enemies. And me being here brings me back to my original question.” She gestured to them with a wave of a hand, brows furrowed in confusion. “Why are you guys in your tighty-whities?”

They snorted, and Jason turned around. “We’re comparing scars.”

(Y/N) let out a ‘pfft’. “Of course, you are.” She paused for a second and observed them. “Who’s got the gnarliest one?” Immediately, they pointed at Damian who simply motioned to his chest, and she looked at the faded scar that rested over his heart.

A frown instantly drew her lips, and Damian, being ever so vigilant, caught it and shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault, sister. You tried to save me.”

She met his eyes and murmured, “I didn’t try hard enough.” She glanced at Jason, seeing the scars line his chest, her voice just as soft. “For either of you.”

Jason’s lips pulled downwards, and he walked over, sitting on the bench beside her. “The fact that you tried is good enough for us, Queenie.” He reached out, patting her head.

She sighed and shook it off, giving them a smile before she turned to Tim. “Any on you Nerd-bird?”

He grinned and turned around, running his hand along a scar that rested along the left side of his ribs. “When I fought Ra’s, he got me right here.”

(Y/N) looked at it, then leaned back, a curious look in her eye. “Other than dad, aren’t you the only person he’s called ‘detective’?” Tim gave her a firm nod and she pulled a grin, nodding at him. “Look at the Nerd-bird kicking all our asses in the game. I’m proud of you.” He gave her a sheepish smile and she turned to Dick. “We’ve all had brushes with death, but I don’t think you have a lot of noticeable ones. Which is surprising because out of all of us, you’re the most reckless.”

The others laughed while Dick glared at her, then he shrugged and showed his back, and they saw faint white lines that resembled lightning strikes. “When Wally came back out of the speed force, he accidentally shocked me. Of course, it wasn’t enough to damage me severely, but it’s here.”

They looked at him once more, then Tim tipped his head to the side. “What about you, sis? You’ve been doing this longer than we have. Do you have any good ones?” (Y/N) looked at him before pulling off her jacket and pulling off the tank top she had on. She stood up, walking to the mirror and staring into it.

She pointed to one that lined across her left breast. “Even covered by my bra, you can see how badly this one was.” She paused running a hand down it, gaze far. “When Jason died, I got into it with Joker some time after.” (Y/N)’s eyes drifted to Jason’s, who’s were wide with shock. “I beat him worse than dad did, but he left me with this one before I did.”

“I…didn’t know you did that, Queenie.”

“Of course not Jason. I didn’t tell you.” (Y/N) pointed to a patch that rested on her right hip. “Took a bullet for Tim a few years ago.”

“That was when Deadshot was running around, right?”

She nodded, answering his question. “Mhm. They say he never misses. But that day, he did.” Her hand moved and she touched a curved scar that ran down her neck. “After you died, Damian, I found Talia and we had it out.”

“What happened?” he questioned curiously.

(Y/N) met his eyes in the mirror and frowned. “She and I gave each other a fair share of wounds…but I think the ones I gave her hurt more than the ones she gave me.”

“And those were?”

(Y/N) looked back at her reflection and stared at herself. “The infuriated words of a grieving sister.”

Silence enveloped the room and after a few moments, Dick pointed to a particular scar on her back that ran down the length of it. “How in the world did you get that one?”

She looked over her shoulder and reached behind her, fingers brushing over the raised, jagged skin that had sealed unevenly. “On my back?”

Dick snorted and nodded. “The only one on your back sis.”

She went silent for a moment then she admitted, “…Tarantula gave it to me a few years ago.”

No one noticed the way Dick froze for a split second at her admittance, and Jason asked, “Why did you and Tarantula get into it?”

Her eyes met Dick’s for a flash before she looked at Jason. “She killed an informant of mine and I got even with her.”

“Looks like she rocked your shit, Queenie.”

The others laughed, save for her and Dick, then (Y/N) muttered darkly, “I beat Catalina Flores within an inch of her life that night.” Her statement brought their laughter to a grinding halt, and she continued. “Hell, I almost killed her. But I didn’t.”

Damian crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “And why not? It would not be the first time you’ve killed someone.”

(Y/N) rolled her shoulders and moved back to her clothes, pulling on the tank top and jacket before turning to him. “Because then she would’ve gotten of scot free, and she wouldn’t have to live knowing what she’s done.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed and he followed Damian, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers. “Not to be nosey, but the way you’re talking about her almost seems like you’ve got a vendetta against her. And I mean like, me to Bruce vendetta.”

(Y/N) met his gaze before reaching down and tossing his muscle tank to him, then passing the others their shirts. “The informant she killed was a good friend of mine. There was…a lot of fury.” She paused, meeting Dick’s gaze once more. “There still is.”

The others simply stared at her before pulling on their shirts, and she looked at them. “I’m gonna get dad to go out and eat somewhere with me. You guys go on out and start working on him, would you?” The three nodded and started towards the door, (Y/N) following.

She was almost out of the door when Dick’s voice reached her quietly. “…(Y/N)?” She paused, turning around, and looking at Dick, who wore an unreadable expression; he glanced up at her, his eyes searching as he inquired, “Was there another reason that you two fought?”

“Me and Catalina?” He nodded and she shrugged. “There might’ve been. But the immediate fight was about my informant.”

Dick stared at her for a few moments before whispering, “…You didn’t start your informant network until I donned Batman.”

(Y/N) tipped her head back and leaned against the door frame, eyes narrowed as she mentally picked his words apart as only an older sister could. “What are you getting at, kid brother?”

He fell silent all at once, but when he finally found it in himself to bring his eyes to hers, she saw such pain in them. “Did you fight her…because of me?”

“No,” she immediately replied, firmly and confidently.

Dick’s eyes widened momentarily, but he looked down and nodded. “I see.”

She kept staring at him, then cleared her throat and turned, grabbing the doorknob. She pulled the door open and stopped, murmuring, “Dick.” He glanced up at her, but she faced forward and said, “I don’t know what happened to you in Blüdhaven all those years ago, and frankly, it’s none of my business.”

Dick’s heart sunk at her words, but then she looked over her shoulder, a solemn tone matching her stance and gaze as she affirmed, “But I am your sister…and I run the best damn informant network this side of the galaxy.” She paused, her words taking on an underlying tone. “There isn’t anything that happens in Gotham and our sister city that I don’t know about.”

Something passed between their eyes and she declared, “I am the family keeper. And I will always be the safety net that catches everyone when they’re in their darkest hours. When there’s something you can’t handle, I will for you.”

Her words made his eyes shine with unshed tears and she gave him a faint smile and a wink before she stepped out of the locker room, leaving him sitting alone, his thoughts drifting back to the rooftop in Blüdhaven.

***

She walked across the floor of the cave to see her father standing there, Jason and Tim hanging off his arms and Damian around his neck; he wore the expression of a tired dad and she couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Having fun, dad?”

He shifted slowly as to not knock one of her brothers off and glared at her. “This is your fault.”

“Guilty as charged father dearest! But it’s food time! Let’s get street tacos.”

Jason grunted at her and shook his head. “No, let’s get gyros!”

“Gyros are disgusting, Jason.”

His features contorted in something only described as an insulted disbelief and he declared, “Just because you don’t like limes and lemons, does not mean gyros are gross, (Y/N).”

“We’re not getting gyros, Jason,” she shot back.

“What about Chinese food?”

(Y/N) looked at Damian and nodded. “I’m down for tacos or Chinese.”

“Can we stop and get some shawarma?”

“Tim, which part of tacos or Chinese sounded like shawarma to you? It’s one or the other. Take your pick.”

“But last night was pizza night! And if I eat Chinese or tacos, I’m going to eat more carbs than I need!”

“You do need more carbs, twig-boy.”

“That was mean, sis.”

“Truthful. I mean how have you not been snapped in half yet? You look like a toothpick.”

The others laughed at her comments, and Bruce looked at her. “Where’s Dick?”

(Y/N) tipped her head back to the lockers. “Still changing.” She motioned to the stairs. “You guys go ahead. I’ll wait on Dickie.” They nodded, and she watched her father trudge past with her three brothers hanging off him.

A smile crossed her lips and a few minutes later, she heard footsteps behind her. “Where’d everybody go?”

She turned around and nodded to the stairs. “Told them to go ahead and get ready.” (Y/N) had barely made it up the first ten steps when she felt Dick stop beside her, and she glanced back at him. “Dick? You good?”

He gazed up at her. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

She gave him a knowing look and said, “I didn’t do anything, Dick.”

“You did.”

“Agree to disagree.” They stared at each other for a second then she tipped her head to the stairs. “Let’s go get some food, kid brother.”

He nodded and started climbing the steps beside her. “I don’t tell you enough, sis…but I love you.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and mumbled, “God, you are so sentimental.”

“It’s one of my perks.”

“More like a curse…but yeah…it is.” She paused and he stopped beside her, and she reached over, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I love you too, little brother.” His arms wound around her, and they shared a moment before she patted his back. “Alright. Let go. I’m done being overly affectionate.”

He laughed, letting her go and she walked up ahead of him. He kept his eyes trained to her back, and he remembered something she once told him.

The two of them walked silently down the twisting and turning garden path, following the little white concrete plates that made the trail. Dick looked up from his hands, calling out to the older girl in front of him. “(Y/N)?”

She hummed in response but didn’t look at him. “What is it, Dickie?”

“Why won’t you let me walk beside you?”

(Y/N) glanced over her shoulder. “Because I’m protecting you.”

His head tipped to the side and he stopped walking. “But were at the manor?”

“And something could always happen. I’m in the front, so that if something comes, I can protect you while you run.” She turned around and looked at him. “One day you’ll be old enough to walk beside me instead of behind me.”

Dick’s eyes widened and he jumped excitedly. “When! When do I get to walk beside you instead of behind!”

(Y/N) giggled at her little brother and reached out, holding his shoulders to stop him from jumping up and down. “When you don’t need me to protect you anymore…you can walk beside me.”

“When will that be?”

(Y/N) pulled her hands away and spun back around, continuing her walk. “When it happens…you’ll know.” It was all the answer she gave the young boy, but he continued following her, still behind.

Dick blinked, the memory flashing away as fast as it had come, and he saw her back once more; he called out to her. “When do I get to walk beside you instead of behind?”

(Y/N) halted, mid-step and she glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile playing her lips as she replied, “When you don’t need me to protect you anymore, you can walk beside me.”

“And when will that be?”

She huffed a laugh chuckled at him before she turned back around, though she paused just as she was about to cross the threshold and peered back at him. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to that one, sis.”

(Y/N) shrugged and turned back around, declaring, “Then I guess you still need me to protect you.”

Dick watched her disappear into the manor, listening as she got into the argument that her brothers were bickering about with each other, and he smiled faintly. “Yeah…I guess I still do.”

[therantingfangirl]

Happy Birthday, Kankurō

Summary: Just when everyone in his life, including Kankurō himself, forgot about his birthday, he gets a surprise visitor who is intent on making the most of his special day.

Author’s Note: this is insanely self-indulgent and I should apologize for it, but I won’t. For more information regarding my OC, read here.

Pairing: Kankurō/OC

Word Count: 4.8k

By the time that I found out about @sandsibweek I didn’t have enough time to write for all of the days, but I did everything that I could to write for my love's birthday. So here's my entry for Day 7: Birthday/Celebration.

Warnings: mild language, slightly pervy Kankurō, lots of fluff that I didn't intend when I started writing this, terrible father Rasa

After months spent in meetings with the village elders as they argued over who should be the next Kazekage, when it was so damn obvious to anyone with a brain, left Kankurō wanting to shut himself in his workshop alone for the rest of the night. He swore that if he had to hear one more person question Gaara’s validity to take the role one more time, he was going to lose his mind. As if they weren’t the ones who had decided to place Shukaku into his little brother. As if they weren’t the ones who allowed his father to alienate him from the rest of them. As if they hadn’t treated him like a monster. As if he hadn’t—

Kankurō shook his head, forcing the thought away before it could take root. But he couldn’t deny his own role in Gaara’s isolation and ostracization. He was just as guilty as the elders—if not more so, considering he was his little brother. He could’ve told his father to shove it and stuck close to his brother. He could’ve helped him. If Naruto Uzumaki, a complete stranger from a village that they were trying to invade, could’ve gotten through to Gaara, then he could’ve done so a long time ago. But he didn’t, and now he was left trying to make up for over a decade of keeping his brother at arm’s length so that he wouldn’t end up dead by his hand.

Which was probably why he had found himself becoming one of his biggest supporters when he decided that he wanted to fill the hole that their father’s death had left. Better Gaara than him. Better the one who hadn’t abandoned his sibling when he needed it the most. How was he supposed to run a damned village when he couldn’t even stand up to his father? No, Gaara would be the best fit. And it’s what he wanted. Kankurō wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his mouth shut during Kage summits anyways. He was better off in the intelligence division anyways. Let him be the grunt that protected his village and his Kazekage—let him protect his brother in the way he hadn’t when they were children.

He ran a finger along the top of his workbench, mentally going over the different parts that he would need to fix Crow. He had gotten distracted during his last mission, sloppy even. One of his arms was bent at an odd angle and wouldn’t respond as normal to his chakra.

His gaze fell onto the origami Kankurō sitting on the corner of his workbench. The pieces of papers had been folded with care, each detail of his own face staring back at him so clearly. Even if his own hair had been replaced with what appeared to be tentacles, spiraling out from his scalp. A small smile appeared on his face as he recounted the events leading to the Amegakure villager handing her art to him.

“It seems odd that you’ve already met the woman who raised me and I don’t even know what you look like under that hood and war paint.” The redhead said, her hip popping out to the side as her lips formed into a delicate pout.

He had just met the blue-haired woman, likely only over a decade older than the girl she had raised, even though they had just met only days before. The woman, whom she had introduced as Konan, stood with the girl’s teammates, peering over the railing as they watched some creep from Konoha with bugs crawling out of his skin battle one of Orochimaru’s pawns.

“Eh?” Kankurō blinked, looking down at her. “Why do you care what is under the hood?” Sure, women had tried teasing the hood off of his head before, but when he challenged them on it, they would normally begin musing about how they believed he’d look like his father. And the thought delighted them. They wanted him to look like their Kazekage—to look like the man they thought was honorable and good. He never gave them the satisfaction of knowing that their musings were right—except for their impression of who his father was.

“I don’t know,” she responded after a moment with a shrug. “Is it scary? Is it even hair?”

“Of course, it’s hair!” he frowned, pushing off the wall so that his body faced hers. That was a first. “What the hell else would it be?”

“Tentacles” Kurono decided with a firm nod. “Or spikes, maybe even a fin?”

“Tentacles?” Kankurō barked out a laugh. “You actually believe that instead of hair, I have tentacles growing from my head?”

“Anything could happen, Kitty.”

“What would that even look like?” he mused. Either this girl had seen some messed-up shit in her time, or she had an incredible imagination.

She grinned and stuck her hand out. Her brows knit together in concentration and slips of paper shot out of the pouch on the outside of her thigh, flying into her hand and folding in on themselves until all that was left was a paper rendition of Kankurō’s head. The only difference in her muse and her creation was that his hood was gone and where hair should be, tentacles shot out in every direction. She smiled at it, clearly pleased with herself, before handing it to him.

“This is the weirdest gift anyone has ever given me,” he admitted, staring down at it. Despite his words, he grinned down at the sheets of paper and his eyes shone down at his likeness. The rendering was exact to the smallest detail, even the slight indentions that represented his face paint were perfectly placed. It was the weirdest, yet most thoughtful gift he had ever been given.

Kankurō tilted his head to the side as he stared at it. He remembered putting the paper sculpture on his nightstand just a month before, and he hadn’t touched it since. He had looked at the rendering almost every day for the last ten months, and he knew that the original was made out of white paper, not this gray shade staring back at him. His head snapped up, dark eyes flickering around his bedroom when he saw movement and a splash of red from the corner of his eye.

He flexed his fingers, conjuring his chakra strings and letting them spill out across the room. “Just one question,” he started, turning slowly as he looked towards his bed, his strings snaking around the furniture and circling around a thin wrist, “what the hell are you doing in Suna?” He curled his finger, yanking the chakra string back towards him.

The string grew taut with the effort and a tanned arm came shooting out from behind the bed. A familiar yelp sounded out from the area before the owner of the voice jumped up from her hiding spot. Her strands of red hair splayed out around her with the motion. She rubbed the back of her neck, her eyes tightly shut as her lips were split into an apologetic smile.

“I asked you a question, you know.”

Her hand froze and her eyes slowly opened. Sparkling amber eyes slowly flicked over his body, taking in whatever differences she could see had transpired in his appearance since the chunin exams. He took the moment of her appraisal to look her over himself.

Not that she had changed too much. Same height, even though he had grown by five centimeters. Her forehead must have only reached his chest now. Her arm came back down to her side, her hand fitting onto the dip of her hip. Her middle finger rested lightly on her bare stomach, just to the side of her belly button. Her outfit had changed since the chunin exams, the black dress that had only covered the right side of her body was gone and replaced by a sleeveless, mesh turtle neck, covered by a gray vest that could hardly be considered an actual covering. White wrappings decorated her right thigh, right underneath the pouch she kept her slips of paper in. She wore the same shinobi-standard shoes, yet they were thigh high and had an inch of fishnets peeking out above them. Her hitai-ate was affixed around her bicep. Her sword was nowhere in sight, but he was sure she likely had stored it in a scroll—that weapon had been a deadly extension of her arm during the chunin exams and there was no way she had stopped using it.

She straightened up under his scrutiny, the movement making her chest stick out even more than they did when she was relaxed. His gaze stayed on the area, marking the way they heaved with her sigh.

“Eyes are up here, Kitty.” She snapped along with her words, her fingers waving up towards her face.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes back up to meet her eyes. He gave her a lazy grin as she rolled her eyes at him. He released her wrist from the chakra strings and drew them back to him. “You know, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Ah,” she hummed. “That. Yes. I was nearby.”

“You just happened to be near Suna?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

Kankuro shook his head at her slowly. “I guess not.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What are you doing in my room?”

She huffed loudly, her lips forming a pout once again. She bent over his bed and moved his pillow to the side, revealing a purple origami rendering of himself tucked up against the other pillow. “I was trying to hide sixteen of these, but I only managed to get three tucked away before you got back.”

“Sixte—” he blinked slowly as a surprised laugh fell from his lips. Right, it was May 15th. He had completely forgotten himself—he had spent all day so far surrounded by his family and the elders and not one person had even remembered enough to mention it. “So you came all this way and snuck into my bedroom just to hide origami sculptures of me for my birthday?”

“You only turn sixteen once, right?” she raised her eyebrows at him with a grin. “Besides, you spent my seventeenth with me, so I may as well spend your sixteenth with you.”

“Ah, but that was an accident so it—”

She cut him off by bumping him with her hip. “Okay, so you didn’t know it was my birthday when you sat down to have lunch with me, but once you knew, you did spend the rest of the day with me, even when the twins completely forgot.” She plucked the origami sculpture from his pillow and flicked out her wrist. The papers slid out from the palm of her hand and flew back to the workbench, folding back carefully into his rendering. “You should’ve been gone longer. It would’ve given me the time I needed.”

“Sorry that I came back to my room.”

“As you should be. Now, come on, show me around your village.”

Kankurō raised an eyebrow at her, letting his hands fall onto his hips. “It’s my birthday and you want me to escort your ass around my village?”

“Well, it’s not like I know it.” She huffed and rolled her shoulders back at him. “I’ll perch myself on your arm and make all the girls jealous.” She tapped her fingers alongside his bicep before hooking her arm in his. She patted the spot she had tapped and gave it a soft squeeze. “I’ll ooo and ah over these muscles and say how chivalrous you are.”

“I’ll show you around.” He shook his head at her and turned around, dragging her with him. “No need to ooo and ah, all right?”

“Deal.” She began to unhook her arm from his, but he held firm, keeping them connected. She grinned before gesturing in front of them. “Lead the way.”

 Kankurō wasn’t even entirely sure what it was that she would want to see, but he guessed that he hadn’t known what she would want to do during the chunin exams on her birthday, but he had figured it out in the end. He led her out of the Kazekage palace and back out to the village. She looked around at their surroundings, that grin never once leaving her face. Her head was tilted back, just slightly as if she couldn’t bear to risk losing the feeling of the sun against her skin.

“Hey, Red?”

“Hmm?” she looked up at him from under her lashes, though she didn’t slow her pace at all.

“How did you get into the village? Or into my bedroom?”

“Ah. Yes, that one you should probably take up with your village. They didn’t even blink at my slips of paper flying over the gates and right to the Kazekage palace.”

“And how did you know how to get to my room?”

A light dusting of pink flushed up from underneath her shirt and up her cheeks. “Oh, I just kept going into rooms until I found it.”

“And how did you know it was mine?

She rolled her eyes at him, giving his arm a soft pat. “The puppets kinda gave it away, Kitty.”

“I guess they would,” he conceded quietly. “Just looked for the creepiest room you could find then, eh?”

Kurono frowned up at him, the first time since she had shown up in his room that she dropped that grin. “Your puppets aren’t creepy.”

His steps faltered and she halted immediately. Most people—especially girls—said that his puppets gave them the creeps. The majority of them would complain when he brought them out.

“Do you think Benihime is creepy?”

“Benihime?” he blinked back down at her.

She sighed slightly. “My sword, Kankurō.”

“Well, no.” Kankurō turned to fully face her. He didn’t care that they were standing in the middle of the walkway. “It’s a sword. It’s an extension of you, and it’s your weapon. There’s nothing creepy about it.”

“My sword has a second blade that pops out from the handle and decapitates my opponent,” she reminded him dryly.

Not that he could forget—he didn’t think that anyone could forget the way she had lost it during the prelims and killed that Otogakure nin she had gone up against. How when his neck was being held by her two blades, not quite meeting to decapitate him yet, her chakra had gathered exponentially and her eyes had turned into something that no longer looked human. How she had clawed at his face when he growled something out at her, and then the two blades had closed with a flick of her wrist. How she had thrown his head at the proctor and yelled at him about how he should’ve called the match. He thought that the Konoha ninja were going to lose their shit at her brutality—but she was right, the proctor hadn’t called the fight when she had clearly won.

Kurono slid her arm out from his and stepped in front of him so that they were facing one another. She poked the space between his pecs, narrowing her large eyes up at him. “Just as Benihime is an extension of my arm, your puppets are an extension of you. They are your weapons, your means of survival. Each one is crafted for a different purpose, and they help you defend your village. They help you survive your fights. So they’re not cute, who fucking cares? Missions aren’t pretty. Battle isn’t delicate. Personally, I’d rather have a weapon that makes my opponent want to shit their pants than one that will make them doubt my capabilities.” She made her fingers walk up his chest and neck, letting them land on his chin and tapping there. “And it makes you look pretty badass, if I say so myself.”

This woman.

Her bright eyes flicked behind him, catching on something over his shoulder. “Is that what the girls in Suna think? That your puppets are creepy?”

“Why do you thi—” he followed her gaze. A group of girls he had graduated the Academy with were gathered behind them, whispering to one another as they tried to discreetly look at Kurono and him. Not that they were discreet or subtle in the slightest.

Hands slid over his neck and onto his shoulders. With slight pressure on his shoulders, Kurono propped herself up on her tiptoes and brushed her nose alongside the side of his neck, right below his ear.

“What are you do—”

The redhead slid her fingers back down his back and let them fall against the tufts of Crow’s hair peeking out from his holder. Her cheek rested lightly against his neck and her fingers intertwined with Crow’s hair.

She clucked her tongue before sliding back onto flat feet, withdrawing her hands from him and his puppet. “You can do better than them.”

He blinked back down at her. His mind was still reeling from her touch. How long had it been since he had been touched with so much familiarity? It had been years since a girl had tried to touch him like that—all up until the moment she found out that Gaara was his little brother. Back then, it was because they were all too afraid that getting too close to Kankurō meant that they would end up buried under sand. Now, the few times he had a woman want to get close to him it was because she wanted to get close to Gaara.

“They were intrigued by the way I touched you until I touched Crow. One girl scrunched her nose up in distaste, another made a face as if she would puke.” Kurono sighed heavily, staring back at the girls behind them. She narrowed her eyes into a glare at them. “I can fight them for your honor, you know.”

A surprised laugh escaped his lips. He smiled down at her and cupped the back of her head in his hand. “I don’t need anyone fighting for my honor, least of all you, Red.”

Kurono frowned just slightly up at him before loosening a breath. “Fine. Fine. But don’t say I never offered.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

At his words, her face split back into a grin. She tucked her arm back in his and began to drag him forward. “Come on, birthday boy, let’s get you some dinner.”

It was hours later, after Kurono had dragged him around to different shops and restaurants that he had been about a million times in his life, that he found himself sitting on top of the Kazekage palace next to the redhead. The sun had gone down about an hour before, around the same time that she had suggested that they find somewhere to just sit together. She told him to close his eyes as she dug her hand back into one of the bags she had procured at one of the shops they had stopped at.

“You’re not really going to make me—”

Kurono’s free hand swung forward, coming to cover his eyes. “Kurono,” he grunted, rolling his eyes at her antics.

“Just humor me!”

Kurono shuffled beside him before something was placed in his lap. “Okay. Keep your eyes closed, I need both of my hands.” She pealed back just her top two fingers. Her face was pressed close to his. “Kankurō!” she growled as his eyes met hers. “Close.”

He chuckled quietly, letting his eyes fall closed to appease the girl.

“Good boy.”

Kurono settled back down beside him, the sounds of her shuffling around filling the air. He felt a brush of heat near his torso just as she said, “Open!”

Kankurō opened his eyes, immediately focusing his gaze on whatever she had dropped onto his lap. A sponge cake sat in his lap, decorated with sixteen candles that were lit. He blinked slowly down at the dessert, trying to figure out when she could have possibly made the time to buy him the cake. He had been there the whole time, hadn’t he?

“Happy birthday, Kitty,” she whispered, lightly flicking on of the cat ears on his hitai-ate hood.

“When did you—”

A devious grin appeared on her face. Her fingers flexed at her side and slips of paper flooded out from her pouch on her thigh. They gathered behind the girl, coming together to create another version of herself. “Clones can buy baked goods when it’s necessary.” Both versions of the girl stared at him with shining eyes and bright smiles. And he just stared back. How did this girl, whom he had only met ten months ago, care enough to visit him on his birthday and take the time to buy him a cake? His own family didn’t celebrate his birthday. And he knew that he had bought her some food on her birthday during the exams, but they had been in proximity of each other. It was only natural that he would celebrate with her. But she had come here with a plan. Her teammates weren’t with her, so she wasn’t on an actual mission. She just genuinely wanted to be with him for his birthday.

Slowly, her clone disappeared into her pouch and her smile softened at him. The small bit of light from the candles lit up her face, softening her sometimes harsh features. She ducked her head, fixing her gaze back onto the cake in his lap. She cleared her throat quietly. “But you should blow out your candles before they melt into the cake. Don’t forget to make a wish!”

Right. The cake.

He tore his gaze away from her. He closed his eyes once again, and for once, he wasn’t sure if there was anything else he would wish for. He thought for a moment before thinking Don’t take her away from me before blowing out the candles.

She cheered loudly beside him, causing him to open his eyes to look back at her. She took the cake from his lap and made quick work of the candles. She tugged a kunai loose from her thigh holster and used it to cut the cake in half. She hummed to herself and handed him a fork. “Eat up.”

For once, he didn’t even try to argue with her as he dug in. They ate their pieces in silence, taking in the cool, night air. When she was finished, she leaned back on her hands and let out a deep breath. “Well,” she said after a moment, “now it’s almost just like my birthday. We’re just missing two things.”

They had sat on top of the Hokage mountain for hers, though he hadn’t gotten her a cake. Besides that, he wasn’t entirely sure what else she could want. He lowered himself onto his back and tilted his head to look at her with a raised eyebrow.  

“Hood,” she said, extending her hand out to him, “gimme.”

“I believe that was your birthday gift.”

“Well, we’ll make it yours.”

“I don’t think you know how birthdays work. A gift is supposed to be something you want, Sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know. And I happen to know that you want to take it off.”

“You’re so sure of yourself there?” he chuckled, rolling onto his side to face his entire body to her.

“Mhmm.” She reached her hand out further, fingertips sliding into his hood. “I’ll put it on again.”

Fuck. He had liked the way she had looked with it on her head. He let out a defeated sigh and tilted his head towards her so she could fully drag it off of him.

He was rewarded with a soft smile in return before she tugged it off of him and plopped it unceremoniously onto her own head. She slid her fingers back up to his head, letting them lightly brush through his hair. She fixed the strands that had been flattened by the hood for a full minute until she let her hand fall back to her side, seemingly satisfied.

“What was the other thing missing?” he asked her quietly.

“Well, last time, we did almost kiss.”

How the hell had he forgotten?

Kurono tilted her head to the side and looked up at him, amber eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. He hadn’t intended for her to get emotional—hadn’t realized that a simple pair of earrings as a birthday gift would’ve brought her to tears. But there she was.

She immediately tugged the black studs out of her lobes to replace them with the dangly purple gems he had found. The studs were dropped into the pouch on her thigh without a second thought. She procured her kunai and brought it up to her face, checking out her reflection in the blade.

“I love them,” she whispered to him.

And then she lowered her kunai and angled her face towards his. She rested her hand on his chest and whispered a quiet, “thank you.” She began lifting her head closer to his own, just as he realized her intentions.

Without a second thought, he ducked his head down to meet her. His lips hovered over hers, just about grazing them. And then she squeaked out and pulled back quickly. “S-sorry,” she stuttered out. “I have to go!” and without another word, her skin peeled back into strips of paper that were sent soaring over his head and into the air, far away from him.

“Ah, right. What stopped you that time, anyways?”

She hummed quietly, looking away from him. “A crow.”

Out of all of the things she could’ve said, a crow, had not been what he would’ve guessed.

“A bird stopped you from kissing me?”

A quiet laugh spilled from her lips. She turned to look back at him with a shy grin. “There aren’t any crows here tonight. I checked.” She raised her hand and rested it on the side of his head just as she raised her torso up until their faces were close to one another.

“Oh?”

Kankurō cleared his throat just slightly. “Well, that’s good,” he mumbled.

Great choice of words, really.

She laughed quietly and gave his head a soft tug towards her. Her nose brushed the side of his and her lips inched closer to his, just slightly grazing his top lip.

“There you are!”

“Where the fuck have you been all day, Kuro?”

Two male voices yelled out from the ground below.

“But evidently, there are teammates,” she mumbled against his lips. She sighed and pulled back away from him, head tilting to look down at where the twins stood.

Kankurō inwardly cursed their appearance. He squinted down at them—not that he could make much out from their height. Just two blond heads and waving arms.

“Would you two just wait?”

“You said that you would only need a few hours!”

“Well, I needed more!”

“We need to get going, woman!”

Kurono grunted quietly and got to her feet. “Rain check on that kiss?”

Kankurō took a deep breath and stood up. “Yeah, of course,” he grunted out.

The redhead smiled just slightly up at him. She got onto her tiptoes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. She slid his hood back onto his head, her lips still resting against his skin. When she pulled back, he could see purple paint smearing over her lips.

On instinct, he raised his thumb up and wiped the color off of her lips. “It’s a nice shade on you, you know.”

Her eyes danced under the moonlight. “Oh, I can imagine,” she mused, in a tone that implied she could think of a few places the color would look good.

She would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

Kurono patted his cheek softly, whispering, “happy birthday, Kankurō.”

“See you around, Red.”

She smiled brightly up at him and stepped backwards, right off of the roof of the palace. Just like that day all those months ago, her skin pealed back and the slips of paper flew down to join her teammates. He could see, just barely, as she threw her arms around the boys and began leading them down the road. He couldn’t see much, but he didn’t miss how after a moment her limbs withdrew from the two and her fingers came up to her lips, and they lingered there for the rest of her walk out of his village.

Kankurō fell back against the rooftop and stared at the few crumbs remaining of their cake. And he had to admit to himself, he had spent his birthday much better than he would have if he had just shut himself up in his workshop to fix Crow. And if he was being fully honest, he would admit that spending his birthday with Kurono had made it the best birthday he had ever had.

Kurono tag list, even though they never asked for it: @mortyvongola2-0 @nightingaleflow and @justmyownreality

[gale-gentlepenguin]

ML Fic: Soulmate Survey Part 38

Sorry for the delay. Real life gets out of hand. But here it is! The antepenultimate chapter.

Shout out to @asongeverlasting for beta reading for me and making sure I actually got this out.

Check her writing out on AO3 as Ramblingwren

(Master post)

(Read the fic in a more condensed on Ao3)

(The latest chapter will be up on there once this reaches over 500 notes on tumblr)

Hope you all enjoy

_____________________________________________________________

“I shouldn’t have let her go out there.”

Fu watched the school nurse, Angela, fret as she paced back and forth.

“I understand your concern, but I believe that it will all be alright. Ladybug and Chat Noir haven’t failed in handling an akuma yet,” he explained. “The girl will be okay.”

The nurse stopped pacing.

“I appreciate your optimism but… I am really not used to this,” She said as she gestured to the air.

Fu blinked at the statement.

“Oh?”

“This! This whole thing! Super villains that appear whenever someone gets sad, teenagers with superpowers! This is all new to me! I just moved to Paris a month ago from the countryside. All I wanted was to further my education and get work in the medical field. It… It boggles my mind that everyone in this city is so okay with all of this! Even my new boyfriend Curtis is able to shrug off an akuma attack like a sudden drizzle. This isn’t normal!”

The guardian could tell the young woman was distressed, and he couldn’t blame her. In a way, he envied her. This was all foreign for her, but to him, this was his entire life.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. I've had a lot to deal with, and this whole situation is just so…”

Fu moved to her and helped her sit down.

“It’s alright, this is by no means a good situation. Your concerns are very understandable. I can tell that deep down that your frustration and fear come from compassion and empathy. You will make a wonderful doctor one day.”

She took a deep breath.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I really needed to hear that today.”

“How about I teach you a medication technique that will help you calm down?”

“Meditation? I'm not really one for that kind of stuff.”

“If one wants to be a doctor, being able to calm down and handle an emergency situation is a must.”

The school nurse agreed that he had a good point, and that this may help get her mind off of things.

“Okay, I guess I'll give it a shot.”

Fu smiled.

“Good. Let us start simple. Close your eyes and put your hands together.”

Angela felt the action was a bit odd but complied.

“Now, take a deep breath. Count to 5 in your head and then breathe out.”

She took her breath and followed the order.

“Whenever you feel a thought come to your head, simply picture yourself putting it out of your mind and into a bucket.”

She tried her best to comply.

As she did this, Fu moved behind her and quickly pinched a nerve on her neck, causing the young woman to seize up for a moment before losing consciousness.

“That will help her relax.”

He carefully moved her to the cot and laid a sheet over her like a blanket.

Once it was clear that she was asleep, a turtle kwami flew out of hiding.

“So, what do we do now, Master?”

Fu took a moment to consider.

His plan was already in motion. Ladybug and Chat Noir had plenty of allies to help fight the akuma. All that needed to be done was to sit down and wait.

But as he thought about it more, he couldn’t help but think that he should go in personally. It was what he'd initially planned to do with akuma, after all. Listening to this young woman’s fears made him really see how his inaction has led to such fear and uncertainty.

For once, it was time for him to go on the offensive.

“Now we head out and find this akuma.”

“Master, you already sent out three miraculous. Let the other heroes handle this,” Wayzz insisted.

“The people of Paris should not have to become used to this. I have been far too lax with this situation. Right now, Ladybug and Chat Noir are facing their most dangerous akuma yet. For decades I have always remained passive in order to avoid making another mistake, but I have already made so many with my inaction. It's time I stop letting my actions be dictated by fear.”

“But Master, you can’t transform! Your body is too old to handle it!”

“Fear not, Wayzz. I have been exercising and restoring my vitality with the techniques of the guardians. By my estimation, I should be able to maintain the transformation without too much issue for 10 minutes,” Fu assured.

“That is not a lot of time, Master!” Wayzz pointed out.

“True, but it is better than nothing. We will head out and wait for the moment we need it. Be ready, Wayzz.”

The old guardian started heading to the door.

“But Master, what if you get captured? What if the akuma does succeed and you are unable to step in?”

Fu paused at the door.

“I know you are concerned for me. I appreciate your care. But I need to go out there. I have lived a long life, Wayzz, far longer than most humans. One day I may not be here to be the guardian.”

Wayzz felt a pang of sorrow hearing his Master talk about how he would no longer be around.

“But that’s okay. I know that when that time comes… I have two young heroes that will be ready to stand up and fight. The best thing an old man like me can do is pave the road for them.” The guardian said with certainty. He went to open the door.

“Fu…”

The old man stopped. Turning around, he saw the turtle kwami he had known for most of his life smile at him.

“I know you think of yourself as a failure of a guardian… but Su Han and the others were wrong. You are a great one. You are the most caring guardian that has ever held the title. And I will be by your side to the end.”

The old man felt his eyes well up at the sweet comment.

“Then let’s go, Partner.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The dragon heroine grabbed the confused snake hero and moved him to the closest room before closing the door.

“Okay we should be safe here,” she said as she looked over to her comrade. It was clear that Viperion was still very confused. It did not help that both his and her miraculous were beeping. They didn't have much time.

“Thanks… ummm,” Viperion started as he tried to rack his brain for a name. Part of him felt like he should know her. But his mind is blank.

“Ryuuko. You can call me Ryuuko. And you are Viperion.”

“Okay… weird name for me, but I guess it works.”

Ryuuko realized that the bubble Viperion had been put in wasn’t just to keep him frozen in place. One of the side effects must have been leaving him without any memory of who he was. Had her partner been aware of that risk when he took the bubble for her? She couldn’t know for sure. But right now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. Shehad to take charge since her partner was out of sorts.

“Okay, 'll try to explain this as quickly as possible.”

“Your real name is Luka. But when you are in your hero form, you go by Viperion.”

“Hero form...”

He looked down.

“Well, that does explain the costumes. I thought it was some sort of weird costume party.”

Ryuuko decided to ignore that.

“Okay, so I'm a hero. And you're one too?”

“Yes. We are both heroes picked by Ladybug to help her fight villains. Right now, we're fighting a bunch of them, and you got your memory wiped by one of their attacks. That’s why you are confused. Any questions?”

The boy took a moment to look himself over and then look at her. This was a lot of information to take in. Ryuuko was half expecting him to call her crazy. Which, given how bizarre the circumstances were, she wouldn’t blame him.

“Okay, I think if it was anyone else telling me this, I would have called it a load of bull. But… I don’t know why but I feel like I can trust you. You sound sincere,” Viperion responded.

“Okay great, now let's…”

“I still have a few questions.”

Ryuuko sighs.

“Look, we really don’t have much time. We need to hurry and get out there to help…”

And just before she finished the statement, both of their transformations wore off. Revealing their civilian forms.

“Oh no.” Kagami muttered in horror.

“What happened? Where am I… What am I?” The snake kwami questioned as he looked at himself.

“It appears that Sass was also impacted by the amnesia.” The dragon kwami that popped out of her necklace commented.

Luka stared wide eyed at the creature.

“Are you a snake?”

“A snake? I suppose?”

“A snake with limbs? That is very rock and roll.”

The two fistbumped. Thankfully they seemed to get along.

Longg looked at them.

“This is quite a predicament.”

“We need to hurry back in. Longg! Bring the….”

“Hold on a moment. Both Sass and I will not be able to do that yet.”

Kagami stopped.

“How come?”

“We need to refuel. The energy of transforming AND using our unique powers drains a lot out of us. We need some food to continue.”

“Food… Okay.”

The snake Kwami grabbed his stomach.

“I find myself rather famished,” he commented.

Luka looked at him.

“Let me see if I can help you out.”

The teen took off the backpack he was wearing to go through it. Thankfully there was a bag lunch in there. For some reason he felt that was important. But decided that if it could help the little guy out, he was sure it wouldn’t be a big deal.

He opened the bag lunch and pulled out a bag of apple slices. Opening it to grab a piece.

“I know snakes usually are carnivores, but how about some fruit?”

“Ooo! It smells divine!”

Luka handed the floating kwami a piece of the apple.

He takes a bite.

“Oh! It's delicious! Juicy and sweet!”

The snake quickly devours the apple piece.

As that happens, Kagami looked through her bag.

“I don’t have fruit but I do have some onigiri. It was my afternoon snack… but since this is a dire situation.”

“Rice? Yes please!” Longg exclaimed as he dive bombed right into the delicious rice ball.

“It’s Umeboshi, it’s not to everyone’s taste but It is one of my favorites.”

“It’s the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. The sour plum really brings a new dimension of flavor.”

Kagami smiled a bit at her kwami companion, happy that she could help.

The two Kwami finished their food and were ready for action.

“Okay, Sass. You need to help Luka transform.”

“Sass? Is that my name?” the snake inquired.

“So, he helps me transform into Viperman?”

“Viperion, and yes,” Kagami responded.

“All you need to do is say. Sass, Scales Slither. And to activate your special power just pull your bracelet back and say second chance. Then pull it back when you want to use it. But be sure not to use it right away,” Longg instructed.

“Okay seems easy enough. Are you okay with this?” Luka asked as he turned his attention to his snake pal.

“The floating horn snake seems fine with it so I say let’s give it a try”

Longg decided for the sake of his friendship with Sass to ignore the comment.

“Alright! Let's do this!” Kagami exclaimed as she prepared to transform.

“One last question.”

Kagami was starting to get antsy. She wanted to be back out there fighting. But she held back her annoyance, considering how he sacrificed his memories for her.

“Make it quick, we need to hurry.”

Luka scratches the back of his head.

“Are we a couple?”

If Kagami was drinking water she would have done a massive spit take. Her cheeks turned red.

“What?!”

“You know… together? You seem to know a lot about me, and I just feel this connection... like I can trust you even though I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how or why, but I feel like you matter to me.”

Kagami’s eyes went wide at the comment. It felt surprisingly bold of the musician to say. She had to admit that the statement made her heart skip a beat.

“No, we had just recently become friends.” Kagami responded.

“Oh…” Luka was saddened by the response.

“But, I have thought about the possibility it could be more than that one day," Kagami continued. "But that is something to discuss when you have your memory back. Maybe.”

The fencer felt her mind scream at her.

‘WHY DID YOU SAY THAT! Well, at least he won't remember.’

Luka smiled at that.

“Well, that must mean I must be a good guy, if I could have such a great friend like you.”

The teen prepared himself.

“Alright then! Sass! Scales Slither.”

The musician shifted into his hero form.

“Let’s go save the day.”

Kagami looked at her hero partner and smiled.

“Longg, Bring the storm.

______________________________________________________________________

“Well, that might be a problem.”

Chat Noir and Ladybug looked to see a stone giant guarding the front door of the classroom. The two had hidden just out of the goliath’s view.

“Any ideas on how to take down Mount Akuma?” Chat Noir questioned.

Ladybug looked at the giant from their hiding spot and began formulating a plan.

“Stoneheart grows bigger when he gets mad. These akuma aren’t really able to express their emotions. That means we don’t need to worry about him getting bigger. We just need to find a way to incapacitate him.”

“We could ask Mayura,” Chat Noir pointed out.

“We could ask… wait WHA…”

Chat Noir covered his partner’s mouth and ducked down.

“Shhhh! She’s right there,” Chat Noir hushed.

Ladybug removed the cat’s hand from her mouth and looked from the spot to see that her partner was right. Mayura was in the building!

“She actually showed up?” Oh, this is a lot more serious than we thought. Hawkmoth is really playing it serious with this one.”

“To the butterfly man’s credit, he really has been throwing out some tough ones.”

“I will not give our worst villain credit for anything except this headache,” Ladybug retorted with annoyance.

“So, what do we do? Mayura is in the building and she is talking with the giant.”

Ladybug felt like the situation couldn’t get worse.

“Not so fast, Feather Freak!”

Ladybug recognized that voice.

“Chloé?”

Chat Noir and Ladybug glanced to see a familiar blonde strutting down the hallway. But their expressions of shock shifted to bewilderment when they noticed what she was wearing.

“So are you and that purple fashion blunder here? Or is it just you? I am guessing it's just you. Your boss doesn’t really like to show his face unless he thinks he is sure to win. No wonder Ladybug always kicks his…” The bee themed heroine confidently quipped.

“Queen Bee. Now that is a surprise. I thought Ladybug was done giving you a miraculous.” The peacock villainess commented. She had no interest in dealing with the bee heroine at this time.

“Well, you would be surprised by a lot of things. So how about we settle this. My fist really misses your face.”

Mayura rolled her eyes.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t have the time to deal with you. Stoneheart, I am sure Masquerade would love for you to take care of this pesky bee.”

“Oh don’t think you can walk away! You and that purple cockroach are the same. Both cowards that can’t even face children.” She jeered as she walked forward.

The stone giant moved forward, allowing Mayura to walk to the door and enter.

“Too scared to face me! Typical. I'll beat your pet rock as a warm up and then your butt will meet my foot!” Queen Bee exclaimed with confidence. “Because I am a real heroine!”

Queen Bee got into a stance and prepared to trade blows with the colossus of rock.

Chat Noir looked to Ladybug.

“Did you give her a miraculous?” He whispered in surprise.

“I don’t have any additional miraculous. I thought she had been captured with the rest of the class.”

“Wait… if it wasn’t you… you don’t think…”

“Either Master Fu is in the building and saw how dire the situation was or Chloé snuck away and had a Queen Bee costume stowed away in her locker.”

The two look at each other and immediately come to the same conclusion.

“We need to save her before she gets crushed!”

______________________________________________________________________

Mayura walked into the classroom.

She managed to keep a straight face, but internally she had a lot going through her mind.

What was once a standard classroom now looked like an elaborate throne room. The amazing curtains, the high ceilings. The steps leading up to an elaborate throne. The portraits of Masquerade really brought together the utter decadence and vanity of the akuma persona. It reminds Mayura of Gabriel’s obsession with Emilie in the worst way possible.

Despite finding the décor off-putting, she had to admit it was impressive how Masquerade had been able to change the room into something completely unrecognizable. A testament to her vanity.

She took a moment to see what akuma servants she still had in the room. The Gamer, Reflekta with around 12 copies, Princess Fragrance, Robostus, Zombizou and Horificator. While the white masks obscured their expressions, it was clear that all of them were watching her. It greatly unnerved her.

She kept these thoughts to herself as the masked akuma that was running the school took notice of her.

“Mayura. I've been expecting you.”

Mayura looked up to see Masquerade sitting on the throne.

“Please, come in.”

She approached confidently. Though in the back of her mind something seemed off.

Masquerade stood up from the throne and walked down the steps, a smile of certainty on her face.

“Masquerade. Your Sentimonster gave me the basics of your plan. Securing the school as your base of operations was a good first step. Your plan of creating a video to lower the spirits of those in Paris was also a nice touch,” Mayura praised.

“But of course! My plan is flawless,” Masquerade boasted. “Not even Ladybug and Chat Noir will be able to stop me.”

“Getting ahead of yourself aren’t you?” Mayura cut her ego trip.

Masquerade’s mood soured as her smile faltered.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You have yet to face the two heroes. Not to mention there's a pesky bee flying around.”

“A bee?” Masquerade was very confused by the comment.

“Yes, Chloé Bourgeois, or Queen Bee, to be precise. Seems that Ladybug and Chat Noir went and got back up."

“It doesn’t matter if they have one additional hero or three. This plan won't fail.”

‘Something isn’t right here. I need to leave now!’ Mayura’s mind screamed.

She wasn’t sure why, but something felt incredibly off.

“Speaking of heroes, your plan never really specified how you will deal with them. Care to elaborate?”

Masquerade’s smile grew more sinister.

“I am glad you asked. After Simularé relayed to me that you were here. I finally figured out the perfect way of dealing with those arrogant heroes,” the masked woman stated with certainty, moving forward.

She now stood only a few feet from the peacock villainess.

“Wait a moment, something is wrong here,” Mayura commented as she tried to focus. She couldn’t ignore the warnings in her head.

“What do you mean?” The mask akuma looked with confusion at the blue villainess.

Mayura looked around. Frantically trying to find something but it was fruitless. This distress caused Masquerade to smile.

“I can't sense it,” Mayura spoke with slight worry.

“Sense what?” Masquerade inquired further.

“Where is your amok? It should be on your person but I can't sense it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Yes. If you don’t have the amok in your possession then that sentimonster will go out of control!” Mayura explained.

“Can’t you just rip the amok out?”

“If it's nearby and I sense it, yes. But I can’t do that if it’s out of my range.”

“So you’re saying you have no power over me right now.” A devilish grin appeared on Masquerade’s face.

“No, I am saying I don’t have any power over the senti…”

Mayura felt a chill as she realized that the masquerade in front of her was not an akumatized Lila.

“Horrificator, block the door,” the Faux Masquerade commanded.

The pink and purple monster quickly moved to block the door with her large form.

The controlled akuma started circling around her as Simularé undid the illusion and morphed into its true specter form, Simularé.

“You ungrateful little monster. You think your master will be okay with you attacking one of the ones that gave her power?”

“My master doesn’t care about you or Hawkmoth. You are a means to an end. And she gave me special permission to take your miraculous from you.”

“Well if your master isn’t here, then no one is jamming the signal. I can contact Hawkmoth and put this little coup to an end.”

Simularé shifted into Lady Wifi.

“I have access to every power my master does. You are trapped with no options.” The sentimonster mocked.

Mayura looked around as she was circled by the controlled akuma. She needed to get out of there.

She felt a pain rush to her head.

‘F*** not now’ She mentally cursed.

The odds were indeed not in her favor.

______________________________________________________________________________

Stoneheart began charging at the bee themed heroine, and just as Queen Bee was about to move, a yo-yo wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from the monster.

The stone giant had expected his charge to make contact but forced himself to stop when he noticed the bee was gone.

“Sorry tiny, but I’m your playmate now,” called a cat-themed hero.

The mindless akuma didn’t visibly react to the change in foe and simply charged at the cat hero.

Queen Bee found herself near Ladybug.

“Chloé! What are you doing?!”

“Uh… Saving the day? I got the jewelry box that you sent out because you needed my help.”

“Jewelry box… wait a minute that means. You are wearing a miraculous.”

“Yep! Don’t worry LB, I will show you that I am worthy of being Queen Bee. And not to boast, but I totally saved someone. But right now, we gotta go beat that ugly pile of rubble.”

Ladybug looked at Chloé for a moment. With the situation as hectic as it was, Queen Bee has shown some competence when there is real danger. Ladybug knew that right now, all hands that could help would be appreciated, and Queen Bee’s appearance could mean that Fu may be closer than she expected. So maybe there were more reinforcements. So if this was the case. She would trust Fu’s judgement.

“Alright, just be ready to return the bee after all of this is over.”

“Right, right, but just know I will probably change your mind about that after this is over!” the bee exclaimed confidently as she jumped back into the fray.

Ladybug shook her head. Whether she was Queen Bee or Chloé, she was still a handful.

“Are you finished gossiping? Because I could REALLY use a hand!” Chat Noir shouted as he held his staff up to hold back the rock monster’s boulder of a fist.

Queen Bee and Ladybug jumped into view and noticed the situation.

“Don’t worry you stray cat, The Queen Bee will put that rock in his place. Ve…”

Ladybug covered Queen Bee’s mouth before she could.

“Hold it. We might need your power for later.”

“I think it would be useful now!” Chat Noir shouted as he struggled to hold the weight of the giant’s rocky hand.

“Okay if my powers are a no no right now, what is the plan?”

Ladybug looked around. She found her attention drawn to a fire extinguisher, Queen Bee, a rubber band, and a discarded backpack.

“Okay, I have a plan.”

______________________________________________________________________

Gabriel had made a decision.

He hurried out of the lair in his civilian form. He was going to head to the school. Now he would just need to get his chauffeur and go…

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he saw his son’s bodyguard and chauffeur fall to the floor at the steps of the main entrance, a white mask adorning his face that he was desperately trying to get off.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel asked aloud in shock and anger.

He looked to see the mask akuma he created standing at the door.

“Well, if it isn’t Gabriel Agreste. Fashion mogul, and master manipulator.”

Gabriel’s visible anger faded as he stared at the akuma.

“Lila, is that you?”

“Oh quite astute! An amazing deduction. Was it that observational skill that made you the fashion success you are now?” the akumatized Lila inquired. “Though I go by Masquerade now.”

Gabriel knew very well the girl’s powers. He was the one that gave it to her. She was trying to antagonize him, get him angry. But that would not work.

“Well Masquerade, what brings you to my home at this time?” Gabriel asked calmly. Doing his best to keep his tone and mannerisms calm.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, finding more people to join my little army and I notice my charm glowing as I was getting near.”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide as he realized something. The charm bracelet was configured to locate anyone that has ever been akumatized. That included him. His ploy to ward suspicion off of himself was now biting him in the butt. And of course, Lila was likely holding a grudge with how he pushed her with his words about his son and his classmate.

“My bodyguard was akumatized. What of it?”

The silent action figure enthusiast stopped resisting and his body began growing. Gabriel noticed the man was transforming into the gorilla akuma. Gorizilla! And he rushed up the steps as the akuma moved and pounded his chest.

“Gorizilla, go gather up anyone who has been akumatized that you know of. I will handle Mr. Agreste myself.”

The giant akuma nodded at its master and headed off, leaving the agreste mansion with a giant hole that was once the front of the mansion.

“Handle me? And what do you plan to do?”

Masquerade’s necklace began to glow.

“Oh! Well that is very interesting,” Masquerade mused aloud as she learned from the glowing charm.

“What do you mean, interesting?” Gabriel asked. He knew that the charm had the bonus effect of pointing out the emotional weak points of those that had been akumatized. But he had PRETENDED to be angry and wasn’t actually emotional when the akuma took over. Did the charm still impact him the same way it did everyone else?

Masquerade started walking up the steps.

“You blame yourself for your wife’s passing.”

The statement was a blade pointed right at his throat. But Gabriel refused to react. He would not let himself be taken advantage of by his own akuma. He has been on the receiving end one too many times and he would be damned if he let that psychopath have control of him.

Masquerade saw that Gabriel was not reacting to the statement.

“I have never seen a man more miserable and pathetic,” Masquerade said. Her words sounded genuine and cutting.

Gabriel tried to turn around and walk away. But Masquerade jumped high with her superhuman agility and landed right in front of him, continuing her tearing down of his emotional state.

“All of this wealth and yet you are obsessed with what you don’t have. You are so blinded by the grief of losing your wife that everything else in your life may as well not exist. You locked yourself away, desperately trying to find something, anything that would bring her back. But now you are finding that color is starting to return in your life. You feel guilt over hiding the truth from your son, you loathe the attraction that you have been developing for another woman. You hate that you can’t dedicate every second to your lost wife and any speck of joy you feel without her here feels like treason since she is not here with you. You are a man so blind with his obsession that you fail to see the world doesn’t revolve around you. It's disgusting.”

“You know nothing of my life,” Gabriel dismissed.

But Masquerade knew he would say that. She only smiled. The truth was right in front of her. And she was ready to bring it home.

“You are actually terrified of facing her again.”

That shook Gabriel.

“What?”

“You are afraid of seeing her again. Whether it’s a year or 10 years, you feel that even if you could bring her back, she would be here and realize how much of a shell you had become without her. You are afraid that your obsession with her will be the very thing that drives her away once you see her again.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Then why haven’t you brought her back yet? Don’t you love her?”

Gabriel felt like his heart was being repeatedly punched.

“How dare you question my love for my wife!”

“Then why isn’t she here? If you loved her she wouldn’t have been taken from you and Adrien. But you were far too pathetic to do it. You failed her, and you are still failing her. You will never be with her again, and deep down. You know it to be true,” Masquerade answered coldly.

Those words were enough to get him down. That is what finally did him in.

Gabriel fell to his knees.

“No…”

Gabriel had broken. Masquerade knew she had him.

He was emotionally devastated, to the point where couldn’t even react to the mask coming his way.

____________________________________________________________

Well now things are now hitting their highest points of drama!

Will Ladybug and other heroes be able to stand up to Masquerade?

Will Mayura fall to Simularé's double cross?

Will I EVER update in time?

Tell me your thoughts on the chapter. Your support keeps it alive

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

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

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

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

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

Rated T, gen.

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

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

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

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

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

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

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

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

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

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

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

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

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

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

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

“For free?” Rex demands.

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

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

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

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

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

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

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

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

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

“Yeah?”

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

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My last fight--”

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

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

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

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

“Jedi?”

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

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

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

“Bit young for that.”

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

“Not in command.”

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

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

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

This part of the story is his.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the difference?”

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

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

“Time travel.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s say I believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That why you’re special?”

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

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

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

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caf?”

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

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

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

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

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

“Try me anyway.”

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

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

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

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

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

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

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

“You’re hard on yourself.”

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

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

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

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

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

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

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

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

It’s Depa.

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

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

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

“Are you Depa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

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

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

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

Does she?

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

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

Right. That.

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

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

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

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

That was a forgone conclusion.

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

She does.

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

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

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

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

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

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

“Feeling better?”

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

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

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

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

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

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

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

Of course it isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

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

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

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

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

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

"No, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

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

“Fett?”

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

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

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

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

“And you just kept doing it.”

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

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

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

She recognizes one of them.

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

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

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

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

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not like they know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

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

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

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

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

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was what?”

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

That’s pretty true.

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

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

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

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

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

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

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

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

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

“I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

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

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

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That one gets her an odd look.

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

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

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

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

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

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

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

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

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

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

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

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drop your elbow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“And you?”

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

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

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

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

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

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

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

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

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

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

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

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

He licks her palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whose idea was this?”

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

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

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

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

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

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

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

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

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

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

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

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

Fuel.

Paperwork.

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

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

It’s just a pit stop.

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

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

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

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

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

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

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that.”

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

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

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

He’s examining a papaya.

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

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

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

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

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

“It appears so, Sir.”

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

“Seems it.”

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

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

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

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

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

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

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

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

This was true and accurate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex snorts derisively.

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

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

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

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

“Oh, yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

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

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

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

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

“I’m wh--”

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

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

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

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

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

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

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

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

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

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

Rex snorts.

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

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

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

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

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

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

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

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

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

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

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

He bares his teeth.

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

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

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

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

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

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

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

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

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

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

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

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

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

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

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

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

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

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

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

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

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

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

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

“I’d prefer not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

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

She’s fine.

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

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

“Um.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want to spar?”

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

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

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

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

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

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

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

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

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

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

“No, you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t break right away.

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

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

“Sokari?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

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

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

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

“Commander.”

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

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

Right, sparring.

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

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

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

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

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

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

“Soka.”

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

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

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

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

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

“Soka?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he does.

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

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

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

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

“He’s--”

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

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

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

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

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

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

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

She shivers.

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

She probably should.

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

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

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

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

Again. Again. Again.

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

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

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

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

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

She just stares at him.

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

She can’t.

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

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

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

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

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

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

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

Good things.

About Anakin.

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

Did they?

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

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

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

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

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

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

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

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

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.