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autumnleopard · 1 year ago

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Unusual Judgement

So, I finished this somewhat silly "little" fic a while ago but was nervous about posting it anywhere (still am tbh). The title is not set, actually, it's just the most decent one I could think of instead of the placeholder I had previously. Well, anyway, hope you enjoy it.

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Tommy x Alfie

Word count: 2195

Summary: In which Alfie comes to Tommy's mansion but has to face judgement by someone very important to Tommy first before getting to the fun activities. Needless to say he thinks it's ridiculous but still he will humour Tommy.

Warnings: None, I think... It's just silly and soft.

AO3

“This is utterly ridiculous,” Alfie complained as Tommy practically dragged him towards the stables of his country estate.

Alfie had only arrived at Arrow House perhaps ten minutes ago, with a clear plan in mind of what to do with his time here, but apparently Tommy had an entirely different idea of how they should spend their already limited time together. At least for the time being, which was still an unfortunate development. Alright, perhaps Alfie was exaggerating a little bit but still, he could think of lots of things they could be doing instead.

They didn’t get to see each other as much as they wanted, and especially not in Tommy’s own home. It was—usually anyway—clandestine meetings in not too fancy hotels; hotels where they knew nobody would rat on them, or even bat an eye at two men (that very well may be walking a tad too close to each other) going up to the same room to spend the night. There was the rare occasion of them meeting at Alfie’s own house in Camden Town but he had fairly nosy neighbours, and another man staying with him overnight would probably cause rumours to spread like a fucking wildfire. Which in and of itself Alfie didn’t give much of a fuck about but if those rumours would reach the ears of his or Tommy’s enemies, they would be in a whole lot of trouble, as a thing like this was perfect leverage against either of them. And it would be far easier for those fuckers to have them arrested by the coppers for fucking sodomy than to try and take Alfie and Tommy out themselves. They would need proof of course, and Tommy and him were fairly good liars (or bullshitters, whatever), but it would still be a bad situation for them and it was doubtful they’d be able to ever shake the rumours after it, so they didn’t want to take any risks; at least not more than already anyway.

Either way, the invitation to stay at Tommy’s mansion over the weekend had come as quite the surprise for Alfie but also he liked the slight change in their routine and the chance to spend more than a mere few hours or a night with Tommy. He still was a bit worried about it though, about the possibility of Tommy’s family catching them mostly. But his housekeeper Frances was nice and also apparently knew what was going on here actually, judging by the knowing smile she had given Alfie upon his arrival. She hadn’t commented on anything and Tommy seemed to trust her a lot, so Alfie was quite sure she would keep their little secret safe.

And seriously, Alfie was looking forward to this weekend, but the start of it was certainly quite odd. He should be used to Tommy’s sometimes unpredictable behaviour by now, though usually that meant rage and anger and not… this. He’d even go so far to call it eccentric, at least in this very circumstance.

“They’re a good judge of character,” Tommy said, like it made any sense to anyone but himself. He didn’t look back at Alfie as he said that but, thanks to the privacy of his own property, still held Alfie’s hand. Which Alfie did not mind at all, to be honest, he just wished Tommy wouldn’t drag so much.

Alfie rolled his eyes, trying to keep up with Tommy’s rather crisp pace. He was undoubtedly excited, which was an interesting thing to witness. “You already know my fucking character.”

Tommy shrugged and just kept on dragging Alfie towards the horses that were grazing out on the pasture.

“Tommy, treacle,” Alfie tried, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Are you actually telling me that you put more weight on a bloody horse’s opinion of someone than on your own?”

“They’re good judges of character,” Tommy repeated matter-of-factly, not making any more sense this time around.

“Alright,” Alfie sighed. “I’ll humour you. So, hypothetically, if the horse doesn’t approve of me, what will happen? Will you just break this off? Send me on my merry fucking way and return to business as usual?”

“No, of course not,” Tommy answered, finally stopping his infuriating dragging. He looked at Alfie with those bright blue eyes that he knew very well drove Alfie crazy. “You’ll just have to… spend more time with them, charm them.” He grinned. “You know, how you’d do with the parents of someone you love.”

Alfie pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “You are fucking ridiculous, mate.”

“And yet you love me, Alfie.”

“Do I?” Alfie couldn’t believe this man. Mad, just mad. Which, coming from him, said a fucking lot. “I might have to rethink that.”

Tommy let go of his hand, crossing his arms over his chest. He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, and just looked at Alfie. Just looked at him with those bright blue eyes. A piercing look, quite intense. It was the kind of look Tommy used when negotiating with someone, be it a potential business partner or an enemy. Alfie liked that look, and the way others caved under it, which unfortunately included him in this instance.

He sighed. “Alright, I do. But you are still fucking ridiculous, Tommy.”

Tommy just smirked triumphant. Alfie shook his head; and people called him a madman.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Alfie decided. “I have better things to do, like getting those clothes off you and fuck you senseless.”

Tommy chuckled and shook his head. “Patience is a virtue, darling,” he said softly as he took Alfie’s hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze just because he could.

Alfie rolled his eyes and let Tommy lead him onto the pasture. He liked the feel of Tommy’s hand in his, to be completely honest. Mostly because they didn’t get to do that very often.

Ever since this thing between them started (they had only very recently started to call it an actual relationship), Alfie had made the surprising discovery that Tommy liked touching, a lot. He always needed to touch Alfie in some way. It wasn’t possible at all in public, and also not when they were alone but there was the possibility of someone walking in on them, like when they were in either of their offices. Alfie got the impression that it bothered Tommy to not be able to touch him, even in the simplest, smallest way imaginable. They usually opted for being just a little too close to each other but it obviously wasn’t the same. So when they finally got some time alone, Tommy could absolutely not keep his hands off Alfie.

Actually, Alfie would even go so far to say that Tommy could get quite needy, in private anyways. Always needing to touch and be close, somehow having forgotten the concept of personal space; not that Alfie minded, alright. He actually quite liked it because it was such a drastically different side of the usually so cold and ruthless Tommy Shelby—a side that perhaps not even his own family got to see often, if at all. He could be so sweet and soft and was actually very much able to relax. He just hardly got the chance to, Alfie supposed, which made it all the more surprising that he found it so easy to relax when he was alone with Alfie.

He also liked to cuddle, liked it a lot, but would never fucking admit it, not even at gunpoint. You could probably torture him and he’d sooner admit to being queer than to being a cuddler.

“I still think you’re being ridiculous, just so we’re clear,” Alfie pointed out, watching the horses warily.

He wasn’t scared of horses, mind you. He just wasn’t particularly a fan of them, perhaps it was their size or those fucking hooves that could potentially crack a man’s skull. He also just simply could not fathom what Tommy saw in them. He did like to see that certain glow in Tommy’s eyes when he was talking about them though. That look of pure childlike delight. Or the look of unrestrained excitement Tommy had right now due to the prospect of introducing Alfie to his horses. It was sweet, he supposed, and it softened Tommy’s ragged edges, almost making him look a bit younger, less weary of life and its endless troubles.

Tommy just nodded in response to Alfie’s comment and stopped walking. He whistled and while all of the horses lifted their heads (their heads were too big as well, Alfie thought, everything about horses was kind of weird), only one of them walked towards where Tommy and Alfie were standing near the fence. It was, in all fairness and Alfie’s uneducated opinion, a quite beautiful looking horse with a sleek black coat and mane that blew softly in the fresh spring breeze.

It still looked quite a bit intimidating though.

The horse approached Tommy first, nudging him softly and earning a pat on the neck and a soft smile. Tommy petted its head tenderly and whispered something to it, while throwing a sideways glance at Alfie, who really tried not to grow uncomfortable or even anxious in this very unusual situation.

Being judged by a horse was certainly something else and only Thomas fucking Shelby would come up with it. Honestly, why he loved this cunt was beyond Alfie sometimes.

The horse slowly strode towards Alfie, fixing him with its dark eyes. Alfie stayed still, just waiting for whatever was about to happen. The horse came to a halt right in front of him.

“Hello… horse,” Alfie said, unsure of how to act exactly.

The horse circled around Alfie, seemingly taking all of him in with a certain degree of scrutiny. Alfie had no idea horses could even look so scrutinising. He’d bet, if it could, it would raise an eyebrow at him. It made him feel somewhat uneasy. When it finally stopped its assessment, it stood in front of Alfie and sniffed him curiously, eventually huffing right into Alfie’s face and nickering. It nudged him and nipped at his coat’s pockets. Alfie looked towards Tommy with an eyebrow raised in question and cluelessness. Since this had been his idea, Tommy should give him some pointers on how to proceed at least. But the other man simply grinned and looked very pleased.

“He likes you,” he explained. “He is demanding treats.”

“Well, I don’t have any, obviously.”

Tommy took Alfie’s hand and put some treats in it. “Go on. Flat palm.”

Alfie sighed and held his hand out to the horse just like Tommy said. The horse sniffed at it, accepting the peace offering, as Alfie would describe it, and happily munched away.

Tommy looked indeed very pleased and happy next to Alfie, smiling softly at him—oh, there was the reason why he loved him, now he remembered. It was a very good look on him though, so the ridiculousness with the horse had at least been worth it in the end.

“Are we done with this then?” Alfie asked, dropping his hand once the horse had eaten all the treats.

Tommy nodded smiling, wrapping his arms around Alfie's neck. “Still think I’m ridiculous?”

“Yes,” Alfie answered but smiled. “But I also love you, you fucking bastard.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. Alfie grinned at him, then closed the small distance between them, capturing Tommy's soft lips in a tender but almost hungry kiss, which caused a low, pleased hum to escape Tommy.

This was exceptionally nice and special, Alfie thought as Tommy leaned further into the kiss, deepening it. He let his hands wander down Tommy's back, feeling the tiny shudder of anticipation that went through the other man's body at that simple gesture. He settled a hand on the small of Tommy's back, pulling him closer against him. He probably wasn't much different than Tommy, if he genuinely thought about it. Couldn't keep his hands off him, right, always needed to touch and feel the man's body against his.

In his defence, it was a very, very nice feeling.

The thing that made Alfie smile even more though, was that there was no tension in Tommy's body anywhere right now. He was just happy and relaxed, leaning into Alfie's embrace and savouring their kiss, almost getting lost in it even.

It was such a rare thing that they could be so open with their affection for each other, so they cherished any moment when they got to do it. Doing it so out in the open would be impossible under any other circumstance but this being Tommy's private property, they were thankfully sheltered and could for once just be themselves without fear of consequences and judgement.

Eventually it was Tommy who broke the kiss first, giving Alfie a soft, pleased smile. Without a word, he intertwined their fingers and took Alfie back to the house and up to his bedroom. Now this was more what Alfie had in mind when he had come here and so he was looking forward to it immensely.

#this came about due to some silly idea during an rp #it's silly and def ooc i think #i don't feel like writing serious stuff rn #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tofie #sholomons

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presidentbungus · 2 years ago

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“Can I ask ya something?”

Dell’s hand moves up to fidget with the collar of Spy’s argyle blazer—suddenly his heart jumps to his throat, following the motion, and doesn’t go back down after a good few seconds of blinking, so Spy tentatively hums: “Yes, Dell?”

And then his eyes shift and his hand moves to sit on Spy’s shoulder instead. “Are you physically incapable of feeling overdressed?”

Spy doesn’t want to know why he has to calm himself for a little bit to squeeze out: “I have not seen a pair of slacks since I landed in this city that weren’t pulled directly from my suitcase. Perhaps the rest of you are classless, fashionably-bankrupt orangutans.”

“Aw. Look, this is a nice shirt, right?” Dell steps back (oh thank god) to do a few swivels and show off a salmon button-up that’s a little too small, considering how the fabric between the buttons is stretching almost enough to reveal a little skin.

There are slightly more pressing matters. “The fact that you squeezed into anything other than a pair of overalls this morning doesn’t change the fact that you’re wearing cargo shorts and…” His nose wrinkles, only a little voluntarily. “Boat shoes.”

Dell looks at him for a few seconds, then scoffs, obviously exaggerating a little for comedic effect, crossing his arms. “Well I never!”

“You obviously have, considering your current fashion statement.”

Dell’s expression shifts to confusion for a moment, then he says: “That is a blatant misinterpretation of a relatively common turn of phrase.”

“According to you.” Deep breath in, out. “If you theoretically wanted to improve the abysmal status of your wardrobe, I could take you shopping.” He thinks better of it and tacks on an “If you so desired,” even though it’s a tad redundant

“You,” he levels an accusing finger at Spy, “would make fun of everything I wanted to buy.”

“And, Dell, that’s precisely why I’ll pick everything out for you. And I’ll put it on my bill. You only need to sit back and try on whatever I throw at you. You know I have a moderately proficient eye.”

Dell’s about to say something, but he falters, and then he fidgets with the top button of his shirt and thinks for a while.

“As hesitant as I am to allow you to curate any portion of my wardrobe,” he eventually says—“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Internally, the celebration might involve backflips and cartwheels and a looming sense of existential dread—externally Spy allows himself to smile, just enough to make his pleasure clear, and he holds out his hand. “Tomorrow, laborer?”

Dell shakes on it. “It’s a date.”

Horrible choice of words.

#this is actually a continuation of something I already posted but I won’t tell you what #tf2 engineer #tf2 spy #engiespy #napoleon complex #tf2 #bungus snippets

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seriouslysam8 · 2 years ago

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AU Sneak Peeks and New Poll Because I Have Zero Self-Control

Snippers below.

No, I do not have a snippet for the Sirius/Lily story. I honestly thought that one would lose by a long shot and only have a vague idea on plot.

Anyway, each snippet is around 1500 words. MAJOR spoilers ahead. I mean, really big spoilers.

I may end up writing both of these because I love the plots so much. But I'm curious what you guys think since I do want to really start planning and writing one as my side project once my current side project Bête Noire is done.

Juggernaut Snipper – James Lives AU

Harry is 4

Harry made a beeline for James’ desk, shrugging off his rucksack as he went. Jumping into the big leather chair, Harry sat in it sideways with his legs dangling off one arm and his head off the other. He reached out towards the desk, making himself spin. James smiled as he bent down to pick up Harry’s rucksack off the floor, tossing it onto the sofa.

“Grandpa! Guess what?” Harry asked as he stopped spinning, looking at the portrait of Fleamont Potter on the wall upside down.

Fleamont laughed. “What is it, Harry?”

Harry sucked in a breath, the corners of his lips twitching. “WELL, I saw a bunny last night in the back garden and Sirius turned into Padfoot to chase after it and the bunny hopped right in front of me, Grandpa! I tried to grab him but Dad said he could have rabies and not to touch him but I dunno what rabies are. Sirius was more concerned about fleas because he has really, really thick fur and the fleas are really hard to get out and they make him all itchy. But I tried to grab the bunny anyway and Remus told me I should try to listen a tad better but it was a bunny, Grandpa! How can I not pet a bunny?” Harry rambled, taking a deep breath. Finally. “What’s rabies, Grandpa?”

Fleamont chuckled. “Merlin, you are definitely a Potter, aren’t you, my boy?”

Harry reached out a foot towards the desk, pushing off of it to cause him to spin again. “I guess? That’s my last name, Grandpa. Dad’s name is James. Did you know that?”

Fleamont beamed. “I do think I recall naming him that.”

“Harry,” James called, peering down at his son in his chair. “Can I have my chair back?”

Harry frowned. “But, but the sofa doesn’t spin, Daddy!”

James raised his eyebrows above his glasses. “Unfortunately, it does not. But if I can get my work done quickly, we can leave sooner.”

Harry sighed, rolling off the chair and nearly hitting his head on the desk. He dragged his feet as he made his way over to the sofa, plopping down in an exaggerated fashion and looking up at the portrait.

“Mrs Figg is sick,” Harry told his grandfather. “Dad had to bring me to work because Remus has meetings and Sirius has work too. Sirius said he’d stop by to go to lunch with us.”

“Well, what a nice godfather you have,” Fleamont commented, his eyes sparkling. “You know, I bet Sirius is going to rush through his work so he can come play with you.”

Harry shrugged. “He had to do an in’pection of the potions room today.”

“Inspection,” James corrected, looking up from his documents to catch his dad’s eye in the portrait. “Just our normal quarterly inspection. Nothing happened to the potions’ room. Don’t worry.”

“I am not worried at all!” Fleamont confirmed, though he didn’t look convinced. “I mean you and Sirius running the business is what I always wanted! I have total faith in you both.”

James snorted, turning back to the ingredient purchase parchment. “I’m sure you do, Dad.”

“Am I gonna run the business one day, Grandpa?” Harry asked. “When Dad’s too old? I can do in’pections of the potions’ room. Sirius let me go with him once. I got to wear gloves and a hairnet and funny big glasses.”

Fleamont nodded. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Harry! Perhaps, you’ll even invent your own potion to add to the line! We both know your father and your godfather aren’t very inventive when it comes to potions.”

Harry giggled. “Dad buys all his potions! Remus likes to take the mickey out of him for not even owning a cauldron!”

“James!” Fleamont huffed.

James winced, realizing he was going to get absolutely zero work done. “I would not risk my child’s life with my subpar potions ability.

Truth was, Lily had always been the potioneer. It felt wrong to take her cauldron to the new house. He had the money to buy the potions he needed. What he couldn’t buy due to the apothecaries being closed or out of stock, Andromeda Tonks was normally kind enough to make him anything he needed at the drop of a hat. She had come through for some late-night Pepper-Up Potions for Harry in the past.

Harry huffed, his legs kicking his rucksack. “Can I go do an in’pection with Sirius?”

James sucked in a breath, setting his quill down on his desk. He glanced at Harry over the top of his glasses. James didn’t need to see him properly to know he had his pouting face on. Harry and Sirius were inseparable.

“Fine, you can pester Sirius,” James agreed, pushing his glasses up.

Harry whooped as he jumped off the sofa. He stomped his feet, swinging his rucksack on his back as he waited patiently by the door to the office. James ambled over to the cupboard by the door and pulled out the supplies they needed to go into the potions’ rooms.

Kneeling down in front of Harry, he shoved the kid’s wild black hair underneath the hairnet before placing on the safety glasses carefully overtop Harry’s navy blue glasses. Standing up, he held out his hand for Harry.

“Ready?” James asked.

Harry grabbed his father’s hand but shook his head. “I need gloves!”

“When we get to the room, all right?” James replied as the two left his office.

It wasn’t often James walked through the building. Being known as the Vanquisher was terrible even on a good day. He felt like an imposter. Everyone thinking he was same great and powerful wizard, but in reality he had been pinned to the ground and listened as his wife was murdered and his son was marked by evil. Nothing he did was heroic. Everything he did was just to protect his family.

He tried and failed to buy Lily time to run. He lied to the public about what had happened on that fateful Halloween night. The thought of people knowing his son had survived the Killing Curse, that he was special, made James want to vomit. No, it was better to be dubbed the Vanquisher and let Harry live as normal of a childhood as he could.

People whispered as they passed. Some trying to look particularly busy or some just shellshocked that their reclusive savior boss had left his office. Sirius dealt with the day-to-day operations while James stayed locked in his office dealing with the business side. Honestly, the roles should have been reversed. Would have been if life hadn’t gone to shit when Lily died. He had been social before, had loved talking with everyone. It had been Sirius who had been moody and a loner. Somehow, they both just changed because they had to in order to survive.

Stopping outside the potions’ room, James bent down to put the too big gloves on Harry’s hands. Tugging his wand from his pocket, he tapped them to shrink them. Harry clapped, a wide grin crossing his features.

“Remember, we use our indoor voice and there is no running,” James explained. “You do either of those things and you’ll find yourself with a one-way ticket back to my office until I’m done working. Understood?”

Harry nodded. “Yes!” When James raised an eyebrow, Harry lowered his voice and repeated, “Yes.”

James smiled. “Good boy. All right, stay close and don’t touch anything.”

James rose to his full height and held out his hand for Harry. They made their way into the potions’ room which was lined with oversized cauldrons in neat rows. Potioneers milled around, surrounding one person in particular: Sirius Black.

Sirius’ hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, just barley fitting in one underneath his hairnet. He squinted at one of the potioneer through his safety goggles as he listened to whatever he was being explained to him. His head nodded occasionally before he looked down at a piece of parchment and checked something off with his quill.

James could feel Harry practically vibrating next to him, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he was trying to get his godfather’s attention. As though sensing their presence, Sirius turned towards them and smiled. He motioned for Harry. James let go of his son’s hand and watched as he walked towards Sirius in a very slow and exaggerated form. A rare smile spread across James’ thin lips. Harry seemed to be the only person who made him smile these days.

---

Untitled Fleamont and Euphemia Lives AU

Takes place a few months after Halloween

Fleamont’s heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the floor in the middle of Courtroom Eight, waiting for Sirius to appear for his arraignment and bail hearing. Harry sat slumped against him, his stuffed stag and black dog clutched tightly to his chest. Euphemia bent down to speak to him, a soft hum of words ringing in Fleamont’s ear but he couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying.

They had debated if they should bring Harry to the Ministry for hours, going back and forth on what the right thing to do would be. In the end, despite knowing he would be stared and gawked at, they brought him. Harry had seen Sirius’ picture in the paper and he had always ended up sobbing for his godfather. The small child cried for Sirius as much as he cried for his parents. Maybe, just maybe, seeing Sirius would help Harry just a tad.

The Wizengamot filed into the room with dismayed looks. Some of those arrested in the past month had not been given any sort of due process. Some had simply been tried without any formalities, tossed into Azkaban without another thought. Fleamont knew some of those wizards were guilty. But he also knew some had not been. Fleamont had to fight for Sirius to even have a hearing.

Sirius’ lawyer walked up in front of the Wizengamot, standing to the right of the circle in the middle of the court room. Fleamont wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling the small boy into his side as he leaned down towards him.

“Harry, I need to you listen to me,” Fleamont whispered.

The child looked up, his trainers kicking against the bench of the gallery.

“We’re going to see Sirius in a bit,” Fleamont explained.

Harry’s entire face lit up, his green eyes sparkling. “See-wis!”

A strained smile crossed Fleamont’s face. “Yes, Sirius, but Harry, you can’t talk to him or go to him, all right? We have to wait right here but you can wave at him. Does that sound like a plan?”

“See-wis!” Harry exclaimed, looking happy and oblivious to what was just said to him.

Fleamont frowned. “Are you listening, Harry?”

A click sounded. Fleamont snapped his attention to the center of the room. A small circular cage rose from the floor. Sirius stood inside, his hands cuffed in front of him. He had his head bowed, his long hair looking greasy and matted. The striped prison robes hung off him worse than the one-time Fleamont had been allowed to see him when he was first arrested. Sirius had always been lean, but he looked downright starved at his point. Like Azkaban hadn’t given him more than a few crumbs of food in the month he had been imprisoned.

“See-wis!” Harry shouted, his finger pointing to the center of the room.

Slowly, Sirius turned his head to the right, his wide eyes locking onto Harry. Tears brimmed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He raised his hands just a tad, his left hand giving a very small wave but it was enough to cause Harry to enthusiastically bounce and wave back.

“We are here today for the arraignment of Sirius Orion Black, accused of murdering twelve Muggles and one wizard. Mr Black is also being charged with conspiracy to commit murder by joining the Death Eaters. How do you plead, Mr Black?” Barty Crouch spoke, his words clipped and his gaze focused on a piece of parchment in front of him.

Harry rose from the bench and tried to walk towards Sirius. Fleamont reached out to grab him, keeping him from moving any closer.

Sirius looked at the Wizengamot. “Not guilty,” he croaked in a strained voice that didn’t seem to belong to him, like he hadn’t spoken a single word in weeks.

Murmurs broke out in the courtroom, nasty and hissing voices who all thought the worst of him. Sirius looked down at the ground, his body trembling. Fleamont wanted to embrace his son and comfort him.

“The plea has been entered and the defendant may be taken back to Azkaban,” Crouch announced in a bored tone.

Sirius’ lawyer stepped forward. “Excuse me, sir, but there was also supposed to be a bail hearing as well.”

Crouch scoffed. “A bail hearing? There are no bail hearings for murderers.”

“See-wis!” Harry cried, his stuffed animals dropping to the ground as he tried to shrug Fleamont’s hands off more forcibly. “See-wis!”

“What evidence do you actually have that Mr Black committed these crimes?” Sirius’ lawyer persisted. “Mr Black does not have the Dark Mark. His wand is in evidence, so have you even looked at his last spells cast in the month he’s been sitting in a cell in Azkaban?”

In a second, Harry broke free. He tumbled off the bench seat and ran as quick as his little legs would allow him towards Sirius. People gasped and shouted. Sirius turned to see Harry bolting straight for the cage. Fleamont took after him.

Sirius crouched down in the cage as best as he could, his hands reaching through the bars just as Harry stopped outside of the cage. Harry grabbed for him, trying to push his body through the bars.

“Enough! Get the child out of here!” Crouch roared.

“See-wis! See-wis!” Harry sobbed.

“It’s okay,” Sirius murmured, his voice cracking. “It’s okay.”

Fleamont fell to his knees next to Harry, an arm wrapping around his shoulders. Harry only fell down, a tantrum already brewing at being denied access to his beloved godfather. Silent tears poured down Sirius’ face as Harry sobbed his name over and over and over again. Fleamont reached between the bars to give Sirius’ arm a squeeze.

“He misses you,” Fleamont whispered. “He calls for you and, and his parents every single night,” he explained, unable to speak the names James and Lily out loud in fear that he would break down in front of everyone in the courtroom.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say because Sirius’ body gave a violent jolt. Harry clambered onto his knees, a screech escaping his lips when he tried and failed again to fit through the bars. Sirius cupped the boy’s face with one hand, the other dangling uselessly because he didn’t have enough room to force both hands through the bars.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Sirius said in a shaky voice. “I’m all right. I’m right here.”

“Mr Potter, this is highly inappropriate!” Crouch roared. “The boy needs to leave now! I never want to see him in my courtroom again!”

Fleamont rose to his full height, squaring his shoulders. “That boy is sixteen months old!” Fleamont roared. “He just lost his parents! Watched his own mother be murdered right in front of him! Now he is being denied access to his godfather!”

“Mr Black is accused of murder!” Crouch replied, rising from behind his podium. “We don’t allow accused murderers bail!”

“Yet, I’ve yet to hear any concrete evidence against him!” Fleamont shouted. “The Ministry is rounding up its citizens, innocent or not, and throwing them in Azkaban without properly examining the evidence! The trials are just shams now! Due process has been thrown out the window! I will not stand for it! I will now stand by when someone I care deeply about is a victim in this Ministry’s crusade to look strong!”

“Enough!” Crouch shouted. “Guards, escort Mr Potter and his grandson out of this courtroom!”

Fleamont wheeled around to look at the wizards approaching them. “Touch my grandson and you will regret it!” Fleamont growled.

“See-See-wis,” Harry hiccupped, his body still struggling to get to Sirius.

“Stop, please, Harry,” Sirius murmured. “Just calm down. You need to calm down.”

Fleamont turned around, crouching down next to Harry. He wrapped his arms securely around the boy, pulling him back away from the cage. Harry went limp in his arms, his screams loud enough to make Fleamont’s ears ring. Sirius rose to his full height, leaning back away from Harry as best as he could in the small space afforded to him. Fleamont picked Harry up off the ground, struggling not to drop the thrashing child.

“SEE-WIS!” Harry screamed, both hands reaching out for Sirius.

“It’ll be all right!” Fleamont shouted at Sirius, his glasses sliding down his nose.

Sirius didn’t say anything, his face pulling as though it was taking everything he had in him not to break down completely. Fleamont carried a squirming Harry out of the courtroom, two guards following them out. Once outside, Fleamont say Harry down on his feet and he melted on the floor to continue the tantrum. With a heavy sigh, Fleamont settled down onto the floor next to his crying grandson and waited.

It wasn’t a few moments later that Euphemia exited the courtroom. She only had to shake her head. Bail had been denied. Fleamont would have given anything to have Sirius home with them. Harry jumped up from the floor at the sight of his grandmother, running to be babied in her arms. Euphemia didn’t waste even a second, scooping the boy up in her arms and rocking him.

Fleamont stood up as people filed out of the courtroom. Photographers not so discreetly snapping images of Harry. He positioned his body to block the press, his hand pressing against Harry’s back.

“Sirius looked dreadful,” Euphemia whispered. “They have to be starving him.”

Fleamont nodded, a grave look crossing his features. “That or he’s purposely not eating because he’s upset about everything that has happened.”

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leclercsbf · 1 year ago

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was tagged by @nyoomfruits to post a wip snippet like... ten days ago... took me a while (sorry ellie) But I Am Finally Posting. this still needs a lot of work so let’s hope i don’t end up abandoning it. tagging @ocontraire, @charlosgoggles, and anyone else who has a wip they want to share! please ping, i like getting glimpses of other people’s work.

Learning is a distraction and Charles welcomes it all too easily, focusing on the task at hand rather than allowing his mind to fixate on all of the problems that lay beyond the four corners of the classroom. He’s pleased to find that (for the time being, at the very least) he’s still able to perform as well as he usually does academically, and not once do his thoughts stray towards other pressing matters—enabling him to take a moment and just breathe.

He’s humming a song he heard on the radio by the time the afternoon rolls around, copy after copy of his updated resume being churned out in smooth succession where he’s standing before the university library’s printer; and his eyes are fixated onto the inked sheets when a shadow falls over them and bids him to look up, eyes soon meeting Daniel Ricciardo’s steady gaze.

They don’t quite know each other, is the thing. They’re certainly aware of each other’s existence—Charles can easily recall how they had once grappled for the opportunity to discuss the same subject matter in one of their shared psychology courses—but they hadn’t so much as breathed a word in the other’s direction outside of class. Daniel is arguably one of the richest bastards in the university, after all, and Charles himself is just a little above average (or perhaps he’s a tad below it in light of recent events). Their social circles simply do not coincide, and Charles supposes that neither of them had found any cause to amend that before today—which is why Daniel’s presence prompts Charles to lift a questioning brow, hands working to gather his printouts and staple the sheets together as he asks Daniel what he could help the older male with.

“I heard you got disowned.” comes the response, causing Charles to falter, and it’s only through sheer luck that he’s able to grip the stapler more firmly even as it threatens to clatter onto the floor between their feet. “That must’ve stung.”

“How did you even find out?” Charles inquires, every bit as puzzled as his tone might suggest, because Max was the only person that Charles had told—and he would have kept it to himself, really, if he and Max hadn’t known each other since they were toddlers (long enough that Max could sense Charles’ troubles from a mile away). He tells Daniel as much, growing infinitely more curious as to how the other male chanced upon the information, and the response has Charles’ eyes rolling towards the heavens.

“How does that go again?” Daniel starts, seemingly deep in thought, gestures purposely exaggerated and allowing Charles to see right through the ruse, “‘Tight ass, loose lips’? Your friend let it slip, Leclerc.”

#🏷️#🎱#this is extremely late because your boy has been playing fps instead of writing #also this is charlos i’m sorry ellie my lestappen queen #i have a love-hate relationship with this wip so i’m literally working at snail speed #even took a detour with that landoscar message fic

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 2 years ago

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ok here’s my question for you as a new Beatles fan now for a couple of months. what honestly did paul mccartney do that hurt john lennon so much (and continued to hurt him long after)?

am i missing something? cause it seems like paul had a lot of patience for john. in fact it seems all his patience was given to John cause man had no patience for anyone else (slowly becoming a george fan more and more each day because he was just not treated right man).

but really, was it an actual thing he did or continued doing that targeted John? again I’m new so maybe I missed something that happened while they were teens or something but I really can’t understand it? did paul steal his girl early on or tried to sabotage the band, did he try to put george and ringo against john? im just confused because the distain he had for paul in the seventies in terms of all the wrongs paul did to him and how yoko mentioned paul always hurt john, im really wondering if i missed something and should be actively disliking Paul too. anywyas thanks for your response !

Hi anon! Apologies for taking a while to get back to you.

So, I think you probably aren't missing anything major, no, at least when it comes to events we in fact know about.

I get a sense that perhaps you've been exposed to John's most negative comments about Paul, but not so many of the nicer ones he made in the 70s. That's not to say I don't think John was sometimes downright vitriolic towards Paul during that period, but it might be a tad less extreme than you think. (It can also be helpful to seek out recordings, if available – often, the words seem worse on paper than how they were actually delivered.)

Anyways, a thing I've learned with regard to assessing John and Paul's fallout is that… You kind of have to decide whom you trust more.

On the one hand, you have John, who expressed rather extreme hurt over what Paul supposedly did or did not do, without really clarifying what specifically Paul did to hurt him. On the other, you have Paul, who over and over expressed a general puzzlement at John's behaviour toward him, seemingly unaware of what he had done to hurt John.

This can lead to two extreme conclusions:

John is being truthful for the most part; Paul hurt him in a way that would upset most people a lot and Paul has been saving face since, pretending he doesn't know what he did, or is so emotionally stunted/self-involved he genuinely doesn't know what he did.

John has exaggerated Paul's crimes to an extreme extent; his reactions to what Paul did or didn't do are fundamentally irrational and thus Paul's confusion is completely understandable.

Now, I kind of deliberately worded both of these using highly inflammatory language. To be clear, if you ask me, the most likely scenario is something in the middle, vast as that spectrum might be. It can be difficult to discuss this stuff candidly, because certain people can get very protective of their faves and hear a dismissal of them when you suggest they were at some point dishonest or even cruel. I showed the two extremes because I've seen people fall into them or believe other people were falling into them, because certain talking points were brought up.

Personally, I fall somewhat more on the John Kind Of Exaggerated side of things, though I think Paul was probably more ill-equipped to communicate effectively with John than some. That being said, I think we as a society have come an extremely long way with our championing of communication skills, so I think it's very easy for us to judge, from 2023. To be fair to John, too, though, I think there are a lot of things Paul might've done to hurt him, which he for entirely understandable reasons would not want to go into publicly – his lack of clarity on Paul's transgressions isn't necessarily in of itself suspect.

I also think you shouldn't assume that John being hurt necessarily means anyone was ill-intended towards him. A lot of heartbreak is caused completely unintentionally. John also likely had trust issues and insecurities that made it hard for Paul's efforts with him to register as loving.

In the end, this stuff is difficult to parse, though, and there's valid reasons to trust either of them more than the other, I think.

#ask #jp #my analysis #fiona.docx #meta

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drinkitfrommymouthsuou · 1 year ago

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' it probably... doesn't suit me all that well, does it, suoh-san? ' daisuke flushes and fusses with the tie of his suit, a small, anxious smile on his expression. ' the blue looks a bit strange thanks to my hair... and it feels a little, um, how should i say it --- a little more formal than i'm used to? ' just about the only time he's dressed up this fancy was during his phantom thievery, but there was no need to mention that! ' i just hope the guests don't think i look weird... ' after all, thanks to his meek personality, plenty of other students already had a hard time believing he had ever even gotten accepted into a school like this!

“Ah~! Nonsense, my tiny little protégé. Part of being a host also means to dress the part.” The flamboyant and booming voice of the host club president carried within the, admittedly spacious, confines of the prep room. Tamaki stood outside one of the changing rooms, its yellow curtains drawn closed as his newly appointed apprentice fussed around with his new uniform.

“Why don’t you come on out and let Daddy have a look at you~!”

This was so exciting! Tamaki had never had an apprentice before. Well, except there was that one time with that elementary school brat but Tamaki didn’t count him. Elementary school students couldn’t be hosts, plus the brat ended up poaching all of Tamaki’s guests! Apparently, his ego was still bruised upon recollection.

In a calmer voice that lilted with a cheerful chuckle, Tamaki reached to tug back the yellow curtain: “Plus, I am sure you’re over exaggerating. It is a only a school uniform, after all.”

Shhhnnnngggg The sound of the curtain being yanked back filled the beat of silence. Tamaki blinked and took in the sight before him.

Perhaps he was mistaken. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Tamaki cupped his chin and studied Daisuke for a moment.

“Maybe—” Ah! He saw the problem.

“Maybe it is a tad too big.” He peeked at the red hair amassed atop the shorter student’s head. “And so, your hair is a little garish,” Tamaki shrugged his shoulders. “—but we can fix all of that. If you really want to—” Yes! This was salvageable. First to build up the image of his little host then build up his confidence!

“A quick call to my tailor and hairstylist and I will turn you from pauper to prince in no time!” Tamaki wagged a finger in the air and gave Daisuke a playful wink.

#「♔ тαмαкι sυσυ | 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 」#「♔ guest: Daisuke ♡ 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴. 」#「♔ outofroses; HERE WE GO LOL! 」

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tfwroland · 2 years ago

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Dedicated Devotee | Roland & Ambrose

Roland greeted Ambrose with an exaggerated bow. He’d contemplated prostrating himself before him, before realizing that, perhaps, that might be a tad too far. (Not to Ambrose, himself, of course -- the man would not bat an eye from such a display, but Roland considered that the other onlookers might. As much as Roland loved to paint Horatio as utterly ridiculous, he knew that he could only go so far, before his behavior was considered suspicious).

“My Prince! It has been far too long since you’ve graced us with your presence. Valenmouth has been deprived of it’s prized jewel.”

Roland, as Horatio, had not encountered the prince since his return, but he had no way of knowing if he and Horatio had. However, he was certain that Ambrose would be too flattered to find any inconsistencies that might lie within them.

“It seems I am not the only one to have noticed,” He said, leaning in a bit closer, “It appears you’ve caused quite a stir amongst the ladies. See, your highness, how they giggle and blush in your company.”

Roland indicated a group of young girls who were giggling together, but he would bet that they had been laughing at Ambrose’s ridiculous dancing than contemplating his good look and charm, but he doubted Ambrose could tell the difference.

#comment #ambrose ardenne #dedicated devotee

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thedivinelights · 2 years ago

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Pairings: Ebenezer Scrooge/Isabel Fezziwig

Summary:

Ebenezer Scrooge has spent these past two years fixing bonds he had destroyed, building bridges that he had burned. No more did people look upon him and fear. It was safe to say his future was averted.

Then the cracks began to appear, showing him the one he had carelessly thrown away years ago. He knew there was more to be done.

Perhaps happiness was not fully out of his reach just yet

"Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey, Ebenezer!"

Scrooge groaned under the covers of his sheets as his large and blue visitor banged a spoon against their golden rhyton with a loud clanging sound that easily drowned out the sound of his own alarm clock ringing at 7 past.

"Ye gods, man, why are you here so early?" Scrooge grunted in annoyance as he willed himself out of bed, stretching out the aches of the morning.

"You know I don't like to waste any time, Scrooge." Present replied as one of their cheerlings popped out of their rhyton with a dizzied expression before passing back out into it. The ex-miser let out a huff. Present calling him by 'Scrooge' usually meant that a lecture was due.

"So you always tell me." Scrooge grumbled under his breath as he put on his clothes for the outdoors, briefly checking his pocket watch as he did so.

A smile graced the man's features as he looked upon the words — once a painful reminder — engraved into the cover. Present immediately noticed and pondered a question they'd been wondering for a while.

"Have you thought about going back to see her?"

Scrooge gave a sigh, pocketing the miniature clock and adjusting his cravat as she once did, "I highly doubt she wishes to see me after all this time. She seemed quite happy with her family, and I would hate to put that happiness under duress with my sudden appearance."

"But it's been twenty years." They countered, gesturing in a rather exaggerated manner whilst following him down the large flight of stairs, "Neither of you are getting any younger and... well, sooner or later you'll lose your chance."

Scrooge looked at them in perplexity as he reached the living room, turning to face them fully, "That is odd. Were you not the one to tell me to live in the present?"

"I also told you to do the best you can with the time you have." They dropped the unconscious cheerling onto Prudence, causing her to bark in annoyance that they paid no heed as they poured out some wine that they summoned from the kitchen for themself.

Scrooge looked a tad disconsolate, yet still Present continued, "Things are not always what they seem, Ebenezer. I hope you'll remember that."

He looked up at the giant, eyes widening, "Wait, what do you-!"

Before he could even finish, the sound of his doorbell ringing caught his attention. He turned back to Present, who had disappeared as soon as they came and leaving the man with far more questions than answers. Making a mental note to speak with Present when they returned, he made his way to the front door and flung it open to reveal Bob Cratchit on the other side.

Prudence, in her excitement, sprinted towards Bob and tackled the young man, only keeping his footing thanks to Scrooge.

"Prudence..." Scrooge chastised, to which Prudence whined in slight shame before making her way back to her master's side, "I am truly sorry about that, Bob. What brings you here this fine morning?"

Bob gave a slight grin as he pulled out a flyer from his coat pocket, which Scrooge took and read as he spoke, "I have some good news for you. The charity committee has asked if you would like to participate in the annual park fundraiser for the orphanage this weekend. They're looking for volunteers to help with the games and activities for the children to enjoy. I assumed it would be a good idea to gain more goodwill and make our business far more well known."

Scrooge's eyes lit up, a small spark of excitement within him at the prospect of spending time outdoors and doing some good, "I do believe that is a wonderful idea, Bob. You've most certainly outdone yourself this time."

Bob's chest puffed up slightly with pride as he said that, "Thank you very much, Mr. Scrooge! And don't worry, I'll let the committee know you've decided to attend."

Scrooge nodded, still smiling, "Brilliant. Oh, and do give my regards to Ethel and the children. They are always welcome in my humble abode."

Bob nodded back, giving a small wave of farewell before practically skipping down the stairs and out of Scrooge's view. The older man beamed a grin at his partner's antics before he himself made his way out into the chilly streets of London. He waited for Prudence to make her way out the door before locking it up himself and checking to see if it was done properly. Once, twice, and then when he was satisfied he took his cane from under his shoulder and made his way to his counting house, ready to begin the day with a smile.

---

On the Saturday when the charity event was due to commence, Scrooge walked alongside Bob through the main street and towards the park, his cane tapping onto the pavement below as they walked.

"Quite a busy day today." Bob muttered slightly, dodging the large crowds that were forming as they made their way through a multitude of stores.

Scrooge appeared to have no difficulty and eased his way through them, "Well, the holidays are on the horizon. It only makes sense given people's tendencies to shop for gifts last minute."

"Like you, perhaps, Mr. Scrooge?" Bob teased.

"Hardly so, Bob!" Scrooge defended, feeling a tad embarrassed, "And please, it's 'Ebenezer' now! We're business partners, remember?"

Bob remained unconvinced. Despite his constant reminders, he absolutely refused to stick with the name 'Ebenezer' and understood that this latest reminder was a way to swerve the conversation. He had been certain that Scrooge was clearly reminded of the year before last where the older man's presents were clearly rushed with signs of messy gift wrapping, "Mhm... changing the subject, are we?"

Scrooge was just about to give a sharp retort in response when the sudden sound of clanging reached his ears and he immediately tensed up. The duo were currently passing by a blacksmith's shop, with the owner himself hanging up chains at his window front to showcase them. Scrooge squeezed the top of his cane hard enough that Bob wondered if he would end up breaking the damn thing with the force he was emitting.

Despite his newfound happiness and fulfilment after the ghosts had visited him that fateful night, Scrooge could not shake the haunting image of Jacob Marley's chains from his mind. The memory of him, his ghostly form draped in heavy chains that clanked and clattered as he moved had even ingrained into his mind even to this day. Those chains had been a physical manifestation of the weight of Marley's own greed and selfishness, and the sight of them had filled Scrooge with dread. He began to develop a fear of chains and bondage, unable to bear the sight or even the thought of being shackled or tied up.

Bob — or anyone else who knew him, for that matter — never understood this sudden fear, yet they all made the conscious effort keep Scrooge away from anything that even remotely resembled those linking pieces of metal. He moved to Scrooge's side, squeezing his shoulder before gently leading him away from the shop until he felt him relax enough for him to let go.

"Thank you, Bob." Scrooge stammered slightly, his voice a tad weaker from his usual strong tenor. He ran his hand through his hair, giving himself a moment of calm before he continued.

"I truly should be getting over this irrational fear of mine." He chose his words carefully as he spoke, not wanting to reveal the true nature of why he developed this merinthophobia.

"All of us have something we're scared about, Mr. Scrooge, and it takes quite a while before you can heal from such a thing." Bob gave a reassuring smile, "Give it time, I'm sure you'll be free of it eventually."

Scrooge smiled weakly, and though he wasn't sure if he could fully agree with Bob's words he took them to heart nonetheless.

Straightening himself up once again, he fixed his hat and cleared his throat before once again walking towards the park, Bob following not far behind. They were greeted with a small group of volunteers who were setting up the tables filled with food and small mini games all around the fields in the park. He looked around, already noticing some children who were playing on the side while their parents made their way to the event.

One of the people at the event — a young woman who appeared to be in her mid twenties — suddenly noticed Scrooge and Bob and made her way over to them with a cheerful grin.

"How wonderful of you to join us, Mr. Cratchit!" She shook hands with Bob first before looking up at Scrooge and shaking his hand, "And you must be Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge. I am Elizabeth Rothschild, the woman in charge of this wondrous event. I truly must thank you for your kind donations to our cause."

"It is always a pleasure to work with you, my lady." Scrooge gave a bow as he spoke, "The little ones at the orphanage deserve the same capability for a wonderful Christmas as everyone else. I merely wished to give them that chance."

Elizabeth gave him a smile, "You can be certain that they most certainly are pleased with the gifts they've been given. I myself could hardly believe my eyes when I saw so many toys all at once."

"I'm glad they enjoyed them. Many of those came from Jenkins' Toys & Games, a store I would highly recommend visiting. The man who owns it is one I know well."

The trio ended up chatting for a small while with Elizabeth giving a rough outline as to how they were to proceed. She was to say a few words introducing herself and what her committee wished to achieve. She would then invite the two men up onto the stage where they themselves would say a few words before commencing the activities. A rather simple affair, Scrooge believed, and one he was more than happy to oblige to.

Yet the more he began to talk with Elizabeth, the more he began to be reminded of something familiar. Her blond hair, her blue eyes, the way she carried herself with poise and grace... she reminded Scrooge so much of... of...

"Mr. Scrooge, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, forcing Scrooge out of his trance.

"Hm? Oh, forgive me, you..." He gave a smile, "...you merely remind me of someone I used to know, is all."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at this, but shrugged and said nothing in response. Bob glanced over at his former boss, having a mere inkling as to what it was he was mentioning, but decided not to comment upon it as well. After a few long minutes, they eventually made their way to the stage where a crowd was slowly beginning to form. Children, both from the orphanage and not, were all sitting at the front, rather fidgety and would have gone straight to the activities were it not for the adults behind them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for coming this fine winter's day." She motioned to the children in front of her, "As we all know, Christmas is a time of giving and spreading love and warmth, as we all gather here to celebrate the holiday season, I would like to take a moment to remind us of the less fortunate children who are spending this Christmas without a loving family by their side. At this orphanage, these children have been given a safe and nurturing environment to grow and thrive. But they still need our support and help to provide them with the basic necessities and opportunities that every child deserves. Your donations this day will go towards providing these children with essential items such as clothing, food, and educational materials. It will also help fund activities and programs that will enhance their physical, mental, and emotional well-being."

She turned to Scrooge and Bob, "And today, we are especially fortunate to be joined by two incredibly generous donors who have made significant contributions to this cause. I would like to take a moment to introduce them to you and to express our heartfelt gratitude for their support. Everyone, may you please welcome Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge and Mr. Bob Cratchit!"

The crowd's cheers drowned out all the background noise around them, with Bob and Scrooge hastily making their way up the snowy steps of the stage. The younger man motioned for the older to speak first, which he did with some apprehension. Refusing to let his nerves get the better of him, Ebenezer Scrooge steeled himself into a brave facade and spoke.

"Two years ago, if you would have told me that I'd be standing here before you all this very day, donating my hard-earned wealth to these children, I would not have believed a single bit of it." He motioned himself in a way that mocked his former self, full of greed, "I would have shouted 'Humbug!' and forced you all to pay your loans with exceeding interest!"

This got a laugh out of many, causing Scrooge to return to his normal posture with a genuine smile, "Yet now I see that it is not money that defines us, but our heart. Our spirit. And as I look around I am reminded of the true meaning of Christmas - giving and helping those in need. And that is exactly what we are doing here tonight, as we come together to support the orphanage and the children who call it home."

Bob moved in to continue where he left off, far more noticeable in his nervousness, "I-I know that this time of year can be especially difficult for those who do not have a home or a family to celebrate with. That is why I am so grateful for the work that the orphanage does to provide a safe and loving environment for these children. Mr. Scrooge and I encourage all of you to give what you can to support the orphanage and its mission. Whether it be through a financial donation, volunteering your time, or simply spreading the word about the important work that they do."

Scrooge swiftly cut in, "Or enjoy some of the wonderful activities that Miss. Rothschild has planned, as some of you are most certain to agree."

He looked down at the children below who were grinning at his words, winking at them all before continuing alongside Bob in unison.

"So, without further ado... let the games commence!"

The children all dashed off into different direction, screaming and laughing as they did so. Bob swiftly began to make his way down the steps, and Scrooge moved to follow suit until a familiar face caught his eye.

She was far back in the crowd, and far older than when they last met, but Scrooge's eyes were not failing him just yet and he recognised the kind smile he knew all those years ago.

"Isabel...?" He muttered, though he immediately got off the stage as he noticed her beginning to move, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Isabel!" He called out, much louder than the first. He heard her gasp in surprise, before turning to face her former flame.

"Ebenezer!" Isabel's smile widened as she made her way over to him, "How lovely to see you!"

"I should have known you would attend something like this." Scrooge's heart fluttered at the sight of his dear Isabel. Despite the years that passed, she still looked as beautiful as ever. Perhaps the only indication of her age would be the greying strands of hair forming upon her once fully blond hair.

"You were quite the sight up there, I must say." Isabel held her hand to her chest as she spoke, "I've heard what you've been doing these past two years, and I am most glad you've gotten rid of Marley's influence upon you."

As she motioned, Scrooge noticed the golden band upon her finger and the flutter in his heart dropped like a heavy weight, "Yes... well, I've most certainly done all I can to atone for the things I've done. It has not been easy, but it is most certainly worth it."

The old money lender gave a smile, "And how have you been, Isabel? Is your husband treating you well?"

Isabel fiddled with the ring in her hand, her smile wavering a tad but refusing to falter, "He is. His name is Solomon Rothschild, have you heard of him?"

Scrooge's eyes widened slightly, "So that is why Miss. Rothschild appeared so familiar..."

She looked on with a sense of pride, "Indeed. She is a kind woman, one of three of my children, all grown up now."

Scrooge was briefly reminded of the vision he saw just before his time ran out with Past. A cruel twist of fate for him to see her future without him in it, yet nevertheless he believed she was happy. Her children appeared so full of life, her husband kind and loving.

"Your husband sounds rather familiar." He stroked his chin in thought, before finally remembering him from a newspaper article, "He is a barrister, is he not? I recognised him from the recent robbery case of the nearby jeweller's."

Isabel nodded, her voice softening, "He is a very successful man. Gained the respect of many in our community. He's the reason this event even exists to begin with."

"That's wonderful news," Scrooge said, his heart sinking at the mention of Belle's husband. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you, Ebenezer," Isabel said, her voice seeming a bit colder than usual, "I'm very happy with Solomon. He's been a wonderful husband and father."

Scrooge was surprised by Isabel's slight but sudden change in demeanour. He had always known her to be warm and open, but now she seemed distant and guarded, especially at the mention of her husband. He couldn't help but wonder if there were problems in her marriage. But for now, Scrooge decided to keep his concerns to himself and support her however he could. After all, he could hardly deny it when she said she was happy, and he intended not to pry any further.

They both continued to chat for a while, reminiscing about old times and learning more about new ones whilst also finding ways to entertain the orphans together. And when the day continued onward, seeping into the evening, much of the crowd at the park had dispersed. Bob and Elizabeth soon went over to them as they returned from escorting the children safely back to the orphanage.

Bob gave a grin to Scrooge, placing his hands upon his hips, "Well now, this has been a rather successful day, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed it has Bob." He replied before tipping his hat towards Elizabeth, "Now I do believe Mr. Cratchit and I should be departing soon. There is still much paperwork to be done back at the office."

"I can take care of that Mr. Scrooge." Bob turned to face Isabel, "You should probably escort Mrs. Rothschild back to her abode. It is getting rather late and Elizabeth and I will finish clearing up here."

The knowing glint in his business partner's eyes did not go unnoticed by Scrooge and he gave a small frown at the mere notion. But despite it all, he couldn't help but oblige.

Scrooge turned to Isabel, his eyes filled with so much warmth and love that she felt she could cry at any moment.

"Shall we?"

Now she couldn't help but oblige.

#2022 scrooge #scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge a christmas carol #ebenezer scrooge #isabel fezziwig #isabel/scrooge #ghost of christmas present #bob cratchit

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laurkamkitchen · 1 year ago

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I've been wanting to make a vegan pound cake for probably years now, but always been a little intimidated by it, especially as most recipes called for silken tofu, which I was not quite ready to dabble with, at least until now!

I made this in full without any kind of electric whisk, which was not easy, but also could have been worse. I was actually pretty pleased with the texture I got from hand-whisking; it seemed identical to the step-by-step photos (which were enormously helpful for this kind of recipe, really giving a more confident idea of what I was looking for).

That being said, though, I did run into a few issues with this. First off, my loaf pan was definitely way too small. I thought 9x5 couldn't be that far off from 10x5, but clearly I was wrong — I just barely managed to get most of the batter in. I shouldn't have filled it as much as I did, but I certainly didn't want to waste so much of the batter, so I just decided to roll with it. In future, however, I could easily half this and still use the same pan.

I'll be the first to admit that my parchment paper lining was not particularly precise, which I think may have played into the collapse of the middle of the loaf after it had cooled for some time. I did bang the pan on the counter before it went into the oven, but I suppose it's possible that there were still some air pockets that contributed to the collapse.

Another possible culprit for this might have been my poking with a knife which started about 40 minutes in. The collapsed area was largely in correlation with the middle of the cake, where that testing was happening, so I'm wondering if that might have been the cause of the instability. I really do need to just buy toothpicks for this kind of thing.

Lastly, true to form, the top baked way more quickly than the rest of the cake. I easily could have done with tinfoiling it from the beginning and letting it bake for the full 55 minutes without ever touching it. I think it was all my prodding that eventually made it rather structurally unsound. It was also perhaps a tad underbaked, but that's true to my baking tendencies, honestly.

Perhaps I'm exaggerating though; it wasn't like the whole cake crumbled, the middle just deflated a bit. And let me tell you, this certainly did not affect the taste. This was insanely delicious, full of melt-in-your-mouth vanillaness. You guys know that I'm always skeptical of recipes that tout themselves as "the best", but I truly think this recipe might honestly be it. I'd need to play around with it a bit more and correct some of my above mistakes, but I am certainly willing to do that over trying any other vegan pound cake recipe — it was that good!

#pound cake #loaf #cake #vegan #vegan desserts #dessert #kensington place

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lgcsujin · 4 months ago

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"Han Rowon," Sujin called out calmly from the sky. "You are an idiot." He used his matter-of-fact voice because how else were you supposed to address people who shirked their duties? The whole point of having a spotter was to ensure safety and in the time Rowon happily chatted away with whoever-the-hell-that-was, Sujin could have fallen down, landed on his face and suffered a gruesome demise.

Fine, perhaps that last bit was an exaggeration, but Sujin had the tendency to see the worst of situations whenever his mood soured.

"Stay right there, I am coming to kill you." Don't worry, folks, nobody was actually going to die on set today. This was the type of threat Sujin dealt out often, especially when he was younger. Judging by the fact Rowon was still very much alive and healthy after having been on the receiving side of Sujin's anger for years, it's pretty clear a certain someone never had the heart to deliver on his promised homicides.

Now, there was just one problem - Sujin might be a tad...stuck. Two of his wires tangled together and when gently tugging at them didn't work, he pulled the wires rather violently, which might not be a safe thing to do.

LOOK MA, NO HANDS ! ( w. ) @lgcsujin

rowon has just one ( 1 ) job: spot check sujin. he doesn’t have to do anything else but stand there and make sure that if – god forbid – the wires snap and gravity takes its usual course, he’d have the net ready. the only problem is … well, it’s a fresh new path with familiar old faces so naturally, he’d want to say hello.

except hello turns into how have you been which turns into what happened with that ex, did they really do that, i told you they were crazy —

‘is he supposed to do that?’ his yapping partner asks suddenly.

“who?” oh, right. one job. rowon whips his head up to see sujin half-way to heaven. how the hell – never mind. when there’s a will, there’s a way. “sujin – sujin, what are you —” is he stuck? that’s a problem. not rowon’s problem, but a problem nonetheless. ( he’s kidding. he’d risk his life for sujin too. )

#rowonlgc #lgc:castingcall017

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quinintheclouds · 6 years ago

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Hey I’m sorry for the profanity but I fucking love you all with more than my entire heart and soul and being, like... you’ve somehow made me capable of even more love and happiness than I thought possible, and I’d give my life for you -- thank you for existing bc my world is so much lovelier for having you in it, and I KNOW countless others feel the same way, so THANK YOU for being you <3

Yes, this means YOU, ya dingus :D

#yes YOU reading this #quin's positivity #drunk quin #ok that's an exaggeration lmao I'm only a tad tipsy perhaps but this is something I'd say anytime because it's TRUE and I love you #so THERE #(and @ everyone who worries -- I am an adult-ish creature and am always super safe so do not worry <3)#my posts

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jadequeen88 · 2 years ago

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The Last in Line: Chapter 1 - "Heaven and Hell"

SUMMARY:

"Eddie is a force of nature, wholly taken by the music, threatening to sweep up everyone else in his path. She can only imagine how well he commands a crowd. How they would want to be near him, to touch and consume, to try and swallow down some of the magic he creates with his fingers, his voice, his entire body. Because maybe if they could swallow bits of it, they could keep a little of his talent for themselves."

This is an AU with no Upside Down that takes place in 1987. The Reader moves back home to Hawkins after a rough time living in LA rubbing elbows with rockstars. She buys Benny’s and remodels it to make it into bar. Band auditions take place and a charismatic, pretty metal head along with his band shows up. The rest is history.❤️

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

When I say this is a true labor of love, I am not exaggerating one bit. A life-long obsession with any and all 70s and 80s metal, Tolkien, and D&D is being woven into every paragraph of this fic. It’s exceptionally rare for me to find a fictional character that combines all these things wrapped up in a package of witty banter, charm, and dreamy doe eyes. I knew I loved Eddie before embarking on writing this fic, but my intense love for our “Reader” surprised me. I aim to be vague on specific things like eye color, hair color, and skin color, but there are some things set in stone. She is 30 years old (Eddie is 22), she’s a recovering addict, and she was one of the notorious groupies of the 70s who rubbed elbows with some of the biggest names in rock.

TWs (for future chapters):

Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Resolved Sexual Tension, Oral Fixation, Smut, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Dom/sub Undertones, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, accurate D&D references, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Acting as Dustin Henderson's Parental Figures, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Has ADHD, Dry Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Eddie Munson talks too much during sex, panty theft, Shotgunning, Praise Kink, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson wants to be a good boy

“Sing me a song, you’re a singer. Do me a wrong, You’re a bringer of evil. The Devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker.”

-Black Sabbath,"Heaven and Hell"

Reader's POV

Sweat stings her eyes as it trickles down her brow, the soaked handkerchief doing little to stop it at this point. But she can’t call it a night yet. Not when she is so close to being done. An exasperated sigh leaves her lips as she starts the tedious task of placing chairs around all the small tables she just sat out carefully. Not too many close to the stage, but enough to seat hungry and thirsty patrons between sets of live music.

The stage is an area of great pride for her. She built it with her own two hands, after all. (Okay, to be fair, maybe her dad did help just a tad.) Her therapist’s voice echoes in the back of her mind as she admires the fruits of her labor.

“A vital part of successful recovery is to keep busy. A new hobby, perhaps. Or a project. Put all the energy you used to spend on substances into something worthwhile that adds value to your life.”

She can’t think of anything more worthwhile than building up her own business in a town that desperately needed what she could offer. After leaving the rehab clinic in L.A., coming back to Indiana seemed like an utter failure. All the big, scary things her loved ones warned her about had happened to her. And there were even more horrible things she’d have never imagined, not until she’d lived them. But she’s still standing, still breathing. That has to count for something, right?

“Best to not go down that path tonight.” She shakes those thoughts out of her head before they grow big enough to consume her yet again.

No, tonight isn’t about peeking past the dark curtains of her mind into the past. Tonight is a night to feel proud of herself for once.

After locking up that night, she went to visit her parents and was greeted with cake and non-alcoholic sparkling juice. Her mom insisted that since her baby was sober, the whole family would be. Even though she insisted to her mom that it wasn’t necessary, it still made her heart clench that she was making an effort to create a healthy environment for her.

Driving home with a cake-coma depletes the last of her energy reserves and she collapses fully clothed onto her bed, not even bothering to pull back the comforter. She regrets it instantly when she wakes as the morning sunlight blares into her open blinds.

Now she sits at her kitchen island, black coffee in one hand and an ink pen in the other, with the soft sounds of her record player providing comforting background noise. The backbreaking labor might be over with (mostly), but she is far from being able to rest easy. She still needs employees, and writing up an ad for the local paper is proving more difficult than she imagined it would be initially.

Another sip of coffee breathing life into her weary body, she puts her pen back to paper and continues writing.

“Generals gathered in their masses Just like witches at black masses Evil minds that plot destruction Sorcerer of death’s construction”

She sings along with Ozzy’s voice seeping quietly from her sound system as her pen scratches along the lined pages. With one last re-read, making sure there were no major spelling errors, she’s satisfied enough to move on to the next matter of business. One she was more excited about: making flyers to hang around town for auditions.

She pulls her sketchbook towards her along with her favorite calligraphy pens and gets to work. After about thirty minutes, she has a flier she is happy enough with to take to the copy shop downtown.

WANTED: LIVE MUSIC Auditions this Wednesday 6PM @ Benny’s Looking to hire performers for steady gigs Must be 21 or older

The last track of “Paranoid” ends, signaling for her to get ready and get the ad and fliers taken care of. Opting for comfort over style (which she did most days), she throws on her favorite Judas Priest tee, jeans, Vans, and heads out.

Before she gets too overwhelmed by overthinking, she walks through the doorway and out into the trailer park, determined to make this work. It had to work, after using rock bottom as her foundation. She breathes in the warm morning air until her lungs ache. With a quick exhale, she sets out to tackle the day head-on.

Fliers were hung, ads were featured in the paper, and everything was set in place by Wednesday afternoon. After finding enough odd jobs around the place to keep her busy mind occupied, it was 5:45 before she knew it. So she grabbed her pen and paper, took a seat right in front of center stage, and waited.

As expected, there were quite a few solo acts. Most were painful to sit through, but there were a few promising options. One girl with red curls flowing down her back and a big sweet smile won the bar owner over with an acoustic performance of John Denver’s “The Music is You”. The second was a couple, the boyfriend playing guitar and singing backing vocals to his girlfriend. Her soulful vocals went perfectly with “A Change is Gonna Come” and her partner was an excellent musician as well. She knew both acts would draw in a crowd.

Finding two talented acts in middle-of-nowhere Indiana was definitely something to celebrate, but she couldn’t help feeling a little let down that she didn’t get any heavier-hitting bands. She wasn’t fool enough to expect the next Led Zeppelin to be dropped on her doorstep, but she was hoping to see at least one rock band. Even if it was just a group of friends who had formed their own little garage band.

She’s just about to lock up and call it a night when she hears the crunch of gravel under tires. Peeking out the front door, it was as if the Rock Gods hand answered her prayers. It looks like an actual band has shown up to play for her. She waits by the window to see how many people would exit the white van. Mildly surprised, she notes that these guys look like they’d be more at home in a science lab than performing at a bar. However, she was the last person to judge musicians on looks alone. Then the driver’s side door opens. That’s when it all clicks into place.

With a mane of dark hair crowning his head and a flurry of ringed hands, it was apparent who the mastermind behind this operation was. They began to unload and she watches in amusement as their leader responds to one of his bandmates with a crude gesture and wide, manic grin. This night might turn out more amusing than she’d hoped for.

Before they make their way inside, she slips back into her chair at the front of the stage. One heeled foot wiggles in the air excitedly as she crosses her legs, tapping her pen on her notebook. The double doors burst open and three younger-looking guys walk in behind “Mr. Lead Man,” looking less confident than their fearless commander. With one arm carrying a guitar case and the other outstretched, he greets her with a silly little half bow.

She raises a single eyebrow and can't hide the amused grin that crosses her face. This is the first time she notices his eyes. There is no other way to describe them besides… pretty. They’re round, deep brown eyes that carry the softest expression framed at the top by rows of lashes any woman would envy. She almost loses herself in them and misses what he’s saying.

“Good Lady! Terribly sorry we have arrived so late. Our campaign ran a bit longer tonight, as one does when the treasure the party stumbles upon happens to belong to one particularly nasty Beholder,” he leers like the devil himself at the friends gathered around him as they groan.

“Umm,” she looks around puzzled wondering what on earth he could be referencing. She decides it might be better to not know. “Of course. Totally. Hate when that happens.”

He simply grins, biting down on his lower lip. It’s apparent she’s full of shit and has no idea what he’s talking about. Before Mr. Dreamy Eyes could distract her further, she redirects them back to the reason they’re here.

“Okay boys,” she clicks her pen open, readying herself to jot down some notes. “Group name?”

“Corroded Coffin,” the brown-eyed boy says proudly, puffing out his chest. She resists the urge to chuckle at his preening.

She looks up through the fringe of her hair and smirks at him. “I like it. Very metal. Can I get your guys’ names?”

Unsurprisingly, the same guy introduces everyone by their first name and what they play, saving himself for last.

“And I’m Eddie Munson. Lead guitar and vocals.”

She hums lightly, not breaking eye contact, “No shit? You’re the frontman? Never would have guessed it.”

Eddie chuckles and that gorgeous grin overtakes his face. “You haven’t seen anything yet, madam.”

Oh… well then. This kid can hold his own with her. She likes that. She might be in danger of liking it too much. But enough of that…

“Okay, hot shot. Get up there and show me why Corroded Coffin should have a spot in my lineup.”

He leaps onto the stage, guitar still in hand, and whips around to face the empty bar. “As you wish!” he exclaims, his rings glinting in the low stage lights as he flourishes a hand in the air.

After that, there’s a bit of commotion setting everything up and getting instruments hooked up. One quick sound check to make sure they were in tune and the sound system was cooperating, they began.

Eddie looks to his drummer and then to his other two bandmates. A few taps of his feet and they begin. Four chords into the song and she instantly knows what they’re playing.

She sits up straighter, waiting on the edge of her seat to see if Eddie “pretty-boy” Munson had the chops to pull off what he was about to do.

“Sing me a song, you’re a singer. Do me a wrong, You’re a bringer of evil. The Devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker.”

Any semblance of a poker face she is trying to keep on melts away and her jaw drops. This wiry, eccentric kid from the backwoods of Indiana is singing a Black Sabbath song damn near as well as Ronnie James Dio himself. He’s less polished with a touch more grit to his voice, but honestly? He makes it work.

She’s entranced. If this guy can nail the guitar solo like he does the vocals, she’s going to lose her mind…

And of course, he actually does. His fingers fly along the neck of his B.C. Rich Warlock, not missing a single note. He completely loses himself in the music, throwing his head back, and exposing the smooth, ivory column of his throat. He commands the tempo of the song through his fingers, gradually building into the crescendo of the song. When he begins to sing again, he’s frenzied and passionate but doesn’t once sacrifice his glorious, gravelly tone.

“They say that life's a carousel Spinning fast, you've got to ride it well The world is full of kings and queens Who blind your eyes and steal your dreams It's Heaven and Hell, oh well”

Eddie is a force of nature, wholly taken by the music, threatening to sweep up everyone else in his path. She can only imagine how well he commands a crowd. How they would want to be near him, to touch and consume, to try and swallow down some of the magic he creates with his fingers, his voice, his entire body. Because maybe if they could swallow bits of it, they could keep a little of his talent for themselves.

“And they'll tell you black is really white The moon is just the sun at night And when you walk in golden halls You get to keep the gold that falls It's Heaven and Hell, oh no”

She’s sitting on the edge of her chair now, notebook forgotten. Her world is narrowed down to him. To Eddie Munson. Eddie with the big, kind eyes and the voice of a demon. And when the song ends, it takes her much longer to come back into her body than she’d ever expected to. Utter silence falls before she can speak.

Before the silence gets too awkward, she shakes some sense into herself, clears her throat, and smiles.

“Consider me thoroughly impressed,” she says, her grin stuck in place. “When do you guys wanna start?”

Eddie puts on a show of spinning around, making eye contact with all of his bandmates, and then back at her, mirroring her excited expression.

“So, this means we get to play here? Like, every week?” A finger absently twirls a strand of hair near his face while the opposite arm supports his elbow across his chest.

“Yes, like, every week.” An amused huff leaves her mouth. “Now, which night works better for you? Friday nights or Saturday?”

Eddie’s brown eyes shine with mischief and he pulls his plush bottom lip in between his pretty, white teeth. He leaps down from the stage to stand right in front of her. With absolutely no shame whatsoever, he rakes his gaze up from the tips of her black heel-clad feet to her arched brow. If his gaze lingers momentarily on the tiny sliver of her exposed cleavage, neither of them was going to acknowledge that fact.

“Whenever the good lady needs us here, we’ll be here.” It’s probably the softest he’s spoken since entering her bar.

She meets his gaze and tells him her name. He repeats it back and the way his mouth rolls over the vowels and consonants of it sends a ghost of a shiver up her spine.

“I’m thinking Friday night,” she says looking back down at her notes. The way her stomach is clenching while Eddie holds her gaze is making her feel things she wasn’t about to let a 20-something-year-old kid stir up in her. “I could advertise some drink specials to draw in locals and you guys can get the word out to all your regulars to come here on the nights you play. Sound like a plan?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

She looks back up to see his gaze hasn’t wavered a bit. Now the strand of hair he had been toying with was brought to his face, almost like he was trying to cover a shy grin. But those hungry eyes give away the fact that he’s no blushing maiden. He drops his hair and holds out the same hand towards her to shake on their deal.

Eddie’s hands aren’t huge, but they’re solid and warm. The rings and calluses that adorn them feel comforting and familiar to her. She doesn’t want to let go but does out of fear of prolonging physical contact longer than he’s comfortable with. He takes a step back and it almost feels like he’s reluctant to do so.

“Well,” she sighs as she stands and straightens her skirt. “I’ll be here pretty much all day Friday since it’s the grand opening. I have to make sure the kitchen and bar are stocked and that the line cooks have everything they need. So feel free to drop in anytime before six to set up whatever you need.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Y/N.” It almost hurts for her to look directly at his face, especially when he says her name like he was reciting a sonnet. “Pleasure doing business with ya.”

With a silly little salute and a lopsided grin, he turns to the stage rallying his troops to pack everything up and load the van. As they work, she busies herself at the bar double-checking her supply list. She still hasn’t had any luck finding a bartender, so she will be soloing it for a bit. It isn’t something she hasn’t already done before, so she isn’t terribly nervous. However, it would be remiss of her not to acknowledge the fact that since this is her business, there’s added pressure.

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts, that when a voice calls out her name from the doors, she jumps slightly. Before she can turn around fully, there Eddie is, bounding over to the bar like an over-eager chocolate lab. It’s impossible to not smile softly at him.

“Yeah?” she asks, putting aside her list and stepping closer to the counter. He reaches out and grabs one of her hands in both of his. Time stops as she watches him bow his head towards the hand he holds, shaggy brown curls hiding his face. He ghosts his lips along the back of her hand, the touch so gentle that it almost tickles.

“Thank you,” he’s looking at her now and she realizes she has stopped breathing. “Thanks for hiring us on. I promise you won’t regret it.” Then he’s gone just as quickly as he had appeared, flinging the doors wide open into the night air. Whatever song he starts wailing loudly into the parking lot is cut off abruptly as the doors slam shut behind him.

She allows herself a deep exhale that ends in a laugh. Hawkins, Indiana doesn’t know what a gift they’ve been given with Eddie Munson. Growing up here herself, she knows that all the sad, small, dull people that make up the majority of the population never will. Many probably even outwardly scorn him for containing more life than they could ever dream of having for themselves.

And those happen to be her favorite kind of people.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #jade writes smut #jade's last in line

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phoenixyfriend · 4 years ago

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Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

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

It goes like this:

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

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

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

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

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

Fuck.

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

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

Probably.

“Ah!”

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

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

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

“Bah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Skyguy!”

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

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

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

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

Oh, she’s precious.

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

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

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

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

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

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

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

Can he give out any real names?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jetii!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not hungry.”

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

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

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

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

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

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s fair.

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

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

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

“Pretty much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh shit.

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

“Be our dad.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“...yes, Anakin?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell, Snips?”

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

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

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

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

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

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

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

“Names,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

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

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

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

“Wait, what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

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

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

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

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

“And the human?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And they won’t take you back?”

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

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

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

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

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #jango fett #jaster mereel #time travel #mandalore #tatooine #de aging #babies #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

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