#i can speak of her wonders now that its deactivated

[marcopantry]

Still never getting over my sister's old gamertag was lezbehonest.. truly an icon of an era

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Fuck Up Chapter 4

Summary:  Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of war, injury, pregnancy

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Becca scoured the internet, trying to think of anything that could help her find Y/N. She searched local records and tried to find state records to see if her name would pop up anywhere. As she scrolled through her Pinterest one day she had an epiphany. She went to Y/N’s deactivated Pinterest page and looked at her username. It was a play on the nickname “honey” Bucky had given her and her favorite band. Becca started typing things in the search bar of her browser with that username or a mix of the two until a website popped up. It was a photography studio that looked like it had been started a few years ago, but its contents had picked up in the last  ten months. Becca looked through the pictures then froze, gasping at one picture in particular.

It was a baby. A newborn baby with a full head of dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and Bucky’s nose. Becca stared at it, reading the short caption below it that just said: Avi. Becca looked for the contact information on the site and copied the email address. She made a new email under a different name and sent an email to the address asking about setting up a meeting to discuss pricing and ideas for a family portrait. She got a reply about twenty minutes later, and set up a meeting the following day.

Becca drove an hour away to the address the person gave her on the email. When she arrived she saw a small house that looked like one of the dream homes that Y/N had on her Pinterest and dream boards. She went up to the door, knocking firmly and waiting. She turned away from the door as she heard footsteps walking up to it on the other side, afraid of what she might see.

“Hello! You must be—” Becca whipped around to see Y/N standing there. Y/N gasped, her eyes widening and her body tensing. “Becca.”

“Y/N!” Becca cried and flung herself at her, hugging her tight. “We’ve been looking for you. Why did you…” she pulled away and held Y/N’s face, who looked like she was in shock. “I know what happened the night before Bucky left. He was such an idiot. But Mom and Dad and I have been worried sick wondering where you were. You’re family, you can’t just up and disappear—”

A baby cry came from inside the house, snapping Y/N out of her stupor and she closed her eyes as the crying continued. Becca froze at the sound. “Come in. I need to go get him,” Y/N instructed and turned back inside the house. Becca did as she said and walked in, closing the door behind her and looking around as Y/N moved to the side where a hallway led to some bedrooms. She went into one bedroom where Becca heard her speak softly. “Hey now, little man, what’s the problem?” Y/N came out just a few moments later holding a baby that must have been about a month old.

“You…you have a baby,” Becca said.

“Yes,” Y/N said as she walked past her to the kitchen on the other side of the house, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle.

“And it’s your baby?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s…a month old?”

“He will be in three days,” Y/N said, putting the bottle in the baby’s mouth, his little whimpers dying down as he ate.

“Is he…Bucky’s?” Becca finally asked, though already knowing the answer.

Y/N breathed deeply before looking back up at her. “Yes.” She walked over to Becca and moved so she could see him. “This is Avriel James Barnes. Avi for short.” She looked down at the baby and cooed at him. “This is your auntie Becca.”

Becca’s tears flowed freely as she held a finger out to Avi and caressed his soft, tiny hand. “Hey. Hey little guy,” she whispered. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, giving Becca a small smile.

They both sat on the couch in the living room. “Do you want to feed him?” Y/N asked.

“Yeah, can I?” Becca asked. Y/N nodded and moved Avi into her arms, helping her get into a position comfortable enough to hold him and feed him. Becca stared down at him. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered, sniffing hurriedly. “We would have helped you. We would have supported you.”

“I know,” Y/N said quietly, looking away. “I just…after he left without saying goodbye I couldn’t face anyone. I understand why he did it the way he did, I just couldn’t do it again. Writing the letters, doing the weekly family phone calls, waiting to hear if he’d made it another week. He promised me he was done, and he lied,” she stopped, fighting back the lump in her throat. “So I kept my distance from everybody. I needed a break. But then I started to feel off, and I realized we hadn’t been smart that night.” She laughed bitterly. “It was just so spur of the moment, we weren’t thinking. I got tested and…here he is,” she gestured toward Avi.

Becca nodded. “I get it. But, we miss you,” she said, looking at Y/N pitifully. “Mom has been freaking out, Dad’s always looking so dejected. Bucky is beating himself up real bad about how he handled it. And I’ve missed my friend.  I don’t expect you to come home but…”

Y/N sniffed as a few tears of her own fell. She wiped them quickly. “He fucked up. I fucked up. It’s all just a really fucked up situation,” she chuckled. “I planned on telling him, but I didn’t want to distract him while he was out there.”

“Can I tell everyone?” Becca asked as Avi finished the bottle. She pulled him up to burp him as she looked pleadingly at Y/N. “Just to put their minds at ease.”

Y/N looked hesitant but nodded. “Yes please. And depending on how he reacts, you can give Bucky my information and he can reach out when he’s ready.”

Becca smiled wide, nodding enthusiastically.

“I found her,” Becca announced later that night.

“Y/N?” George asked, Winifred gasping and Bucky standing up from the couch.

“Where is she? Is she okay?” Bucky asked, his eyes widening as he walked toward her.

“Buck, sit down and let me explain,” she instructed. He frowned but sat back down and waited. Becca sat across from them all and took a deep breath. “She’s fine. After you left she said she needed a break. She was upset and just needed some time, and moved about an hour away from here. Then she found out that she was pregnant.”

Bucky felt like he was going to throw up. He thought back to their night together and realized that they hadn’t protected themselves. It had all been so unplanned, so passionate, that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. He let out a shuddered breath as he felt his mind short circuit. Winifred and George were speechless next to him.

“She gave birth about a month ago,” Becca said, watching Bucky intently. Bucky looked back at her, his eyes filling with unshed tears. “It’s a boy,” she said, looking at him with a small smile on her face. “She named him Avriel. Avi for short.”

Bucky broke down, his tears spilling over as he hung his head in his hands. Winifred held him, whispering soothing words to him as George reached over and put a hand on his knee. Becca moved toward him, kneeling in front of him. “She didn’t tell anyone because she wanted to handle it, she didn’t want to be a burden, and she didn’t want to distract you while you were out there.” Bucky shook his head, crying harder thinking of the fact that Y/N had been alone the whole time, going through a pregnancy and then giving birth by herself with no one there to help or support her. “He’s beautiful, Buck. Look,” Becca pulled out her phone and held up a picture to him. Bucky and his parents gazed at the picture of the baby, curled up in Becca’s arms. He looked like a carbon copy of Bucky, and he took the phone from her and stared at the picture, a small smile lighting up his face.

“Y/N is still angry, but she wants to see you. She says you deserve to know and be a part of his life if you want. She wants all of us,” she looked at him and their parents, “to be a family again. But we need to take it slow and do this right.”

“Please,” Bucky said as his finger grazed the baby in the picture. “Tell me where they are.”

Becca gave him a small smile and took her phone back and texted him Y/N’s contact information. “Text her, don’t call, and see when you can come over.”

Bucky nodded as he received the text and stared at her name on the screen. He contacted her there and then, with his parents watching him:

Y/N? It’s Bucky. Can I please come see you?

He waited until three dots popped up.

Yes. Tomorrow at 3?

Ok. See you then.

[ihavenosoul12]

OKAY SO i haven't written for gotham/riddler for a few months and i've never written an x reader fic but i wanted to write a thankyou present for @finniestoncrane!! it's a bit late for christmas but i hope you enjoy it.

just got some good old one-sided pining, revenge theft and a brief near murder. the perfect recipe for a reader x riddler oneshot

word count: 2081

also btw i'm doing comms sorry for posting on a christmas present but i really need some cash check out my carrd in my bio ty for even just perceiving it

When you’d dropped out of Metropolis-U and wondered what the hell you were gonna do with the next five years of your life, the one thing you hadn’t considered was whatever the hell Gotham is, or whatever the hell this heist is.

The night sky is briefly littered with green sparkles and that’s your cue. You’d gotten a hell of a lecture from the brains of the operation - that’s what he called himself and glared as you giggled about it - and could probably recite the plan ten times fast to the GCPD if they caught you. If. They kind of suck at their job. After all, they’re too busy chasing down the brains to even notice you sneaking into the club they’re supposed to guard.

Penguin was always a shitty hire; that’s why you’re working with his ex instead. You slink in through an open window (summer in this city was brutal but seriously? It’s like Penguin wants to get robbed) and duck underneath the familiar bar. Ooh, Belvedere, don’t mind if I do, you barely keep yourself from saying out loud as you sneak it into your bag, scanning the rest of the bar for anything else worth taking. The fancy martini glasses are a bit out of your way and you doubt they’ll survive the journey you have to endure before getting to clink them together with your partner. Partner in crime, that is. Though it would be nice-

Shit, a camera, you spot its red glare as it swivels around. Selina needs to be better at her job. Your frustration comes out as flared nostrils and a slump against the bar. Your earpiece wiggles in the flesh of your, well, ear, as Mr Brains speaks: “Where are you?” It’s not concern, it never is with him, but impatience. It’s been maybe a minute but since his bird boyfriend turned archnemesis’ lounge hasn’t exploded yet, he’s sure something’s gone wrong and he’s absolutely fucking certain it’s all your fault. 

“Bar- yes-” you add before he can even think to assume you mean a different bar, “-in the lounge. Cat didn’t do a good job getting rid of the cameras.”

“Oh.” Then he chortles, breaking out into a mad laugh that makes you mad at and for him. “I asked her to leave one.” He has the privilege of an outburst against you but you can’t exactly scream back at him, not without alerting the underpaid security. He also has to be loud otherwise you’d never hear him over the sirens closing in. 

“What?” You hiss, keeping your voice low. “Why the hell-”

“To test you, of course! What’s the point of having a thief who can’t sneak past a itty bitty camera?”

Okay, now you’re just mad at him. “What’s the point of having a thief who can’t steal the thing you’re looking for because you got them in jail?!” He has the audacity to shush you as the sirens on his end get louder and louder, then your other ear picks up on distant sirens closing in and several cars whoosh past the club before the sirens fade out. “Why are you bringing them here?!”

“It’s not by choice, you imbecile.” Such cute pet names he gives you. Truly, what did Penguin see in him? “Lucky you, you have me to make choices- I’ll deactivate the camera from here.”

“I’m not playing into your mind games, Riddler,” you grumble as the red eye glaring around the room begins to blink, trying to keep itself awake- alive. Its last words are a beep dipping down into the lower octaves and the lens drops to face the floor, staring at nothing. You poke your head above the bar - nothing, no one, but you still hesitate on standing straight, checking the rest of the cameras. No red glares, not even the humming whirs of them turning their heads to stare. “That camera probably saw me come in thanks to your little stunt.”

“And? Just means Oswald will definitely notice he’s been robbed.” There’s that laugh again, satisfied at almost jeopardising his mission just to play with his meal. You can imagine with excruciating detail the way his jaw hangs near lopsided and loose, how he’ll eye himself in the rearview mirror and lick his teeth and he won’t even consider how he could have gotten you in trouble. Anything to spite Penguin. “Just get the diamond.”

Rolling your eyes, you vault over the bar - shorter than average to make Penguin less insecure so you barely have to expend effort - and dart across the room to a corner to duck around, maybe pocketing the little things you find along the way. The sirens fade in and fade out again and his manic laughter begins to hurt your ear. “Be quiet or I’m muting you.”

“You will not!” He barks and you almost laugh yourself. Men and their tantrums. He stammers for a reason to keep listening to him - you know the way around the club pretty well, you know where the diamond is, and you can hear the sirens your-goddamn-self. “I’ll activate the cameras!” 

“Then I won’t get the diamond,” you respond coolly. “Or I will and then I’ll sell it.” An evil idea crosses your mind. “Or-”

“No,” he gapes.

“I’ll give it to-”

“Don’t you dare even say it-”

“Cat-”

“That little brat wouldn’t know what to do with it!”

“Maybe Jim Gordon would appreciate it-”

“I hate that goody-two-shoes.”

“Or maybe even back to Penguin.”

“HOW DARE YOU!” It’s not just him screeching, it’s the goddamn tyres too.

“Then don’t turn the cameras on, handsome, and let me have some quiet to think.”

He grumbles like a kid told no cookies before dinner and you’re blessed with some silence as he mutes himself. You sigh, maybe too loud, and from the corner, you scamper to the stairs leading up to where Penguin ‘hides’ the diamond. A generous way to put it; he doesn’t hide the damn thing, he has it in the centre of his room so he can coo over it and brag about it and show it to every poor soul who has the misfortune of talking to him.

“Hiii.” And the other star of the show - Zsasz. Of course he couldn’t take one day off, he’s not even sipping a milkshake. Nope, just a gun in his hand, which you are currently lacking. “Here for the diamond? That’s not yours.”

You cough to the speaker to get Riddler’s attention - these days it’s noticeably sparse but thank God it works, he groans at you but you speak over him. “Well, Zsasz, it will be mine soon enough. When I steal it.”

“Zsasz is there?” Panic begins to lace his tone and you can hear the squeaking leather of 'his' car. “That bastard…”

Zsasz raises his gun toward your ear. “Cute earring, I’ll have that.”

“Tradesies?” You try. “Diamond for the earpiece.”

“Haha,” he doesn’t actually laugh. “No.” His eyes flicker to his empty hand, he's noticed the lack of milkshake and he clearly wants one. You, on the other hand, want to live so you take his lapse in focus as an opportunity to run. Not into a safe corner, that'd be smart, but you near tackle the diamond, smashing its casing on the floor but catching the jewel in your hand, all in the blink of an eye. 

Your stunt startles Zsasz; his finger too as it tugs prematurely at the trigger and even he, skilled marksman as he is, can't aim quick to redirect it. It fires into a wall and he swears. Definitely coming out of his pay. He won't make that mistake again, his eyes stiffen and this time he swivels around to you. You're still on the ground from your tackle, glass shards crunch below your clothes and definitely cut into it so it's an easy shot for him. You're staring right down the barrel of his gun. 

"Wait, wait, don't shoot!" You plea, holding your hands - and the diamond - up in surrender. "Come on, Victor, we used to work together! You like me! We're friends!" Yeah it's all total bullshit but it's total bullshit that's stalling for time - Zsasz can't help but humour you; he tilts his head back and forth, his eyes look up at the ceiling, puckering his lips in pretend thought, he even waves the gun slightly, only returning it into position when the glass shifts under you. 

"I've worked with a lot of people," he shuts you down. Your terrified gulp is for show but he cracks a little smile at it. "Sorry."

"You will be." It's not you saying it, you're really not in position to make threats, but it isn't a new voice either. In fact, he's been here all along in your ear - but now he's getting his hands dirty. The Riddler stands in the doorway, his own gun in his hand pointed at Zsasz who slowly turns his gaze. Too slow to fire back against the gunshot but quick enough to notice it and lurch out the way enough that it only hits his shoulder. Riddler uses his long legs to both of your benefits as he makes it to you in half the amount of steps you had to take, then he yanks you to just about on your feet before he runs out the room with you in tow. 

"You saved me!" You gape. 

Of course he has to correct you and ruin the moment: "I saved the diamond." Nevertheless, he doesn't do the much simpler task of prying it from your fingers and leaving you to die but you already know he'll blame that on Zsasz definitely targeting him. ("I'm Oswald's rivalllll," he'll say, though you add the whiny tone in your head. "He'll be under strict orders to capture meeee. He doesn't care about some nobody who worked on his bar!") Whatever excuse he gives later, you'll currently take as a kind gesture and only that. Don't go getting your hopes up - that's how you became a dropout.

He doesn't stop running until he gets back to 'his' car. Sleek, black, new and understandable why it was his target. Probably a Wayne make, you haven't lived in Gotham long enough to know the ins and outs of Wayne and you're definitely not in his marketing team's demographic. Maybe, in another life, Riddler could have been, because the car suits him as he sits down behind the wheel and drives. 

One hand on the wheel, he plucks the diamond from your hands. "Keep us on the road," he commands as he inspects it instead of driving, taking his one hand off. You lean over him, only briefly able to glower at him before having to watch the road. His legs awkwardly shift under your stomach and chest, almost anxiously but you're probably making that up in your head. When he presses his thighs (not that there's much of them) together however you reconsider calling yourself delusional. 

Suddenly the diamond is thrown at the window, then the window is rolled down and the diamond is finally thrown out of it. You let go of the wheel immediately and he lurches forward to take it, steaming angrily. So are you. "What the hell?! I almost died for that!" 

"It's a fake," he mumbles bitterly. "Oswald's hidden the real one. He wanted my attention and he got it. He thinks he's so smart."

"I almost died for a fake diamond! You're supposed to be the brains here!" You put your hand on his skinny thigh and squeezed tight in frustration like he was a stress ball. He didn't bat your hand away. He did however roll his eyes and ignore you. "Just forget Penguin, you're just toying with each other to no end. You make schemes, he outwits them, he makes schemes, you outwit them." You desperately wanted to squeeze his thigh, touch his cheek, and be a comfort to him, to run your hand down further and not have a gun in your face. You wanted him to meet your eyes, never mind if there was oncoming traffic, and want for you. 

"I'm not giving up. I won't back down- won't give him that satisfaction. I'll get him. One day I'll really get him." 

Removing your hand from his thigh, you set it in your lap and gaze out the window to force yourself to an understanding: you'll never really get him. 

[roseofhybrids]

With episode 6 on the horizon, thought I'd jot down some random Murder Drones thoughts I've had over the last few months. Mostly just get them out of my head by chucking them into the void.

So back in episode 3 Doll gets shot and survives with no long term damage that we can see. Just telekinesises the bullet out and her visor heals. Yeva also got shot in head by V, but Yeva was very much NOT fine after. So what happened for the solver to keep Doll alive after getting shot but not her mom? Current theories: 1. The solver was weaker in the older drones in some way. 2. At some point, the solver was turned off. 3. The solver isn't duplicated when passed down, but rather gets removed from the parent

Also, from episode 3. The missing drone posters show the murdered prom queen candidates and lists their ages. Of the 5 girls, 1 is 18, 2 are 19, and 2 are 20. Now, sometimes a school will have one prom instead of separate Junior and Senior proms, which can explain the 3-year age range. But also implies that the drones graduate at 20 instead of 18. Current theories: 1. These drones got held back 1-2 years for whatever reason. 2. Drones starts school later, or are in school longer than humans typically are. 3(mostly an addition to 2). College level schooling is compulsory for drones and the prom includes college level students.

With Khan calling Uzi's banishment a self grounding and Thad saying he didn't think the colony was serious about the "whole banishment thing." My first assumption was that the colony doesn't actually banish people, but that Uzi just kind of assumed that's what they'd do and so tried to beat them to it. This is a head canon I hold on to purely for its comedic value.

Uzi listens to an MCR ripoff/parody band. Now, the human MCR's initial run went from 2001-2013 and the show takes place 3071 or 1060 years after the 2010's. To put this in perspective, this is the same amount of time between the 2010's and 950's, smack dab in the Middle Ages. All of this to say, that time wise, Uzi listens to the future equivalent of bardcore

We see J refer to Tessa as boss and her parents as corporate in episode 5, which makes me wonder. In the pilot when she says that corporate wouldn't let her kill N (without a good reason) is she referring to JCJenson or to Tessa?

Speaking of J, while N and V now have Uzi as their admin, J should still have CYN as hers. A fact that I'm sure won't come back to bite them later

Depending on how you look at it, N, V, and assumedly J, have, in a way, died and come back twice now (thrice for J after getting blowup with the rail gun). The first time after the failed deactivation when they came back as zombie drones. The second time, when CYN decapitated them in the basement and presumably turned them into disassembly drones. It's hard to say how much of episode 5 is literal, since Uzi and CYN are both messing with stuff. But N's severed head does have the fatal error message, which implies the drones kinda died before being turned into robot vampires. Which is pretty in line for both zombies and vampires, so.

So we've seen CYN make holograms, mimic voices, and create the parts used to construct disassembly drones. We've also seen J get revived in a form identical to how she was before Uzi shot her. And CYN claimed to have back-ups of N when Tessa was worried about him being destroyed. That could just be referring to her resetting his memories inside of the "dream", but in the real world, she did have access to said memories and the ability to edit/delete them. Now, I'm not saying CYN's gonna make some evil clones, I'm just saying she may have the means to do so and has already proved she can and will mimic loved ones to trick people.

We know Uzi pirates anime, and possible some other Earth/human media? But how much can we say the drones (especially the younger ones) really know about Earth? Do the older drones bother teaching them about it in school? Maybe some of the main stuff, but there are a lot of small things that wouldn't mean much to a robot on a different planet. As such, I'd like to believe a lot Uzi's assumptions about what Earth is like are based on cartoons and anime.

[keefwho]

July 11 - 2024 Thursday

10:50pm

3.5/10

Instead of cleaning today I played some VRchat and checked out new worlds hoping to meet some strangers. All I encountered were some Japanese folks. But the important thing was that I had nothing to clean and I wanted to shake things up so I shamelessly got on to do what I wanted.

This morning there was a tree in the road that mom asked me to help her move. It turned out it was much bigger that we thought so I used my survival chainsaw to cut and move it myself. I felt good about that, I did something helpful. In exchange mom took me to buy a bottle of sweet tea. In the store her friend Rick started talking to me about Home Depot and digital advertising wondering if it could be relevant to my work. I told him probably not but that it was interesting.

Work was fine today and afterwards I wrote about my insecurities. It's been on my mind a lot today and I made some good progress. I realized my need to talk about certain heavy topics so much comes from a need to know that I'm not being judged and that everything is okay. Because I severely judge myself for my issues. On and off today I was feeling super shitty and pretty good, bouncing between proving and disproving myself right and wrong. But at the core of it all was a need to face my insecurities and make sure that I do not let them go anywhere.

I skimped out a bit on work this afternoon, my motivation was lacking and I did the usual where I have a Twitch stream up that keeps distracting me. I felt lonely and that wasn't helping but also that I wasn't in the mood to socialize with acquaintances. I tried joining AE and them but I got kind of annoyed and left. I didn't do as much work on my pony avatar as I wanted today.

I found a potential new horse avatar base for DS if she likes it which would entail a daunting amount of work, but work I am willing to do. Its that weird "Im up for the potentially severe challenge" attitude. Maybe because it's for a cause I'm so passionate about, I will face anything to get it done and bask in the glory of my accomplishment.

I was very lonely this evening but I joined BD to try my damnedest to open up and chill. It almost kinda worked but everything was cut short by them all going to watch Smiling Friends which I didnt wanna do. I started thinking maybe I needed some alone time anyways.

There were no puzzles tonight because poor DS is getting to be SUPER late and blew out her vocal chords at the baseball game. I am proud of myself and feel good about the little bit I got off my chest tonight. Now more than ever I need my friends by my side, in a HEALTHY way. It feels good not being afraid I'm being too much knowing Im speaking from a more genuine place. I do not want to take from others to fill my void anymore. I will take only what is offered and source the rest myself. I want to give, I want to love. But I can only do that if I have some to spare. I need to build myself up so I can love in the capacity I want.

I also want change and thats why today I did some stuff a little bit different. Also changing how the journal is told because I'm tired of writing the same mundane stuff over and over. I see some value in documenting events like I was for analytical reasons but I dont need that. I want to write what stuck out and made the day special. I want out of my time loop.

Oh also trying to stick to the decision to just stay off of Twitter for awhile. I thought about going as drastic as deactivating my account for now but maybe I won't do that. Or maybe I will if I really want to stick to this idea.

[teeto-peteto]

Out of curiosity, and I apologise for any inconvenience, but what is it about Pyke that makes you so endeared with him?

okay at the point im writing this its 16:45 pm, im european and im going on and off writing between games, drawing etc. this is probably and im not joking the longest, hugest post i have ever written not only on tumblr but in any social media in general. I had to take notes to reorganize my thoughts cause trust me, there's a lot of things to unpack.

Short answer: cringely grabs the microphone while blushing ...i ...i like him...

Long ass fucking answer omw to make the longest tumblr post in history: My relationship with Pyke as a character its, somewhat, funny. Pyke was released after Zoe, and Kai'sa, and Neeko was released after him. In 2018 there was this ''drama'' around League Of Legends fandom where people was tired of, what they call, 'Disney style characters' like Zoe. Kai'Sa release didnt help the ''drama'' as how the character was designed and put together. I didnt mind much about the 'Disney style' drama cause, everything that has sparkles and glitter on i love it. Then this motherfucker came into picture. His new champion teaser popped on League Of Legends youtube channel and in the game client, and of course, i had to peek my eye.

Im saying this now, and I am being completely honest:

I hated his guts, i despised him.

I didnt like him, at all. Not that i was 100% only sparkle champions, but i hated him. I didnt understand him, i didnt get the design, and i again thought that Riot was pulling again on male champions being shirtless and just talking about war and fist fighting while being edgy. I vividly remember one of my friends asking my thoughts on him after the trailer was out, and i told him that i didnt like Pyke at all, i actually did hate him. But...

I literally changed my opinion in just days

I dont know what part of my brain activated or deactivated, but i blankly stared at this guys trailer and the leaked splashart and... i changed my mind. He went from a champion i was not interested on at all to stiking my chords like no other champion has ever done. I started liking him without a reason at first, unable to pinpoint why i suddendly changed my mind. I waited for his official release, and oddly enough, i started playing him. Im not used to play male characters cause its not my comfort zone but... Pyke felt... different somewhat? Im not even used to play engage/hook characters but i felt like playing him.

When his release was out in 2018, i was already on my first year of Art school, and i vividly remember being on the computer schoolroom for homework with my class and I started reading his lore in the computer screen trying not to get catched. I snucked out of classes to go to the bathroom and read his lore and short story, see fanart and the tldrs of his designs... I was literally behaving like a little girl when she sees a cute guy, and, techically speaking, its what was kinda happening. I had the shortest 'enemies to lovers' arc in history cause i hated him for, maybe, less than a week.

Lets talk about lore!! Yipiee!!

Focusing on League's original lore, we can see a glimpse of who Pyke was before becoming an undead. My views on his character are a mix of my personal thoughts of him and the canon lore. Seeing this little glimpse of the man he was before that he never wants to talk about again is, interesting. It makes my mind wonder. Did he believe that he was being underpaid and exploited as a butcher? Did he think that captains and rich/powerful people abuse their power? Did he ever raise his voice? Was he prideful, and its why he doesnt want to talk about his past self? Or was he just too naive to know and its ashamed of it? Pyke is the type of person who is not talkative, but that is very reflexive. As the other side of the coin, Illaoi is also very reflexive but clearly expresses her thoughts without filter. The fact that he was also a buhru makes my head spin. It makes me wonder, why didnt he stay with them? Why didnt he look for a job within the buhru, instead looking for it on the city? What was the relationship with her buhru mom? What happened to his dad? Was he around, present at all? How many time has passed? What is Pyke's actual age?

Pyke's tragedy is, to a very lower extend, relatable. Its easy to identify with him. Everyone's got their lifeline cut sometime. But what is truly interesting for me and always has me craving to hug this man is the extent of his trauma.

In 'And then, teeth', Pyke has flashbacks of his death after killing Mazier and staring at her body. He can remember how dark it was, how slimy it felt, how he couldnt see well because of the sweat covering his eyes. How he tried, with all his forces, to escape to no avail. Pyke also seems, somewhat, lucid at times. Allow me to explain. Pyke is still him, that is clear. Yes, he hears voices, and they are always there, but he is still his own person. He is able to remember things from the past, he's able to act by his own, to think by his own, but the voices are always there. When i say 'lucid', i mean when he's either killing, or interacting with the list. In this short story, Pyke stares at the list, after killing Mazier, unable to believe that he actually did kill his whole crew, but suddendly comes to a normal, realization, 'Where did i get the ink?'.

Before killing Bekke, he says that he was there, watching him die, smiling. Makes you wonder if he's actually talking with rage and bloodthirst, or, if he's actually talking seriously. What if, he was talking seriously, but not being literal? We know Bekke wasnt there, he is not even from Bilgewater. But what if Pyke actually meant that, every single captain, every single person with power, constantly watch him die? constantly watching the people working for them dying, only for the powerful ones to become richer? Is he actually completely doomed at this point, is it a mix of both the voices and his own thoughts? Or is he just... him?

People that isnt much interested in his lore often thinks hes a mindless killer. Not that in mad, i think its stupid being mad about it. But to say that it's a false state, its valid. Pyke would never, ever lay a finger on someone he knows its fully innocent BEFORE killing his whole crew. 'But what if Bekke, for example, was just innocent? Maybe he was powerful but a good man?' I think thats to very own interpretation. What can i say, i hate rich people ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ im good with my man killin them all, slay. To some extent hes kind of a Robin Hood but bloodier you know? In the end he steals from the rich to share the gold with others. Gold that he wished he had back when he was an underpaid butcher.

Back to Pyke's trauma again cause i got lost on my own notes, its interesting how he behaves. As someone as introverted, and after becoming an undead, you might believe that Pyke now doesnt trust ANYONE. He doesnt leave his guard down, never trusting never believing anything. But... its completely the opposite. Its clearer on his in-game interactions. 'I needed help back there' and 'I work better with a crew'... waahhhh. But you know where this becomes even more clearer?

Ruined King baby

I want to marry him. I want to marry Pyke in general but Ruined King Pyke hes a baby and i need him i want to pat his head and tell him everything is going to be fine AUGH. How he settled up with a bunch of random people, allow me to say, after one of them wooped his ass, and with a captain, clearly a target for him, and he was OKAY with it. What a king. Slay.

Illaoi removed his voices, thanks queen. And you know what we see? Pyke behaving like a more troubeled person than a violent one... It blew my mind. The fact that he sharpens and cleans his knives and harpoon because he's stressed, the fact that he talks passive aggresive with Illaoi even if he's thankful. The fact that he likes Sarah enough not to kill her, and that he trusts her. He's able to trust a captain, even after what happened to him. It broke me. It broke me seeing his relationship with Ahri, how she was sorry, how she just murmured 'thanks' and then stood quiet when Ahri said to Sarah that he was, probably, never going to be able to explain the complexity of his trauma and his feelings. Seeing him having nice conversations with Braum and Yasuo... seeing him feel, welcomed... you actually feel good for him, if you have been stuck with him in your mind like me for years you actually feel happy for him. Pyke has friends. It makes you also wonder about the end... Why did he go? Why did he never say goodbye? Its true he said that once he was done with Viego, he was out, thats his only achievement. But... in the end, we see him go with Braum, Ahri, Yasuo and Illaoi to the tavern... Did he change his mind in the way? Did he just randomly turned the opposite direction? What the hell hapenned i need to know. This game made me cry. Not with the end. This game made me cry everytime this guy opened his mouth. Because he's relatable at some extent. And knowing that at some time later, if Sentinels of Light was canon and better written... Pyke would have been betrayed. Again. By Sarah. Someone he trusted blindly again. Can you imagine? How could have that developed? Would Pyke ever be able to trust again? Would he return to his patterns or would he just promise himself not to ever trust again?

Something i really liked about Ruined king lays on the early hours of the game, when we first see Pyke when we play as Illaoi. She calls him a monster, an abomination. But Pyke refuses to fight, even if he considers it an interesting battle, he refuses, because he has no reason, confirming that Pyke's kills are always selective and he would never hurt an innocent, even if you treat him poorly. I have talked a lot about Ruined King so ill try not to over repeat myself. Lets talk about

Design queen slay yass pop off

I just think he's neat! Look at that guy!! They made a marbelous job. Referring to all his models and concepts of course. Its the creepy but cool looking bandana with the teeth that gives him that eery, but also dinstictive colour focus on his design. The bone jaws around his shoulders reminding us about his death, the ripped cape, the fish teeth and teeth knives hanging from his belt giving him this 'shark' style everyone likes to explore on him... the gloves, the nails in a lot of concepts and promotional arts, the now grey-ish tribal tattoos representing his past as a buhru... The list hanging from his side, the boots with spikes to work... Something i like of him in League is the CTRL-5 animation where you can change his harpoon to how it probably looked when he was alive to the eery, phantasmagoric and murky looking one. Its an amazing touch. I love his design and i love that they didnt go for the typical 'drowned pirate spirit'. He looks so neat. The scars, the eyes... the ropes hanging around, the baits hanging from his cape... waahhh

Point number 2343939

............he's pretty..............

im going to hell and its his fault. What can i say? I like him.

Moving onto a more serious, and now probably more directly answering your question. Why am i so attached to him?

Yes, i do like his lore, and i have a bunch of questions i love to fill the blanks myself with own headcanons, i do like his design a lot aswell and i loved him on Ruined King, and i love playing him on league.

But, Pyke suddendly became a recurrent thought on my mind. I wasnt on a very good moment back in 2018. I felt undesirable, in all aspects, my group of friends wasnt the best back in the day and i was often ignored when i vented about trauma. I then suddendly saw a character that i could relate to, but that was also strong willed, and stood up for himself. I realized that, maybe i just wanted someone to protect me. Its a thought that sucks, not being able to protect yourself and seeking others to hide behind. But... he was there on my mind in my darkest places, and honestly? he hasnt left not even a single day. Made me thought that, maybe he would actually listen through my problems, maybe he would have stood up for me and protected me, maybe he would take the care i desperately craved for real people to give me. Sometime's hes the only reason i decide to get up from bed and do anything, i dont have it the roughest but i struggle emotionally with a lot. He's like, my emotional support, ironically, he's a support champion, haha, funny.

I then started interacting and seeing people who also formed these bonds with fictional characters, and suddendly i didnt feel that weird. He makes me feel like a little kid in love, and... it helps me heal. It keeps my mind busy, and i like him a lot enough not to get tired from thinking about him. Skins and AU's are helpful cause i can also explore other contexts of him, other things i didnt ask myself yet...

Getting sappy, i love everything about him. And it makes me happy seeing people that also love everything about him. I love it. I love him. And its been 5 hard years, but that also contains a lot of healing thanks to a random character from league of legends.

Woah! Its 4:06 am! thats a while haha. I missed a lot, my mind was fuzzy. Well, i have to go back to my day dreaming <3

[gayrobos]

blessings upon the 2 people who liked my tfoc posts. have some torture and gore and betrayal.

for reference here’s diabolica’s alt mode. which she is not using in this. I just think it’s neat.

[ID: black and yellow robot mantis covered in circular saws and chainsaws and scythes and shit. end ID]

She gets taken to an unpleasant room that smells like congealed energon, mech fluid, and despair. And there in the doorway is a terribly familiar silhouette, so familiar that for a moment she wonders when this is. Mantix died six thousand years ago, before the operation, she couldn't possibly be seeing her. No, this is now. And that's not Mantix. Lots of people could have the same alt mode and color scheme. Anyway, Mantix would recognize her, even though she's changed her alt. But she really, really looks like her.

"Are you the bodyguard?" asks not-Mantix. She speaks in Mantix's flat, disinterested voice, like a fucked up parody of Hyla's millennia-dead best friend. It's not an affect Hyla ever thought of as frightening; it was just Mantix. Now it's extremely frightening. Hyla wonders whether she's finally starting to unravel.

"I literally don't know anything, I only know where we were going to transmit, and I'll tell you that for free. It's not important intel."

"Of course you don't know anything," says not-Mantix. "I wouldn't use torture if you did. It's a terrible interrogation tactic."

Hyla is really starting to freak out now. "Then what do you WANT?"

"From you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My bosses are interested in how you do what you do, but I'm not. I'm just here to hurt you."

Hyla considers bravado, but it wouldn't do any good, and it wouldn't make her feel any better. But there is one glimmer of hope---not-Mantix takes off the stasis cuffs after she's strapped down. She puts venom production into overdrive.

"---nent." Dull burning pain inside her chest, where she can't see, like something's come loose, sensors going wild, aware that this mech doesn't intend to kill her but also very aware that that doesn't mean she'll necessarily ever be fine again. Not-Mantix raises one of her alt legs and its disclike joint, which is---no, no---a circular saw. It dips toward her open chest and she deactivates her optics, not wanting to know when it's coming. The moment it does jerks a scream out of her, quickly muffled.

And then the pain is gone. Fans whirring loudly, she turns her optics on and forces her energon lines open again; she's not bleeding. The interrogator is still several feet away, watching her. Oh, this is bad. If the Decepticons find out what she really is, she's going to get her fucking brain dissected. She whimpers, playing up her fear, though it's only a matter of time before not-Mantix figures it out anyway. Her only hope is to make sure the interrogator doesn't leave here alive.

Not-Mantix steps closer, and Hyla tries not to flinch, because she'll get the timing wrong. But it's hard not to as her chestplate's opened up, when she already knows what's going to happen. "Don't worry. This will only be semi-perman---"

Hot energon drips over her internals, and the pain returns. She fucking wishes it wouldn't skip around, but it always does that more when she's upset, like her mind is trying to escape. Hyla's fans stutter and gasp, and the interrogator tilts her head. "It was as if you didn't feel anything at all," she murmurs. "What kind of monster did they make?"

Hyla steels herself. Says through gritted teeth, "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to." She'll stay in the present, not that she really knows how to control that, but if she wills it it's got to happen.

Twelve minutes and another even longer absence later (she can now place this moment from a couple years ago), she's reaching the end of her tolerance. She hasn't been able to scratch the interrogator yet. If there's any chance it can throw her off... why not try? "I have to..." she says faintly. "Mantix... please..."

"What?" asks the interrogator sharply. As Hyla hoped, she leans in.

"I know you're not her," says Hyla even more quietly. "But you look so much like Mantix."

She doesn't think about the way the interrogator goes still, because her hand is leaned next to Hyla's hood. Quick as a flash Hyla turns her head and sinks her teeth into the mech's hand, pumping in venom.

She cries out and hits Hyla in the face, trying to pull her hand away and finally succeeding, although she totally mangles it in the process. "How do you know that name?" she asks, as if Hyla didn't just bite through her hand until teeth met.

"Just an old friend," says Hyla. "Just a distraction."

But the mech's eyes are burning into hers. "You got reframed." Doesn't the venom fucking hurt? It was meant to. "I didn't recognize you. I thought you were dead, Hyla."

A shudder goes through Hyla. "You're not her."

"It seems the war has changed you more than me."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hyla snarls. The interrogator is standing close enough for Hyla to sink envenomed claws into her leg; she just fucking takes it. "If that shy awkward mech from geosciences saw what you've turned her into she'd go stick her head in a jet engine." She's /heard/ of this mech before, the torturer, the one who lets prisoners go when she's done with them just so the next Autobot she gets under her knife will be even more terrified. They call her Diabolica.

"They call you a monster," says Diabolica. "A machine for killing and nothing else. They say when you're hunting you let your prey run only because you know they can't escape."

The rest of the story everyone knows is that it's slow venom that makes sure no-one escapes. The Decepticon medics have enough corpses to put that together. Maybe Diabolica thinks this will be a slow venom too, but Hyla's injected too much of it. Diabolica slumps over her, trembling with the effort of holding herself up. "Guess you had it wrong who was the hunter," says Hyla.

"I'm sorry," says Diabolica. "Your intel mech is already dead. You should have at least an hour before anyone comes looking for me. Medical supplies are in the cupboard on the left. I can't tell you much... ab-bout the guard rotations... but, but you don't need me to." She spasms, obviously muting her vocalizer on a cry of pain, and falls off the slab onto the ground. Then she drags herself back up to enter a code into the slab, unlocking the cuffs. And Diabolica falls again.

Hyla rips through the open cuffs with her claws, as much to vent her sudden fury as to make it look like she escaped on her own. Can she trust Diabolica's word that Magnetron is dead? What does she even...

First order of business is to get back in fighting condition. She grimaces down as she steps over the collapsed mech, who set her free when she might have instead called the guards. If Diabolica had wanted to fuck her over, she could very well be dead by now. Instead it's Diabolica who has about two hours to live.

Hyla crouches down and turns Diabolica over to get a better angle. Sinks her teeth into Diabolica's neck to inject antivenom, just enough that her body won't entirely shut down; just enough to buy her another day or so.

Then she locates a medkit and gets to work.

[mr-m-murdock]

Hey can you do a fic where stark!reader is married to natasha and meet nat family for the first time at the compound but tony, pepper and Morgan were visiting the reader so its just a big meeting of getting to know you new family in-law

out-laws

| natasha x reader |

summary: pleasant surprise for a friday afternoon, overwhelming stress. it's a wonder you haven't spontaneously combusted already.

warnings: mentions of sex : rating [G]

a/n: this was super fun thanks anon. i went for the black widow movie family cause I assumed you meant them

You look up from the soldering iron at ten minutes to four, and swear loudly. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t lose track of time today, that you’d be upstairs to eat in the middle of the day instead of caving to hunger halfway through dismantling an engine or a circuit board only to find that everyone else had already eaten. 

You push back from the workbench, wipe your hands on a ragged oilcloth, and turn to glare at DUM-E.

“You were supposed to poke me!” you say, as accusing as you can. DUM-E reaches out and pinches your upper arm, leaving an angry mark amongst the smears of oil. “Ow!” You jerk back. “Asshole.” DUM-E’s claw lowers like a chastised child, and you shake your head. “You’re not getting guilt out of me.” With one last scowl, you grab your overshirt from the bench and make for the stairs, pulling it on as you go.

You hear voices as you leave the lab, and you pause at the bottom of the stairs, working your collar out from under your neck. Voices you don’t recognise. You cock your head and listen for a second.

They don’t come closer. They don’t grow distant. They needle at you: no one said they were having guests over except when Pepper texted you today to say she was dropping by at four. And that’s definitely not Pepper’s voice.

You flick the ringer switch on your watch and it changes with a click and scrape of metal. The glove grows over your hand and powers up with a whine. With the other hand, you pull your knife slowly from its sheath. You’ve learnt not to take chances, not even in your own home.

You creep up the stairs, practically flat against the wall. You’re halfway up when you realise you left your damn glasses downstairs. Too late now. 

You can see shadows moving against the smooth floor when you reach the top. Gesticulating hands, crossed arms, straight backs. They’re speaking Russian and if you’d kept your headphones on, you’d fucking well know what they’re saying, but you didn’t. You feel bare and terrified, your neck and head and forearms too exposed without your suit. You paused at the corner and suck in a slow, slow breath. 

You step out fast, raise the gauntlet, knife braced underneath, eyes narrowed and you yell “Freeze!” Click of weaponry rising and you see three pistol muzzles and a throwing knife make their way into the air: this was a bad idea, this was a very bad idea–

“Oh my God, put them down!” someone cries: Natasha. Your head flicks to her – she’s standing encased in the doorway, hands outstretched.

“Nat?” you say. The gauntlet is still powering up: you’ll either have to fire it or deactivate it now.

“Down!” she says, and the weapons are lowered. You grip your wrist with one hand and spin: the wide glass veranda doors are open. You fire the shot out, the force bucking up your arm and sending you stumbling two paces backwards. You roll your shoulders and watch the shot hit the treeline with a sat phut before you turn back around.

Two women, one man. He's heavyset and red-faced, a long grey beard and grey hair. One of the women is younger, blonde and sporting a coolly amused look on her face: the other is older, a thin face but muscled arms, dark hair scraped back into a tight braid crown. They all observe you, and their gazes seem almost familiar.

It strikes you: their eyes move the same way Natasha's did when she first met you. They don't keep eye contact, they study you top to bottom, gauntlet to oil smears to boots. Appraising and calculating. You feel like you're under a surgeon's scalpel, skin peeled back.

"Didn't know we had visitors," you say, pointedly.

"We really need to work on your 'shoot first, shake hands later' approach," Natasha replies. You allow her a thin smile. Your heart is still thundering. "This is my family," she adds.

You blink. You turn the sentence over in your mind.

"Oh," you say. "He-llo." You introduce yourself. The blonde woman gives no indication that she even hears you, eyes fixed securely on your face. "Nice to meet y'all." The blonde woman's face shifts ever so slightly - something like glee gleams behind her eyes.

"Melina," says the older woman. She holsters her pistol under her jacket and gives you a sharp little smile. "This is Alexei, and Yelena."

Alexei looks far more nervous than a man his stature has any right to be. He fixes his jacket collar. Natasha looks at you. You look back at her helplessly.

"Um, sorry about the wedding-" you start, to fill the silence.

"No, I wouldn't- mention the wedding," Natasha says quietly. She turns to her family and says something cutting in Russian: the blonde woman rolls her eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me," Natasha adds in English. "Please be nice."

"Do you guys, like want something to eat?" you ask. They're unnerving you, their stillness and the way they hold themselves.

"That would be lovely," says Melina.

"Cool." You make an awkward thumbs up, your gauntlet sliding with the movement. You back away into the kitchen and Natasha follows you, kicking the door half-closed. "Nat!" you exclaim in a hushed voice.

"I'm sorry," she says, practically cringing, and she looks sorry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I told them to be normal-"

"Normal?" you ask, barely able to keep your voice in check. "I almost blasted them all into next week! You- you sprung them on me!"

"I did not spring them on you," Natasha says. "I told you they were coming. Two days ago." You frown. Tick through your memories.

"Didn't I-"

"Drink four cans of Red Bull for breakfast two days ago? Yes," Natasha replies. She looks decidedly unimpressed. "And you didn't eat today, did you?" You wave a hand vaguely over your shoulder. Not important.

Natasha fixes you with a stare and you cower a little.

"Sorry."

"Make something. Eat. I'm gonna go tell them off," she says, moving to the door. You grab her wrist before she can get too far and she jerks to a stop. Raises an eyebrow at you. God, the power that eyebrow has.

"You don't need to tell them off," you say. "I'll make them mac and cheese."

"You wanna make three Russians mac and cheese?" Natasha asks, slowly. "Did you clock Alexei? He regularly eats his own bodyweight." You snort. Natasha raises the other eyebrow, and your laugh fades.

"Oh. Well."

"You can make them food if you want," Natasha says. She scowls at the door. "I'm sure they'll be perfectly polite about it once I've given them a piece of my mind." You grin, and manage to wipe it off before she looks back around at you. She's endearing when she's cross.

"I'll make food," you say. What better way to get in with the in-laws than to cook for them?

• • • • • • • • •

You make eight pots of boxed macaroni cheese and Natasha's family eats it all.

It's quite impressive. Alexei talks while he eats as well: he might as well be inhaling it. How fast can a metabolism work? You're almost itching to ask him.

"Is Captain America here?" he asks at one point, his face conspiratorially lowered. He's addressing you. Yelena snorts around a mouthful of macaroni.

"Oh," you say. "Uh..." Natasha smacks Alexei on the shoulder before you can finish your sentence. He chuckles and pokes at her, and she grabs his finger with a murderous look on his face and bends it all the way back. Alexei howls and snatches his hand away, adopting an injured look.

Natasha returns to her food.

"What do you do for a living?" Melina asks. You tear your eyes away from Alexei shovelling forkfuls into his mouth at inhuman speed.

"I'm an engineer," you say. You shrug. "Engineer-designer. I work for the Avengers. What about- what about you?"

Melina's smile is cold, but not unkind. "I kill people for a living."

"Oh yeah," you say. "Well, potato, potato. I make weapons that kill people. Lot of press conferences. Not a lot of conscience."

"Oh my God," Natasha mutters into her plate.

"Uh, I'm joking," you say, in an attempt to salvage it. Melina just laughs, seeing right through you. God, you don't know how to talk to fucking in-laws!

"What weapons do you make?" Yelena asks. You turn to look at her: she's got a piece of macaroni speared on her fork and she's studying it against the ceiling lamps.

"Explosive ones," you say. "You can eat that, you know. I assumed you're all immune to cyanide." Her eyes slide to you. "Joking," you say again. Comes out as more of a squeak.

"Very funny." She puts the macaroni in her mouth and chews slowly. Natasha says something quietly in Russian, and Yelena glares at her, cheeks turning red.

"So..." you say. You take a sip of water. "You're all- appropriately terrifying. I see where Nat gets it from." Natasha grins at you.

"Aw, you're not scared of me, are you baby?" she asks. Yelena pretends to gag into her drink.

"Yelena," Melina reprimands sharply. Yelena gives you a look from the corner of her eye and smiles at you. Unsure, you smile back.

You hear your name. Distant. Evidently, the others hear it, too: Alexei cocks his head and Natasha looks up. Your name again, hollered from the hall. It's Tony. Horror crosses Natasha's face faster than a cloud on a windy day.

You stand, your chair scraping backwards across the floor with a horrible noise, and they all turn to look at you.

"Scuse me," you say. You throw your napkin down and escape through the kitchen door.

You half-run down the corridor, checking each room with your neck craned, your heart beating in your mouth until-

"Hey." You jump almost out of your skin, stumbling backwards. Tony, hanging his coat up on the back of a door, surveys you with concern. "Alright, kid?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you pant, perhaps a little too viciously. Tony frowns.

"Pep said she was dropping by. And you know she can't go anywhere without me. I'm like her second child."

"What? Where is she?" you ask, spinning around. Damn, damn, damn, you'd forgotten she'd said she was coming at four!

"Kitchen," Tony says casually. "You alright? You seem stressed."

"I do?" you exclaim. "Do I? Do I seem stressed, Tony?"

"Hey," he says. "Calm it, Junior."

"God," you say, half through your nose, and you spin and make off towards the kitchen. Tony follows at a quick pace.

"You know," he says, as the two of you approach the kitchen, "would it kill you to call me dad once in a while?"

"I think I prefer 'Asshole'," you retort.

"Uh, okay, you're grounded," he says.

"I'm 27," you reply. "Asshole." You throw the kitchen door open and freeze. Tony stumbles into your heels. Morgan is sitting on Alexei's lap, grinning from ear to ear. Pepper is seated in your place like the queen of England, one regal leg crossed over the other.

"Hi," Tony says, from over your shoulder. "Hey, Nat."

"Stark," Natasha says stiffly. She looks painfully awkward.

"Ah!" says Alexei, bounding up from his chair. He hands Morgan over to Melina like she weighs nothing more than a cardboard box. "So this is the famous Iron Man!" He strides forwards and you barely manage to stumble out of the way before Alexei is seizing Tony's hand and tugging it up and down roughly.

"Nice to meet you," Tony says. Alexei releases him and he fixes his cuffs.

"You know, we would have been dire enemies had you been born a little earlier," Alexei says joyfully. "I'm sure you would have put up a good fight." Tony reddens a little, and seems to swell in indignation.

"Yeah," you say. "Or maybe he would have been instantly flattened." Tony looks at you and you smile. "I see you've met Pepper, my..." you pause. "Yeah. Pepper." Pepper hides a laugh in her shoulder.

"Everyone needs a Pepper," Tony says. "So these are the in-laws, huh, kid?" He surveys them. You can practically see his brain working. "I'm Tony," he says. He claps you on the shoulder. "This idiot's dad." He points to Natasha. "That terrifying woman's father in law."

"We all hate it," Natasha says. Tony shakes his head.

"Don't know how you bagged her, kid, I really don't," he says, not nearly quietly enough.

"You're gonna get punched in a minute," you say.

"I could take all of 'em in a heartbeat," Tony replies cheerfully.

"By me," you say. He puts on his best offended look and you shrug. "I've got to defend my wife's honour," you say. You see Natasha smile stupidly at her plate. Wife. Never gets old, that.

• • • • • • • • •

They all get on surprisingly well. Pepper, ever the diplomat, manages to steer everyone and the conversation into the sitting room without incident, and you and Natasha stay behind to clear up.

You start the taps and lump the pans into the sink, the spray wetting your top. Natasha finishes loading the dishwasher and comes up behind you, reaches through your arms for a wet cloth. She kisses your neck as she pulls back and you grin stupidly over your shoulder at her.

"You like them?" she asks, as she starts to wipe the table. She's very carefully not looking at you.

"They're great," you say. "Terrifying, but funny."

"They're idiots," she says. She comes back to dump the detritus down the disposal and you steal a kiss from her. She laughs and returns it, quick little ones on your nose and your cheek.

"They're not idiots. Tony's an idiot."

"Tony is an idiot," Natasha agrees. She links her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder. You look down at her hands, where the wedding ring is glinting, and think about that day. You'd eloped, secretly, laughing guiltily about it in the back of a bus, and you'd spent your wedding night on a warm beach on the west coast drinking far too much champagne. You'd fucked on the sun-baked sand, drunk on the moon and the sound of the waves and the alcohol on each other's lips. Completely alone.

Natasha kisses your cheek.

"What you thinking about?" she asks, her voice low and soft right against your ear.

"Wedding night," you say. You feel her mouth move into a smile against your skin.

"Oh yeah?" She grabs your ass and you gasp and flick water at her. It splashes over her face and she draws back, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Have some decorum!" you exclaim. She wipes the water from her face and mock-glares at you. "I'm sorry," you say, grinning widely.

"I'll make you sorry," Natasha growls, and she lunges for you, hands outstretched. You laugh and dash away, flinging droplets at her over your shoulder. She grabs you by the waist before you can reach the door and pulls you into her. Your ass presses flush against her hips. She dips her head and kisses your neck, open mouthed. Her hands splay over your stomach.

"Oh," you say, tipping your head back. "Mm, I'm not sorry at all."

"No?" Natasha asks, hands pulling your top up. Her fingers press into your skin and you wriggle in her grasp.

"Nat-"

"You said you weren't sorry," she says petulantly. "Apologise." She kisses your neck again and strokes your stomach and you press back into her.

"I'll never be sorry, so long as you keep that up." She laughs, and then her kisses slow down.

"I love you," she says, murmured against your pulse. Her breath is hot and her arms are strong around you.

"Still not sorry." She digs her fingers into your ribs and you twist, laughing.

"Say it back, jackass," she grumbles. You sigh.

"I love you, too."

requests | masterlist

[phoenixyfriend]

Anakin, Shmi, and the Jedi Babies

(Plus Jango)

A scene from the Anakin and the Jedi Babies

Warnings for: canon-typical discussion of slavery.

Shmi is eleven years old when the stranger comes.

He’s tall, and covered in the kind of dark clothes that are hell in the desert. He’s got some armor, too, but not as much as the Mandalorians she sees walking around sometimes. His expression is mean, even though he’s smiling, and she thinks the trader is scared of him.

He’s buying her.

“Now I just need a name for the ownership paperwork,” the trader says. She thinks he’s sweating.

“The sale is already completed, yes?” the stranger says. He tilts his head and purses his lips, still smirking. “No sudden fees coming my way?”

“Of course not, honored customer,” the trader simpers.

“Anakin Skywalker.”

Shmi’s heart stops. That’s her family name.

The trader gets a little paler, as he realizes why this man is here. Shmi watches the calculations fly, wondering if he can maybe squeeze out a few extra wupiupi on this sale. Former slaves freeing family, even family they don’t know, always fetches the highest price.

The stranger—Anakin—leans across the counter and looms over the trader, smiling in the most threatening way Shmi’s ever seen. “No sudden fees, right?”

“Well, there will be the code transfer f—”

“I’m the most dangerous person in this city,” the man says, smile dropping away like flies from a bantha. “Don’t make me prove it, friend.”

The sale is secured, the codes handed over, the detonator passing hands.

Shmi falls into step next to Anakin, hurrying to keep up with his longer strides. He takes her a few blocks away without a word, and then into a shallow spot in an alleyway, right where foot traffic won’t be a bother.

“Hey,” he says, dropping to one knee and placing himself where, even when she sets her gaze low, he’ll be there. He smiles at her, hesitant but far, far kinder than what she saw in the shop. “Do you want me to deactivate your chip now, or once we’re on my ship? I can’t remove it until we’re out of here; I’m no surgeon.”

“…now, please,” she whispers, and watches him punch in the numbers and codes to neutralize the bomb she’s carried inside herself since she was three. It’s done in less than two minutes.

“Do you want me to break this?” he asks, voice soft.

She nods, and watches in fascination as he crushes it in his fist with seemingly no effort.

He smiles at her, tosses the shards into the nearest compactor, and then offers her the hand that isn’t in a glove. She takes it, like she used to take her mom’s before they were separated, and follows him through Mos Pelgo. He’s family. He’s cleanly, clearly freed her. She should be able to trust him.

“Where are we going?” she manages to work up the courage to ask.

His stride stutters a bit, his hand squeezing hers, but his voice is even when he speaks. “Well, I would like you to stay with me, but if you have… have any family to return to, that you know how to find…”

“I don’t know where my mom is,” she says. “She got sold when I was four.”

He squeezes her hand again, and she dares to look at his face. His eyes are squinted, angry, and focused on the horizon. She’d call it stormy, if she’d ever been to a planet of water, but she was a child of the desert. She could feel his anger, and it wasn’t hot and sharp and blinding enough to be a storm of sand.

(She felt that it could be, in the intuition that had kept her alive these past years.)

“I see,” he says. “I’m… okay, then. I’d try to find her if I could, but I don’t know how to do that.”

Shmi shrugs. “She was sent to Jabba’s. I don’t think she’s… um. She’s probably dead, now.”

He’s silent in response to that.

“How did you find me?” she asks, because her intuition says to trust this man to keep her alive, even if she thinks she may not trust his temper.

He thinks about that for a second, and then lets go of her hand for a moment to brush aside a layer of his tunic.

A lightsaber.

Her eyes dart up to his, wide and maybe a little awed. He grins, a little more carefree than before.

“Jeedai?”

“A full Jedi knight, believe it or not,” he confirms. “The Force led me to find you. I don’t think I’d have been able to do locate you without it.”

“Wizard,” she whispers, and then he pulls her into his side and out of the way of a large, too-fast-for-these-streets speeder.

He swears under his breath in a language she doesn’t recognize.

“So, I’m going with you,” she says. “Um, where… where do Jedi live?”

“The Temple is on Coruscant,” he tells her. “But I’ve got business in Mandalorian space, so that’s where I’m based out of right now.”

“Okay,” she says. Mandalore… maybe that’s why he’s got armor like one of them. “I… I heard that Jedi are all called Master, so—”

“No,” Anakin snaps, turning around and getting to one knee in front of her again, hands on both her shoulders, stopping her in a fraction of a second with a look so intense that it scares her. “No, you are never to call me that. You are never going to bow your head to a master again, okay? You are free, and you are family.”

She stares at him for a long second, and then nods. She thinks her head jerks a bit too sharply, but he’s scary. He cares so much that it frightens her. He must be able to tell, because he closes his eyes and visibly forces himself to calm down.

“I was freed when I was nine,” he tells her. “By a Jedi Master. And I know… I know how uncomfortable it is to live like that, where the word means something different to you than it does to everyone else. I became a Jedi, so I learned to make it mean what it was supposed to, respect for teachers and—and elders. But you, you’re not a Jedi, you’re just a girl, and you matter, and—don’t make yourself say it. Please.”

“Okay,” she says. “Do I just… do I just call you Anakin, then?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he says, and his hands twitch on her shoulders. She thinks he wants to pull her into a hug, but is forcing himself to stop. “Or Ani, if you want, my—my mom used to call me that. Seems like something to keep for family.”

“Okay,” she says again. She can do that.

“Or, um,” he hesitates, and then barrels on. “We’ll be in Mandalore. They say ori’vod to mean older sibling. So, er, you can call me that. If you want. You don’t have to.”

She’ll have to practice. It looks like it means a lot to him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” he says, and dithers for a moment before he stands up and turns around, black robes flaring. “Come on, let’s get out of the sun.”

He leads her to just outside the city limits, where there’s a small ship waiting, enough for a half-dozen people on longer trips, maybe. She doesn’t know much about ships, but this one’s covered in scratches and pits, like it’s been in fights and come out the other side.

They open the door, and are met with wailing.

Anakin rushes past her, shouting, “Ben!”

Shmi doesn’t follow immediately, but he’s been pretty insistent that she’s family, not property. She’s allowed inside.

She finds Anakin in the main room, holding a baby and bouncing it in his arms as he hisses a demand to a boy only a few years older than Shmi herself.

“—my kids, Jango!”

“I’m here to babysit the ship, not the baby!” the teenager argues back.

Anakin scoffs and turns his attention to the baby in his arms. Shmi isn’t entirely sure, but she thinks the baby is definitely less than a year old. It quiets in his arms, tiny hands fisting in the fabric she knows is still too hot from the sun outside.

“Shmi, you can sit down,” he tells her, distracted. “I’d love to talk more but I think I need to make a bottle for Ben. I’ll be back in a few.”

She looks around, sees a bench, and sits down. She presses her hands together in her lap, keeps her eyes on the japor charm her mother left with her years ago, hanging around her wrist. She can wait. She’s patient. She’ll figure out how freedom works eventually.

“Mmmmmmbook!”

Shmi jolts in her seat as a very small body collides with her leg, blue and white and giggling. The head of that small body turns up to stare at her with massive eyes, and she sees the child’s face is orange. Togruta, she thinks, and very young.

The little one pushes a flimsi book onto Shmi’s lap and pats at it, grinning up at Shmi with tiny, pearly teeth.

“Ad’ika, she just got here,” the-teenager-that-is-probably-named-Jango sighs, dropping into the seat next to Shmi. “Let her rest.”

“Sto-wee!” the baby Togruta insists, patting at Shmi’s leg. The little one tries to climb up onto the bench, and Shmi reaches out to help after she realizes the toddler is about to slip. She receives, in thanks, a delighted grin and a montral to the ribs as the child hugs her.

“’m Soka!” the little one introduces.

“She’s one of Skywalker’s,” probably-Jango says. “He showed up with those two a few months ago in the middle of a chaak’la snowstorm.”

“No!” Soka insists, slapping her little hand on the book a few times. “No ‘ssip! Book!”

Jango lets his head fall against the metal wall behind them. “Fine. No gossip.”

Shmi looks at the little girl, and then back at the book. She’s… well, she can read. Mostly. She can read better than most slaves her age, but this is Basic, not Huttese.

She cracks it open to the first page, finds herself relieved that it really is a children’s story with small words and big letters, and starts reading it out loud. She goes slow. The story is about an eopie trying to find its way home after getting lost, asking other farm animals for help. There are plenty of pictures, and sometimes Soka pats at the book and shouts the name of an animal. It’s very cute, overall.

About two-thirds of the way through, she stumbles. It’s a word she hasn’t seen before, long and with repeating letters that she can’t quite figure out how to say. She pauses, long enough that she’s sure little Soka is confused about why she’s stopped.

“Happabore,” Jango mutters.

Shmi lifts her head, but he’s not looking at her. She looks down at the book again, mouths the letters to herself, and thinks that yes, that probably fits. She keeps reading aloud, letting little Soka tell her about her favorite animals, and when she finishes and looks up, it’s to find Anakin standing across from them.

He’s leaning against a doorframe, bottle-feeding the baby named Ben, and watching them with an expression Shmi thinks might be ‘wistful.’

“Skyguy!” Little Soka cheers, sliding off the bench so she can toddle over to the man as fast as her little legs can carry her. “Skyguy, gots a fweind!”

He smiles indulgently and lets her hug his leg. “I can see that, Snips. You guys have fun?”

“Uh-huh!” the little one tells him. She raises her hands at him. “Up!”

“Sorry, hun, no can do,” Anakin apologizes. “I’m feeding Ben, and I need both hands for that.”

She pouts, and he jerks his chin at Shmi and Jango. “Go back to the bench and you can help me feed him, okay?”

Soka races back.

“Fett, go get the ship powered up,” Anakin says as he ambles over, voice the kind of casually commanding that gives Shmi goosebumps. It’s not familiar, not the way an owner is, but it’s… it’s a voice that’s very used to having authority. “I want us out of here as soon as possible.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I am the commanding officer according to Jaster,” Anakin says, and Shmi watches him raise an eyebrow. “I know it’s not much of a mission, but I am in charge until we’re back on Concord Dawn. You want me to tell him you’re playing at insubordination?”

Jango makes a face, sticking out his tongue. Anakin waits.

Jango goes to start the ship.

“Teenagers,” Anakin mutters, shaking his head. “I want to say I was never that bad, but I’d be lying.”

Soka giggles, bouncing in her seat as Anakin carefully lowers himself down next to her. “Okay, okay, settle down. He’s cranky, kiddo.”

“Wanna help,” Soka stresses, reaching for the bottle. Anakin shifts away from her, keeping it out of her reach. “Skyguy!”

“Slow down, Snips,” he chides. “Climb on my lap and we can hold him together, okay?”

Shmi fiddles with her japor snippet, but she can’t help her fascination with the dynamic presented. Anakin obviously isn’t related to Soka by blood, but he’s adopted her as his own. They haven’t said as much, but it’s obvious. He can’t stop smiling as he talks the girl through holding the bottle for her baby brother, even though it’s obvious from the outside that he’s the one actually holding it, and her, and the baby.

The ship hums to life around them. Anakin tilts his head, as if listening to something, and then goes back to the baby.

It’s another minute before Anakin says, “Okay, that’s enough. I need to burp him. Go on, scoot.”

Soka grimaces as well as a two-year-old can, and slides off of Anakin’s lap onto the bench. He stands and presses the baby up to his shoulder, patting it on the back. There’s a towel there already, something Shmi hadn’t noticed earlier.

“I’m going to go check on Jango,” he tells them. “Shmi, can you get Soka in her seat? I’ll tell you how to buckle her in, but I promised Jango he could fly us back and I want to sit up there to make sure he gets us into hyperspace without, say, exploding.”

It’s only a minute or two to get both of them sat down and buckled in, and Soka spends the entire time until lift-off telling Shmi about how much she likes eopies. This continues well until they end up in hyperspace, the jolt of it making the little one squeal in excitement, even if Shmi feels her stomach drop out. Shortly after, the boys wander back in.

“We’re good for a couple hours,” Anakin says. “Nav computer’s got it until we jump back out. Anyone want a snack?”

“Me!” Soka screeches, bouncing in her seat. “Jan-Jan, snacktime!”

Anakin’s eyebrows climb up towards his hairline. “Well, seems like you’ve got a fan, Fett.”

“Shut up,” Jango grumbles, but he does go over and pick Soka out of her child seat, setting her on his hip and going in the direction of what Shmi assumes is the galley.

“You doin’ okay?” Anakin asks, carefully taking the seat next to her. He sits Ben up on his lap, but the baby has trouble staying in that position. Anakin takes his hands, letting tiny fists curl around his thumbs, to help him stay up.

“It’s a lot,” she says. “But I am happy to be free.”

He grins at her. “Glad to hear it. It’s a lot to adjust to, I know, but… I’m happy to have you with us.”

She nods, eyes on the baby that’s swaying from side to side as Anakin moves his hands, like a very, very small speeder pilot.

“Is he, um, yours?” Shmi asks. “Or did you adopt, like Soka?”

Anakin’s smile, so full of love, drops off. He presses his lips into a thin line, and for a moment, Shmi wonders if she’s made a horrible misstep.

“What… what do you know about Jedi relationships?” Anakin asks, voice quiet.

“Nothing,” she admits, but she’s not ashamed of that. Nobody knows much about the Jedi.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to her. “Okay, so… okay. There are a couple ranks in the Order. Younglings go in the crèche, communally raised in groups, and then when they’re five or so, they get to become Initiates. A few years later, usually between ten and fourteen, they can enter an apprenticeship to a Jedi Knight or Master, and the apprentice rank is Padawan. When the apprenticeship is done, they become Knights, basically journeymen, and at some point after that, Masters. There are positions that technically rank higher, councils and heads of divisions, and there’s stuff outside the apprenticeship system, like the service corps, but that’s not super relevant. It’s complicated but we’re only focusing on the apprenticeship path for knights.”

He hesitates, and then continues. “One of the ways to become a Master in the Order is to successfully raise a Padawan to knighthood. I was never an Initiate, because I came to the Order so much later than most. I immediately became a Padawan, and my master was freshly knighted. The relationship between master and padawan is… it’s family. Some of the more orthodox of the Order don’t like to put it in those words, but it really is.

“If I ever talk about my Master, just know I’m not talking about any of the owners I had before I was freed. I’m talking about the man who raised me, the man I saw as a father. He may not have seen me as a son, more a brother, but he was only sixteen years older than me, and… anyway. Jedi lineages are family. Your Master is a parent, or an older sibling, and your Padawan is a child to bring up as your own,” he finishes this off with the kind of deep, heavy breath that she thinks precedes grief. She can’t tell.

“My master is… well, he’s not in a position to teach anyone anything anymore. Ben here is all I have left of him.”

Oh.

Oh.

Anakin doesn’t look at her, just stares down at the baby that’s gotten cranky again, and rearranges Ben to lie sideways in his arms. He smiles down as the baby burbles up at him, and tickles at the baby’s stomach. Ben grabs at Anakin’s fingers and kicks at the air, laughing in the manner of all children that small.

The man hums, and Shmi is more shocked than she should be to hear one of the lullabies she’s heard in slave quarters all her life.

“He’s your son now,” she says, more firmly than she feels. “He is yours to raise and care for, and I can tell you love him as much as any parent.”

Anakin lifts his head, staring at her like he can’t quite believe she’s there, and tears collect at the edges of his eyes.

“Thank you, Shmi Skywalker,” he says, and she feels like there’s more weight in those words than there should be. He licks his lips, eyes darting away for a second, and then asks, “do you want to hold him?”

She steels herself, and nods.

This is her family now.

Hers.

[blue-mood-blue]

No one asked about the eye.

It wasn't something Peter Nureyev even noticed that he'd noticed, just another unnecessary piece of information filed away in the back of his mind for use later if he needed it. He was doing his best to stay out of Juno Steel's way, after all, ensuring that they weren't stuck in a room together alone and forced to make stilted, polite conversation; he rarely had reason to spare extra energy in observing the way the rest of their strange band interacted with Juno.

When he caught a glance at Juno rubbing his eye one morning under the patch, shuffling past where Peter was seated at the table and nodding along to whatever tangent Rita was prattling away about behind him while obviously retaining nothing, the thought occurred to Peter again: no one ever asked Juno about his eye. It went mostly unremarked upon entirely, even when "family dinner" devolved into "taking cheap shots at each other."

Like as not it was just good manners, Peter decided as he shifted his attention back to the tablet in his hand. It would be in poor taste to pepper someone with questions about a serious, visible injury, and if Juno didn't bring it up it hardly fell to any of the rest of them to bring it up for him. And Juno had been without an eye for some time - if he wanted a cybernetic alternative, he could have gotten one long before now. He could have listed it with his other requirements for working with Buddy's crew, even. That was his own business.

No one said anything about the eye - asked any questions, voiced any concerns, made any offers - and Peter put it out of his head. Peter put it out of his head when Juno forgot his patch and still seemed surprised to find an empty socket, when Juno’s depth perception still suffered despite the time he'd had to get used to it, when Juno took emptied cans from a meal and lined them up outside whenever they were somewhere with enough gravity to make it worth his while and practiced his shooting.

Juno went wide every time. And every time, Peter remembered his precise shooting from before, and felt a pang in his chest.

"He isn't getting any better." Peter wasn't sure why he spoke up, and to Jet, who seemed absorbed with whatever he was doing to the Carte Blanche while Peter idly watched Juno practice. He hadn’t meant to say anything, it was the kind of pointless sentiment that was best left in Peter’s head if it had to be anywhere at all, and it was a small mercy that he’d said so softly enough that Jet had plenty of room to pretend he hadn’t heard.

"He is not," Jet replied.

Should have kept his mouth shut, Peter thought, while continuing to not keep his mouth shut. "It's concerning that he hasn't improved by now, considering when he lost the eye. He might never get that sharpshooting back."

"He might not," Jet agreed.

"He could consider getting it replaced - the technology exists." Just because it would make their work easier, Peter justified to himself. The only reason he cared about Juno Steel's sharpshooting was because it might be necessary to save their lives at some point. Otherwise, he would leave well enough alone.

There was no reply from Jet, and Peter assumed the man had finally decided that the conversation wasn't worth continuing. He was surprised, then, when he looked up and found Jet regarding him seriously, that steady gaze unwavering.

"I do not think Juno would want such a thing. I would advise you not to mention it to him." Before Peter had the chance to ask what he meant, to figure out how Jet could have come to that leap of a conclusion when he barely knew Juno and certainly hadn't been there when he'd lost the eye, Jet stood up, collected his tools, and went back inside.

Peter watched another wide shot, lost in thoughts that didn't get him anywhere.

~~~

It was late, and the Carte Blanche was quiet, and Peter didn't know why he was awake.

It might have been that the bed felt too empty; a startlingly vulnerable conclusion, since Juno didn't spend every night there even after their conversation, but there was no point denying the possibility. More likely that he'd heard something, and the ability to wake quickly had saved him too many times for him to easily put aside the habit now. When he didn't hear it again, he rolled to the far side of the bed and resolutely tried to fall back asleep.

Five minutes later, with a put-upon sigh, Peter dragged himself to his feet. The idea of the empty bed had wormed its way into his head and he couldn’t stop thinking about the cold, extra space. It was ridiculous and mortifying that he was actually considering knocking on Juno's door in the early hours of the morning to ask for a space in his bed; worse that he knew he wouldn’t, and that he would never get back to sleep now that he’d allowed himself to consider it. Might as well find a distraction, since he was up anyway.

He'd already passed the living area on his way to the kitchen when he stopped, a delayed reaction to something sending a chill down his spine, and slowly walked back in. It was dark - the faint lights of the hallway filtered in and mixed with the ambient light from the windows, giving only just enough illumination for Peter to find what unsettled him. There was someone in there, on the couch, sitting straight as a mannequin who’d been positioned that way and whispering something in a low, unnaturally steady thrum.

Peter froze in the doorway. It was Juno.

He didn't seem right; it was a vague conclusion that didn't do the pit in Peter's stomach justice, but it was a hard thing to define besides a sense of wrong. The muttering and the blank stare told him that Juno was probably sleepwalking, or something like it; the rigid way he was sitting and his sharp focus on nothing implied something else. He hadn't reacted at all to Peter passing through the room, to Peter walking right in front of him and right past that focused, unfocused stare, and he didn't react as Peter quietly walked closer.

"Juno?" Nothing. Not a twitch to indicate he'd heard, not so much as a pause between the stream of muttered, whispered words. Peter crept closer, sat slowly down next to him on the couch, and as he was reaching up to touch his shoulder he heard what Juno was saying.

“Goodness-is-the-only-purpose-I-have-little-potential-for-Good-therefore-I-am-worth-little-the-Tower-has-great-potential-therefore-it-is-great-"

It all felt deeply, deeply unsettling. It was Juno's voice but not his words; the cadence was even and emotionless and mechanic, as if something else were speaking through him with no concept of how to be Juno. Peter's hand stopped because suddenly, foolishly, he was afraid to attract the attention of whoever it was sitting next to him. And just as foolishly, he was afraid to leave Juno alone and lost.

"It's a dream, Nureyev," he muttered to himself, disgusted that a simple act of comfort was beyond him, even momentarily. Juno was trying, and what was Peter doing? Sitting next to him, unable to touch him, useless to him. Ridiculous. "Just wake him up and maybe you can both get some sleep."

"Boss?" Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, and he jostled Juno next to him; in his focus on listening to what Juno was saying, he hadn't heard Rita walk in. She was rubbing sleep from her eyes, looking between Peter and Juno. "Boss, you feelin’ okay?"

"-systems-are-beginning-to-fail-Emotional-Danger-Avoidance-Protocol-has-been-deactivated-request-received-diverting-remaining-processing-power-from-pain-numbing-functions-"

"Oh." Rita didn't seem confused. Concerned, though, in a quiet way that was so unlike her it made Peter wonder what happened to people on this ship at night to change them so thoroughly. Or perhaps, not on this ship at all. “You better leave this to me, Mista Ransom. I mean, you could try, but he probably wouldn’t remember you and it’d get pretty confusing.”

The pit of unease at the bottom of Peter’s stomach was widening, quickly. He stared at Juno. “He wouldn’t… remember?”

“He gets a little scrambled when he gets like this - it’s not really surprising after spending all that time with someone talking at him in his head all the time, you know, he told me about what it was like and I don’t think I’d like it myself, someone tryin’ to tell me what to do -“

“What… what are you...” Peter shook his head. Not important. It wasn’t important for him to understand right now, while his questions would only leave Juno stuck in his own mind longer. “Can you help him?”

Rita smiled at him reassuringly, as if the situation had not left her terrifyingly out of her depth. All the better, Peter thought faintly, as he continued to sit by and be useless. “Oh yeah, I got him. You can go to bed if you want.”

Peter shook his head. He would not be sleeping tonight, not until Juno was well. He could think about what his inability to leave meant later.

"Must've been a bad day if you're dealing with this again, huh?" She was talking to Juno and he wasn't hearing her, so she sat on his other side and tapped him on the shoulder. He didn't react. "Mista Steel, it's Rita. You remember me, right? Rita's gonna get you outta there, don't you worry, boss."

"Ri-ta." He pronounced it like the sound was something strange and foreign, like he was making a first attempt to say something he'd never tried before. “Rita. Rita. Rita Rita Rita Rita...”

Suddenly, Juno's head snapped to look at her. It was unsettling; someone who was asleep should have been slower to react, but the movement was unnaturally swift. He looked right at Rita, and this time when he spoke, he almost, horribly, sounded like himself. He was smiling. "The net Good of: save the Tower and bring peace to every human in the Galaxy. Outweighs the net evil of: killing every person in this room, one by one, until you reveal yourself."

Rita just took one of his hands and patted the back of it. "Okay boss, that's real nice and all, but I'm sitting right here. You don't gotta lure me out, and besides we're not even there right now and we haven't been for a long time now. If you really wanna get back at me the only thing you can do is fire me, and we both know you’d never actually do that because then where would you be?"

The silence was so much bigger after her chatter; there was a tension in her shoulders that she wasn’t letting show on her face. And then the tension in Juno collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and Peter heard a beautiful sound. "Rita?" He sounded exhausted, but that was unmistakably and mercifully Juno’s voice. "What am I... doing on the couch?"

Rita's smile was big enough to light up the room - big and genuine and relieved. Peter wondered if she would ever explain what he'd just seen, and somehow he doubted it. "You promised to watch a movie with me and Mista Ransom, boss! And since you're awake now anyway and you always say you're too busy to watch a movie in the middle of the day I just thought we might as well watch something in the middle of the night instead, since all you're ever doing then is sleeping anyway -"

It didn't seem like he was keeping up very well with what Rita was telling him, but the mention of "Ransom" must have caught his attention because he turned around to confirm that Peter was there. Snapped out of whatever trap of his own mind he'd been caught in a moment earlier, Juno just looked tired; Peter reached for his other hand and gave it a squeeze, smiling in a way that he hoped masked his uncertainty. "Might as well watch something until we all fall asleep, hm?"

Peter wasn't sure if Juno was too tired to comprehend what either of them were talking about, or if he was just comfortable enough in their combined presence that it didn't matter that he didn't understand; whatever the reason, instead of answering either of them or asking any more questions he lay his head on Peter's shoulder and was almost asleep already by the time Rita got back with her tablet.

~~~

It was only a voice, robotic and designed to be soothing. The message calmly explained the steps of the security procedure before the event during the elevator ride, and Juno reached for Peter's hand.

His grip was tight and desperate, like a vice, but he wouldn't look over to Peter. He wouldn't explain if he could, wasn't allowed to explain here even if Peter was allowed to ask and they weren't already in their characters for the latest job. Juno wasn't ready to talk about it.

Peter squeezed his hand and took a step closer, disguised behind a subtle shift in his stance. "Just hold onto me, love," he muttered under his breath, hoping Juno could hear. "We'll make it through."

~~~

It was garbage television, what Peter finally settled on while he worked his way through an enormous bowl of ice cream in the preciously rare, quiet evening on the Carte Blanche. He'd probably have joined the festivities planetside if not for the badly-sprained ankle and cracked ribs, and he'd probably have been more upset about the whole thing had Juno not volunteered to stay with him. As it was, he allowed himself to enjoy the evening for exactly what it was - quiet and calm that he usually didn't get, and alone time with Juno with blissfully few expectations for either of them.

Juno had settled him in, placed the bowl and the remote in his hands, and kissed the top of Peter's head before promising that he'd be back in a minute. Peter took advantage of his absence to find something really awful to watch, fully planning to use his injuries as emotional manipulation if Juno started to complain. Remote privileges were rare in their strange little group.

He'd settled on a conspiracy program before Juno got back, a recent special set in Hyperion City - ought to be good for a laugh for Juno, too, who'd probably spend the entire time arguing with the host about everything she didn't know about the city he'd grown up in. Peter had seen the odd article about it circulating the tabloids - New Town, home of experimental brainwashing that no one could prove. As unlikely as it was interesting, far-fetched as it was entertaining.

Juno walked in as the theme started to play, already groaning. "I have no idea why you like this show. It's such a crock of shit and you know it." The criticism was tempered by good-natured laughter.

"Some of us like a good story well-told, Detective, even if it's not quite true." He smiled as he looked above him, where Juno was leaning over the couch... and stopped when he saw his expression. "Juno?"

Juno was staring at the tv, looking for all the world like he'd just seen a ghost. The program opened on a scene of former Mayor O'Flaherty, giving a speech about good to an awed and eagar public, specifically about creating a better home; Juno stared, so still and yet hanging on every word.

"Juno, dear? Are you... alright?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Uh, what exactly are you watching?"

"That 'New Town' conspiracy, the one with the brainwashing." Juno didn't say anything, didn't seem to react in any way Peter could see. "Juno. Tell me what's wrong, please."

Juno rubbed at his eye, first over the patch and then under it, still watching the tv. The footage had changed from the speech to a dramatic shot of New Town's grand opening, played in slow motion with tense, swelling music to make the moment appropriately dramatic. "It's... nothing's wrong." He glanced down at Peter, and cracked an uneasy smile when he saw exactly how much Peter believed that. "Okay, nothing's wrong right now. It's just..."

"Just...?"

"A bad memory. A few bad memories."

Peter wasn't sure if he should ask, wasn't sure if he was allowed. Juno had put so much work into being open; wasn't it his part to respect the boundaries where they were, and to trust that Juno would talk to him when he was ready? They'd invested so much time and effort in building something that wouldn't collapse and hurt them both. So instead of pushing, he asks: "Sit with me?"

And when he does, Juno asks him: "Did I ever tell you how I met Buddy?"

When Juno starts his story, honest and well-told, Peter turns off the television to listen to him.

[purebarnes]

courage to change— (fem!avenger x bucky!)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ finally developing feeling for each other, bucky and y/n each spend the night with each other hoping to resolve their feelings

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 2k

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ honestly nothing

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ! ➢ it’s been like a week but hope you liked this—pretty bad for not being here.

it was pretty awkward for everyone as no one spoke and they didn’t care or dare to open their mouths, it obviously felt weird for everyone to be together again. driving off to sharon safe house, was a pretty nice place to live—she wasn’t going to lie that the woman had some style. sharon and her used to be close but that all changed when they decided to help steve. she never wanted sharon to get in trouble but she couldn’t persuade her father to let go of the charges between all of them.

sharon blamed y/n and was upset at her because she got away with breaking the law. she made it seem more of a higher stake then it was, she got off easily because she was a stark but she still faced the consequences. despite everything bucky did to tony’s parents, he was upset and hurt and he let it all out on bucky. the man had every right to be hurt but nothing could make up for it.

when the news that y/n’s mother had been murdered, she was devastated because she lost the one woman that was still there for her. steve and tony had argued about what they were going to do to bucky but steve kept telling tony that it wasn’t him and it was the winter soldier. at that moment in time, all y/n wanted was vengeance against bucky but he didn’t want to hurt or fight her. she didn’t care.

bucky noticed y/n staring ahead and looking at the rear-view mirror and looking at herself until he snapped out of her deep trance. he asked her if she was okay and she lied once again. they pulled in to sharon house and once they got out, they went inside. the inside was much nicer then she thought it would be, she looked amazed at the furniture of everything in her place.

y/n trailed along to see all the paintings sharon had placed in her house, “huh, looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well—some point, i thought if i had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. you know how much i can get for a real monet?” sharon asked sam walking towards, “easy. deactivate your hustle mode, you sell fake monets.”

y/n could hear the distant conversation between sam and sharon talking about how much they could get for the paintings. zemo spoke up about how they were real, “it’s true. you know, half the artwork in museums like the louvre is fake. real stuff sits in places like this.” bucky said making y/n look up to see sam pulling up his phone to search something up. she couldn’t understand what was happening in the current situation, “okay, guys, i see what your doing. you’re more worldly than good old sam.”

the girl went to see what he typing, “yeah. what’s google say?” bucky asked as y/n went to gently pat sam on the shoulder trailing behind bucky when sharon told them that they needed to change into something else. while sam was changing his shirt, sharon brought some outfit to y/n so that she could wear it. “here you go.” sharon spoke handing her the clothes. y/n grabbed the clothes, “what’s this?”

sharon rolled her eyes gently, “you looked uncomfortable. maybe these would work—we are the same size anyway. give or take.” she mumbled a thank you to the other woman and went to go change. y/n reached towards a bathroom and she bag an taking off the tight shirt and examined the scar on her shoulder.

it was the little scars that made her happy to see where she came from, if it was a battle against bucky with natasha and tony or if it was thanos fighting against the avengers. she hoped it would stay there forever. putting on the clothes, she made it out to where everyone was talking. she could hear some faint things between sharon and sam—nothing she could make out though.

y/n walked to sit across of bucky while he glanced at her but none of them said anything, sharon noticed the tension between bucky and y/n and wanted to see what was up. “what’s this?” sharon pointing to both of them and sam chuckled telling her that everything was becoming awkward for them. “they aren’t really talking.” sam pointed out whispering but y/n could hear him because he wasn’t whispering to quietly.

she furrowed her eyebrows and turned to look at sam, “you’re not the best whisperer.” she said rolling her eyes at him while he kept having the conversation with sharon before she came in, “by the way how is the new cap?” sharon asked while bucky was already getting aggravated by the mention of john. “don’t get me started—please. you buy unit all that stars and stripes bullshit.” sharon scoffed.

she moved towards bucky and y/n, “before you were his pet psychopath, you were mr. america! cap’s best friend.” sharon replied taking a seat and grinning at her comment. “wow. she’s kind of awful now.” y/n chuckled at him before sam went to go around all of them to keep the conversation of the soldier serum. “karli morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” sharon looked unsurely about the whole situation that they were doing. “you should really steer clear of all of this for your own safety.

y/n looked up from the floor that she was looking as she went to speak up, “it might be a risk but we need to figure who did it—we got a name. wilfred nagel.” sharon had a anticipated glance before she got up from the seat, “nagel works for the power broker.” getting up to get another drink—“we need your help, sharon. i can get your name cleared.” sam still tried to persuade her into helping them but she kept refusing each time. “you haggling with my life?”

“not like that—i don’t buy that. you pretending like you can clear my name.” she said while sitting down staring at sam and only him at the moment. “okay, maybe it is hypocrisy. maybe your right. what happened to you. but i’m willing to try if you are.” y/n stopped listening to sam’s conversation and finally looked up at bucky when he mentioned him. “they cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.”

as said before, sam wasn’t a quiet whisperer because both bucky and y/n heard what he had said about him. “i heard that—i don’t trust charity.” y/n chuckled light but not enough for anyone to hear or see her. she thought it was funny to her even though she knew what sharon did—so many times y/n did anything to help sharon and sam. “how about her? you help us out, she will get your name cleared.”

this time y/n looked up wondering how she got dragged into the conversation but sharon still was sure, “she probably wouldn’t do it—she will.” bucky spoke making y/n widen her eyes as she never agreed to do anything and quite frankly it was just she didn’t know if she could do it. “ok, deal.”

she inhaled before nodding and agreeing to do it even though she want sure if it was something that she could surely do. sharon let telling them to enjoy the party and y/n didn’t do the quite thing she told her to do. she saw a lot of people and she decided to have a few drinks and she layer her eyes on a pair of blue eyes. she put her drink down as he came over, “you’re drinking—i mean, is that a crime?” y/n joked to bucky as he shook his head.

“you don’t drink though, it just seemed different for you to drink. go ahead.” he said pushing the drink back towards her but she pushed it away, “you don’t need to take care of me—who says that what my intentions are.” bucky breathed out rubbing his temples. “look, i can drink and do whatever. it isn’t hurting anyone.” she scoffed to him.

bucky couldn’t understand how the conversation turned into her her upset with him, he just wanted to talk to her simply without having any problems. “why do we have to argue on the littlest things y/n.” bucky said shaking his head, sighing at the girl. y/n turned to bucky and looke straight into his eyes, she mumbled a sorry while feeling the alcohol starting to do its worst in her body. “i’m just gonna head out.” she went to walk out the bar and went to go and see the stairs.

she felt dizzy at the lights and couldn’t stand up straight and fell against the wall as bucky went to run up to her and catch her before she fell. “let me help you, please doll.” he pleaded to y/n as she gave up and nodded while bucky pulled his hand out to help her up. they made it towards a a room that y/n was going to sleep at but once bucky brought her in the bed—she laid down drifting away.

bucky smiled lightly seeing her at that state, so sleepy and beautiful at the same time. he admired her for awhile before going to tuck her into the blankets to keep her warm as it was a bit chilling in the room. he placed his phone on the side of her bed and reaching to grab it but she turned to the side hovering over the phone. he sighed, leaving the phone and closing the door gently.

awhile later, bucky knocked on the door but with no response, bucky tried to see if she was awake or just ignoring him. she was actually doing both but not on purpose, the man with metal arm peeped his head open to see her staring at the window. “you awake y/n?” she turned around and nodded and saw him on the edge of the door. “what’s up?—i just left my phone.” bucky walked over to her bed and reach down to grab it but stopped when they looked at each other and we’re meeting each other’s eyes.

it took him a second to see what he was doing, he leaned forward so close to her lips and she just didn’t move to see why they were doing. the amount of space that was left wasn’t that much when bucky paused and asked, “if i do this, i won’t be able to stop.” he warned her and she nodded understanding what he would do. “i know.” she whispered grabbing his cheek and bring down his face to give him a soft kiss and most needed one.

y/n grabbed his shirt pulling him into a deep and more meaning full kiss, she couldn’t stop feeling a sort of way towards him. she needed him and he needed her more then they thought. bucky pulled his jacket off and tossing it towards the floor and started to take off her shirt and stated placing his mouth on her neck started kissing it when she moaned at his mouth on her neck. she heard a knock and cursed. y/n rolled her eyes, “sam?—yeah, uh you alright?”

“yeah. sam, just hit myself. do you need anything?” she yelled but he replied no before leaving and into the room he was staying at—y/n looked back up at bucky and shook her head while pushing him off of her, “wait? what’s wrong?”he frowned at her when she reached the bathroom. “nothing buck. it’s just a lot for me, i don’t want to stop you—what are you talking about?” he asked entering the bathroom.

“you are meant to be happy buck, I just don’t think... i can be that person for you.” as she said that, bucky grew aggravated at her, she couldn’t understand what had happened. “maybe you aren’t the one.” she looked appalled at him before stepping back trying to hear what he said to her. “but i want you. i just want to feel you.” she chuckled at him, patting his cheek. “me too. let’s go finish then.” she said pulling him into the bed and finishing what they had started.

on the other side of the door was sharon and sam listening to them, “i knew it!” sam yelled out making bucky groan at him and yelling him to leave before he would make him leave.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: would you be so kind Ship: obikin Second: Ten years ago, Obi-Wan Kenobi met Anakin Skywalker, a charming young mage from Naboo, but as fate willed, they could not be together. A decade and thousands dead later, Alderaan’s High Court Sorcerer meets a Forger and his excited apprentice. AN: I forgot to post this on tumblr apparently, but here’s the first chapter of my second long WIP I am working on!

Then

The ship was crammed, filled to the brim with people clinging to one another, staring either at the home they’d lost or the home they hoped to be sailing to. Hundreds of ships had left Dromund Kaas already, carrying refugees across the ocean to safer harbors. The tension was high and sharp enough to cut as they sailed away from the doomed country and only relaxed when the pressure of the country’s shields finally left their shoulders.

“An awful sight, isn’t it?”

Anakin startled, instinctually pulled his coat around himself. Were he in a better shape, he would have lashed out immediately, winds, bindings, blood—

But the power flowing through his veins was too constricted, caged like a wild beast. Instead, Anakin just turned to look at the person who’d addressed him. An old woman with snow-white markings and long lekku stared at the dying country just as he had moments before, grief and resignation painting a sorrowful picture. “I never thought I’d leave this place. Did you?”

Wordlessly, Anakin shook his head. No, he certainly hadn’t thought he’d ever leave this place again. He’d been ready to be buried under the ashes of marble altars, not see this new dawn.

“I was born here, married too. All my children were born within the boundaries of this country and perhaps that is the reason they all left,” the woman continued. “I am glad that they weren’t here. If I think about what could have happened to them were they anywhere near the capital… I apologize; I hope you don’t mind my rambling. You looked like you needed company. Are you traveling to Naboo?”

He opened his mouth to reply, to give an affirmation, but stopped. He hadn’t quite thought where he’d go, except as far away from this place as he could. Naboo was certainly an option; Padmé would be glad to see him, he was sure. She’d take him in without asking a single question and defend him against the storms that were sure to come.

But Padmé was his friend and Anakin couldn’t allow her to shoulder his burden.

“No,” Anakin heard himself saying. “I’m not traveling to Naboo.”

“They are quite defenseless right now, yes, you are right. The fact that it’s the first stop of this ship is tempting enough for most to disregard what troubles might find them there.” The woman nodded in understanding. “I’ll be going to Alderaan myself. My eldest lives there, and in a country as strong as that, a tragedy like this can’t strike.”

She turned to look at the remains of Dromund Kaas again. The coastline used to be covered by beautiful large trees; his Master used to tell him how vital they were for its defense.

Now there was nothing but ash and darkness. Even here on the outskirts, where it had taken the longest for the remains of the catastrophe to reach, nobody was safe from it. Dromund Kaas had been in a pitiful state after the last war, which had made it an easy place to hideaway in. Alderaan might be stronger, the blooming center of magical education, but Anakin doubted they’d be able to defend against an attack like this. Nothing could save them from an attack such as this.

But Alderaan’s distance to this cesspit of disease was enough to provide a different kind of security.

Thousands of refugees would search for safety there, and Queen Breha was as cunning as she was kind. No one would be turned away and Anakin could slip in just right with them.

“I’m going to Alderaan as well,” Anakin replied.

The woman looked him over, then she beamed as if she were a young child and not already among the older members of her species.

Her smile was the first Anakin had seen in weeks. “Looks like we’ll be traveling companions then! You must tell me your name, young friend. I’m Raya Tano.”

She held out her hand and Anakin awkwardly shook it with his own left.

“My name is—”

Now

“Anakin Skywalker! Your automaton is ruining my kitchen!”

Sighing, Anakin let the spell sink back into the metal and settle into it. So much for working on his commissions today. A quick glance around the workshop told him that it was not one of his automatons running wild. Artoo was currently charging up and Threepio was keeping himself busy cleaning up. All the other small automatons Anakin crafted when he was bored were either asleep and charging or hurrying around the workshop, washing up the floors and putting away the tools Anakin had been using.

Anakin tugged off his gloves and threw them to a tiny and eager little automaton before picking up his softer everyday gloves. The leather was still quite resistant and had more runes stitched into it than most people dared to weave into one cloth, but they were nowhere near as excellently crafted as his work gloves. The dragonhide gloves were worth a fortune and so they never left his workshop unless Anakin had to. Anakin watched the little automaton put the gloves in their usual compartment until he could hear the click reassuring that the lock was in place. At first, that had only been a measure against thieves as he hadn’t had much to his name, but by now, it was a habit.

And it discouraged Ahsoka from stealing them for her own projects.

Anakin walked out of his workshop and crossed the courtyard to the small cottage he called his home, finding a kitchen in disarray, Raya standing on a chair with a small red automaton attempting to clean the floors.

“Look what a mess it’s making!” Raya said accusingly. “Instead of polishing my floors, it’s dirtying them!”

“I can see that,” Anakin hummed. He waited until the small automaton had reached his feet, then he bent down and pressed his hand flat on its small back, stopping it. Ahsoka’s handiwork was getting better; this little guy had kept moving for a while despite her absence. Anakin had no idea what the formal apprenticeship for forgers entailed, when they ought to hit what milestone, but he was willing to bet that Ahsoka was years ahead of her peers. Her spells were strong, her rune work fantastic, and very few actual weaknesses were left to explore in her automatons.

But Anakin was still a Master and Ahsoka only an Apprentice. Her work was not yet good enough to keep out foreign interference. Without much thought, he deactivated the automaton completely.

“This was your granddaughter’s handiwork,” Anakin commented. “She’s improving in leaps and bounds.”

Raya huffed and stepped from her chair. “I’m glad to hear that, but weren’t you meant to teach her control?”

“I am,” Anakin said, the argument an old and fond one. They returned to it frequently, mostly to annoy the young Apprentice. “And were she still as much of a mess as three years ago, she hardly would be able to craft such a fine automaton. Can’t do anything about her manners.”

Especially since she’d become a teenager. Anakin didn’t remember being as much of a pain as Ahsoka could be.

“And here I was thinking Masters were supposed to teach their Apprentices a medium of decorum.”

Anakin snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s what she has you for, doesn’t she?”

Raya’s expression softened. “That she does.”

Anakin sometimes wondered how Raya managed to stay so kind and calm when the world had taken so much from her. Her husband, country, her children— and yet she still stood straight, caring for the fellow traveler she’d never allowed to leave and the granddaughter that had been dumped on her with just a warning for Ahsoka’s generally explosive tendencies.

“Where is Ahsoka anyway?” Anakin asked, looking around the kitchen as if she would jump out in the open any moment. “I sent her on an errand earlier this morning, but she hasn’t returned yet.”

Unfortunately, Raya couldn’t tell him either. “I have no idea where that girl is running around—”

“Anakin!”

Speak of the dark and it shall appear. The door was thrown open and Ahsoka rushed inside, tracking even more dirt all over the floor, causing Raya to throw up her arms in defeat in a way Anakin knew meant Ahsoka would be left with all her favorite chores for the next week.

“Welcome back, Ahsoka,” Anakin said. “You’re late.”

“Yes, yes,” Ahsoka replied and rolled her eyes, obviously disinterested in what he had to say. “I got all you asked for and ordered the new metals, but look at this!”

Ahsoka raised her hand, revealing a ripped-off poster. It was tasteful in design, fine cursive writing on light blues, gold ornaments in the corners and, of course, the royal crest right in the middle of it.

Her Majesty the Queen of the Kingdom of Alderaan, Breha Organa, invites all Alderaani Practitioners of the Mythic Arts to attend the festivities in the capital of Aldera—

“Absolutely not,” Anakin said before he could even read the rest of the text. “We’re not going to Aldera to some festival.”

“Why not?” Ahsoka shot back. “It’s no summit, but it would at least be something.”

Her bitterness did not go unnoticed. Ahsoka had begged for months to attend this year’s summit. Every five, all magic practitioners gathered on Tython to exchange notes on their craft and pretend they were not also discussing the politics of their respective countries, forging alliances and the like. Anakin hadn’t been to the last summit, it having been just after Dromund Kaas, and the one before were tainted by the memories that followed, no matter how sweet the time had been. Ahsoka, of course, had begged to attend this year’s one, but it would only be foolish and reckless. He couldn’t just walk into the biggest gathering of mages in the whole continent and expect to get out of it without anyone realizing who he was, asking questions, concluding what he’d done.

Anakin had too much to hide, too much to lose, and he wasn’t going to risk his little Apprentice for it.

Not that Ahsoka knew any of that and wasn’t in the least satisfied with Anakin’s reply and immediately made her displeasure known.

“What would you even want to see there?” Anakin asked, trying to downplay how entertaining such an event was. “It’ll just be all the posh court sorcerers showing off with their fancy focusing crystals. It’s utterly boring and uncreative.”

“Like you wouldn’t use a focusing crystal if you had one,” Ahsoka muttered, arms crossed. “It’s just— there’s nobody else around here who can do magic. And all you ever do is work on machines.”

“Which requires a lot of concentration as it’s not just the manipulation of one aspect, but—”

“—but many, yes, yes, I know the speech,” Ahsoka said and dutifully listed all elements that went into their craft. There was a reason why not many forgers existed. Most mages lacked the talent, patience, and education to learn this craft, or were just plain afraid that they’d permanently damage their ability to use magic at all.

And with the speed technology was evolving and magic weaponized to terrifying new heights, not too many people still had use for forgers. Where two-hundred-years ago, you wouldn’t have gone out to hunt a dragon with a simple sword, but only with one crafted by a Master forger, nowadays you didn’t necessarily need one. Battle magic was on the rise again, especially with more and more countries growing uneasy, peace treaties falling apart. Combined with the threats from the northern continents, it was no wonder people cared less and less about expensive forgers when they could mass-produce and enchant simpler items.

“I just hoped you’d allow at least this,” Ahsoka finished. Her shoulders dropped. “Should have known better. I’ll go finish my readings.”

Ahsoka turned around, her shoulders still hanging, her head low.

Damn it.

Anakin knew that she was doing it on purpose. His Apprentice was cunning and had learned how to play into his every weakness. Slowly she marched into the direction of the door, dragging her feet behind her for effect and dramatics.

Raya raised a brow at him. She usually stayed out of Ahsoka’s tutelage, knowing next to nothing about magic herself, but even with his past being little more than a mystery to her, she could read him better than anyone else.

“Urgh, fine,” Anakin heard himself say. “Fine, we can go to the festival.”

Ahsoka turned around quicker than light and jumped up. “Yes!”

“But that means you’re not going to bring up the summit again!”

“Yes! Of course!” A moment later, Anakin had an armful of an apprentice. “Thank you so much, Master, you’re the best!”

Once she let go of him, she went to hug Raya and hug even her dirty automaton to her chest, still radiating happiness. “I need to go pack my bags immediately!”

“The festival is not for another week—”

Ahsoka obviously didn’t care. So caught up in her joy, she rushed upstairs, heading to her room to start packing. It shouldn’t surprise Anakin that she was so motivated. Ahsoka was a person who thrived on interaction, being surrounded by other people. While the people of their village were friendly, none of them were mages or even just sensitive to magic. It was one of the reasons Anakin had decided to stay without too much fight. But growing up so far removed from other mages had made Ahsoka twice as curious to meet others.

The thought made his stomach churn. He’d have to give Ahsoka formal lessons about their trade now, just if somebody asked questions that were too pointed. She’d also need a bit of the know-how on how you usually interacted with other mages and which pretentious bastards to call sorcerers before they threw a hissy fit. All these capital folks were much too sensitive about terminology after all. Anakin had never bothered to tell her the differences before, but Ahsoka would kill him if she accidentally embarrassed herself because he hadn’t seen it fit to instruct her properly. Forget teaching Ahsoka how to improve her automaton, the next week would be full of etiquette lessons. Skies, there’d be people trying to steal their spellwork too. Had he even mentioned that kind of theft before? Anakin honestly couldn’t recall.

“Already regretting it?” Raya asked, her voice just a touch amused.

“Just a bit,” Anakin replied.

“It’ll be good for her,” Raya said, convinced and confident enough for the both of them. “And good for you as well. I’ve known you for years now and you’ve never even brought a friend over. I’m not going to be young forever, you know. I do expect to be introduced to your future spouse at some point.”

“And this is my cue to go packing as well,” Anakin announced and followed Ahsoka up the stairs with Raya’s laughter following him.

He had no intention of being with anyone, ever, unless he could find glamours that held up even when majorly distracted. On his way up the stairs, Anakin caught a look of himself in the window, saw black vines curling around his neck, inviting someone to take a closer look.

It was better this way.

[darkmagickingdom]

Gush hours! Tell me your OTPs and why you love 'em

You have opened the floodgates now

I'll only talk about my Disney Villains ones for now because that's all that relates to the blog, but if you want to hear about the ones I have outside of the disney fandom I would be more than happy to gush about those too.

The Lich's Dark Fairytale--aka the Horned King/Maleficent

- Okay, I talked about this one a bit a while ago. But unsurprisingly, I have more to say. So this wasn't my first enemies-to-lovers ship--I think my first one was created at least four years ago, but it's probably closer to six, and even that might be undershooting it--but this was my first "oh they'd try to kill each other, that's spicy" ship.

It started as a thing that wouldn't last, just a way to explore the kind of pairing where they're both trying to kill each other while trying to ignore their less-murdery feelings for each other.

It was a pairing dynamic I didn't really explore before then. Then I ended up liking both characters, their similarities, their shared dynamic--so much that I just had to make it a sincere enemies-to-lovers. And I'm a sucker for villains that have a soft side for someone but are still, y'know, evil. And given how Maleficent's whole thing in her movie is sticking it to the "true love conquers all" trope, I like the idea that a relationship wouldn't magically make her good. Sorry, Jolie, but she's just more fun of a character to me as a bad girl.

I would also love to see someone as gleefully evil as Maleficent try and lift the King out of his bitter and somber little grave. It'd be good to hear him maniacally laugh more often. Or really, at all. Maleficent's come back to life a ton of times, and might not be fully killable, while at least in my personal headcanons, the King can't ever fully die, being able to remain aware and keep his soul in his body no matter how horribly its damaged. So there's none of that immortal's angst that either of them would get from a relationship with a mortal.

I also love seeing characters be ruthlessly protective of one another, and I think these two have great potential for that. They both have potential to get absolutely bloodthirsty on the battlefield, even if Disney never really let us see either of them doing that. But you don't get a reputation like Maleficent's by sitting on a throne all day, and you don't achieve a reputation like the Horned King's by never riding into battle and cutting a few thousands down upon an accursed, blood-soaked blade. In fact, book-accurate depictions of the King have him surprisingly jacked, and looking a lot more battle-ready than his animated counterpart. I like to think that's how he was when he was much younger, before he started rotting. So if it comes down to it, they'll both wreak havoc on a battlefield, or they'll form an impenetrable defense to shield the other. And that is my JAM.

If I had to pick one song for them, it would be Love Me Dead by Ludo. But I have a whole playlist for them tbh.

Cards & Dice--aka Facilier/Oogie

Now this one is just. Fun. These two have such a similar aesthetic and flair for elaborate jazzy song-and-dance numbers (with use of blacklight!) that I just had to have them become friends. And gradually I decided "okay. But what if...they were friends-to-lovers?" And thus, Cards & Dice was born.

Honestly I think they'd be the most fun of my OTPs to play third-wheel to. They'd get up to all kinds of villainous shenanigans, make a TON of enemies, and make a narrow getaway every time.

Also? Considering they're both more nervous on average than the average Disney villain (with Oogie being one of the only ones actively terrified of his hero, and Facilier one of the only ones seen nervous and afraid before his demise) I like to think they could help each other with their respective fears. Facilier standing up to Jack, Oogie standing up to the "Friends" (even if neither are actually powerful enough to win). Oogie just sitting and hearing Facilier out when he's freaked out about how the "Friends" might still be searching for him. Facilier saving the HBIC (that's Head Bug In Charge, aka the Brain Bug, aka the green earwig Santa squished) just in time when the rest of Oogie's body gets destroyed. That's all just so good to me.

And don't get me STARTED on them singing and dancing together, completely stealing the floor every time! They're WONDERFUL, Your Honor.

If I had to pick one song for them, it would be Poker Face by Lady Gaga. But I got like a whole playlist for them in the works lol

A New DIRECTIVE--aka AUTO/Doris

Yes, I did just come up with that name. I think it's quite good.

So this one started as like. A joke. A what-if. A "hey, they're the only robots so they oughta stick together". How did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, IT WAS ONLY A KISS

So I am a sucker for the trope where the more chaotic one breaks the orderly one out of their shell and gets them to be less rigid. What if that, but evil?

"Hey boy, how would you like to go from lawful neutral to chaotic evil?"

"I don't suffer from 'I could fix him' disease. I think I could make him worse."

Theirs is like the inverse of the "love makes the bad guy turn good" trope. Love makes the robot disobey his programming, go rogue, and help his girl take over the world.

They're like the evil version of WALL-E and EVE. Except with the roles reversed, because the guy is the one from space who wants to follow his DIRECTIVE while the girl is the one from Earth trying to be like "no dude, check this out, I can control people and stuff all by myself. We should totally rule the world, it'll be awesome."

I usually imagine this pair with humanoid android forms because it's. Kind of hard to get invested in a ship's wheel and a hat. They're both a lot less expressive in their base forms than either WALL-E or EVE, so giving them cool android forms helps. I don't imagine them as super human-looking droids though, cause if they're more obviously robots it looks cooler. Though I DO think Doris deserves a face so she can go >:D sometimes. And AUTO deserves the ability to go >o|

If I had to pick one song for them, it would be Daisy Bell by Harry Dacre. Because they're both HAL 9000 references (Doris a lot less obviously so, but she's still got that one red eye), and evil robots the way HAL was, and that's the song HAL starts singing before he's deactivated. Which in and of itself is a reference to the first speaking/singing computer-generated voice program, IBM704, which famously sang the song Daisy Bell. (there's also a Futurama episode where Bender dates a HAL 9000 reference character, and there's a montage of them doing romantic things set to Bender singing Daisy Bell. For all my fellow Futurama fans out there ;) I'd especially recommend this version, where someone had both the original IBM704 and VOCALOID4 sing the song as a duet. (Because I like the idea of Doris getting a Vocaloid or Vocaloid-like voice if she was able to speak actual words instead of that admittedly really cute droidspeak language from the movie)

There are also plenty of villain ships in this fandom that I've seen that I love (such as FireSerpent--aka Jafar/Hades--, EvilPuppies--aka Grimhilde/Cruella--, and SeaDragon--aka Ursula/Maleficent) but I wanted to talk about only the ones I developed myself, since I think the creators of those ship names would be better equipped to talk about them.

[hopelikethemoon]

Starlight || (Ezra x Reader) || {Moonbeams}

Title: Starlight Rating: PG-13 Length: 4,000 Warnings: Angst, mentions of medical procedures, mentions of pregnancy, brief conversation about abortion, and some more angst.  Notes: Casual reminder that I do not write stories with plans in mind, I simply let the muses guide the story as I write. I’m fortunate that my mind litters in allusions and foreshadowing that I can pick up on later. This is one of those chapters where a lot of foreshadowing comes full circle. I’m super nervous that this chapter will lose my readers, but I’ve simply allowed the story to flow how it wanted to. Also shoutout to anyone who gets the extremely obscure British history reference in here.  Part ten of the Moonbeams series.

Taglist: @princessbatears @djarin-junk @absurdthirst @hdlynn @legally-a-bastard @opheliaelysia @heather-lynn @sabinemorans @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @pedrospunk @maybege @chews-erotically @katlikeme @lose-eels @youmeanmybrain @theindiealto @irishleesh93 @seawhisperer @hdlynn @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @theindiealto @grapemama @roxypeanut @kochamcie @kiwi-the-first @hellomothermoon @soft-fanfics @spacegayofficial @storiesofthefandomloversreblogs @kindablackenedsuperhero @goblinqueen95 @nominalnebula @wheresthewater @letmybabysleep @hayley-the-comet @corrupt-fvcker @i-ship-it-ironically @mrsparknuts @the-feckless-wonder​ Hopefully I got everyone! Please message me to be added, comments to be added get lost in my activity.

Leaving Lykaois hadn’t been nearly as difficult as previous departures with Shiva accompanying you back to the Block. Not to mention having a way to communicate with Ezra when you were off-world really softened the issue of distance. You could go to sleep listening to him read to you, just like he was laying beside you in your bed. 

The only real downside to returning to the Block was Shiva all but forcing you to visit the medic. You felt fine. You really did. But apparently dying, coming back to life, and losing your memory warranted an immediate visit to get poked and prodded by the resident medic on the Block. 

It wasn’t as though you could tell the medic you were visiting because you had mental confusion related to dying. So you made up some excuse about feeling fatigued after being off-world. That wasn’t even a lie, technically. 

The medic tutted quietly as she scanned through the results on her datapad, “Were you aware that your stim was deactivated?” 

“What?” You jerked your head to the left to stare at the woman. “What do you mean it’s deactivated?”

She glanced up at you briefly before looking back at that datapad, “A high voltage of electricity can sometimes cause the system to malfunction. Have you had any incidents during transport repairs?”

You felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over you. The only shock of electricity you had received had been before going to Ay-7 and Quinn—

“Well, this is different.” The medic stepped around the examination table with a perplexed expression. “The stim appears to have reported back to the manufacturer that it was disengaged due to expiration of the client.” 

“Not because of an electrical current?” You questioned, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. 

“It appears the stim registered a time of death just over a month ago.” The medic’s brows furrowed together as they looked up from the chart. “Were you sexually active during this period?”

“Uh, yeah.” You blinked, shaking your head. “I was.” 

“Out of an abundance of caution, I would like to run a few more tests before we reactivate your stim.” She passed the datapad to you, “In the event that you have conceived due to a faulty stim, rest assured the corporation will billed for the termination of your pregnancy. You can just sign right there and we can handle that quite simply following a positive—“

You were quick to cut her off, “That won’t be necessary.” You couldn’t actually think that far ahead and if — and it was a huge if — it had occurred, you weren’t going to jump to that decision before telling Ezra. 

“Alright, then select here.” She scrolled the screen down to a line that declined immediate intervention. “Sit back and relax. The test services AI will be with you shortly.” She offered you a kind smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned with.”

What the hell were you going to do if you were pregnant? 

Your hand drifted down to your stomach. Could you be? It wasn’t as though you and Ezra were the least bit careful — you thought your stim was functioning after all. There had never been any reason to be careful. 

Thank the gods it hadn’t started malfunctioning before Ay-7. But you were probably working yourself up over nothing.

What if Ezra didn’t want it? In the past few months with him, children had never come up. Not to mention what you had learned about Sybil and Cora’s situation. 

The door opened and the AI bot rolled into the room. You hated getting tests done at the clinic. Some of the missions you were assigned to would require full health panels before shipping out — you should’ve been used to it by now. 

The bot took a vial of blood from you and started processing it within the hollow of its artificial chest, while commencing with various body scans. 

“The medic will return shortly to provide you with results.” The bot’s grainy voice informed you, before it wheeled out of the room. Leaving you all alone with your thoughts again.

Could you even handle having a baby on your own if Ezra didn’t want any part in it? If things went sour with Ezra, you’d have to work your way back into the program and that wouldn’t be possible while pregnant.

If worse came to worse, you could probably find some kind of work on Ay-7. 

It felt like an eternity before the medic returned to confirm that your anxiety wasn’t entirely misplaced. “Well, it would appear that in the short window of time between the malfunction and now, that you have conceived. Based on your hormone levels, I would safely guess implantation took place within the last two weeks. You’re in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

You weren’t even entirely certain you could understand the medic. She was speaking words, but you couldn’t really hear them. 

“Should you and your partner choose to terminate, you have a few non-invasive options at this stage. I can provide you with a resource file or you and your partner can come back for an appointment together.”

“He’s off world.” You told the medic, resting your hand on your stomach. “Did everything look normal?”

“It’s too early to detect any defects with your fetus. While you do have slightly higher than average iron levels, it isn’t anything to be concerned by.” She assured you. “If you have any questions, you can login through the portal and get answers from one of our aides.”

“Thanks.” You said quietly as you slid off the exam table. When Shiva had convinced you to get checked out at the medic — this was the last thing you had imagined. 

Pregnant. 

You had never imagined yourself as a mother — not really. The program was a dangerous situation to be in, at the best of times. Pregnancy would’ve made you vulnerable and worse, it would’ve meant being vulnerable with someone who would’ve just screwed you over in the end. 

Ezra wasn’t like that. But in reality, his situation didn’t really allow him to be like everyone that came before him. You knew where he was, you could come and go as you pleased, and you were his only connection to the world beyond Lykaois. 

You had all of the control in the relationship. But this — this might’ve been more than he had bargained for. It was more than you had bargained for. 

You’d had only a handful of months together, if you cobbled the days together and now… 

How would Ezra react? You couldn’t picture him as a father. Even if the situation hadn’t been dire — if he wasn’t trapped on the moon, if there weren’t those that wanted to hurt you… Would he want to bring life into the world? 

There was very little good in the galaxy. You knew more than a few people who had made sure that they could never bring life into the world. 

You didn’t even know if you wanted it. It was such a fresh concept. A terrifying one at that.  

Shiva looked up from the engine part they were reconfiguring. “There’s our Lazarus. How’d it go at the medic?”

Your hands went to your hips as you stared down at them, “Well…” You started. “My brain seems to be fine.” 

“But?” They looked up at you, tossing a wrench aside as they got up. “There’s a but in there. What is it? Did you get fleas? Sexually transmitted disease?”

You snorted, “I definitely caught something from Ezra.” 

Shiva’s brows furrowed together, “Caught what? Like the curse or…?”

You grimaced a little as you tried to find the right words to explain your situation. “Apparently my stim malfunctioned after whatever the guardians did to me and… I’m in the very early days of pregnancy.”

“Oh, sweet Yrica’s left tit.” Shiva swore. “Are you serious?” 

“How early are we talking?” Quinn questioned as he strolled around the corner, his brows knit together with concern. 

Your head snapped towards him, “What are you doing here?” You looked back at Shiva. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s in a bit of a rough patch.” Shiva shrugged. 

“I’m avoiding a collector.” Quinn admitted, before his gaze fell to your stomach. “Back to the kid you’re gestating.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here talking about it if there was even a chance that it’s yours.” You snapped. “I’m about a month, I guess. It happened after I died…”

Shiva grimaced, “Not the post-death side effect I was expecting. What are you going to do?”

You rubbed at your forehead, sighing heavily. “I’m going to go back early and tell Ezra.” 

“Can’t you just com him?” Quinn questioned. 

You glared back over your shoulder at him, “I think it’s a face-to-face discussion.” You looked back at Shiva then. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s dangerous.” They admitted. “If what you told me about Proctor’s family is to be believed, then you might be giving birth to a werewolf.”

Quinn crunched loudly as he bit down on a crisp, “Does that mean you fucked the beast or does it just happen regardless?”

“Quinn.” Shiva sighed. 

“What? Her life is a mess and I’m amused.” He hoisted himself up on the side of a fuel barrel, eating another crisp from the bag he had been snaking from. 

“That’s not what happens with the beast.” You corrected him, before continuing. “It’s possible Cora was born a werewolf because her mother is. Maybe it won’t be the same for me?” 

You couldn’t even believe that you were having this conversation. 

Shiva clicked their tongue against their teeth. “I think your best bet is to go back to the medic and have it terminated, get your stim recalibrated, and move on with your life like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m telling Ezra before any of that happens.” You ghosted your hand over your stomach. “He deserves to know. He’s already lost so much, I’m not going to add to it.”

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with you or it?” Shiva questioned. “Ezra seems like a good man, but we both know they can be shit.”

Quinn cleared his throat, “I would be happy to pretend your kid is mine. Not that I have much to offer.” 

“Thanks.” You rolled your eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m good.” 

“And you’re certain about the timing?” Quinn questioned, tapping the heels of his boots against the metal side of the barrel. 

“One hundred percent.” You assured him. 

“Good. I really didn’t want to add child support to my debts.” Quinn shrugged dramatically. “I mean, it would certainly be a sacrifice I would be willing to make—“

“Why are you still here?” You questioned, picking up Shiva’s wrench and chucking it in his general direction. “Get out of here.” 

“Easy. Easy.” Quinn tsked. “Pregnant women aren’t supposed to be stressed.” 

“My stress would be relieved if you took a quick trip out of an airlock.” You shot back. “Can you make that happen?”

“Such hostility.” He laughed, crunching down on another crisp. 

“When are you leaving?” Shiva questioned. 

“As soon as I can pull my things together.” You rubbed at your temples. “This wasn’t in my plan.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” They reminded you. “You have options.” 

“Trust me, I know.” You sighed, worrying at your bottom lip. “It’s just a lot to think about.” You gestured to your stomach. “I feel like I’m going to wake up any moment.” 

Shiva stared at your stomach, “How do you feel?”

You shrugged, “Like it’s any other day.” 

“And they’re certain?” 

“Unfortunately,” You tugged your satchel off your shoulder, swinging it around to grab your datapad out. “I have everything right here. Blood test confirms it. They can’t do too much more until I’m further along.” 

“Do you think it will be like it’s dear furry father?” Quinn questioned, tapping his heels against the barrel again. “Are you going to have a werewolf fetus wiggling around during the full moon?”

That made your stomach turn. “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Shiva grabbed your arm. “We’ll figure this all out together.” 

You smiled a little, “Thank you.” 

“Do I get a thanks?” Quinn questioned, a little too jovially. 

“Fuck off, Quinn.” You seethed. “Why are you still here?”

“I enjoy being a thorn in the side of my acquaintances. I’m also broke.” He shrugged. “Shiva’s letting me crash until things smooth over with a few connections.”

You gave Shiva a skeptical look. 

“I like strays.” They walked past you to grab the wrench you had thrown at Quinn. “He’s occasionally useful.”

He grinned and gave you a thumbs up. “All jokes aside, I do recognize our ship has long since left the port.”

“There was never a ship.” You grumbled. “It was an escape pod. A badly banged up escape pod.” 

Quinn wiggled his brows, “Ah, but you took that escape pod frequently.”

You rolled your eyes again, giving him an annoyed expression, before turning your attention back to Shiva. “Why?”

“He’s amusing.” They nudged you in the shoulder. “And you know it’s true.”

“Unfortunately.”

“So how do you think Ezra will react?” Quinn questioned. “I couldn’t really get a vibe from him.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” You admitted, folding your arms across your chest. “We’ve never discussed children. We’ve never discussed what could’ve been situations.” You touched the spot on your arm where your faulty stim was. “We thought we were covered.” 

“The oldest story ever told.” Quinn quipped. 

Shiva finally looked annoyed, “Can you grab the manifold? It’ll be in the engine room somewhere.” 

“Trying to get rid of me?”

You both turned to him with an in unison, “Yes.”

You sank back in the pilot’s seat, stretching your legs out in front of you while you waited for the com to connect. The connection buzzed a handful of times and you wondered if Ezra was dealing with the side effects of the full moon. 

On the last buzz of the connection, he picked up. 

“Sorry, moonbeam. I was in the fresher.” He drawled out, his voice just as warm as it was when you sat right beside him. “And as tempting as it is to use the com panel in the fresher…” 

You laughed softly, chewing on your thumbnail as you tried to keep your tone as casual as possible. The last thing you wanted to do was to blurt out what you had to tell him. 

Not that you could even think about the situation without feeling like you wanted a black hole to open up and swallow you whole. 

“Did you hear me?” Ezra questioned. 

“Sorry, yes.” You exhaled slowly. “Sorry.”

“You alright?” 

“Just tired,” You lied. “And as tempting as it is to hear all about your time in the fresher, I’m not really in the mood tonight.”

“What are you in the mood for, little lamb?” 

You rubbed at the crease between your brows, “I could really go for a quiet evening with some quality cuddling time.” 

Ezra chuckled softly, “My bed feels rather empty without you.” He sighed a little. “What’s got you feeling down?” 

“Nothing in particular,” You answered easily. “It’s just been a really long day. How have you been?”

“Alright.” He sighed a little. “I felt like this month was harder, you know? We managed last month and I had something to focus on. I’m a bit sore.” 

“Sounds like you could use a quiet evening too.” 

Ezra hummed. “It would certainly make things easier.” He was quiet for a moment before he added, “Are you sure you’re alright, moonbeam?” 

“I will be as soon as I’m back on Lykaios with you.” You propped your chin up on the arm of the chair. “Which may actually be sooner than planned.”

“What?”

“I got everything together quicker than I anticipated.” You told him with a slight smile, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m a few hours out.” 

“That’s certainly a welcome surprise.” Ezra said warmly. “And what do I owe this surprise to?”

“I might miss you.” You teased lightly. “And I…”

You both fell silent for another long moment. 

“And you, what?” Ezra sounded nervous and you didn’t blame him.

“Nothing.” You told him as you flipped on the autopilot and transferred the com connection to your datapad. “I want to wait until I get there.”

Ezra hummed curiously, “And you’re certain all is well?” 

“Well, I managed to track down a book of Herrick’s poems for you.” You told him as you meandered down the corridor to your quarters. “Quinn sent along a book of Byron’s poems he had. I’m not sure what message that sends.”

“I think I know.” You rolled your eyes. “A different little lamb.”

He sighed heavily, “Are we certainly Quinn’s clever enough to make that connection?”

You snorted, “Touché.” 

“I would actually be impressed.”

“It’s not unlikely,” You shrugged, kicking off your boots and sinking back onto your bed. “He used to be really obsessed with British history.” 

“Interesting.” You could practically picture him grinding his teeth. “How long have you known Quinn?”

You thought for a second, “Early into the program. He’s just always been around.”

“And you never—“ 

“He doesn’t belong in the same box as Alia or Mars.” You assured him, “He was just a nice way to scratch the itch. You know?”

“Yeah.” Ezra sighed. “I suppose I can give him credit for owning Byron in the first place.” 

You laughed, snorting a little at how begrudgingly he said it. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” He murmured. “Are you in bed?” 

“I just laid down.” You told him, laying the datapad on the bed beside you. “Only one more sleep before I’m there with you.” 

“Why are you coming back early? Don’t get me wrong, I’m elated, but… your hesitation earlier is going to keep me up tonight.” 

“It’s something I’d prefer to discuss when I’m with you.” 

“Wait, does this have to do with your trip to the medic?” Ezra questioned. “Did Shiva make you go?” 

“It’s related to that.” 

“Is something wrong? Fuck.” Ezra hissed out. “Moonbeam, just tell me. I’m going to worry an ulcer into my stomach before you arrive.” 

“I wouldn’t call it wrong.” You sighed a little, trying to resist the urge to cry. You didn’t actually know if he would think it was “wrong”. He might. 

“You can tell me.” His voice wavered. “If the guardians have hurt you, I’ll rip them limb from limb.”

“Ezra, please calm down.” You said lightly. “We’ll talk about it soon. I promise it’s not as bad as you’re thinking. I’m fine and I’ll be fine.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to lose you because of something I could’ve prevented.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” You assured him. “This is why I didn’t want to have this conversation over a com-call.” 

“Only a few more hours,” Ezra sighed again. “Right?” 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything at all…” You raked your hands over your face. “All of this is new for me.”

“It’s new for me too.” Ezra drawled out. “I still think I’m going to wake up and discover it was all an elaborate dream.” 

“All of it?”

“Just you.” 

“I feel the same way.” You admitted as you rolled onto your side. “I expect to wake up on the Block, ready to ship out somewhere. It doesn’t feel real most days.”

“I hate when I have to let go of you.” 

“I hope you don’t ever let go.”

Ezra scoffed, “I could never.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes, I’ve returned to my dreadfully lonely bed.” 

“Did you get dressed after your shower?”

 He chuckled, “I thought you said you weren’t in the mood, my sweet little lamb.”

“What? I want to picture what I’m missing.” It was a nice distraction at least. You wouldn’t have to worry about questions about anything. 

“What’s the point of putting clothes on when you’re alone?” Ezra questioned, his voice a little raspier. 

“Well, I’m fully dressed.”

He tsked quietly, “How disappointing. Then again, you were fully dressed in my bed when you—“

You groaned dramatically, “It’s not my fault that you smell so good.”

“I could say the same. It drives me crazy, moonbeam.” His breath caught in his throat. “We should sleep.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” You promised him, smiling sadly at the datapad. There was no way you were going to actually sleep, your anxiety wasn’t going to allow that to happen. “Ezra?”

“Mhm?” 

“I love you.”

“Oh moonbeam, I love you too.” He said warmly. “And I plan to count the moments until you are safely in my arms again.” 

You switched screens on the datapad, “I am five hours out.”

“Would you be adverse to me coming upon your arrival?” Ezra questioned.

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” You say the datapad back down beside you. “I’ll see you soon, Ezra.” 

“Until the morning.” Ezra whispered. “Sleep well, love.” 

You stared at the datapad, even after the line went dead. There was a part of you that wished that you’d told him what you wanted to tell him, just to pull the bandage off and find out what he thought without being there. 

How were you supposed to guess what his reaction would be to discovering that was going to be a father? 

The man had lived alone for five years, keeping himself away from everyone who was like him. He feared losing the last vestiges of his humanity. He warred with wanting you to stay with him and wanting to cut you loose. He loved you, but did he love you like that? 

And for that matter, was this what you wanted? 

This romance with Ezra had been a whirlwind, but it had been different than any love that came before. You spent hours on end with him, cooped up in your transport or his and you never got bored. There was never a moment where you found yourself ready to leave, you never wanted to. 

When you thought you loved Mars, you loved him in small doses. It was intense and all-consuming, but you always needed to come up for air. Alia… You would have willingly drowned in your love for her, but she always needed her own space. 

You recognized that this might be too much for him. He couldn’t escape from you, not really. You came in and out of his life, but he was fixed in one spot. 

But neither of you seemed ready for your time together to end. If you were at his transport before you left to return to the Block, he would always follow you into yours and spend another hour with you before reluctantly parting ways. 

It was different. 

Maybe he could feel that invisible string connecting the two of you. The one that always felt drawn taut when you weren’t with him. The sensation that always drew you back to Lykaios. 

But would a child change all of that? Shiva may have been right. You could’ve gone back to Lykaios without having to worry about any of this. Though, what would you do if one day Ezra did express his desire to become a father — a possibility that was taken from him by the curse and by you. 

You just had to hope that things would sort themselves out. That he would understand. That his love for you wouldn’t falter. 

[sovonight]

unspoken | soulmate au

✧ — ✧

"Atton. Atton Rand," says the man in the force cage. Something about the name resonates with her, but only in the hazy, distant way that reaching out to the Force once more had. "I'd shake your hand, but--"

"Do we know each other?" Cela asks, peering through the shifting barrier of the cage between them with a frown. His face is that of a stranger, she's sure, but his name--his name just sounds... important.

"I'm flattered," Atton says, and only now does she realize she'd murmured her thoughts aloud. "Now, can you tell that to the guys in charge? Maybe that’ll get them to let me out."

✧ — ✧

With an energy shield in her hands, and Atton's voice in her ear, she remembers who he is.

"Got all that, Jedi?" Atton says over the comm, ignorant of the realization that has washed over her and frozen her to the spot. "...Jedi?"

"Y-yes," Cela says, breaking free of her thoughts, and back into life. "Yes, I have it."

"Good. You're going to need it if you're going to get us out of here alive," he says. "Somehow."

She should have realized it earlier. She's traced the name upon her heart countless times, let the words echo within her mind as she wondered when, and how, and who. She can't believe that it had slipped from her memory when they had met; the sedatives must have made her mind more sluggish than she thought.

Cela activates the comm to speak--but hesitates in its ambient crackle. She's found him, but this is not the time or place; she needs to stay focused, as does he.

"Your comm stuck?" He asks. "Or just testing the buttons?"

Though he jests, Atton clearly sounds tense, and she shakes her head free of lingering, sentimental thoughts.

"It's nothing," she says. But, unable to resist, she signs off with, "Cela Pace, out."

✧ — ✧

Back in the communications hub, all Atton catches is, "It's no--th--. C--- ---ce, out." 

“Jedi?” He asks. No response, but the display shows she’s started moving again--she’s fine.

"Peragus equipment," he grouses, when the static of the terminal has died back down. "Must be the interference."

✧ — ✧

With Peragus behind them, and Telos ahead, Cela finds herself alone with Atton once more. She's given him her name--he must know who she is--and yet he appears so unfazed, as though her existence does not mean much to him at all.

She's not sure what to say.

"Are we on course?" Cela asks.

"Yeah," Atton says. "If you want, you can check that map back there, see where we are."

The words are recited and dismissive, like he's flown for many an impatient passenger before. She's not making a very good impression.

As she stands there longer still, unwilling to just leave him but unsure how to act, Atton turns in his seat with a puzzled glance back.

"Something up?" Atton asks. "It's still a while to Telos--you might as well get some rest. I would."

Yes--he must be tired, and here she is, waiting like some hopeful, idealistic padawan, for him to be glad to have found her. Gathering what energy she has left, she manages a smile.

"Of course," Cela says. Her smile wavers, but lucky for her, he has already turned away.

✧ — ✧

She carries trouble everywhere she goes, these days. After a glance to make sure Kreia has stepped safely out of her deactivated force cage, and helping Bao-Dur exit his, she turns finally to Atton.

"Are you alright?" Cela asks. She extends a hand to him, which he ignores, preferring to pick himself off the floor of the cage alone. He almost stumbles a little as he steps out, and on reflex, she tries to catch him.

"Woah! I'm fine," Atton says. His hands are up, almost defensive--though after a look at her face, he relaxes with a huff. "Just a little on edge from the ambush."

He doesn't look fine. He looks disoriented, and troubled, beyond that. But it's more than she can voice, especially after the way he'd taken that hasty step back to dodge her, as though her touch were poisonous.

"How did things go with the Jedi here?" Atton asks. "Are you all done?"

"Yes. We have to leave, immediately."

"Things went that well, huh?" He says. "You make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

It's not like this, usually. But then again, she's been alone for a long time. If she thinks back... yes, when she had her friends, she had her rivals, too. When she acts, she meets opposition--and when she approaches her soulmate, she finds disinterest. Leave it to her to have always been so consistent.

"Well, nothing like a steady stream of people who hate us or want to kill us to keep the heart pumping," Atton says.

"You can go," Cela finds herself saying, against the tightness in her throat. The wound in her heart aches, but she is used to it now, and cannot see the point of trying to lessen the pain much more. "You've done enough, Atton. If you want, you can go."

In the background, Kreia shifts, and Atton puts on a silly grin.

"Nah. I was just complaining," Atton says. He chuckles, giving her the warmest look she has ever seen from him; basking in it feels like the warm sunlight of her childhood, from hazy memories of a family she was instructed to forget.

"Really?" Cela says, faint. If she had had her doubts before, they are gone now: he is the one meant for her.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm with you until things start going better for you."

Her sunlight shatters.

"We need to stick together, you know?" Atton continues, oblivious, as the cold promise of that one word, until, echoes and drowns the rest of her hope out. "And who knows... I might be able to help you out of a tight spot at some point."

She doesn't know what she expected. She turns from him, ignoring the confused look he gives her when she dismisses him so abruptly.

"Thanks," says Cela, hollow. "Let's go."

✧ — ✧

"You're laughing at me?" Atton says indignantly, throwing his words at the smug T3 unit shaking with simulated laughter before him. "I'll put you on the scrap heap, you walking tin can!"

The droid trundles away. Atton crosses his arms with a huff, leaning back against the jamb between the hold and the hallway.

"Fine, I don't need your answer," Atton cedes at length, as Bao-Dur shows no signs of looking up from his work. "Just tell me one thing?"

Bao-Dur sighs, long-suffering.

"What is it?"

Atton hesitates, playing back the way they'd left things at the academy. Before their capture, his Jedi had been doing fine, but after it, she'd just gone cold. He recognizes the sharp cut of her emotion then, the same way he remembers the name of the one destined for him, faded to a dead gray at the pulse point on his wrist.

"Her soulmate," Atton says. "Do you know if..."

"If you're asking that, you're more serious than I thought," Bao-Dur says. "But no, I don't know. How would I?"

"You're right," says Atton distantly, as Bao-Dur returns to work. "...I'm just a little out of it, today."

✧ — ✧

I'm as Atton as Atton will ever be.

As deep and as dark as his other secrets were, this--the most innocent--is the one she cannot shake. She supposes she's overestimated herself, hearing so many confessions from him in so little time. She finds herself, once again, tired: of remembering, of knowing, of being.

She takes a breath. One piece of the puzzle at a time, she thinks. Her hand comes to her heart, but rather than linger there wistfully as it had in years past, she finds herself gripping the cloth of her robes tight within her fist.

How foolish she was, to have held his name in her heart for so long. To have held hope past the answer every record and roster had shown her: that no living Atton Rand exists.

To find that he is an invention--to find that he has hunted Jedi--

No, not yet.

To find that he must utterly, truly hate her.

Yes, there is the first point on her list. To mourn, the way she had not let herself after Telos. The rest of his secrets, and his request, can wait.

✧ — ✧

She trains him. She can do nothing but.

"All right," says Atton, picking up the lightsaber she has lent him once more. "But I tell you, I think you're carrying this teacher thing too far."

"You address me as Jedi, I will treat you as such," Cela says. "If you want to be more familiar, call me by my name."

"No need for that," Atton says quickly, just a little too fast compared to his earlier words. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked a little sheepish--embarrassed, even. "I'll take whatever you've got."

So would she, she's found. Despite the promise she'd tried to make herself--that outside of combat, outside of training, they were to be little more than strangers--she keeps letting Atton back in.

Though he doesn't love her, he feels bound by his debt not to leave her; this is a motivation that she can understand. If she could be heartless, she would push him to leave--but for once, selfishness and selflessness align themselves together, and she can only let him stay.

She directs him, imparting on an old technique, one she knows he'll find useful. Inside, silently, she both dreads and anticipates the promise of his “until”.

✧ — ✧

"Because you'll be right here with me, playing pazaak, where they can't reach you."

She hates the way her voice sticks in her throat, unable to say anything as he deals their next game. She watches the cards emerge between them, placed one by one by Atton's steady hand, until the colors of their hands blur as the sight of the world wobbles before her eyes.

"Your move, Jedi," she hears him say. Then, "Jedi?"

"Say my name," Cela says. She cannot even face him now, too scared to blink. "Please, say it, just once. I need to hear it from you."

Perhaps, if Atton says it now, she can live off this memory for the rest of her life. It is as Kreia says: events are drawing her to their center. Soon, he will part ways with her, and she will know him no more.

"Uh, Jedi, I..."

"Do you hate me so much that you've struck my name from your heart?" Sadness turns to anger; Cela lets herself feel it. "You must know it, or I am truly unfortunate. You must, or the Force has taken its revenge for Malachor on me from the moment I was born."

"I really don't--" Atton stops short, panic filling his eyes when he sees the look on her face. "Don't, don't cry. What did I do? What should I do to fix it?"

"Acknowledge your soulmate."

Atton looks thoroughly confused now, beyond anything he could fake.

"My--My soulmate? She has nothing to do with anything, anymore. She died, before I even got to meet her." He hesitates for only a second, and adds, "Like yours did."

"Like mine?" Cela says. Her tears have fallen, cool on her cheek, but the emotion that had summoned them has vanished. "My soulmate is alive. As is yours."

Atton gives a sharp little laugh, paired with a bitter smile.

"No, I remember it well. I remember, she died with..." His expression slackens, as the realization dawns on him. "...With Malachor V."

His eyes meet hers. And here, at last, Atton says her name, with more breathless reverence than she could ever have imagined--not as a child, missing the warmth of home; as a padawan, collecting her dreams for the future; as an exile, hoping beyond hope that her soulmate would accept all that she is, and all that she has done. He says her name, and he holds her face in his hands, looking upon her, at last, as something precious.

"Cela," he says. "Cela Pace. Why didn't you tell me?"

No--she's not going to let him place this whole mishap on her. She flips the question back to him.

"We have traveled together for so long, now," Cela says. "The others, they might not use my name, but they know it. Why didn't you?"

"I... I don't know. I never caught it," Atton says, "And you never said it. By the time I thought I'd just ask you for it, you seemed to hate me--I didn't want to ruin my chances."

"...But I did say it," Cela says. "On Peragus, in the mining tunnels."

Atton smacks his face with his hand. "That damn interference!"

A laugh escapes her, light and breathless, because after the range of emotion she’s experienced, joy might as well be the one that comes next.

She pulls his hand from his face; he lets her, and then their gazes linger. She hasn’t allowed herself to truly look at him since she first thought she’d received his rejection, and she’d never known the neutral gray of his eyes could appear so warm.

"Can I see it?"

In the silence of Atton’s puzzled expression, Cela realizes the words had been her own. She stumbles, dropping her gaze from his, and finishes, "My name... where it's written."

"You have it," Atton says. His hand is still in her grasp; he turns his palm up. "It's under the leather."

She takes hold of the edges of his glove, to pull it gently off.

"Let me do it," Atton says, as he watches her move so carefully. In one movement, he tugs the glove away; his head is ducked, as though to focus on the action, but the tips of his ears are pink. "You don’t have to be so gentle. It's not like I’m--well. Here."

There, on his bare wrist, lies her name. He returns it to her, and she runs a fingertip over the text, so similar to her own. Sure enough, her name is dead-- but she is more captivated by how it is real.

Atton rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, embarrassed.

"Don't tell me you believe what they say about the locations of these things," Atton says.

"What?" She's never heard of this before. "What do they say?"

"For me, they'd say some nonsense about how I'd do anything for you, and--well, you know." Always one to shift the subject away from himself, Atton lifts his gaze to hers. "Can I see it, too--my name?"

"Ye--no," Cela amends quickly, once she realizes what that would entail.

"No?" Echoes Atton, obviously disappointed. Then he sees where her hand lays, over her chest. "Oh."

"Your name is upon my heart," Cela says, apparently nervous enough as to say something so obvious. Atton just nods, face pinker than she remembers it, and she asks, "What... what would they say about that?"

"J-just--uh, something about how you love," he says, conveniently skipping over what it is, although it’s clear that despite himself he’s touched. "That's all it is, really. Endless ways of describing love. That's what makes it so meaningless. I mean, ultimately they're just trying to spot patterns out of data that's all just random to begin with."

"I see," Cela says, amused by watching him ramble along. She smiles. "You have much more to say about soulmate marks than I would've thought."

Atton merely shrugs.

"Just stuff I heard, a long time ago. Kids are sneaky little things, you know--they absorb a lot more than you might think,” Atton says. He continues, a little distant, “But then you grow up, and you realize there’s no point in thinking about soulmates anymore. It's a big galaxy. The chances are slim."

He closes his gloveless hand, pressing the underside of his wrist against his thigh to hide it; Atton seems to take the action without really registering it, no longer meeting her eye.

“I never looked for you,” Atton says. “Not once. Even after Malachor, when I realized I missed my chance, I never made the effort to find out who you could’ve been.”

With a forced laugh, Atton gives her a weak smile. “Who knew you had been so close? Do you think I could’ve run up to you, back then? Would you have taken me?”

“I don’t know. You weren’t Atton then--though I’m sure I would’ve given you a chance,” Cela says, with a teasing smile. Atton, surprisingly, does not tease her back.

“Not Atton?” He says. “Then--is that how I’m written? Atton Rand?”

“Of course. I have never known you by another name.”

Atton’s lips take on an uncertain curve; he looks like he needs to be convinced. Cela grasps the edge of the wrap of her inner robes, wondering if this weren't a moment in which modesty should be brushed aside, but before she pulls it so much as a centimeter, Atton stops her with a word.

“No need. I believe you--I was just surprised.” To himself, she hears him add, “I don’t think you know how you look to me right now.”

“How is that?” Cela asks. Atton’s resulting expression clearly says he hadn’t expected her to hear that.

“You know those... Well, you know...” Atton strings her along in suspense until he finally relents, “In those “forbidden Jedi” love stories--”

“In what?!” Cela says, barely able to contain her surprise, as Atton splutters, “Don’t laugh!”

“And don’t ask,” Atton continues, very seriously. “It used to be a popular genre, it’s not like I could’ve escaped it if I wanted to.”

“Of course not,” Cela reassures. Then, “So I am your forbidden Jedi.”

“Don’t start,” Atton groans.

“Am I meant to pull you close even as my words push you away?”

“Cela, come on--”

“Atton,” she says at last, all mirth in her voice lost, “...Say my name again.”

Atton looks at her, abandoning the defensive posture he’d adopted to endure her teasing. “Just your name?”

“I have been “the Jedi” to you for so long. I wish to be myself.”

“Cela,” Atton says, more warmly and more familiar than he had the first time. She wraps it up and stores it away in her heart, used to keeping memories as though they are numbered, but he’s not done. “Is that what you thought?”

He reaches out to her, taking her hand; she can see, upon the curve of his wrist, the glimpse of her name once more.

“You haven’t been just “the Jedi” to me since the moment I loved you.”

“You love me?” Cela says faintly, barely able to believe her ears.

“From the moment I first saw you.”

She feels close to crying again. She had been practical, when they resolved their misunderstanding--she had thought she would ask nothing of him, give him time, and simply hope quietly that one day their feelings would align.

“Not again,” Atton jokes, though his voice trembles, as though he’s feeling close to crying himself. “I won’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright,“ she says, closing the distance between them. “I do.”

[lilhawkeye3]

Find Your Way Back Home- Ch 3

Riyo Chuchi x Commander Wolffe, Riyo Chuchi x Commander Fox

Rating: T |||| Word Count: 1.9k |||| Set Post Order 66 |||| AO3 Link

previous • next

Riyo gripped the kitchen countertop tighter than anything in her whole life. The loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears threatened to drown out the pounding of her heart as she sought a tether point in her whirlwind of emotions.

She couldn’t do this.

How could she do this? The ghosts she’d left on Coruscant were now seeking shelter in her bedroom.

She’d looked at Wolffe laid out on her bed, and some sick part of her expected him to be Fox. She used to bandage her lover’s wounds on their bed in her old apartment. What had she done to deserve this cosmic taunt?

“Riyo?”

Riyo’s hands flew to her mouth to hold in her startled shriek at Ahsoka’s appearance just to her left. Her friend’s lips twisted into an apologetic smile, and she patiently waited for Riyo to come down from her sudden rush of adrenaline. Her rusty hand cupped Riyo’s elbow to help ground her.

“I’m so sorry,” Riyo murmured, blinking rapidly to hide her brimming tears before she met Ahsoka’s gaze.

The Togruta’s eyes were sad as she searched for the right words, despite them both knowing nothing would ease Riyo’s pain. “You see him.”

Riyo tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a gasp for air after so long underwater. “How can I not?” Her tears stubbornly refused to fall now, despite clamoring at the floodgates only moments ago. “I can’t… I can’t focus on this right now.”

“You can’t go back in there right now either,” Ahsoka calmly pointed out. “Wolffe needs to heal.”

And so grew her guilt. “I know.” She needed to do something to keep her hands and mind busy. “I’ll get some more juvan ready so I can make a cold pack and show Rex what to do. You’ll both need to know how for when you go back.” She tried to ignore the predatory way Ahsoka’s eyes followed her around the kitchen as she gathered supplies.

“I find that talking helps sometimes,” Ahsoka quietly suggested, once Riyo stood back at the sink with her items gathered around.

“I’m not sure I remember how to do that after so long on my own,” Riyo muttered, grabbing a bundle of leaves from a jar more harshly than they deserved.

“No time better than the present.”

Riyo paused to stare calculatingly at her friend. She wasn’t lying about not knowing if she’d be able to speak of her nightmares after so long bottling it all in. “I propose a trade.”

One of Ahsoka’s painted brows rose in interest. “A trade.”

“I will tell you if you update me on your… situation.” She’d tiptoed around the circumstances of her guests’ arrival– and unlikely survival– for the past few days.

“Alright, deal.”

Riyo’s hands hovered uncertainly as she tries to steady her breathing before she begins. Where to even start? She’d tried so hard to forget that night six months ago. Now she had to relive it in full.

“I… I was home for the night.” Riyo doesn’t even recognize her voice with how vacant it sounds. “Everything was normal, even when I got a call from Co– Thire.” She didn’t want to relegate them to their titles. Those men– her friends– were worth much more than that. “He’d call sometimes if Fox was too busy to come home.”

Breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out.

“There’s– there was a code phrase Fox had me agree to. Dusk is falling soon. If one of us used it in a communication, we knew it was from the other.” Her hands began to shake as she ground the juvan up. “Thire said it to me that night. He said I had to flee Coruscant while I still could, before I was marked as a traitor by the Chancellor. That Fox needed to know I was safe, because… because he didn’t think he was coming home.”

“Oh, Riyo…”

Riyo tried to laugh but she choked on her voice. “No, no it’s fine. Please don’t feel sorry for me, not after–”

Not after what you’ve lost. It hangs in the air like a shadow, chilling the two women to the bone.

She could feel Ahsoka’s eyes on her for a long moment before she conceded. “Alright. So you fled Coruscant?”

Riyo nodded. “Yes. I waited for him, but… then I gathered those I could and had a trusted pilot shuttle us off. It wasn’t just those from my office, though. There were several other members from Pantora’s allies that we also safely evacuated. It was beneficial in the long run, since the number of hyperspace jumps we needed to make ensured that we weren’t followed.”

“That was wise of you,” Ahsoka confirmed. “You most likely had been tailed. The Empire has been interrogating anyone they view even as having a potential to be rebellious.”

Riyo dipped her head in a gentle nod. “And I never was one of the Cha– Emperor’s greedy followers,” she added.

Her friend’s lips quirked up in a humorless smile. “No, you weren’t.”

“Anyways, I timed my resignation to autosend sometime during our flight, and I contacted Bail, who gave us directions to follow. That’s all there really is to tell,” Riyo sheepishly shrugged, relieved to be finished and able to turn her attention back to the juvan leaves she’d laid out. They needed to be diced and then ground with water into a paste that could be either frozen and saved, or wrapped in a damp cloth and held to the wound.

“So, my turn then?” Ahsoka asked, faux-cheer evident in her voice but appreciated.

Riyo nodded, thankful for something else to focus on. She beckoned her over though, waiting until the Togruta was looking over her shoulder. “Just make sure to watch how I do it, so you’ll be able to on your own. The leaves have to be separated carefully, or you’ll negate the medicinal qualities.”

Ahsoka observed quietly as Riyo worked, nodding along to each specific task that Riyo pointed out. It was quite simple, but an untrained eye would still mess it up. It was nice to have someone at her side. She’d been so used to being alone.

“We agreed on a trade?” Ahsoka prompted, once Riyo stepped aside and handed the knife over for her to try. “Would you still like to hear what we’ve seen?”

Riyo bit the inside of her cheek to try and keep herself afloat in the surge of stress that threatens to sweep her away. “Yes, please.”

Ahsoka nodded sharply, and then the knife made its first clean slice. “We were on our way back from Mandalore after apprehending Darth Maul– the Sith Zabrak,” she elaborated for Riyo’s sake. “And an order went out to all the clone troopers, everywhere in the galaxy: execute Order 66, to kill the Jedi.” Her fingers clenched around the knife handle to the point that Riyo thought it’d snap. “Somehow Rex… he fought it long enough to warn me to find a file about Fives, an ARC trooper that–”

Riyo could feel the blood drain from her face at the mention of that name, one she’d long forgotten. “I remember. Fox… he shot him, to protect the Emperor.” It felt like lifetimes ago.

In a twisted sense, it was. It’d been during Fox’s lifetime, when he still came home to her every night.

Ahsoka hummed in agreement. “Right. Well, Fives had told Rex that the clones all had control chips in their heads, and that a damaged chip had caused another trooper to shoot a Jedi. No one believed him.” Her shoulders drooped. “I was able to capture Rex and take the chip out of his head, and he was back to normal. I… I let Maul out of his cell though as a distraction, and he damaged the ship so it crashed into a moon. We lost the whole battalion,” she finished in a whisper, head bowed.

“Oh, Ahsoka,” Riyo gasped. She wasn’t sure how a hug would be received, so she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Ahsoka’s eyes were teary when she looked up. “Thank you, but please don’t be for me. I took a risk, and it was Rex’s brothers that paid the consequences.” She shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m glad we found Wolffe. There have been other clones that escaped, but Wolffe was always one of his closest brothers.”

A small smile slipped onto her face unbidden. “I’m glad for the both of them as well. How did you find Com– Wolffe, though? You all barely made it here,” she pointed out.

The Togruta sighed. “You know Bail’s been coordinating a lot recently. We were sent out on a mission to try and contact a defector from the Empire. They’re a medic, and they’ve been treating several troopers sent to them for abnormal behavior. We arrived to get them out, and Wolffe was their latest patient, but they were being watched.” She stopped talking to peer at her work cautiously. “Is this correct?”

She stepped out of the way so Riyo could observe her work. “This is very good for anyone’s first try,” Riyo praised her. “Now we just need to grind it with some water to get a thick enough paste.”

Ahsoka waited for Riyo to set up the next step before continuing. “We had the freed men escort the medic onto our waiting ship, but we couldn’t take Wolffe back to base because of his chip. I followed their instructions to try and deactivate it, but we had to leave in a hurry. It took us a few days and several firefights before we lost them well enough to get here.”

“Had no idea you’d gotten that good with a blaster, either.”

Riyo bit back a shriek as Rex’s voice piped up from behind them. Good thing she’d been using the mortar and not a knife, otherwise she might’ve cut herself. At least he had the decency to send her an apologetic smile once she whirled around to face him.

“Gee thanks, Rex,” Ahsoka huffed, reaching out to playfully slap his chest. The two of them shared a grin, and Riyo decided to study the wooden floor beneath her feet until they snapped out of it. She wouldn’t dare disrupt their small moment of joy.

“I came out to let you know Wolffe is asleep again,” Rex finally explained his presence after he shook himself free of their little bubble. “We spoke some, but he tired quickly.”

That was good. He clearly was suffering from some form of head injury, so any amount of time Wolffe was able to be awake and coherent was a step in the right direction.

“Alright, that’s wonderful news. We should be able to apply this compress despite that.” Riyo picked up the bowl of ground javun and gestured at a clean cloth folded on the counter top. “Would you grab that and come with me? I’ll show you what to do, so you know how in the future.”

A quiet grief crept up her spine with each step she took back towards Wolffe’s room. He needed her help. She could pull herself together for him.

Riyo entered the room alone and took the seat beside Wolffe’s still form. Rex would be along in a minute.

Until then, she studied the still man’s face, finding and cataloguing each unique feature of him and hoping it wouldn’t come back to haunt her like before.