#last In It post for the day I hope it probably isn’t healthy to keep doing this

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 4

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Chapter notes: Y'all, this whole story is easily the smuttiest thing I've ever written. You're welcome. Look for the ++++SMUT+CUT++++s if you want to avoid it.

Here's some happy stuff before things get a li'l rocky.

He justifies it by telling himself it was a one-time thing.

When it happens again three days later, this time pinned to Ezra’s bed by his dark eyes and mouth moving over him, he tells himself it’s just sex.

And when it keeps happening with a certain regularity–not frequently, but enough to establish a pattern–he tells himself he’s doing her a favor, not complicating their lives with…whatever this is.

But something in Joel has woken from a long slumber. He and Ezra keep a friendly distance in public, but it’s easy to give in to the want that’s always simmering, and more than once he finds himself pulling Ezra into a secluded alley or the darkness of the greenhouse shed, frantic as teenagers among the rakes and buckets and bags of soil. He feels like a kid again, new and fumbling and overeager. If Ezra notices, he doesn’t seem to mind.

They don’t get much time. Once a week, twice if they’re lucky, on the days when patrols and work assignments line up and Ellie and Cee are otherwise occupied. Ellie has friends now, a group to hang out with after chores and school. Some days it seems like he only sees her as she’s walking out the door. It’s a natural separation that’s healthy for a kid her age…is what he tells himself. But her pulling away from him is almost a physical pain, necessary as it is.

The loneliness needs somewhere to go.

They meet at Ezra’s place more often than not. Cee’s room is in the attic, Ezra tells him, and she likes her privacy. When she’s at home, she spends most of her time with her headphones on. She’s a writer; he says this with more than a note of pride in his voice, and Joel thinks Ezra downplays his fatherly inclinations.

He learns Ezra can wax poetic about everything under the sun. Joel usually isn’t much for conversation, but he finds the constant chatter soothing. He rarely needs to do more than nod or grunt in acknowledgment while the other man listens to himself talk. It’s a lot like being with Ellie…in some ways.

But Ezra likes to use his mouth for other things.

Sporadic days of furtive touches and meaningful glances soon turn into weeks, and eventually, Joel can’t even make the excuses sound legitimate to himself…but he still doesn’t tell her.

The creek on the far side of the south quadrant is calm and warmer than usual for this time of year; perfect grounds for Ellie to learn. They trod a well-worn path through the overgrown park, past the south fields and grazing area, their towels slung over his shoulder. He’d found a pair of swim trunks and a rash guard for Ellie at the trading post, and he’s wearing the swimsuit of his youth, an old tank top and jeans cut off at mid-thigh.

The air is warm, lush with the scent of green things, early summer temperatures setting everything to bloom. Sun filters through the trees and dapples the ground as Ellie skips ahead.

Last night, limbs heavy and sated and tangled together with Ezra’s, he’d mentioned the creek in the south quad, the swimming lessons, the hope for good weather. He might have set down a time, and if Ezra and Cee happened to join them for an afternoon swim, all the better.

“It’s fucking freezing,” Ellie remarks, wading into the water up to her calves. “Why do I have to do this again?”

“Swimmin’s a good skill to have.”

What he doesn’t say: There’s a museum on the outskirts of Yellowstone. Someday he’ll take her to see the dinosaurs, and she’s gonna need to be able to swim to get there.

What he definitely won’t say: He’ll take any chance to spend extra time with her.

“On your back,” he says, now waist-high in the water, and Ellie scowls.

“You’re gonna drown me, aren’t you? Finally had enough of me. Gonna leave my body in the river and let it wash out to sea to cover the evidence.”

“You seen any oceans around here? No, I’m gonna teach you, if you’d stop yappin’. C’mon, lean back. M’not gonna let you go under.”

One hand behind her shoulders, the other under her thighs. “Take a deep breath. Put your arms out. There ya go.”

She lays back, squints up into the sky, winces and flounders to put her feet down when she feels him pulling away.

“You’re floatin’ already,” he grins. “Stop flailin’ around and you’ll stay up.”

“No, I won’t!”

“You will,” he says. “Try again.”

She does. She’s on her back, gentle current lapping at her prone form as Joel’s hands slowly retreat, leaving her buoyant.

Footsteps on the path, a familiar tuft of white hair and tan skin emerging onto the pebbled beach. 

“Hello, young prodigy…and just Joel.”

“Hey Ezra! Look, I’m–”

She turns her head and raises her hand to wave, upsetting the delicate balance, immediately plunging beneath the surface of the water. She’s sputtering and swearing as Joel pulls her up.

“Told you to stay flat,” Joel says mildly. “Hey, Ez.”

Ezra peels off his t-shirt and tosses it on the shore, then dives under, coming up and shaking the water off his hair like a dog.

“How do you even swim like that?”

“Jesus, Ellie,” Joel sighs.

“Quite easily, gem,” Ezra says, turning on his side and gliding through the water, moving toward the deeper part of the creek.

Ellie wrinkles her nose. “Show off.”

“If I can do it one-armed, I suspect you can best me with two,” he says, flicking water in her direction, making her giggle.

“You ready to try again?” Joel asks her.

“Ugh, fine,” she says, but she’s on her back and floating within minutes, grinning up into the bright blue sky.

Joel shows her how to backstroke, then she gets brave and turns to her front. Joel keeps one hand under her belly at first, but soon she’s kicking away from him with a laugh, pulling herself through the water without touching the creekbed.

Eventually, Joel excuses himself to the pebbled beach, spreads his towel out, peels off the wet tank, and lets the sun beat down on his bare shoulders while he watches Ellie practice her dog paddle. Ezra swims alongside her like a seal, encouraging and–though she insists it’s not necessary–spotting her. Sometimes he meets Joel’s eyes and his smile is warmer than the mid-summer sunshine.

Ezra joins him a few minutes later, sprawling wet and dripping on his towel with a satisfied grunt.

“Cee couldn’t make it?”

“She’s an introverted sort. Likes her solitude and quiet.”

Joel arches an eyebrow. “An’ the poor girl ended up with you?”

Ezra pulls a face. “I can’t deny, the fates have a peculiar sense of humor.”

“Joel, look!”

Ellie dives under and the water churns around her, then pops up a few feet downstream. 

“Told ya you’d float, kiddo. Keep your legs straight when you kick.”

“I do believe your young prodigy has taken to the water like the finest of aquatic mammals.”

“You could just say she likes to swim, Ez.”

“I scrimped and saved my hard-earned pay for the use of these academic adverbs, songbird, and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

“Y'know those student loan assholes are all dead, right?”

Ezra grins. “And a well-deserved death it was, the bastards.”

Joel feels Ezra’s hand slip gently over his and squeeze. Joel squeezes back before pulling away reluctantly, nodding toward Ellie.

“She, uh…she don’t know…yet.”

“All in good time, then,” Ezra says easily, tucking his arm under his head and closing his eyes. Joel tucks his chin on his shoulder, watches the man’s chest rise and fall as the water makes little tracks down his sides, feels a gentle tug of longing in his gut.

When he looks back to the water, Ellie is nowhere to be seen and the creek is quiet.

“Ellie?”

Look away for one goddamned second…

“Ellie!”

He’s up and waist deep in the water when her head breaks the surface to his left.

“Gotcha, motherfucker,” she crows.

Joel’s heart restarts in his chest. “Christ, kid, don’t fuckin’ do that to me.”

She giggles. “Got you back in here, didn’t it?”

“Shaved a few years off my life, y’mean,” he growls, hands darting out to grab her around the waist before she can get away. He lifts her up as high as he can and tosses her unceremoniously into the water to the sounds of her shrieked protests.

“You jerk!”

A small tidal wave slaps him in the face, leaves him swiping at his eyes and making for the shore. She tackles him from behind, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, leveraging herself onto his back like a baby monkey.

Joel catches Ezra’s eye, head rolled to one side, watching them with a smirk. Joel throws him a wink before turning his attention back to Ellie, hooking his hands under her knees and easily tossing her off his back.

“Dude, it is on ,” she says when she can speak again.

And if the swim practice eventually dissolves into a splash fight, well, that’s alright by him.

“Are you, like, seeing Ezra or something?”

Ellie meets him at the stables after patrol to help settle the horses. They walk home together, Joel achy and tired from a full day on the trails, Ellie talking about the latest drama among her friends, when she asks the question.

Joel has to force himself to keep walking and not trip over his own feet, finding it suddenly hard to make his mouth formulate a response and move his body at the same time. “I don’t–we aren’t–”

“I mean, it’s fine if you are, dude,” she shrugs. “You’re just over there every week.”

“How did you–”

“He’s good to talk to,” she continues, kneeling to examine something on the road; a caterpillar. Joel watches as she picks up a nearby leaf, carefully scoops up the critter, and carries it safely to a patch of grass.

“You don’t…you’re okay with that?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Why would I care if you’re talking with him?”

“Right,” Joel rasps, tongue like sandpaper in his mouth. “Talking. Right, yeah. We…talk.”

It’s not a lie, Joel decides, because they are technically talking.

In bed.

Naked.

After all the not talking.

Fuck.

He needs to tell her. He’s going to tell her.

“Ellie, I–”

She spins on her heel, walking backward to listen to him, head cocked. “What?”

Before he can figure out what to say, she stumbles on a large rock, flailing. He’s just barely fast enough, grabbing her by the arm before she falls on her ass. She laughs as he pulls her close to steady her, keeps her there in a one-armed hug.

“Watch where you’re goin’, kid.”

When she looks up at him, her eyes are bright with affection. There’s color in her cheeks and she’s filled out with three square meals a day and a routine and she looks so…happy.

Maybe it’s the way her head tips back against his shoulder, reminding him of how it laid almost that way when he carried her from the hospital. His throat closes with shame at the thought.

Swear to me.

He can’t do it. Can’t tell her, not yet. Not when she has something–someone–stable for the first time in her life.

“S’nothin’,” he mutters, gently dislodging her from his arm, steadying her on her feet. “Let’s go home.”

Joel returns home from a late-night patrol shift exhausted and ready to fall into bed. He trudges through the door to a note on the kitchen table. 

“At D’s, Tommy said was OK - Love Ellie”

Love Ellie.

He smiles at that, feels the warm fuzzy grip of it resonate in his chest.

Suddenly not so tired, he takes a quick shower to wash off the day and goes to Ezra’s. He lets himself in, tiptoeing up the stairs, undressing in the dark.

“Songbird?” Ezra murmurs just as he’s slipping under the covers, curling naked around his lean body and nuzzling the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” Joel whispers. “Was tryin’ not to wake you.”

“On the contrary, mon cœur , I’m glad you did,” Ezra mumbles, reaching behind them to press the length of Joel’s body closer. Joel lets his hand trail up and down Ezra’s stomach and chest, firmer than his own, not as softened by middle age. His finger grazes the pebbled skin of one nipple and Ezra sucks in a breath.

“Mmm, I do hope you’ve crept into my bed tonight with less than gentlemanly intentions.”

“Think we can make that work,” he grunts, letting his fingers travel further south, slipping beneath the waistband of Ezra’s boxers.

“Ahh, delightful,” he groans as he takes him in hand.

+++++++++++++++++++++SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++++

Joel growls in wordless agreement as he cups the velvet-soft skin of Ezra’s growing erection, holds him, traces the line from the tip of his head to the base of his shaft. He plants open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, the planes of his shoulderblades, tasting the salt and sweet of him. He drags the rough of his stubble against the shell of his ear until Ezra’s hips jerk forward of their own volition. With his own arousal aching and nestled between Ezra’s thighs, he sets a steady, easy rhythm with his hand, relishing every little moan and gasp of pleasure as he whispers nonsense and filth into his ear until he spills warm and sticky into Joel’s palm.

+++++++++++++++++++END+SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++

After, he falls asleep with the younger man on top of him, Ezra’s cheek pressed to his stomach, fingers threaded in his curls.

He wakes some unknown time later, momentarily confused. The sex is familiar but the staying after is new. It takes another few seconds to get his bearings. Ezra is gone, and somewhere a girl is crying. Ellie? No…Cee.

He catches faint sounds overhead; Ezra’s baritone, low and soothing. Cee’s voice fading to quiet. Eventual footsteps.

Joel is still sitting up in bed when he returns. Ezra looks surprised to see him.

“I hope the little bird didn’t wake you.”

Joel shrugs. “Nothin’ new. She alright?”

Ezra nods and bites his lip. “She’ll make do. Fragments of the past come back to haunt us in dreams. We do our best to banish them, but…”

He trails off, lingers at the side of the bed, troubled.

“Ellie has ‘em,” Joel says, settling back against the pillows. “The nightmares. Not as bad now, but it was rough for a spell.”

“Mmm. The child suffers the sins of the father,” Ezra murmurs, as if lost in his thoughts.

“Thought y’said you ain’t her father,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m not. But I knew her father…in a different life. And his sins were none too dissimilar to my own...”

After a pause, Joel puts out a hand. “You gonna stand there and sulk or are you gonna get over here and tell me about it?”

“Shall I regale you with the tale of your favorite one-armed scoundrel and his trusty sidekick?” Ezra sighs, allowing himself to be pulled into bed.

“Who says you’re my favorite?”

That draws a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware Jackson had another such resident traipsing about to compete for my affections.”

“Y’don’t,” he mutters, kissing the bridge of Ezra’s nose.

“Very well. But I’ll warn you, this story doesn’t paint me in a respectable light. In fact, I do believe it might cause you to–”

“Ez,” he says pointedly.

This earns him a side-eyed glare. He clears this throat.

“Cordyceps certainly brought out our baser instincts, and I was no different. We’re all apex predators underneath this…gauze of societal finery. Some of us are just better at it than others,” Ezra says, leveling his gaze at Joel. “Do you understand me, songbird?”

“Yeah…I hear ya.”

“No clinical text can prepare one for the end of polite society. I have, perhaps, walked the hair’s breadth of a line between lawful and not, but the end of the world turned a new page in the story of my life. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed…and I knew which side of that equation I preferred.

“I fell in with a rough and tumble crowd after I found the overbearing drudgery of the Atlanta QZ…not to my tastes. At times, I could perceive my life as an observational case study in human behavior. I could separate myself from the…humanity of it. It was almost too easy to detach.”

His eyes have gone cold and pensive, his jovial, boyish mask forgotten as he speaks. 

“There were a number of us…mostly men, a few women. The leader of our group was a man named Damon, and one of the women bore him a daughter before she passed. No doubt you see where this is going.”

Joel absently traces the lines and ridges of his hands, their warmth and softness in stark contrast to his words.

“That young girl’s name is Cee. And though the life of a raider was no place for a child, Cee was afforded a certain degree of…protection. But her father was a self-obsessed fool, too concerned with holding onto whatever meager power he could lord over the rest. Textbook narcissist, if you’ll allow me to don my psychotherapist’s cap for a moment. Cee was but another resource he could use to his advantage, and when he couldn’t…he didn’t give a shit, if you’ll pardon my French.

“He didn’t see the way the other men looked at her, or if he did, he didn’t…care to see,” he says, swallowing hard.

“I feel I should clarify before I continue that I’m not a good man, songbird. I was party to some abominable acts of treachery. I sat idly by while our women were used as toys, as bait…often worse. I had no interest in the fairer sex, but I was hardly their knight in shining armor.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a controlled rush.

“I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. She was cornered. One of the brutes clearly intended to have his way with her. So I disposed of him…my knife found the socket of his eye,” he says coldly. “To this day I harbor no regrets, but I knew we would both regret the punishment when it came.

“I admit, I wasn’t in my right mind. Or perhaps I was. I was seeing clearly the man I had become, the lows to which I had sunk, and I…couldn’t fathom being at my own mercy any longer.

“So I stood at the precipice of a new life and I…I offered her a choice. Stay with her father and his ilk to suffer the same fate, or come with me. And though I still don’t pretend to understand why…she chose yours truly.

“We all have our lines in the sand, songbird. Cee was mine.”

“I dunno,” Joel murmurs. “Think she did alright.”

Ezra offers a soft, sad smile. “It was winter. We were unprepared. We left what little we had behind and stole away that very night. But Lady Luck has followed me most of my life, and we always seemed to find a little extra, my birdie and I. We made it further than we had any right to.

“When the fine citizens of Jackson stumbled upon us, your esteemed sister-in-law among them, we were in a very sorry state indeed. I was ready to succumb to whatever whimsies they fancied. I suspect they might have preferred to put me down like a rabid dog, and I could scarcely blame them. But then…Cee protected me. Threw herself in front of a cocked gun and begged for my life.

“And so I remain steadfastly in her debt, songbird. I can’t claim to understand how to…to care for a girl like Cee, not in the way she deserves to be cared for. Truth be told, she’s wiser and more courageous than I could ever hope to be. But I have to try. She’s brought out something better in me, something…something I hardly know what to do with. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Joel whispers.

“I know you do. When I told you I sensed a kindred spirit, I didn’t just mean this,” he whispers, bringing Joel’s hand to his lips, brushing the faintest kiss along his knuckles. “I see the same in you and your young prodigy. Am I wrong?”

Joel purses his lips. “No.”

He nods. “Then I suppose the question becomes, how much good must one do to make up for a lifetime of atrocity? And will they understand when it’s time for us to pay the piper?”

Joel thinks of the long hospital hallways, the easy dependability of his hands as he fired round after round, each shot an echo of his own steady heartbeat, every one bringing him closer to Ellie. He tries and fails to find a shred of remorse in it, even now.

“We did the worst so they don’t have to,” Joel says softly. “If that ain’t a kind of forgiveness…I don’t know what is.”

Ellie’s 16th birthday is a barbeque in the backyard. Her friends come over–Dina and Jesse and Cee and a couple others, all of them clustered around games of horseshoes and cornhole, sneaking sips of beer when they think the adults aren’t looking.

Joel gives her her present the morning before the party when it’s just the two of them; a refurbished guitar upon which he’s carved twining vines and butterflies. He’d spent hours that winter in his workshop, sanding it smooth and coating it with stain and replacing the strings.

He ties a piece of ribbon around the fret and presents it to her with a shrug, her eyes shining as he holds it out.

“Offer still stands. I’ll teach you if you want–”

She wraps her arms around his neck before he’s even finished talking; not that he could with the lump in his throat.

“You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he smiles into her shoulder.

She wrinkles her nose, pulls back to look at him. “What?”

“Y’know…pinky promise…?”

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sometimes he forgets there are so many things she never knew; pinky promises and Christmas presents and birthdays in the backyard.

“Oh…it’s, uh, somethin’ Sarah used to do. It’s like a handshake. But…I dunno. Here.”

He takes her hand, pulls at her pinky finger to extend it, then wraps it around his own, tugging lightly. “See? Pinky promise.”

“That’s…so lame,” she says, but she’s giggling as she says it, still holding on.

Sixteen , he thinks later, dazed by the sun and the sound of her laughter. Sixteen means patrol training. Sixteen is two more years than he got with Sarah. It’s both too much time and not enough.

Ezra shows up with a flat square of a package, something on vinyl that Ellie unwraps and fawns over. When she hugs him, his look of frank surprise catches Joel’s from across the lawn. Even Tommy didn’t get that treatment, and his birthday gift was probably the favorite–he’s chaperoning an overnight camping trip outside the wall.

“Now that’s a sight I never expected to see when I signed off on mandatory counseling,” Maria says, sidling up to him at the grill. “Thought for sure she’d fight him tooth and nail.”

Joel rumbles a quiet acknowledgment, poking at the venison sausages. “Not the only one.”

“She’s a good judge of character, though,” she says quietly. “Present company included.”

“That your way of sayin’ sorry?”

“It’s my way of saying I’m glad you’re both still here.”

Just a year ago, he and Ellie had crossed the threshold into a whole new life. There were times when he was sure Maria would have preferred he turn around and go back to Boston and stay there. As many times as Tommy tried to convince him otherwise, it’s still a shock to hear it from the source.

He clears his throat. “Heard Tommy’s takin’ ‘em camping tonight. Can’t tell if that husband of yours is crazy or stupid or both.”

Maria laughs softly. “He’s desperate to make your kid like him, Joel. I swear, sometimes I think he’s more invested in Ellie than his own daughter.”

“Dunno ‘bout that. Izzy has him wrapped around her little finger,” he says, reaching for his beer. “Ellie’s just a little harder to win over.”

“Worth it, though,” Maria says.

He watches as Ellie successfully makes a ten-point shot with a beanbag, pumps her fists in the air and lets out a crude, “hell yeah!”

“Yeah, I reckon she is.”

Later, he’s trapped in a stilted conversation with one of the neighbors–a woman he doesn’t know but he’s pretty sure Maria invited on purpose if the way she’s hanging off him is any indication–when he sees Ezra head into the house.

Relieved to have an excuse to get away, he says a terse goodbye and makes his way inside. He finds Ezra at the kitchen sink.

“Songbird,” Ezra murmurs.

“How’d you know it was me?” Joel leans against the counter, arms folded, getting as close as he can without being too obvious. He watches Ezra plunk a handful of plates into the soapy water.

“You have a very particular tread.”

“I do, huh?”

“Mmm. I apologize for ducking out. I would have said something out there but it seems you were otherwise…preoccupied,” Ezra says with a hint of amusement.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he says, frowning at the floor. “Think Maria keeps tryin’ to set me up.”

“Maybe you should tell her you’re already spoken for.”

Joel swallows hard. “That right?”

There are moments where Joel has imagined something more. Moments when they’re tangled up and sweaty and soft in a way he thought he’d forgotten how to be, where he thinks they could have…something. The kind of something he hasn’t felt in decades.

“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy a more exclusive arrangement. I fear we’re both getting too long in the tooth to keep sneaking around like a pair of star-crossed lovers.”

“Who you callin’ long in the tooth?” he mutters, bumping his hip into the other man’s side.

“I do believe you have a solid few years on me, songbird,” 

“Haven’t heard you complainin’.”

“And you most certainly will not,” he grins. “I like my men fully fledged.”

“Christ,” Joel says, biting back a smile. “So, uh…you think I invited you over here to do my dishes?”

“Is that a euphemism, cher ?”

Joel rolls his eyes, suppresses a shiver of pleasure at the endearment, usually spoken behind closed doors.

“No, I realize you haven’t solicited me for my housekeeping services,” Ezra continues. “But I thought you might appreciate a hand.”

“Ain’t that a euphemism?”

“Depends,” Ezra lowers his voice. “Will I have the pleasure of your company tonight?”

Joel looks around, suddenly self-conscious even though they’re alone. He chucks Ezra gently on the chin, eliciting a soft grin. It’s not a parting kiss, but it will do.

“I’d like that.”

That evening, he and Ezra stand at the gate to see Ellie, Cee, Tommy, and their crew off after extracting multiple reassurances that they’ll stay within radio distance and be back before noon. Joel swallows a healthy dose of fear, claps Tommy on the shoulder, and gives Ellie a side hug that goes on for just a beat too long.

Sixteen. Christ.

But then Ezra is by his side. They walk down Rancher Street together, anticipation blooming in the early evening glow. The door has barely closed behind them before clothes are divested, and a shared shower quickly devolves. They don’t bother drying, just fall into Joel’s bed wet and naked and pliant.

+++++++++++++++++++++SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++++

Joel’s cock hits the back of Ezra’s throat, and he barely restrains himself from lifting his hips to push himself deeper. It’s too good, the hot, wet silk of Ezra’s mouth sliding over him. He brings Joel to the brink and back again, and again, and again, drawing out his pleasure until he finds himself making sounds he’s never made before.

Whining. Whimpering. Pleading.

At one point, he’s braced against Joel’s cocked knee, hand cupped around Joel’s shaft as he laps hungrily at his head, taking him in as deep as he can before pulling back and swirling his tongue. Then one slick finger presses in, curls up deep, and Joel’s groan is a full-throated animal cry. Caught in the throes, he shifts his knee and Ezra loses his balance, pitching forward, nose to Joel’s stomach.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, contrite. “Shit, Ez, I didn’t–”

But Ezra is laughing, righting himself and leveraging Joel’s shoulder to crawl up the length of his body until they’re chest to chest.

“Could have just said you wanted a kiss, songbird,” he murmurs, capturing Joel’s lips before he can apologize, making him forget why he was sorry in the first place. Then his fingers are trailing a slow but steady path between his legs and pressing inside again.

“Fuck, Ez, I–I can’t–”

“Shhh,” Ezra whispers in turn, two fingers now working in deeper, deeper. “Relax, cher . All that tension will make it mighty hard to do what I intend to do.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Joel growls, leg thrown over Ezra’s hip. His hands slide over his body without aim, finally settling on his face, pulling him in for another kiss, letting his tongue trace the plush bottom lip, nipping and supping until he’s dizzy and aching for more.

Then he’s suddenly, brutally empty, and he groans at the absence.

“Patience is a virtue, mon cœur ,” Ezra whispers, lining himself up, the hot length of him pressing inside.

Joel’s eyes are squeezed shut. He’s so full he’s forgotten how to breathe. When he opens them, Ezra is watching him with that look, the one that cuts him open and shines a light on all his most vulnerable parts. He groans, lets his thumb wander to the curve of Ezra’s lips, the corner of his mouth. Ezra takes it in, sucking hard until Joel’s cock kicks against his stomach.

“There he is,” Ezra pants, withdrawing and sinking back in. “So tight, songbird. Oh, mon amour , you do know how to treat a gentleman.”

“Ez, fuck–” he grits out, unable to focus enough to form a coherent thought, but Ezra’s mouth is on his again and he doesn’t need to think, doesn’t need to breathe, doesn’t need anything except the hot weight of his body rolling him onto his back, grinding into him, cock leaking and aching with the friction.

“Touch yourself, mon amour ,” he grits out. “I find myself lacking a hand with which to do so or I would happily make myself of service to the cause–”

“Ezra,” Joel pants, desperately trying to concentrate on adjusting to the aching, throbbing fullness within him. “Do you…ever…shut…up?”

Laughter, cut short as Joel clenches around him. “I suspect…you already know the answer–ohh yes –to that question.”

Ezra nudges that spot deep inside that makes Joel’s breath catch. He can’t resist any longer, palming his cock roughly as Ezra continues that slick, delicious slide, sawing over that spot again and again.

“Ez, ‘m gonna–”

But Ezra is preoccupied with the hollow of his throat, lips and tongue suckling, so sensitive it makes him keen. Joel lets out a cry as his cock throbs and throbs and spurts of come glaze Ezra’s stomach.

“Oh, oh, oh songbird that’s–”

Three sharp, almost painful thrusts and he’s there, spilling inside, then barely holding himself up. Joel pulls him down, revels in the weight of the other man’s lanky body on top of his sturdier one, stuck together by their shared mess.

+++++++++++++++++++END+SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++

“Fuck,” whispers Joel into the white-blonde tuft of Ezra’s hair when his heart rate has finally returned to a reasonable cadence.

“Words…fail me,” Ezra mutters into his throat, and Joel grins and barks a laugh, full-throated and raw. 

“That’s not fuckin’ possible.”

“Aha, so there is a sense of humor somewhere under that brutish demeanor,” Ezra says, audibly delighted.

“Shuddup,” he mutters, nosing at the other man’s cheek until he tips his head up and kisses him with all the tenderness he can muster, which, as it turns out, is a great deal.

[lotusarchon]

No, I’m with the first anon. You publish asks telling you to hurt yourself all the time, but someone told you to stop engaging, tried to help because you THREATENED TO HURT YOURSELF, and you shot them down and tell them they’re acting like a saint. It isn’t healthy or a good look.

You don’t even have to answer this. You probably won’t. But I do hope you work on your wellbeing.

And again, you misunderstand the point I'm making.

I get where they're coming from, I know where they're coming from and I've already done then things advised. The last message I responded to with the shit was YESTERDAY. I've been posting other things to take my mind OFF of the drama.

You're not making yourself feel or sound better either, and rather than coming here to say that, SPECIFY, because again; I've already done what was said to me. You and that anon aren't the first people to do so.

I ignored their first message for a REASON. I've already done those things. But to come back acting like that is just baffling and furthermore annoying.

My best friend already told me that I needed to stop encouraging it, which I've done. I've cleared out anything related to the business, and that's it, I'm moving on to my own business with writing.

I'm not sure how many times I've had to repeat that I'm AWARE. If you checked the dates and times of the posts, you'd know that the last one was from YESTERDAY and NOT today.

You and first anon are confusing me still. Haven't you seen there's no other messages regarding the death threats?? Aren't you aware there's nothing posted recently because I know that's what they want? They WANT attention??

I'm trying to ignore the problem, but you and the first anon are bringing it up to prove some point that makes no sense. Listen, come off anon, then lecture me.

I KNOW. Believe me, I'm aware. I know that entertaining it is only going to bring problems for me.

I'm trying to actively ignore the problem, so if you're going to bring it up again, I'm going to delete your ask. Please stop repeating the same things over and over again because I've already done it and I'm moving on. I'm trying to keep what little of my sanity I've got left in peace. All you and first anon are doing are just reminding me.

You're just actively looking for problems at this point. If you can show me when the last recent post I've made answering any of the death threats or anons today, show me it, PLEASE. Because yesterday was the last time.

And, again. If you're referring to the dbz anon, chill, that's not hating. If you're referring to me reblogging my friend's post, if you read what I said, you'll know I didn't mention anything about harming myself because I KNOW.

Genuinely at this point this whole thing is a big fat joke. A lot of people are getting pulled in for no reason, but some people are TRYING to get pulled in.

Anon, you and first anon need to look through my account properly. And I mean, LOOK THROUGH IT. You see a few posts some people reblogged and IMMEDIATELY come to give repeated advise without context.

Adding this below here for everything in general; no I'm not suicidal, but also, even if I was and something were to happen, please genuinely stop acting like you would care. You're just some guy who came from someone's acc reblogging my post ready to jump in for no reason, it's super annoying.

I don't like this shit anymore than anyone else. Sometimes entertaining them is funny. I answered some of the other anons with funny memes or some shit just because trolling them is fun. Others I've deleted.

Dude. You guys are just bringing up a topic I'm actively trying to ignore. Giving me advice like this is only making me more annoyed and more butthurt. Yes, really. My method of coping is actively ignoring something. I've posted sooo many things and planned on reblogging all my fics to the top to ignore it.

I'm not a good person, never said I was, nor do I try to be. In the end of the day, I'm aware that the only person to blame is me. I'm upset my friends and others are getting yanked into the situation, but aside from that I know this is all my fault. From the beginning to the end, I KNOW. This was my shit, and I'll handle it by myself, either through committing, memes or something.

But you're genuinely just some stranger on the internet and quite frankly, you need to put yourself in my situation. I don't know you, or the other anons, why would I care to listen to you? I'm not obliged to, why do you persist on it?

If you bother to read this, then holy shit please understand. I never said the advice was bad. If anything, if you read anything properly but my tags, you would know I appreciate it even. It's silly but I like when people give me advice. What I don't like is when people repeat it constantly without explaining much less actually listening to what I say.

What's driving me insane is that you're still not listening. You're still not listening and holy fuck am I close to tears with this shit. Please, READ PROPERLY. Oh my god, it's genuinely not that hard for you to actively read, and process what I'm trying to say.

Over and over again, over and over. If it's not you fucking anons, it's my parents and if it's not my parents it's the police and if it's not the police it's someone else oh my god please LISTEN. LISTEN TO WHAT I'M SAYING. I'M NOT TRYING TO FABRICATE SOME SHIT STORY, JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE LISTEN. STOP TELLING ME I'M LYING STOP FUCKING TREATING ME LIKE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IM TALKING SBOUT STOP IT STOP

[desperate2lose]

hi, i’m Des. i haven’t had an @na/mi@ account since i was probably 14. that was the last time i was thin. all my life i have had weight issues, which i now know are due to PCOS (i’m ftm, have been for 12 yrs). the only 2 times i was ever thin were when i was 9 because i played sports, and when i was 14 because i was r3stricting. i’m 5’6, and i should be somewhere in the 120-150 range to be considered healthy. my lowest was 130 in high school. i’m currently at my highest, somewhere between 250-280. at about 18 i started ballooning, rapidly gaining weight no matter how much i worked out. since then i’ve rel@psed a couple times but it never stuck because i was so scared of being how i was in high school.

back then i was a zombie. due to mental health issues but also because of my ed. i was constantly tired and sad and i wanted to be a skeleton. i preferred being d3@d thin rather than fat and alive. i don’t feel that way anymore. i don’t want to be underw3ight, i don’t want to d!3. i want to be thin, i want to lose.

i’m aware that reverting to this lifestyle and r3stricting isn’t the healthy way to lose. however, it’s the only thing that has worked for me in the past. and i believe it’s the only way to regain my self control. i definitely b!nge sometimes for emotional reasons and i am not okay with that. whenever i’ve tried to diet in a “healthy” way, i fall off of it, or i don’t hold myself accountable enough.

i feel like i’m the type of person where if i say i’ll only eat 1200 cals it turns to 1500. if i say i’ll only eat omad it’ll end up being tmad. so my theory is that i have more than enough to lose, so if my goal is to eat n0thing, i’ll probably fail but still progress.

some things i’m trying to avoid:

• ending up malnourished

i plan on taking vitamins and if i do eat, making sure it’s the right type of food to get me thru my physical job/working out/life.

• my mental health declining

i’ve been working very hard on my mh and i’m not going to throw that away. so i’ll be tracking my moods and modifying what/how much i eat to keep myself stable.

• “⭐️vation mode”

i dont want to end up keeping my fat on because my body goes into this mode. so i’m gradually going to reduce my calories over probably 6 weeks.

• going under my ugw

if i even hit my ugw it’ll be a miracle, but i don’t want to become so @ddicted to r3stricting that i continue rather than maintaining if i eventually get there.

• my loved ones finding out

i plan on making it seem like im just changing my lifestyle. i don’t want to lie, so i’m hoping no one will notice.

• failing

pretty much the only perk of me being obese right now is that my doctor wants to put me on appetite suppressants. i just have to figure out which i’d rather have, do some bloodwork, and then i’m golden.

DISCLAIMERS

i’m not in the mindset to be swayed into not r3l@psing. so pls don’t try to convince me.

i’m not fatphobic. i don’t see anyone worth less no matter what their body looks like. this is solely about me and how i see myself.

i’m not into shaming/triggering each other on purpose to promote progress. you can do that but leave me out of it. if i see anyone insulting me, i’m blocking them, period.

i (in general, sometimes i have bad days) do not hate myself. i understand that this corner of the internet tends to have a lot of self hatred, sh, etc. that’s not where i am in life. this is strictly about w3ight to me. if you are sewer slidal, post sh, talk about sh, or constantly post self hatred, i probably won’t follow you. i hope you love yourself soon though.

any tips on how to lose/vitamins to take/recipes/etc are appreciated.

so thats basically it. im gonna be blogging some kind of mix between ana and d!et stuff. some healthy stuff. some not healthy stuff. i’m not trying to fit in any boxes, just trying to figure out what works for me because i am so fucking desperate to lose at this point.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hi Ridia-san! It’s been a long time since I last sent one of this but I’m feeling a bit angsty so, can I get a Saru who has given up on everything and plans to resign and go to another country?

He’s been acting more weird and nice for the past few weeks and the alphabet boys are starting to get scared because Saru is acting like a sentimental mother watching their kid grow up. For example while they’re doing their usual dumb pranks they suddenly stop because Saru is watching them with a small sad smile. At first they thought they’re gonna get scolded but then Saru just turned around and resumed his work like they didn’t just catch him staring.

Yata and Saru bump into each other but instead of their usual fight Saru just tells him to “Watch where you’re going Mi-sa-ki” and just walks away before he could even say anything. 

The last one is with Munakata. Munakata invites Saruhiko to drink some tea and discuss some plans when Saruhiko asks Munakata to help him solve some puzzles. Munakata was caught off guard but he pulled out some puzzles soon after.

(THEN OF COURSE THE AIRPORT SCENE MWEEHEHEHEHE)

Weeks later after their weird interaction with Saru the Alphabet squad woke up to the sound of an emergency alarm.

When they get to the place where their Captain is waiting for them he drops the bomb that Saru is resigning and he’s now at the airport and cue the usual last minute goodbye at the airport.

(I’m sorry for the very rushed ending of my ask but I hope you got the gist of it. You can add more story, scenarios or interactions if you want to Ridia-san!)

(p.s : I’m the one who sent the heterochromia ask and the crying Saru ask with mean Reisi 

♡´･ᴗ･`♡)

Imagine this maybe like post-ROK, like Fushimi’s been getting better and becoming more healthy mentally but then he has some sort of major relapse and starts to think his existence is pointless again and wouldn’t it be better if he just went somewhere far away where no one knows who he is. At first he just thinks of it idly, like how stupid would it be, but then he finds himself thinking about it more and more, like he’s not really needed here and he should just go without saying anything, it isn’t like anyone will care anyway. Maybe everyone’s powers have really been fading and there’s rumors of S4 disbanding and this is what really becomes the catalyst, Fushimi thinking that the precious place he didn’t even realize was precious is going to be taken away but rather than destroy it himself this time he thinks he should just go, like the only way to keep him from becoming that destructive person again is to simply run away. 

Fushimi being Fushimi he is very meticulous in his plans, hiding everything from everyone. He tells himself that this is the best thing, there’s really no reason to stay — but then he keeps having moments of unexpected emotion, like he sees the squad screwing around and doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until Hidaka notices and asks if they’re in trouble. Fushimi clicks his tongue and says it’s nothing, after he leaves though the squad wonder if he’s doing okay. Doumyouji says wasn’t that smile like a parent seeing their kid off to college and Fuse’s like don’t be stupid why would Fushimi of all people have that kind of smile.

Meanwhile Fushimi debates saying goodbye to anyone at all. Imagine he runs into Yata and just blows him off, much to Yata’s confusion, Fushimi probably thinking if he says anything it will turn bad and didn’t he want to just leave on quiet terms this time. A few days before he intends to leave he stops into Munakata’s office to drop off reports and Munakata asks him if he would like to do a puzzle together, something he’s asked fairly often. Munakata is pleasantly surprised when Fushimi pauses and then says yes, why not. At first Munakata is pleased about it but imagine his expression clouding the more they work on the puzzle, like just something about Fushimi’s expression and the way he’s acting is setting off alarm bells in Munakata’s head and he can’t say why. Before Fushimi leaves Munakata asks if he’s okay and Fushimi just gives him a soft smile and shakes his head, which makes Munakata even more nervous.

Several days later everyone’s awakened by an alarm going off in S4, summoned for an emergency meeting. They’re all hustled into the hangar and into a helicopter, imagine Munakata is at the controls and everyone is vaguely concerned. Akiyama asks what’s going on and Munakata seriously says that he has been doing some research lately and he’s discovered something alarming: it seems Fushimi has bought a one-way ticket for a foreign country and intends to leave them all, he’s at the airport now. Everyone is shell shocked and Munakata tells them to please strap in because it seems they will need to have an emergency intervention. Meanwhile Fushimi is trying to get to the airport and keeps being delayed, unknown to him Yata and Homra were also contacted by Munakata and were given the specific mission to delay Fushimi long enough for S4 to beat him to the airport.

Imagine a very dramatic airport scene, but instead of the usual running up to someone at the gate Fushimi doesn’t even make it into the airport, because as soon as he’s in the parking lot he stops dead to see a helicopter above him. Munakata hands the controls to Akiyama to land this thing (he’s already requested clearance, being a government official certainly is handy) and then he just jumps right out of the helicopter in front of Fushimi. Fushimi takes a moment to recover from his shock and then clicks his tongue, he doesn’t get how Munakata found out but why should Munakata even bother stopping him, they don’t need him anymore right. Munakata wonders where Fushimi got the idea for such a thing and Fushimi looks away, muttering that isn’t it true, eventually S4 will disband and then what use will he be. He’ll just start destroying things if he stays, so he may as well go.

Munakata says things may seem that way to Fushimi, but he should look around him more — many people have come together now for Munakata to stop Fushimi here, because they don’t want him to leave. He’s important to everyone, whether they have use for him or not, and to just let a member of their family leave without a word is certainly not something he can allow. Fushimi’s eyes get wide and imagine before he can even say anything Awashima and the alphabet boys come running over, having landed the helicopter as quickly as they could. Everyone surrounds him, telling him how much they need him and how it wouldn’t be the same without him and Munakata just gives Fushimi this gentle smile as he puts a hand on Fushimi’s shoulder and says that no matter what the future should bring Fushimi will always be surrounded by people who need him, so he shouldn’t run away so easily. 

[bvannn]

Weekly update February 23, 2024

I know I just woke up so this is early, but I don’t anticipate having time to write this later. I’ve had a ton of homework this week and been feeling really bad. I don’t know how much of it is more lingering sickness from surgery, if I caught something going around campus, how much of it is my congenial illness, or if there’s something else, but I assume it’s a mix. That coupled with homework means I didn’t really get much of anything done this week. I don’t know how next week will be. My congenial condition is probably the worst, because it prevents me from being able to get up out of bed when it’s flaring up, so I’m going a lot longer without food. That coupled with surgery sickness making me anxious and trying to justify not eating, has me a bit worried but not worried enough to force myself to eat. I feel gross when I eat. My stomach hurts every time, most of the food I have isn’t healthy anyway, it’s smarter just to not. That’s probably why I got more drunk off of less alcohol last night, honestly, although I did force myself to have lunch and dinner so I wouldn’t put myself in danger.I play it overly safe with alcohol, since I know how much it takes to almost kill me, and alcohol is really the only reliable way to take an anxious edge off before bed right now. I have leftover oxycodone from surgery but I want to save that for when I need the painkilling effects, and I have a couple friends begging and pleading me to try weed again, but I’ve never really had a desire to, and I haven’t really known why until I really thought about it this morning: weed puts a focus on your body, it doesn’t numb your nerves like alcohol or oxy do. Which means it brings focus to my condition, which is distressing. It’s like meditation, it only works if you’re already healthy. I wish I could have put that together sooner, it probably would have made turning it down a lot easier, since they would understand. I know they aren’t trying to be malicious, they just don’t understand because I had no way of communicating it to them. Now that I know what’s wrong, I can put it off for a while, until my congenial condition is cleared up, in a few years. Anyway enough Health rambling, art stuff

The main thing I did in the way of art this week was fiddling with vocaloid. Still not sure which banks to get, but it doesn’t matter too much since I won’t have the money for them for a good while anyway. Right now is to throw together the actual vpr files with the default banks, and then pass them to friends on discord who already have the banks, so they an render the MP3 and pass it back to me. Extra steps, sure, but it’ll work. I’m hoping to find a way to copy and paste the phonetic lyrics too, so I can see how the Japanese banks handle English, but no dice so far. If I need to write them out manually, I can, too.

As for instrumental music: I keep trying to throw together small beats late at night and they always sound like shit. I posted the one the other day and the next morning it was terrible, but I used a drum machine of course it was going to sound awful. I do essentially have the ambient instrumental one done, still running it past test audiences, which is a bit harder since people are less likely to spend the time test listening to a song vs giving a drawing a once over. I’m tempted to make my own discord server to try and garner a little community where people can test listen to stuff and post art, but I don’t know if I’d have a way of moderating it, I’ve seen some awful people on public discords. I might give it a few listens over myself and maybe just send it anyway, but I don’t trust my ears, I maybe don’t hear the instruments at the volume they actually are. I’m not sure, which is why I want to play it safe by passing it through peer review. Peer review is important, it’s the reason hazbin hotel was good while helluva boss wasn’t.

I haven’t been doing drawings, due to time and energy. Today is the due date for the worst of my homework, so I’ll try to get stuff done this weekend. I want to animate but have been having art block in that department. Honestly a fair amount of art block all around. Energy is also a component but last night I slept well, so I’ll try to get more sleep in the next few days, see how it helps. Unfortunately that’ll mean no staying up late to do drawings but that’s fine probably.

I also haven’t been getting comic progress done the way I want, but it’ll be fine, I can pick up again soon. I’m at 20 pages thumbnailed, moving into ‘act 3’, then I’ll go over and add in whatever I need to reach count and to fix any unnatural scenes. I’ll try to get back to ‘one a day’ starting tomorrow. Block is a bit hard on thumbnailing because it makes me just want to slap the panels on the page, but that’s lazy, I can have more fun with it than that.

I think next week the plan is going to be eat less food, spend more time with friends, go to bed earlier, back to one a day thumbnails, and whatever else I make I make. I’ll try to get art to go with that finished song done, and I’ll try to figure out how to sound balance it. Hopefully I can get that done in time to post it before the next update.

[snezfics-n-shit]

Sicktember Day 16: Consulting the Internet/Web MD

Fandom: Ace Attorney

Characters: Adrian Andrews, Franziska von Karma, Larry Butz

Notes: Adrian knows better than to type every symptom into the nearest search engine. Adrian knows nothing good comes of it. Why is it so tempting, then? You know the drill: post-SoJ for timeline purposes only, married Fradrian, Larry’s hanging out again. Also, I got to look up the German word for “quack doctor” so that was fun. "Cure" + "Botcher" is clever; I like it.

     The amount of tissues accumulating in the bedroom trash bin started matching the amount there was the last time a movie featuring a dog on the cover with a Based On The Award Winning Novel sticker was brought into the Andrews home. If these came from a satisfying, healthy cry like that, Adrian wouldn’t have been anxiously staring at her phone set face down on the breakfast table, fighting off every urge to look up why her nose had been running for nearly two weeks. 

Her wife was so kind in her encouragement not to give in to jumping into a rabbit hole that they both knew would lead to nothing but trouble, just as it always did. For example, last year, the results of some particularly sneaky mosquitos were quickly misidentified as some horrible, incredibly rare disease neither Adrian nor Franziska could figure out how to pronounce. So much distress when all that was needed was some anti-itch ointment and self-discipline; this was something they both would rather avoid letting happen again. Unfortunately, such avoidance was easier said than done. 

Adrian hoped it would be easier with Larry staying over, since he could potentially provide a welcome outside perspective. Larry had traveled to all kinds of places, after all, so if something was to be worried about, he’d probably let Adrian know, right? Isn’t that what people say? That “no news is good news?” 

The thing about anxiety, however, is the rule of “no news is good news” has already been tossed out the window. If there was no definite confirmation that everything was fine, everything might as well have met the worst case scenario. If a client had not responded to one of Adrian’s suggestions, her suggestion must have been horrible. If one of Franziska’s work partners excused themselves from a shared space, Adrian must have been the one annoying them. Therapy had done a lot of good for assessing these conclusions and whether or not they were actually plausible, but that didn’t make Adrian immune to the occasional feeling that everything was at the worst place it could possibly be. 

“Good morning, sweetie.” Franziska greeted her as she served a large cup of Adrian’s favorite morning tea. “How are you feeling this morning?” 

“Terrified.” Adrian answered before blowing her nose into the closest available napkin. “I mean, I didn’t look up my symptoms this time, but I did remember that Medical Mysteries podcast I found two years ago…” 

“Someday, I’ll find some way to make those fearmongers answer to me!” Franziska vowed. “Surely there must be a way for them to take responsibility for your sleepless nights.” 

Even after years of marriage, Adrian still found herself swooning like a schoolgirl whenever Franziska talked like this.

“There probably is.” Larry joined the conversation from the kitchen doorway. “Though I’m pretty sure her name isn’t ‘Shirley.’” He couldn’t help himself from adding that.

“Oh, Larry.” Adrian chuckled, which softened Franziska’s initial irritation with Larry’s joke. “I hope you slept well, by the way.” She poured a cup of tea for her houseguest. “I couldn’t sleep a wink, even without staring at a screen looking through WebMD.” She sniffled. “I ended up staying awake just to keep myself from looking anything up.” 

“Sure did!” Larry answered with a big smile. “A good night’s sleep got me thinking, too. I might just know what you need.” 

“I trust it’s not something foolish that might get her hurt.” Franziska was quick to speak, not wanting Larry to suggest anything reckless. Not that he had proven to suggest such things; after all, he was the one who tried to stop that fool Phoenix Wright from running through a burning bridge, but for Adrian’s sake, it was better to be safe than sorry. 

“Of course not!” Larry seemed confident enough. “Fresh air. It might be the last nice day before fall really kicks in, after all. Plus, you could leave your phone inside to keep the temptation away.” 

“That does sound beneficial.” Franziska acknowledged with a nod. “What do you think, sweetie?” She asked the one person whose opinion mattered most in all this.

“I like that.” Adrian sipped the last of her tea and stood up. “Do you think we could sit in the garden, honey? It’s so pretty in the morning.” 

Franziska would have also suggested the garden, but she preferred encouraging Adrian to make decisions and be direct with them. Now, she didn’t quite understand Adrian’s requests for permission weaved in these decisions, but Franziska was a firm believer that the little steps to assertiveness mattered just as much as big ones. 

“Absolutely.” Franziska stood up as well and planted a kiss on Adrian’s cheek before turning her attention to Larry. “I’d like you to stay right here, Larry Butz, unless it’s an emergency. Alright?”

“You got it, Franzy!” Larry jokingly saluted his gracious hosts as they left for the garden. 

. . .

“Even with the gardeners being on vacation recently, the garden truly is beautiful.” Franziska observed before catching a glimpse of Adrian starting to tear up. “Adrian, darling? Are you alright?”

“Huh?” Adrian blinked. “Yeah, I’m alright.” She pulled out a tissue from a pocket pouch decorated with a cat themed design, picked out for one of the cats’ strong resemblance to Shoe. “Gh… I feel like I have to sneeze, though, but not enough for it to actually happen.” She wiped her nose furiously. “It’s driving my nose crazier than usual.” 

“That’s just the worst, isn’t it? Do you want me to assist–” Something made Franziska completely stop, her eyes wide and her mouth curling into a frown. 

“I-Is something wrong?” 

“Weeds.” Franziska hissed to herself. “You stay right here. I’m going to take care of a prime suspect.”

Prime suspect?

“Wait, what?” Adrian couldn’t quite understand what her wife was talking about.

Franziska stomped over to the uninvited greenery and furiously sought out every root she could find. How dare they commit not only the crime of stealing valuable nutrients from the plants that had already been carefully tended to, but also the even worse crime of potentially being the source of her wife’s suffering? Everyone knew well enough that the latter was grounds for the harshest penalties. 

Her clothing was heavily dusted in pollen by the time she had finished this first battle with the weeds, but at least for this round, she was victorious. 

“Please forgive me for what this might do, sweetie.” Franziska preemptively apologized before wincing as she held out one of her new war trophies. 

It wasn’t long before Adrian’s previous grievance was at least somewhat relieved as a flurry of sneezes made their way out with ease. 

“Wow uh,” Adrian interrupted herself with another set of sneezes, “what are those?” 

“Mugwort.” Franziska said its name through gritted teeth, making sure such an utterance was devoid of any resemblance of respect for the species. “An allergic reaction to its pollen is the most likely cause of all that trouble your nose has given you.” 

“Well, I don’t doubt you one bit.” Adrian said before blowing her nose. “Larry really was right. The fresh air really was helpful.” Helpful was a funny way to put it, considering how much more miserable she felt outside, but it was still fitting in this case.

“Indeed it was. Far better than some kurpfuscher on the internet keeping you up all night with worry.” Franziska pulled off a pollen coated glove and held out her bare hand. “Come, sweetie. Let’s draw ourselves a hot bath and then find you a nice, strong antihistamine. I’ll enlist Larry Butz’s help in ridding the gardens of every last weed afterwards while you catch up on all that lost sleep.” 

There Adrian went swooning again.

“Gosh, I love you so much.”

[jodilin65]

If I could brainwash myself into believing there was a good loving God up there listening to me, all I would have to do is ask that He makes sure I feel like shit almost every single day because that would certainly be a done deal and therefore I would feel "listened" to.

I’ve been absolutely miserable. For a week now, I can’t get a full night’s sleep without it being broken up. In the middle of the night, I wake up to pee, and just as I start to fall back asleep, I make this snorting sound from my nose. I’m completely exhausted!

Tom, who’s usually better at research than I am, did some digging, and we now suspect I might have a collapsed nasal valve. It’s fixable, but of course, it would take time and money, which would set us back. This issue has now become a higher priority for me than my A1C and my undoubtedly terrible TSH. I need to sleep! This is so much worse than just waking up for a second or two or getting up to pee and falling back asleep quickly. Now, I’m awake for longer stretches, and it’s happening more frequently. I feel horribly drained, run-down, and even more fatigued on top of the health issues I already have.

It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair that Aly, who wanted to live, had to die. If it weren’t for him, I’d be more than ready to go, but I can’t because he just won’t let go. As I’ve told him, though, sooner or later, I won’t care what he wants. I’ll put myself first and end this suffering. My health is gone. I know it. I’ll never be healthy again. I’m just going to keep suffering like I have for the last decade—just in different ways. I really don’t see myself ever being healthy again or beating this fatigue, no matter what’s causing it.

I’d love to end it all now and just be done with it. Again, it’s not fair. Someone asked Maria how she’d been doing on Facebook (I thought they stopped sharing what people post on friends’ walls) and said she didn’t look well the last time they saw her. She replied that every day is a miracle. She mentioned having only a third of her lungs, 20% of her heart, and needing a scooter to get around. She’s also been dodging cancer testing because she doesn’t want to hear she’s got something she can’t fight. She said it would break her heart.

Why can’t it be me who gets something terminal? At least then I’d know there was an end in sight. Why does it always have to be the ones who don’t want to die? It’s not that I want to die, but I want to be healthy, have energy, and function. Since that’s not happening, I’m ready to go.

I swear, it feels like something out there gave me this nasal issue just to mess with my sleep, now that traffic noise isn’t a problem. It’s like I’ve never been meant to sleep. My sleep has been cursed my entire life in various ways. I’m not suddenly going to wake up one day with consistent energy, a decent thyroid, and no real problems except minor annoyances. That’s just not me anymore, and it hasn’t been for years.

The symptoms of a collapsed nasal valve make sense. If I have it, it’s likely due to cartilage breaking down with age—or maybe damage from years of using nasal sprays. It can be fixed, but it could take months just to see an ENT. Then, I’d have to hope they don’t cancel on me. They’ll probably need to do an endoscopy to get a clear look at my nose. These symptoms fit, though, and it explains why sprays and pills haven’t been helping. It also explains why I started snoring these last couple of years. This isn’t allergies like what I normally get. When my allergies act up, I usually sneeze and have a runny nose. This is different. I can’t draw in enough air through my nose, almost like I’m partially pinching it closed. I thought it was strange for sleep apnea to become an issue, given my mouth and throat structure haven’t changed. I’m even a little lighter than I was a few years ago—now down to 154.

I’ve always feared losing weight because of how my medication might affect me, but it looks like I’ll have to conquer that fear since I’m not going back to sugar. Occasionally, I’ll have a treat, but that’s it.

According to my research, I could lose weight slowly over the next 18 months and get close to an ideal weight for a muscular woman my age and height—120 to 125 would be ideal.

It probably doesn’t matter that we may not get ahead and move because southern New Mexico is likely out. I did more research into the frequency of sonic booms, and if anything, they’ll not only increase but drop the flight paths from 30,000 to 5,000 feet. Poor Becky! I shared the article with her. These bastards are ruining more and more rural and even coastal areas.

[vissla]

.

[canirove]

Red & Blue | Chapter 35

Author's note: We are approaching the end of "Red & Blue", but don't worry, because there is more Mason coming in November. And in the company of a certain Portuguese with arms the size of my head 👀

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

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“Dear God, breathe!”

“Imf brifin.”

“No, you are not. Eat slowly, please.”

“Fine” I say. “But I am hungry, and this tastes so good.”

“I know it does. But I only want to have to take you to the hospital when that little one decides is time to come to the world, not because you’ve chocked while eating chocolate.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Are you eating well?”

“Yes, Eliza. I am eating well.”

“Because you are planning on playing again once the baby is born, right? You are not retiring yet.”

“I am not. Besides, I live with a football player. I eat healthy even if I don’t want to, and all this will be burnt later” I say, giving my pastry another big bite.

“Pilates? Yoga?”

“Mounting.”

“Mount… Oh. Oh!”

“Oh indeed” I say with a big smile.

“Let’s talk about something else, shall we?” Eliza says, her face turning a bright shade of pink. “The announcement.”

“Yes, that.”

“What do you guys want to do?”

“We thought an Instagram post would be enough.”

“Maternity shoot?”

“God, no. I hate those, they are so… Yeah, not for me. But Mason has been taking random photos of the me and the bump, so one of those will do.”

“And the caption?”

“I don’t know. Something simple, nothing cheesy.”

“Ok. Send me some of the photos you like and the caption, and I’ll discuss it with his team.”

“Really? Is that necessary?”

“This is something huge. It isn’t like when you go somewhere for the holidays. We can’t risk posting it and then seeing that there is some underwear on the background, a grammar error…”

“I don’t make grammar errors” I say all proud.

“Just in case. We don’t want to give people any reason to be mean or send hate. Not with something like this.”

“The haters will find a way to hate, they don’t give a shit about anything or anyone. But yes, it’ll be for the best.”

“And then we have you know who…” Eliza sighs.

“Oh, the conspiracy theorists that believe Leah and I are together and Mason is just a beard… I hope they don’t follow the scary route others have, and start saying this is all fake and that the baby is a doll.”

“They’ll probably say it is your baby with Leah, and that Mason is the sperm donor.”

“Or Aaron.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye on the comments.”

“Great. Are you gonna eat that?” I say, pointing at the other pain au chocolat on the table.

“All yours. But promise you will eat it slowly.”

“I promise” I say before devouring it in just a few bites.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━        

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━         

"Ay, ¡pero mírate!" Sandra says, hugging me. She and Marco have come to spend a couple of days with us in London now that La Liga is on their Christmas break. "Last time I saw you, you were barely showing!"

"And now, look" I say, caressing my belly.

"Two months left, right?"

"Yep."

"Are you ready for it?" Marco says, also giving me a hug.

"I think I am. Mason, on the other hand..."

"He's freaking out, isn't he?" Sandra says.

"Kind of."

Instead of spending most part of his free time playing golf or video games with his friends, he's now using that time to read books about pregnancies and babies. And when he is online, he's constantly watching videos, reading more, and searching and buying everything we may need. Or not.

"Can I check the nursery?" Sandra asks. "Seeing it on videos isn't the same as in real life."

"She's been looking forward to it since we got the plane tickets. I think she's more excited about that than seeing you" Marco says.

"Hey!" she replies, hitting him on the arm. "I'm excited because this is a very special project. It is my first nursery, and I don't usually work through facetime, I visit the places I'm decorating. I must make sure everything is perfect for the little one."

"If you say so... Ouch!" Marco complains when Sandra hits him again.

"C'mon, I'm also excited about you seeing it for the first time" I say, grabbing her arm. Since Sandra works as an interior designer, I asked for help with the nursery. I had no idea about where to start.

"Oh my God, it's perfect!" she says once we walk into the room, checking every detail. "And the wallpaper! So much prettier in person!"

"I love it. Now I kind of want the whole house to be covered on it."

"The rest of the house looks great the way it is, don't touch anything" she says, threatening me with her finger.

"The hanger with all the little shirts is so cute" Marco says.

"Mason loves it."

"He is the one who put the Chelsea one first, isn't he?"

"Yep. And when Leah comes to visit, it's the Arsenal one the one that magically shows up first."

"I can see them fighting over the shirt the baby must wear" Marco laughs.

"Oh, that's already happening. Sometimes Declan also is involved and... Yeah. So I've told them that those stay on the hanger, and the only one that gets to be worn is the England one. That makes everyone happy."

"Unless they start arguing about the name or number on the back..."

"Marco, don't give them ideas!" Sandra says.

"I knew it could happen, so I said no name or number. Besides, only Mason and I know the name."

"Which I think is very rude. Not telling your dear friends about the name... What if I want to get you something with the name embroided?" Sandra says, checking the wardrobe. "But look at all these little outfits! You better send me photos every single day."

"I will, you aren’t the first person who asks for it. I see myself making a group chat just to send photos of the outfits.”

“Baby influencer” Marco says.

“Have you decided if you will show the face on social media?” Sandra asks.

“No, not yet. Mason is dying to be able to go out and do the walk around the pitch at the end of the season like he’s done with Summer. He’s said that it is a dream he’s always had, to do that with his kids. Same if he wins something. And whether you like or not, there will be photos and videos online. So I guess we’ll see how things go, and how comfortable we feel.”

“Good” Sandra says. “Now let’s take some photos of this beautiful room. Will you allow me to post them on Instagram?”

“Of course! I know how much it means to you.”

“You are the best” Sandra says, giving me a quick hug.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━       

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐚𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬

a/n: hey everyone! hope you enjoy these college headcanons! part two can be found here! warning for nsfw in jean's, and mentions of alcohol/partying throughout!

jean kirstein

jean shows up to college thinking it’s gonna be high school part two, and quickly gets put in his place

his old antics (for both school and girls) won’t fly anymore, so he tries his hardest at both

i personally see jean as not the smartest, most gifted kid (in college!) but definitely one of the hardest workers

this man comes in pre-law and changes to sports management real quick

he definitely plays some kind of club sport, lacrosse or basketball or maybe even both and he is way too into it

like club lacrosse is his life.

he 100% has eyes for cheerleaders, because he loves idea of someone rooting for him, and if you are one, then it’s instantaneous

he notices you at one of his games, giving a shove to conny and asking if he knew who you were

which is met with “what do i look like, a phone book?”

he builds up the courage to ask you out eventually, to which of course you agree, and it’s pretty much a happy ending after that

makes for a lot of sweaty, post-match sex, with him still in his jersey and you in your uniform hiked up

reiner braun

frat bro reiner is a business major with a focus on finance

reiner is the guy who dedicates 100% of his time to school during the weekdays, and the weekends are for the bros

he’s the first in the library, last to leave lecture because he stayed behind to get clarifications, and pretty much aces everything

halloweekend, he decides to drag annie and bertholdt to a party, because they are in desperate need of letting loose

probably dressed up as something mildly douche-y that didn’t require a lot of thought: a foot ball player jersey with eye black improvised by annie

he is a heavy-weight if you’ve ever seen one, probably on his fifth cup of cheap beer and not even slightly buzzed

annie and bertholdt are sloshed, so he keeps one eye on them to make sure they’re alright

you, on the other hand, are serving as designated-driver for the night and sipping on soda

i think any kind of sweet, innocent costume (angel, fairy, woodland creature) would get his attention immediately

he goes over to you to try to make conversation, and finds himself stumbling over his words even though he just swore he wasn’t tipsy yet

but you find it cute, and given how you have seen him before around campus, studying all the damn time, you’re pleasantly surprised to find a sweet, interesting guy making conversation with you at a halloween party

eventually, your friends take off with their hook-ups, and reiner is left behind alone too after making sure everyone had a safe ride home

with no one left besides you two and his passed out friends, you offer him and his roommates a ride back to his dorm

after dropping annie off, you arrive at the dorm and help lug a blacked-out bertholdt to their room

you say goodnight and as you leave, feeling bold, you leave your number on the whiteboard hanging on their door

so that then turns into coffee-and-studying dates, and eventually a relationship before too long

armin arlert

i think we all know what armin is like in college: marine biology major and history minor

this is an effortless genius, so unlike reiner, he doesn’t have to spend all his time studying

i think armin would be the kind of guy who has school and life figured out, and he slowly realizes a healthy relationship is the one thing missing from his life

there’s honestly plenty of people who want to date him, if he had ever cared to return any of their gazes

i honestly see him being oblivious, so when a fellow classmate asks if he wants to study together, he goes “oh, sorry, i wasn’t really planning on studying, but maybe eren wants a study-buddy, i’ll let him know for you!” instead of realizing that was someone flirting

so it’s the same for you

you’re taking the marine sci class as a last resort, everything else was completely filled up, and you just had to get out of that physics class

but all this talk about oceans and sea-creatures is even worse, somehow. to put it short, you’re struggling, and armin is the kid who raises his hand at every question without so much as jotting down a note during lecture

you know mikasa through a friend-of-a-friend type situation, and ask her if armin would be willing to tutor you sometime

doesn’t matter that part of the reason you’re doing so poorly is because you’re staring at the back of his head most of class

armin and you get together to study on a saturday evening, and what began as a recap on the history of the ocean quickly turns into laughing, talking, and then “you wanna go grab something to eat?”

for someone so smart, he’s really dense

he thinks you’re being friendly and doesn’t want to assume you’re thinking this is a ‘date’ even though you’re internally screaming

it takes you leaning in for a kiss after he’s walked you back to your dorm for it to click

needless to say, he wasn’t quite so oblivious after that

eren yeager

eren was determined to get into the same college as armin and mikasa

my man is undecided, and then sociology after he’s forced to pick

not exactly a fuckboy, not exactly a stoner, just somewhere in between

procrastinates doing work and submits every thing a day late, even though he probably would have gotten full marks if it was on time

him and mikasa decide to take a marine bio class with armin, and he ends up falling asleep during lecture

i don’t see him going for a goody-two shoes type that wants to reform him, because he just wouldn’t want to deal with that

it’s not a toxic relationship, but pretty close to one

on again, off again ever since the two of you met in a dingy frat basement, absolutely hammered, and hooked up

this boy does not want to admit that he’s caught feelings, but eventually it comes to that because he is very much the jealous type

catches you engaging in polite conversation with reiner and he is seeing white in seconds

he realizes he has to make you his

marco bott

the most wholesome nursing major with a minor in english because he is a sucker for lit

i don’t think there is any shortage of girls who want to be with marco, just given how sweet and genuine he is

that being said, i feel like the few time he’s wanted to pursue a relationship with someone, they haven’t reciprocated/just saw him as a friend

which isn’t the easiest thing to deal with, but because he’s a mature angel, he doesn’t hold that against anyone

instead, he kind of succumbs to this false idea that people want to be his friend, and not his girlfriend, which he’s a little insecure about

that’s why i think you and marco would have idiot best friends to lovers, featuring everyone around you knowing how head over heels you both are except the two of you

you two meet in a particularly challenging class, and not recognizing anyone, you both turn to the friendliest face in the room to make study-buddies with

over a whole semester of late-night cramming (and talking), scribbling smiley faces on flashcards, and good luck texts before the exam, you realize how much you’re gonna miss constantly hanging out with marco

and on his end, he’s complaining to jean about how after the final, you two won’t have any reason to keep talking

“so ask her out then, you idiot”

“she probably doesn’t think of me like that…”

“are you blind?” jean says, with a roll of his eyes

after the class has ended and you’re both headed back home for winter break, you work up the nerve to text marco one last time

“let me know if you ever need help studying for another class :)”

you have no idea that he’s over the moon, and that finally brings an end to your friendship, and starts your relationship

bertholdt hoover

mister bertholdt is structural design and architecture major

there’s basically six of those total in your entire college, so he definitely gets a bit isolated/lonely sometimes

he basically came to college with reiner & annie, and figured he didn’t really need more friends than that

so when they’re busy, he’s just by himself

annie definitely makes fun of him for not spreading his wings and flying out of the metaphorical nest, but he’s comfortable with how it is

not a huge fan of the party scene, and prefers a quiet night of studying

i feel like you and him would be the last two studying in the library most nights, and sometimes walk out together after the librarian reminds you both the building is closing

so, when reiner and annie drag him to a party one weekend, he’s shocked to see you there too with outgoing friends of your own

he’s used to seeing you in the bright fluorescent lighting of the library, so this dim, hazy room after the shots have already gone to his head is hard to take in

you two eventually end up talking after your friends push you towards him

“funny seeing you here.” “i could say the same to you.”

he already has a crush (you do too, but he doesn’t want to accept that) so the alcohol inhibits his usual caution

a little bit of dancing, a lot of sitting on the pavement outside while looking at the moon, stars, and each other, topped off with a first-kiss starts your relationship

levi ackerman

teaching assistant levi is a staple of your college

almost infamous, really

you count your lucky blessings that he’s still a year or so away from graduating with his ph.d. in molecular biology and that he’s ta’ing this microbiology class

you’ve definitely heard all sorts of rumors, but you really don’t know what’s truth and fiction

he definitely hasn’t slept with a third of his students (right?) but the lingering way he looks at you isn’t helping quell your thoughts

technically speaking, teaching assistants and students are not allowed to date, interact, etc

until the semester in which you are their student is completed, at least

it doesn’t take long after that for you two to constantly run into each other

“how’re your new classes going? any hot ta’s?” he asks, sipping his tea from the bookstore cafe. you choke on your hot chocolate.

all this being said, you’re an upperclassmen about to graduate, possibly start a ph.d. or masters program yourself. i see him teaching upper-level courses exclusively.

it’s not long after that you admit your feelings to each other, since after all, there’s no time to waste

erwin smith

you’re a second year masters program in the history department. your specialization is military history, so of course professor smith is assigned as your thesis advisor.

i mean, he’s only written several textbooks on the subject

on first sight, you can’t believe he’s a professor. because certainly, this is a some cruel twist of fate. he’s closer to your age than some of his colleagues.

you both try to keep it strictly professional

at first least. this gets gradually harder and harder

there’s a certain chemistry there neither of you can deny.

having a mutual interest in the same subjects doesn’t help too much either. suddenly, you guys are spending hours pouring over topics for his next textbook and your thesis.

the conversation continues over chinese food in his office, long after the rest of the building has cleared out for their friday evenings

“well, i won’t keep you any longer. i’m sure you have much better plans on a friday night than talking military policy with me.”

“there is no where else i’d rather be.”

hope you all liked it! :)

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

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

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

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

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

Rated T, gen.

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

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

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

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

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

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

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

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

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

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

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

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

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

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

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

“For free?” Rex demands.

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

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

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

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

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

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

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

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

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

“Yeah?”

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

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My last fight--”

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

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

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

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

“Jedi?”

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

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

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

“Bit young for that.”

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

“Not in command.”

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

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

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

This part of the story is his.

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the difference?”

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

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

“Time travel.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s say I believe you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That why you’re special?”

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

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

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

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Caf?”

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

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

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

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

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

“Try me anyway.”

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

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

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

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

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

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

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

“You’re hard on yourself.”

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

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

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

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

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

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

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

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

It’s Depa.

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

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

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

“Are you Depa?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

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

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

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

Does she?

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

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

Right. That.

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

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

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

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

That was a forgone conclusion.

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

She does.

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

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

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

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

She feels more like a person come morning.

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

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

“Feeling better?”

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

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

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

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

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

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

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

Of course it isn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

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

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

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

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

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

"No, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

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

“Fett?”

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

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

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

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

“And you just kept doing it.”

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

He doesn’t answer her.

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

Rex greets them before she does.

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

She recognizes one of them.

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

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

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

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

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not like they know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

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

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

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

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

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was what?”

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

That’s pretty true.

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

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

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

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

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

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

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

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

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

“I get it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

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

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

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

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

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

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

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That one gets her an odd look.

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

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

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

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

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

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

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

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

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

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

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

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drop your elbow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“And you?”

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

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

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

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

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

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

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

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

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

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

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

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

He licks her palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whose idea was this?”

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

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

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

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

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

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

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

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

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

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

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

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

Then fucking Denon happens.

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

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

Fuel.

Paperwork.

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

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

It’s just a pit stop.

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

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

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

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

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

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

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t call me that.”

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

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

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

He’s examining a papaya.

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

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

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

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

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

“It appears so, Sir.”

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

“Seems it.”

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

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

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

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

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

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

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

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

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

This was true and accurate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex snorts derisively.

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

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

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

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

“Oh, yes please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

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

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

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

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

“I’m wh--”

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

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

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

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

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

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

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

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

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

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

Rex snorts.

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

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

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

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

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

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

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

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

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

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

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

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

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

He bares his teeth.

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

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

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

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

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

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

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

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

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

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

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

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

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

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

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

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

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

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

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

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

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

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

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

“I’d prefer not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She goes to the cargo hold.

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

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

She’s fine.

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

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

“Um.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want to spar?”

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

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

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

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

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

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

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

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

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

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

“No, you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She doesn’t break right away.

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

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

“Sokari?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

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

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

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

“Commander.”

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

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

Right, sparring.

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

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

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

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

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

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

“Soka.”

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

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

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

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

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

“Soka?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course he does.

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

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

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

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

“He’s--”

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

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

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

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

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

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

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

She shivers.

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

She probably should.

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

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

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

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

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

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

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

Again. Again. Again.

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

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

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

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

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

She just stares at him.

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

She can’t.

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

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

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

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

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

“Tell me something good.”

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

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

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

Good things.

About Anakin.

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

Did they?

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

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

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

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

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

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

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

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

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

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

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

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

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone��s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

[labarch]

Witch Hats and Prejudice Part II

<-- Part I

Olruggio, my love, my man, I’m sorry your proposal to Qifrey in chapter 40 didn’t go as you hoped, let’s sit down and discuss your workaholism, temper issues and saviour complex, yes? Yes. It’s couple therapy time at last, we’ll have a look at Qifrey and Olruggio’s relationship and at chapter 40 in particular through the following points:

-Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

-Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

-Help as a collaboration between equals (spoiler: they haven’t made it to that stage yet)

-What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

 Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

The conversation in chapter 40 is never framed as a happy reunion. If we reuse the analysis of the panels from Coco and Qifrey’s conversation I made in my previous post, we find the same markers of unease between Olruggio and Qifrey. Most of the panels are narrow, and get darker and darker as night falls. Qifrey and Olruggio rarely share a panel, and even when they do, they rarely make direct eye contact: Qifrey looks down, or Olruggio walks away from him, or they are curled in on themselves or standing on a slope at different eye level. For a while Qifrey is up in the air and mostly talking to himself. Oh yeah, and there’s a hat that gets in the way at some point.

It gives the sense that they are having two separate conversations, and that they never truly achieve the connection that we saw between Qifrey and Coco. On top of that, while the conversation is supposed to be about comforting Qifrey and earning his trust, Olruggio never manages to get a smile out of him, except for wobbly, miserable little grimaces. So what’s going through both of their heads, and why are they failing to meet halfway?

The chapter has an outward pull to it. The scene takes place on a slope that leads away from the atelier. The chapter opens with a herd of dragons flying away and into the night. Then Qifrey takes flight to look into the distance, while giving a very contradictory speech about how fulfilling yet dull his life is here, how happy yet trapped in an illusion he feels. He has to hold on to his cape as it flaps in the wind. It brings those dragons back to mind, like they are a metaphor for the side of him that wishes to escape. Qifrey’s migration season is just starting folks, it’s a confusing time for him okay.

In contrast to Qifrey looking ahead into a dark wilderness, Olruggio in this chapter is almost always looking back. He walks away from Qifrey to talk to him over his shoulder, or he looks back towards the atelier. In the only scene where he faces Qifrey full-on, the past is so present on his mind that he de-ages them both. It’s interesting, because it adds a caveat to his pledge of listening to everything Qifrey has to say: he is not so much trying to adapt to Qifrey’s new situation as he is trying to bring them back to the childhood stage of their friendship, when they were always together and kept no secret.

This whole looking ahead / looking back dichotomy brings me back to the mentality of the Great Hall, a society obsessed with keeping itself in an insulated bubble, wrapping itself in good intentions and noble ideals, and ignoring its own inner darkness and complexity. Qifrey, because of his inability to be content and stay in place, threatens that delicate balance. That sends the other witches around him into such a state of panic and outrage that even those who genuinely love him end up lashing out at him with uncharacteristic brutality.

Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

I have described in my previous post how vicious and oddly personal Beldaruit got in his attacks against Qifrey in chapter 36, but you can make the same case for Olruggio, especially since the two scenes run in parallel. There is something excessive about the violence with which Olruggio confronts his friend. For one, he is choosing a hell of a time to do it: the girls are safe, there is no urgency to press Qifrey for answers right this instant – except if he is hoping to shock Qifrey into honesty while he’s disoriented. Qifrey has just woken up from a three-day coma; he is half-naked in a place Olruggio knows worsens his nightmares; his scar is exposed; he is half-blind because Olruggio has taken his glasses; Olruggio is literally an angry dark blob looming over him. I’ve often heard it say that Qifrey is manipulative towards Olruggio, but in return Olruggio isn’t above using intimidation tactics against him, consciously or not.

There is also the staggering lack of empathy of the approach: what started this whole thing is that Olruggio learnt about Qifrey’s impending blindness. And his knee-jerk reaction was to attack Qifrey about it. Like, um, my dude, your friend almost died, he is going to go blind and lose his job, you wanna try being sensitive about it? (Note that Qifrey running after the Brimhats didn’t trouble Olruggio that much at first: after his interview with the Knights Moralis he is mainly concerned with “getting his story straight with Qifrey”; it’s only later on, when we see him staring at the glasses he’s just repaired, that he starts voicing his doubts about Qifrey’s intentions). He may be right to suspect that Qifrey is hiding things from him, but there’s a pretty big leap between “you are keeping secrets” and “you are wilfully using your own child as bait”.

This whole suspicious climate, that makes Olruggio jump straight to the ugliest conclusion possible, is once again a feature of the Great Hall mentality. The mind of a person who has been in contact with forbidden magic is forever corrupt, and his actions are forever suspect. Had Qifrey been anyone else, he would probably have been given the benefit of the doubt for losing track of his students while he was, you know, extremely concussed and suffering from blood loss. Interestingly, Olruggio’s concern – whether, when faced with a chance to go after the Brimhats, Qifrey would choose his quest over his students’ safety – is addressed as early as chapter 22: after an instinctive movement to rush into danger, Qifrey pulls himself back and takes measures to keep Coco and Tetia safe, and even plans to call Olruggio and the Knights Moralis as reinforcements to help rescue the others. Then he gets hit in the head by a giant snake golem, and the rest is history.

In general, Beldaruit’s and Olruggio’s accusations that Qifrey is using Coco as bait without caring for her wellbeing just don’t hold up. First, all the attacks by the Brimhats so far have occurred in completely mundane, teaching-related settings with other adults present (at the stationary shop, or during an exam), so pushing blame onto Qifrey clearly comes from prejudice rather than evidence. Second, if Qifrey’s sole aim was to get clues on the Brimhats, he would pressure Coco into taking the Librarian test as early as possible, but we keep seeing the opposite: he encourages her to take breaks and to enjoy her training rather than be laser-focused on her goals. Hilariously, out of the two tests Coco passed so far, Qifrey gave his approval for none, thinking it was too early for her (extra-hilariously, Beldaruit is the one who speed-ran Coco through her second test). I’m just saying, if Olruggio hasn’t noticed any of this and can’t take it in consideration before bringing out the accusations and threats, maybe he’s not doing that good a job as a Watchful Eye.  

Another thing about this climate of suspicion, added to the power imbalance between Qifrey and Olruggio, is that it prevents them from having a healthy fight. Olruggio invokes his duties as Watchful Eye to berate Qifrey whenever he steps out of line, but when Olruggio lets his temper carry him too far and misuses his own power (when he drags Coco out to the Knights Moralis even though she had already been officially accepted as an apprentice in volume 2, or when he accuses Qifrey of using Coco as bait in volume 7 without proof), Qifrey never criticises him for doing so. It’s not that he is shy about speaking up to power – he is more than happy to yell at Beldaruit and Easthies when they mistreat his students. But when it comes to Olruggio, Qifrey is compelled to shoulder as much blame as he can, and seems almost afraid of saying anything negative to him.

It would have been justified for Qifrey to start chapter 40 by getting mad at Olruggio for his earlier accusations: Olruggio had been insensitive, unhelpful and completely out of line. But instead Qifrey pretty much encourages Olruggio to attack him again: from his “I thought you might be mad at me” to frantically denying that Olruggio might have ever done anything wrong. In return, there is something defensive in Olruggio’s delivery during the “I’m angry that I wasn’t someone you could trust” segment: he walks away from Qifrey as he gives the non-apology, and it comes out sandwiched between criticisms of Qifrey for being reckless and a long speech of Olruggio praising himself, and how everything would be alright if only Qifrey behaved himself and relied on him more. It’s an issue that this old distribution of roles is so well-entrenched between them, with Olruggio as the golden student and Qifrey as the eternal problem child.

Qifrey’s exaggerated gentleness and praise towards Olruggio participates in the feeling of wrongness that weighs on chapter 40. The memory erasure scene is framed like a kiss, and Qifrey keeps complimenting him even after sending him into an unnatural sleep. It would come across as condescending and manipulative, except for how fervently Qifrey seems to want to believe that Olruggio is perfect, and that any dysfunction in their relationship has to come from him.

Qifrey, focused as he is on his own dark secrets, is utterly unwilling to see any darkness in Olruggio. It makes sense when you consider that Qifrey has also been absorbing the prejudices of the Great Hall: he thinks very little of himself, and has probably been looking up to Olruggio as a moral compass ever since Olruggio took him under his wing as a child. He must also comfort himself with the thought that, when/if his quest drags him away from the atelier, Olruggio will be a perfect teacher for the girls. Having to come to terms with Olruggio’s flaws must be terrifying to him. But what about Olruggio’s perspective in all this?

Olruggio is an example of how even those who materially benefit from an elitist, close-minded society are damaged by it in some way. He grew up in the Great Hall as a bright-eyed, idealistic genius, and even as an adult he clings to the principles of that society like a mantra: “bring the blessings of magic to the people”. He is successful and respected by his peers, popular with the nobles and well-liked among the commoners. Yet somewhere along the way he became a ragged, workaholic hermit.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I suspect Olruggio of grappling with his own, deep-seated fear of being unwanted and left behind. He betrays that fear in the way he is attacking Qifrey: his concerns about Qifrey’s treatment of Coco aren’t based on evidence, and underneath that veneer he is mostly complaining that Qifrey is neglecting him. “Be straight with me”, “Don’t lie to me”, “You wouldn’t even tell me about it”, “You took her as a student without a word to me first”. There again, Olruggio is being a bit hazy on how far his influence goes as Watchful Eye: from what we know, Watchful Eyes are meant to ensure that students don’t get mistreated, but they don’t get a say in who teaches whom: it’s the disciples who choose their masters. Olruggio grumbling about Qifrey adopting more and more children behind his back is cute when we treat them as a couple. But from the perspective of their professional relationship, Olruggio is claiming the right to veto Qifrey’s students and take them away from him without any evidence of abuse.

The problem is that Olruggio is very bad at expressing his feelings without using his job, and therefore his authority, as a crutch. It’s endearing when he uses it to explain away his gifts to the girls (“I just want them to test a prototype”) or his marks of affection and care (“Drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold is part of my duties as Watchful Eye!”). However, it adds a layer of threat to his arguments with Qifrey, because he is constantly dangling that authority over his head, even when he is urging Qifrey to trust him. In his more agitated moments, it turns into a one-man good-cop / bad-cop performance (“Step out of line and I’ll report you” / “Why won’t you confide in me? I’m your best friend!”). Sure, he is willing to side with Qifrey against the Knights Moralis when he deems it appropriate, but here’s the catch: Olruggio gets to decide where the line in the sand lies, and that line seems to shift depending on how hot his temper is flaring at any given time.

It’s no wonder their conversation lends them in a dead-end when it is so one-sided. Thourghout the manga, and in volume 8 in particular, the author explores the idea that help should be a collaborative effort between equals, that encourages both parties to grow and learn more about themselves. Trying to unilaterally “save” someone is almost guaranteed to miss the mark and come across as condescending; it might even cause further harm.

Help as a collaboration between equals

Therefore, Qifrey and Olruggio can’t really come to any connection unless they make it clear that they are helping each other, not just endlessly acting out their roles as the golden student who knows all the right answers, and the problem child who must be saved from himself.

Aside from the framing, help as an equivalent exchange is the other key difference between chapter 40 and Qifrey and Coco’s dialogue earlier in the volume. In order to counter Coco’s doubts and growing self-hatred, Qifrey reinforces everything he admires about Coco: from her social skills and capacity for teamwork to her practical skills and her straight lines. He reminds her of all the things that she achieved so far. He also strongly hints that her fight is his fight, too, and that they should hold onto hope for each other’s sake. Finally, he makes a (pretty dramatic, unnecessarily literal and definitely unsafe, but still awesome) leap of faith by letting her decide what direction she wants to take next. His support isn’t conditional on Coco making the “right” choice, but freely offered. In return, Coco makes a display of saving Qifrey as well, saying she wants him right by her side while she figures out her path. The rescue itself is symbolic (it would actually have been safer for Qifrey to go back on his own), but Qifrey’s gratitude is genuine, because Coco made him feel valued, irreplaceable, just as Beldaruit and Olruggio were making him doubt his place as a teacher.

By contrast, Olruggio’s speech of friendship contains a grand total of ONE compliment, served in such a back-handed way that it sounds almost like a warning: “To Coco, you are a good teacher, so don’t betray that trust”. This is weighted against a slurry of criticisms about Qifrey’s recklessness, and heaps of self-praise. Olruggio is making a case for why Qifrey needs help and why Olruggio is best-qualified to deliver that help, like he is making a sales pitch to a client. It’s probably not a coincidence that Olruggio is remembering his successful bout of diplomacy in chapter 39 as he gears himself for his conversation with Qifrey. Olruggio, look, I get that you have more faith in your professional persona than in your regular self, but you can’t talk to your best friend like you are doing customer service, it just doesn’t work that way.

The help that Olruggio offers leaves no room for Qifrey’s input: once Qifrey has confided everything and laid himself bare, Olruggio will pick apart “where he needs the help” and “when he is about to do something stupid”, and either support or stop him as he judges appropriate. It reinforces Qifrey’s inferiority complex and interiorised guilt, by implying that his moral compass can’t be trusted. It also places the blame for Qifrey’s rash actions solely on his lack of judgement, rather than on having to grapple with complex, life-threatening situations and being caught in a pincer between a terrorist group and an oppressive system. There’s no mention that the definition of what’s “lawful” and “responsible” and “just” has gotten a bit messed up lately, and that Olruggio himself has had to compromise with his duties to cover for the kids. Olruggio fakes confidence in his capacity to fix everything, and pretends that things can go back to the way they were, but it would have been more honest of him to ask Qifrey to work with him so they can form a united front to face their new, complex reality.

Instead, by claiming that he is helping Qifrey out of a sense of duty, as Watchful Eye and as a friend, Olruggio reinforces the feeling that Qifrey is a burden to him. This gives Qifrey more incentive to keep his friend away from his investigations, and to see himself as expendable. In that light, since their friendship brings Olruggio so much trouble and so few benefits, betraying him and stealing the memories that relate to Qifrey’s secrets start to look like the lesser evil.

The only way that the conversation in chapter 40 could have gone well is if they both freely admitted to needing each other. However, it is too early in Olruggio’s character arc to be honest about his own feelings and worries. And it is too early in Qifrey’s character arc to see past his own self-loathing and recognize that his “perfect” friend also needs support and guidance. Yet, when they do, it is hinted that Olruggio can draw inspiration from Qifrey, and help Qifrey in a more meaningful way by highlighting how Qifrey matters to him, letting them reach this stage of true collaboration.

What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

I think Olruggio is repressing a sense of disillusionment about his work, the fairness of the system, and his usefulness as a witch. We see glimpses of his anxiety in chapter 39 notably. While he says that his true role is to help the commoners, circumstances keep reminding him that like it or not, his main function is decorative. He gets dragged in on short notice to be yanked around by petty nobles and arrange light shows at weddings; he has to act in secret to help the destitute, and even then can only do so much before the rules of magic society get in his way. So far he manages to keep his head above water, using his talent for diplomacy and showmanship to keep the nobles appeased, and finding small, creative ways to help commoners without breaking any law. But it leaves him with the feeling of being trapped in an increasingly constraining role, and is slowly pushing him towards a burn out.

He seems to feel a kinship with princess Mia, who like him is used as a tool in petty squabbles between nobles. He even metaphorically puts himself in her shoes: after likening her situation to being trapped in the spotlight in a dance she doesn’t want, he applies the same metaphor to himself and his inability to act outside the narrow constraints of witch rules, of being constantly watched and judged. And then, adorably enough, Olruggio actually brings Qifrey into the metaphor. He muses that Qifrey, who has gone against established rules before, might be the key to escaping that dance.

For all that the “problem child” / “star student” dichotomy has been weighing on Olruggio and Qifrey and warping their friendship, there is a flip side to it as well. As a prodigy who always pressures himself to perform perfectly (to the point where he will work himself to a zombie-like state and then hide behind a mask to look perfect and pristine in front of his clients at parties, Olruggio no), Qifrey provides a chance at escapism. For all that he berates him for causing trouble, Olruggio seems to fondly remember their old adventures. It’s possible that he valued the opportunity to do rebellious, forbidden things without having to jeopardise his reputation. His fear of being left behind by Qifrey is then also a fear of losing his hope that, when the pressure of being the perfect witch becomes too much to bear, Qifrey will be there to break him free.

In summary, Olruggio wants Qifrey to be his rebellious prince who breaks him free from the ballroom, and we respect him for it. Qifrey had his reasons for not being able to confide in him, and they both have a lot of character development to do before they can reach a stage of actual collaboration and trust. But I don’t dispute that taking his memories was a dick move. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.  

[cyrusbugged]

My country is going back into lockdown so what do the different garms do in lockdown.

Also I hope your mental health gets better soon

You can just do this when your better

<3

thank you anon! your kind words are greatly appreciated :) will add a little life update at the end of the post! also, stay safe!! i hope the cases in your country lighten up soon! oni!garmadon: - he travels in the shadows like normal, keeping six feet away and wearing some weird mask  - now, imagine one day he goes to visit lloyd for a few days. and then they got into lockdown a day or two into his stay - kai is pissed - it’s a nightmare. you thought those two were bad in s1? ohohoho. Ohohohoho. now they’re stuck together for more than just a few days - “he’s not even human! he probably isn’t even affected by the disease!” kai says - “just because evil courses through my veins doesn’t mean im immune to COVID-19, fool!” garmadon responds  - garmadon, of course, causes chaos. he just gets so bored, probably sets a few things on fire - he eventually gives in to playing board games with the ninja and his brother, and it ends with kai and/or garmadon flipping the board. depends on what day it is - lloyd teaches him how to play video games, and garmadon and him have tournaments - they build a minecraft world together  sensei!garmadon: - unlike his oni counterpart, he is a little more calm - he takes his time to make sure he is keeping himself healthy, not just for himself but for his family - when he has to go out to get groceries, he makes sure to wear his mask, stay far away from others, and sanitize himself when he returns - he lasts about a month in until he starts losing it - he gets bored very easily. he tries to make his hobbies more interesting - like meditating, for example. you can def see him on the roof of his monastery or in a tree, somehow balancing on one foot while meditating - “lloyd i think your dad is going a little crazy” jay says - “whatever do you mean?” lloyd sarcastically responds, as his dad has ended up planting about 50 new plants outside of the monastery  - he is very much the equivalent of the “this is fine” dog with everything on fire around it - him misako wu and lloyd have little family game nights - sometimes they are violent. it is usually wu and garm yelling at each other and being children

hey all! thanks so much for the support while i was gone! break is coming up soon, so i’ll be more active when im not working. my mental health is slowly but surely getting better, so ill be back in no time! for now, enjoy some on and off posts. 

[english8muffin]

Cozy winter

Summary: going to the market, being cheeky in the parking lot and a warm cuddly morning sprinkled with some funny-business

Warning: Cute banter, smut (NSFW), fluff

Word count: Around 5300 words!

I want to open this with one of my favorite quotes ever, so if you allow me ;)

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”  -Kurt Vonnegut 

“We need muffins.”

“We don’t NEED muffins, what we need are some fresh fruit and vegetables, ” Henry butts in. You frown and look up at him, “Oh whatever, Hen. You eat your greens, beans, potatoes and tomatoes, while I get fat by munching on some sweet, sweet, delicious chocolate muffins.”

 He sends you a smirk from across the aisle. It was always fun to do mundane things, like going to get coffee together or grocery shopping, when he was home from filming. The last year you went to university it was very hard to be away from him for such a long time, especially when you still lived in Europe. You would fly over to England once in a blue moon, when Henry was in London and your schedule would allow it. Other times your relationship existed out of phone and video calls. It was a rough period, if you have to be honest. But It made the two of you closer and your bond stronger. It’s true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder. 

You let Henry know you were going to get the ingredients for the muffins and start pushing the shopping cart in the direction of the baking supplies. As you walk back to the fresh produce section, you get distracted. So many colorful packaging was just screaming your name��

“What the- lovey! I thought you were going to get your muffin ingredients,” Henry cackles and almost doubles over seeing the now full shopping cart.

It took you a second to answer, a bit too focused on his beautiful face and the smile lines that appeared when he laughed. You quickly try to defend yourself, so he doesn’t think you have no self-control, even though, you know your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

“No! I did get them, they’re just underneath the other bags,” you trail off, eyes drifting to the floor. You sigh, “I just saw this aisle with all the snacks. These magnificent snacks. And, Hen, I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life! And, Hen-Henry! Henry, listen! Stop laughing at me! It was a moment of weakness! You can’t judge me! You don’t even know how they taste, I promise you, you will understand once you take a bite of everything!”

Henry wipes away a small tear at the corner of his eye and kisses the top of your head. You stroll around the aisles, trying to work through the rest of your grocery list, but suddenly you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hen,” you say, trying to get his attention. He gives you a hum in return, letting you know he heard you, “why on god’s green earth does my grocery list say ‘sex’?” You tilt your head up to his face, seeing a bashful grin. 

You shake your head, clicking your tongue disapprovingly, “it isn’t even on top of the list! You put your oatmeal protein shake before sex, fuck, you even put curry before sex, you really need to get your priorities straight!”

After getting some more stuff, like pak choi, steak, tofu and the ingredients for Henry’s beloved curry you always make him, you walk to the register. 

The petite Asian lady gives you a smile and takes a little peak at Henry, who was too busy looking at the various Chinese cough drops that are displayed in front of the counter. Her brows rise behind her thick glasses, “哇，大帅哥。你很幸运啊。” (Wow, big handsome man. You are very lucky, ah.) She says, turning back to you and winking. You can’t help but chuckle. Grinning you send her an ‘I know’-look.

Hearing your laugh, Henry looks over his shoulder with a questioning look. But you just smile and shake your head.

You two quickly get everything in the reusable shopping bags you brought with you. It was getting late and more people were getting off of work and wanted to do some last-minute grocery shopping. Henry takes both of the flower printed bags and the two of you walk to the car. It was getting colder, your breath turning into puffs of smoke. You look up at the sky glooming over you. They promised snow tonight. 

Seeing Henry load the bags in the trunk, his ass proudly sticking out in the air, you give it a pinch. You just couldn’t resist. It was just there, so you better make use of the situation. 

Feeling your hand touch his behind, Henry turns around, an unamused look on his face.

“Excuse me, miss. But that is mine,” he says, really playing up his posh accent.  “I sure hope you disinfected those filthy little paws of yours.” He cutely scrunches his nose, doing a once over and trying so hard to keep himself from smiling, but failing miserably. He turns back around and arranges the bags in the booth so they won’t tip over.

There is a moment of silence, just the noise from cars driving up and off the parking. From the corner his eye Henry sees the stare you give him but ignores it with a small smirk.

“You know,” you begin with a cheeky undertone, making him curious, “I bet I could kick your ass,” you grin, looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction. 

“What was that, doll?”

“You heard me, big lad!”

“Oh really?” He asks and looks at you, towering over you like a brick wall. His eyes glimmering with mischief. Yeah, no, this was NOT a good idea. 

You squirm a little and a small nervous giggle leaves your lips.

“Yes, I can. Watch m-AHHHH! HENRY!” You squeal as he lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, fully forgetting you are in public. “Let me down, you caveman!” You laugh, slapping his left ass cheek. But he ignores your plea and just slaps your ass in return. 

Wiggling a little, you challenge him, “Beat me up! Come on, do it!” 

He turns his head and playfully bites the exposed skin by your hip, making you shriek like a little kid. 

Henry lets out a loud belly laugh and puts you back on your feet. As soon as the tips of your Dr. Martens touch the pavement, you get pushed against the car. Trapping you between the icy cold black metal and his warm body. His arm goes around your waist and pulls you closer to his front.

“I love you.” The words are hushed but you hear them loud and clear, making a shiver go down your spine. The both of you look at each other, completely enamored and grinning like idiots. Noses and the apples of your cheeks rosy, bitten from the cold.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. His hand glides inside your coat and underneath the thick knitted jumper you finished to other day. He just needed to feel you. You lean up a little and gently push your lips to his, adoring the familiar warmth that fell over you whenever you’d kiss. Before you can come in for a second smooch, he frowns at you. 

“Thought you were going to beat my ass?” He mocks, trying to imitate your accent. 

Lightly tapping your finger against your chin, you pretend to be in thought. 

“Well, this is much more fun.”

“Hmm, agreed,” he grins, already eyeing your red swollen lips and tilting his head towards yours. 

You hear heavy footsteps coming closer, the wooden floorboards slightly creaking under the weight. It was getting dark outside, the overhead lights in the kitchen casting a homey hue down on the oak countertops. Your ‘cooking playlist’ was filling the room with some gentle tunes. You also had a ‘dancing in the kitchen playlist’ but that one was mostly used in the mornings. You hum along to the melody when stirring in the stew you were preparing for the evening, rocking your hips side to side. The stew was softly bubbling away, spreading an amazing aroma around the house. 

The footsteps stop behind you. A moment later two big, sweater wrapped arms envelop around you, delicately caressing you. Henry lovingly pulls your loose braid to the side and places his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a peak at what was in front of you on the stove. 

“What smells so good in here?” Just then Henry’s stomach makes a loud grumbling noise from the mouthwatering smell going on in the kitchen, you chuckle. 

He had been gaming before this, you could hear the tiredness in his voice, it was a bit lower and more hoarse than normal. Whenever he was tired like this, he’d just turn into your big cuddly bear, you loved it. 

Dinner was almost done. You made one of the dishes your grandma used to make for you when you were younger. You won’t lie, it was pretty difficult at first to decipher the little recipe she send you in the post, but now you knew it by heart. 

“Cantonese style braised beef stew with white radish, bean curd sheets and a side of rice,” you inform him and brush your hand over his, that was placed on your stomach. Hearing that, he has to make sure he’s not drooling.

“And for dessert…” You nod your head toward the piping hot apple crumble pie currently cooling on the kitchen island. “We still have some vanilla ice cream if you want to have that with your pie. I know you want to be healthy, but I just really wanted to make a pie and this one does have filling,” you ramble, joking on the last part about the filling. He probably thought you were pestering him with his diet that most likely didn’t allow him to eat it. 

You wince a bit, feeling him tense against you. “You don’t have to eat it, my love, promise!”

“No petal, you’re just… you’re just so perfect,” Henry admits, pressing a kiss just below the strap of the pistachio green apron you were wearing, nuzzling his nose in your tousled hair.

It was a gloomy Saturday morning in London. If your alarm hadn’t gone off, you wouldn’t have known it was morning already.

Yesterday after dinner, the two of you cuddled up on the sofa, under a warm blanket with Kal snuggled up on your lap. His head resting in your lap, while his tail occasionally slapped Henry in the face, making you burst out laughing and Henry almost choke on the fur. The akita would fondly press his snout deeper against you, really loving the head scratches he was receiving. Both you and Henry were fully satisfied with the tasty dinner you had paired with a glass of wine and were now cheekily flirting with each other while watching a detective movie, of which you missed the plot because you were, well, differently occupied…

Now the bedroom held a calm, soft aura, a dim light streaming in through the linen curtains. You let out a little whimper, not wanting to leave the bubble you are in and stretch out your limbs. A bit sore from sleeping in a weird angle, amongst other things. Behind you, you hear a small sound of protest and before you know it, you are engulfed by a strong arm. Henry hides his face in the side of your neck, keeping his eyes closed, groaning, clearly displeased with the fact it was morning already. 

You smile, this was your favorite kind of morning. Warm and cozy in bed, cuddling with your boyfriend. You turn around, careful to not let any cold air under the duvet, your arm going around the large form beside you and curling your fingers in the mess of curly hair. Henry moaned, burying his face lower, between your breasts. Now fully content and still a bit dazed by sleep, he lets out the most awful snore. Even though he sounded like a drowning goat when he snored, you couldn’t do anything other than coo and gently scratch your fingers on his scalp, lovingly gazing at the man beside you. 

“Are we going to be lazy couch potatoes today?” You chuckle, placing a kiss on his forehead, wild curls tickling your nose as you do so. Your voice was still a little raspy, but Kal apparently still heard you, and pushed open the door to come snuggle in bed with his favorite humans. 

“What time is it?” Henry groans. 

“Around 8.”

“We can be busy bees if you want,” Henry whispered against the swell of your breast, peppering delicate kisses on the bare skin. “Or better yet, busy bunnies.”

Kal was now situated on the end of the bed, head on his paws while the serenity of the room made him doze off. His dad on the other hand was now slowly waking up, as his hand crept lower and lower over your body. You giggled and pushed his hand away.

“There is a child present ,” you motion towards a sleeping Kal, who lays stretched out on the feathery duvet, already heading off to dreamland looking content as ever. Henry lifts his head, peering at his buddy and snorts, “he’s seen much worse, haven’t you bear?” But he doesn’t get acknowledged. 

Laying his head back, he reaches up to push your hair out of your face before grabbing your cheek and pulling you down for a kiss. He places three kisses on your swollen lips, lightly sucking on the bottom one.

“May-,” you try to say something, but he just pushes his mouth harder against yours. Quickly taking the opportunity to stop you from making excuses. A hoarse chuckle rumbles from his chest, as he wraps you in his arms.

“Stop talking, woman, and kiss me back.” You let out a small moan and grip the curls you were playing with moments ago. He deepens the kiss slightly, tongue invading your mouth, surprising you. A subdued hum escapes your mouth, resulting in him grabbing the back of your neck, as the other rests on your hip. The kiss gets deeper and more passionate as the minutes go by. Getting a bit overwhelmed you pull back slowly, softy panting. 

“Hmm, so sweet, darling,” he says smugly, earning a little smack to the chest as a bright blush covers your cheeks. Like it wasn’t already hard enough to resist him and stay in the warm bed all morning, he does this. Henry rolls your naked body over so you’re straddling him, a large hand wraps itself around your hair. He tugs, not too hard though, so he has more access to shower open mouthed kisses on your neck and chest. Leaving you a breathless mess on top of him. His hands trail from the top of your back to your rear, squeezing your cheeks before giving them a fast slap, making you take in a breath. 

From all the shuffling, little snickers and kissing noises, Kal woke up and groaned, irritated that his humans couldn’t just hanky-panky somewhere else. With a last disapproving look, he jumps off the bed, landing with a thump. From the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor and toddling down the stairs, you look over your shoulder, duvet falling down so you sat there fully naked, much to Henry’s delight. 

Then you felt it. It was normal for Henry to get hard in the morning. To be honest, he would be a bit worried if his cock wasn’t hard first thing when waking up.

Involuntarily you grind down, drawing a heavy moan from deep in his chest. Holding intense eye contact with him, you start humping over his bare front, mewling like a kitten in heat. It was embarrassing how he had you wrapped around his finger. A cheeky smile formed on his face, “look who came around.” Your body was practically begging for sex. 

Pouting, you keep on moving your hips in a tantalizing slow rhythm, scratching at his hairy chest. Making sure you kept your eyes on his, he licked his three middle fingers and a second later you feel him reaching between your thighs, wiping his fingers down your slit. Tensing up a little, you try to hold back a grunt at the sensation. 

“Oh darling,” he started, his voice going an octave lower, “what a mess you’ve made.”

He pulls back and observes your reaction when he pops his finger in his mouth.

“Wet and sweet, like always.”

“You are so nasty,” you whisper in total awe at what he manages to do to your body. He snickers and you quickly grab his hand, pushing it back between your thighs, “I didn’t tell you to stop, though.”

Your jaw goes slack, the moment you feel his thick fingers moving in and out of you. He was hitting just the right spot, making you groan and throw your head back. He felt like he couldn’t hold back anymore, he quickly flips you over so he’s on top of you, fully trapping you underneath his body and smashes his mouth on yours. Everything was happening so fast that you couldn’t pay attention to every incredible thing he was making you feel. Taking his cock in hand, he rubs his shaft against you, up and down, pressing it so you could feel the length. You look up at him, veins bulging in his neck, eyes dark, face already becoming flushed. God, he was so sexy. Grabbing your legs, he pushes your knees back so you were completely spread open and at his mercy. 

He curses under his breath and lines himself up with you sticky center. Stifling your moans and pants, by pressing his lips to yours, when he slowly sinks his thick cock inside. 

“Oh my god,” you whine, feeling him stretching your walls apart, pushing himself deeper and deeper. 

“Y’feel so warm and tight, my love. M’so hard it hurts.” Henry whines against your lips, lacing his fingers in between yours. He trails kisses in your neck and under your ear, trying to get as close to you as possible. He loved feeling your body against his. Your walls were so plushy and wet for his cock, he wanted to stay buried in you forever. 

“M’gonna make you feel so good, darling,” he whispers in your ear. You whine softly, getting worked up, “please.”

He smirked, obviously liking your plea. 

Instead of giving you a nice, hard pounding, Henry wanted to go slow. It was still very early in the morning, the both of you still barely awake and he wanted to savor this moment with you.

“Oh, Hen-,” you pant softly, loving every bit of it. As he pushes deeper into you, you can feel his entire weight pressing down against you. The weight comforted you in a sense, like others would with a weighted blanket. He prolonged his strokes, making sure that when he slid out you could feel every centimeter of him, but then slid back in quickly. 

“Fuck.” He grumbles into your neck, “feels so good, love,” he praises, nibbling on the skin under your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair pulling it back. You move you hands from his grasp and push them up his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

“So good,” you moan out to him, feeling his cock nudge at the extremely sensitive spot deep inside your core. He lifts his head to look at you, seeing your mouth formed into the letter ‘o’, head tilted back into the cloud-like pillow and eyes screwed shut. A string of desperate moans falls from your lips. 

This was what he loved, seeing his love, his girl react to the way he was pleasuring her. Just looking at you in this state made his orgasm coil up in the pit of his tummy. He never would have dreamed that another person could give him this feeling, the feeling of utter bliss when you were together. The unconditional love he felt for you was indescribable. 

Henry continues to thrust into you and attaches his lips to yours, feeling you squeeze around him. You manage to spread your legs even wider and wrap them securely around his slim waist, digging your heels just above the globes of his perfectly sculpted ass. 

He was aiming his stokes into the deepest part of you and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release. 

“Fuck,” you whimper out to him, digging your nails into the skin of his back. He knew you were about to cum. You let out another loud moan. 

“Come on, petal. Cum f’me,” he pants, trying to coax you. Hearing the almost desperate tone in his voice, combined with the sound of him slapping his hips to yours and the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you was becoming overwhelming. 

“Oh my god!” A loud moan ripples through you, the feeling of your release coming near. 

“Almost, my love,” he moans, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He inhales sharply, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you up, quickly pounding into you. Completely losing control, trying to get deeper as if that was possible and lets his forehead rest against yours. With one last push of his hips, you get to your breaking point and cum, screaming. Henry feels your walls clamp around him and let’s go, fully satisfied. The noise he made was an orgasm on its own. He keeps himself against you when he lets go inside of you. You could feel Henry’s cum filling you as you slowly come down from your high. You feel his cum dripping out of you, almost proud of what you made him do. 

He is about to roll off of you to cuddle up beside you, but you stop him by tightening your legs around him. “Please stay like this,” you whisper, your brain still a bit muddled by the amazing orgasm you just had seconds ago. He smiles down at you.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” he kisses your nose, “I would crush you,” Henry says endeared with a cheeky grin and pulls you into his side. You feel warm and safe. You yawn, blinking away when your eyes become watery.

“I can’t move,” biting your bottom lip, you snuggle closer to him, “and my throat hurts like hell.”

Henry lowers his hand to your ass and gives it a firm squeeze, “I’m not surprised. Oh doll, the sounds you were making,” he bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes. 

You laugh and roll your eyes. Henry nipped at your neck, making you erupt into a fit giggles. He chuckles, leaving a kiss on the spot he had just bitten. 

Henry trails his hands up and down your back. You closed your eyes and tangle your leg in between his, really liking the feeling. His chest was heavenly and just being in his arms felt amazing. He almost lulled you back to sleep the moment he began to run his fingers through your hair. 

“That good, huh? Almost fucked you back to sleep,” he chuckles. 

“It was alright, I guess,” you tease him. He raises his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with joy. 

“How would you rate the experience?” 

Tilting your head to look up at him, “Hmm, ten I guess.”

He looked very pleased with that.

“Out of twenty,” you finish. 

“OUT OF TWENTY?” He sobered up, staring at your face with a shocked expression. 

You snicker, climbing into his lap, “No, honey, I was just joking, I’m sorry.” A big pout forming on your face, making you look oh so innocent. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to put you up on all fours and take you like that, don’t tempt me,” he says, shaking his head. Wiggling your brows you grin and kiss the dimple on his chin. 

“As much as I would enjoy that, I think Kal has to go potty and we have to eat.”

After some hushed pillow talk and hoarse giggles between the silky sheets, you two decide to move downstairs and start making some fresh coffee. When you lift your body out of the bed, a light throbbing shoots between your legs. You almost fall back into the mattress, making Henry roar with laughter. You end up getting a piggy back ride down the stairs, only wearing a v-neck shirt from Henry that fell just below the curve of your ass and showed plenty of cleavage. Your lilac panties were fully on display and your almost black hair looked like a lion’s main on top of your head, but you didn’t care. 

The both of you were still in that bubbly, fulfilled state of mind, looking like two drugged out kids, wearing blissful smiles. When you got to the kitchen, Kal bounded around the corner, coming from the sitting area, his tail wildly sweeping through the air. Eyes sparkling with happiness when he saw his parents finally had left the bed. 

“早上，宝宝” (morning, baby) You greet him, still on Henry’s back. Kal gives you a high “woof” as to say good morning back. After living with Henry and Kal for around eight months now, the akita started to pick up on a few Chinese phrases. He even decided the pet name ‘宝宝’ (bao bao), which means baby or darling, was only to be applied on him and nobody else. 

Every time you would video call with your Chinese speaking friends, and they talked about or to their children, Kal would cheerfully patter over, thinking they were cooing at him instead of the small infant in the background. But you thought it was the sweetest thing ever, he was your little fur baby after all. 

“I’m going to make us some omelets, is that alright with you, darling,” Henry asked, already opening the fridge and looking for the carton of eggs.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you call out to him. You give Kal his breakfast and receive many, wet kisses in return. Shuffling back over to your boyfriend, you lean against the dark green counter with its wooden countertops, and look at him carefully chopping up some bell peppers and onion, only wearing his joggers and a tank top. You were a lucky girl, and you knew it. Henry sends you a grin and winks before turning back to cutting the vegetables.

You begin to brew some fresh coffee for Henry, and put on the kettle for your morning tea. While he was finishing up breakfast, you start to read the newspaper to him. He absolutely adored it when you’d read to him, due to your accent becoming more noticeable. Kal came over to you, stuffing his wet nose against the hand you held out to him. “You’re such a good boy, Kal. Yes, you are,” you tell him in a baby voice, “you’re my little angel aren’t you? 我的小天使” 

You clean the table, after eating your breakfast and get ready for the day. Henry was already out to go on a walk with Kal. It did indeed snow last night and everything outside was hidden underneath a thin sheet of white snow, so you made sure Henry was wrapped up in a thick scarf you made him and a black beanie. After giving you a kiss as if he was off to fight in a war, he and Kal happily walked through the front door, into the freezing cold. Him whistling and Kal buzzing with excitement. 

Brushing your teeth and doing your makeup, you dance through the bathroom, in a good mood. You grab your phone that was propped up against the mirror, planning to put on the podcast you had been enjoying lately. You freeze seeing all the notifications, not having heard your phone due to it being on ‘quiet’. You swallow.

Oh shit.

There you were, plastered on the internet for everyone to see and laugh at. You and Henry making out on the parking lot of the Chinese supermarket. Was he going to be angry with you? It was your fault for teasing him after all. Oh no no no…

‘Henry Cavill and girlfriend were spotted having a steamy make out session outside local grocery store’

The headline read, making your face as red as a tomato. Trying to fight against it, you couldn’t hold yourself from reading the next paragraph. 

Being in the middle of winter, doesn’t stop these two lovebirds from having a heated make out session in a parking lot!

Yesterday early in the evening, Witcher-superstar Henry Cavill was spotted with (to some) much younger girlfriend, designer, Y/N Y/L/N. The two have  recently confirmed their relationship with an Instagram post from Cavill, showing a candid of Y/N, with the short caption ‘My sunshine enjoying the sun shine’. Last month Vogue came out with a video featuring Y/L/N in which Cavill and his dog Kal made an appearance, making fans go wild. It seems like the two really are living the life and we are excited to see more of them together!

Want to know more about the stars? Subscribe to STAR NEWS! 

This was it. You could already hear your sweet grandma, praying to the ancestors to forgive you for your sins, lighting all the incense she could find. You were a disgrace to the family now. It wasn’t that you were ashamed or felt bad about doing it, hell, everybody in the position would gladly sit on Henry’s shoulders and stick their tongue down his throat. You were just disappointed you got caught.

From downstairs you hear the door close with a loud thump and the pitter-patter from Kal’s nails on the hardwood floor, letting you know your two boys were back home. You nervously descend the flight of stairs, holding your head low and tightly clutching your phone in hand. 

“Hey, lovey! you really missed something, Kal and I could practically ice skate over the walking trails, it was so much fun!” Henry says enthusiastically as he hears you wander into the living room. You ignore him and plop down on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes. 

A frown makes its way onto his face. 

“What are you sorry for, sweet girl?” His eyes hold a concerned look, not understanding what you were talking about. You huff out a breath and hand him your phone so he could see the article. 

A roaring laugh sounds through the open space, making your head shoot up. “Yeah, I saw it this morning when I went and checked my Instagram,” he chuckles, face still rosy from going outside. 

“We really gave the paparazzi a field day, didn’t we?” He continues.

“Your ass looks great in this pic, though. Look,” pointing to the one were he had you lifted over his shoulder, but softens his voice when he sees how tense you were. 

“Aw, doll, loosen up, I’m not mad or anything, if that’s what you think. I’m rather pleased now that everybody can see how happy we are and how much joy you bring me,” he lets you know nonchalantly, pressing a smooch to your forehead and starts to march towards the kitchen.

“You want another cuppa, lovey?”

And just like that, you were back in your good mood, perplexed at how well he took all of this. 

Don’t be a silent reader! Show some love by reblogging and commenting, did it make you laugh, scream, smile? Let me know, it would make my day!

Much love, Nahmi xxx

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[fill-me-with-your-memes-daddy]

Watching the Rise of the Titans movie and I'll be documenting all of my thoughts/reactions here. [Spoiler Warning]

So instead of reblogging every new update, I'm just going to have this post up on my phone as I watch and type my reactions in a bullet list format.

Nari's human disguise is so cute. As someone who does have a cottagecore aesthetic, I want to cosplay her so bad

Are Skrael and/or Belroc non-binary coded? Regardless, I'm also obsessed and I want to fuck Skrael and be Belroc.

STEVE CARING ABOUT JIM BEING HURT YESSSS!!! My god his redemption has probably been one of the greatest there is because he doesn't just suddenly go from being a bully to a completely good person. You can see the gradual shift in learning better throughout the shows which is awesome.

IN NEW YOOOOOOORRRRRRRK!!!!!! CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!

The mugshot montage reminded me of season 1 of trollhunters when toby and Jim were arrested at the museum.

STRICKLER PUT A RING ON IT??? HE'S THE ONLY DILF IVE EVER ACTUALLY AGREED WAS HOT WYM I CAN'T HAVE HIM??? well I'm still really happy about his arc over the series probably one of my favorite character growths.

Eli my guy got his growth spurt!!! As an 18 year old who is still 5'0", I'm happy but envious for him

So I went into this movie without watching any trailers or promo, but I doubt anything could have prepared me for the existence of mpreg. In fact, I wasn't going to document my reactions until I saw that.

NAMURA!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!! I CAN STILL THIRST FOR YOU WITHOUT GUILT

The coach teacher just called the kids zoomers so I have to dock one point from my final rating just because of that. Unforgivable

Those husky animation models suck lmao

Oh fuck the titans got power ranger zords!!

God why did they include the mpreg??? This movie would have been perfect without it.... After that plot point being revisited only one time I'm already beyond done with it

Like it's bringing me back to the v*ltron days where they're was a suspiciously high amount of klance omegaverse and mpreg fics and art created and it physically hurts because Steve and Keith's voice actor is the same person meaning this is especially cursed to me since I was unfortunately in the v*ltron fandom and remember all of that

But like on another note, how old are these characters again??? I haven't checked any wikis because of spoilers but is Steve an adult??? I know aja might be technically a lot older than 18 because alien but is whatever age she is equivalent to an adult as far as emotionally and physically in Akaridion development??? IS THIS A TEEN (M)PREGNANCY IN A KIDS SHOW????

Like bruh I saw a singular post on here before going into the movie that was like "rott spoilers without context" and there was a pregnant belly but I was absolutely not expecting the actual context of it. I'll find the post after I finish and edit this post to tag the creator right here: @makoden

This entire post is just gonna be me ranting about mpreg huh

Anyway I love the whole roundtable allusion to the legends of king arthur (not the toa version but the one he's based off)

THERE'S 3 TO 5 BABIES????? I need to take a break bruh this is just too much

Alright I've taken a 30 minute break got some food and did some things i love (decompressed by tactile stimming with some owl plushies and watched some videos on my favorite owl, Garu. He lives in Japan with his owner and is a domesticated eagle owl who basically just acts like a sky cat. If anyone else needs some eye bleach, here is their YouTube channel)

Blinky and ARRRGHHH!!! saying their "if one of us doesn't make it" talk my god one of them is going to die I can see it and I will be utterly crushed. Jim can't lose another father figure and Toby can't lose his wingman again I will riot if this happens

On a similar but unrelated to the movie note, can we just talk about how toa started with Jim having 0 dads and (if strickler and blinky live to the end) will end with 2 dads? Like I just really feel happy for him that he has two dads who actually figured out how to put the past behind them to not have any infighting between them so that both of them are healthy father figures. Jim has already been through literal hell and back losing his actual humanity in the process so if he loses one of them, I'm going to be really pissed because at this point, this is just Jim torture porn. Y'all know how as SpongeBob SquarePants went on, the show just became Squidward torture porn? It's starting to feel that way for toa and I really hope they cut the shit by the ending

Jlaire is such a good ship but like I feel like it's too perfect they never disagree with each other

YESSSSSSS Someone finally doesn't treat toby like a fat waste of space who messes stuff up!!! I think out of all the characters that would have been most deserving of a rewrite, it's Toby. Sometimes I just feel he's only comic relief and any heartfelt moments he's had in the series was also born of stupidity (ie his flour baby project being unharmed was seen by him as divine intervention from his parents but was actually just Eli and Steve behind the scenes).

Ohhhhh yesssssss Archie's father!!! I was hoping I'd see him again because we got so little of him last

Ooooooooooh Asian trollmarket!!!!!

Oh never mind slavery trollmarket

Bruh titanic camelot

I feel like we're not seeing enough of the villains because I completely forgot about the power ranger zord things

NAMORA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MY LAST CRUSHHHH

STRICKLER NO NOT YOU TOO PLEASE

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ONLY TWO CHARACTERS I SIMP FOR ON THIS SHOW DIED WITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF EACH OTHER

THAT WHOLE ASS RANT I WROTE IS COMING TRUE FUCK THIS MOVIE THIS SERIES IS JUST JIM TORTURE PORN

WAIT JIM'S SPERM DONOR INFO?

Oh thank God I don't want to know anything about that person

For the record, I call that man Jim's sperm donor because he has no business being called a father to him. All he did was donate some swimmers to the creation of him and give him abandonment issues

Oh another blind troll elder???? This fucker is just if vendel was a bad guy

Bruh I was grieving

PACIFIC RIM WITH GUN ROBOT VEX AND THE BELROCZORD? I've never seen that movie but I know the reference

Bruh Blinky doesn't read horoscopes? Does he realize conspiracy theories are just the manly version of horoscopes?

NO DON'T KILL VEX STOP KO-ING FOUND FAMILY MEMBERS

Oh thank God he's okay

NO NOT ARCHIE AND CHARLEMAGNE OH MY GOD

oh never mind they're just gonna coup de tat I believe in them :))

But I want to see him again

But I'm glad to see vex

Yay they're in arcadia!

But yeah I wondered why the trolls and Merlin didn't keep the whole "daylight doesn't hurt trolls" feature from the eternal night but now Guillermo del Toro I see you were playing the long con in that just to kill my girl Namora :(((

Oooooh I love the animation of the Narizord over Chihuahua!! It looks very good and realistic (if only they could have put some of that into those huskies from before smh)

Bruh the character designs of the arcane order are so good I want to be them

Nari making sure the Skraelzord doesn't crush the bus

DAMN DOUBLE HOMICIDE

Bruh I'm just glad we finally have an answer on why arcadia had everything going on as opposed to literally anywhere else!! I always found that as a weird coincidence for plot convince.

BRUH WERE BACK TO THE MPREG IM SO JEALOUS I FORGOT ABOUT THAT EVEN THOUGH IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS GRIEVING THE LOSS OF MY LOVELIES.

Oh that's real convenient that the ninth configuration meant all of them. Way to not decide which character gets more attention. Though it probably was a smart way to not have any infighting in the fandom between each character's stan group.

Bruh I just realized where is Barbera did they just ditch her on the Camelot ship???

And where are the other trolls that migrated at the end of trollhunters s3? They said something about new jersey but obviously Jim and the other main characters got on Camelot instead.... This feels like a plot hole

And we never learned the process of how changelings are made and bonded to humans and stuff. We just know it's super painful but I'm curious ffs!!!!

THE DONT THINK BECOME HERO SPEECH ALL SAID TOGETHER!!!

BRUH THEY REALLY HAD TO SHOW HIM GIVING BIRTH??????? WAS THAT AN ABSOLUTE MUST??????

Plus the main audience for this series is little children (the rating for the movie is literally TV-Y7) so even though my adult ass is not in the target audience, I STILL DONT UNDERSTAND WHY WOULD MPREG AND ANAL BIRTH WOULD BE AN IMPORTANT THING TO 7 YEAR OLDS???? THIS IS A LITERAL FETISH HIDDEN IN KIDS CONTENT ITS ELSAGATE ALL OVER AGAIN Y'ALL 😭😭😭😭😭

Though it's probably hypocritical of me to think fetishes don't belong in kids tv when I've openly admitted to thirsting for strickler and namora

HUZZAH

NEW AMULET WAZ GOOD????

STAB THAT BITCH JIM

WAIT NO I SAID STAB NOT GET STABBED

Alright good job just missed the directions at first but you fixed it

SEVEN KIDS?????????

T O B Y ????????????

W A I T NO

N O

IS HE ACTUALLY

OH MY GOD THERE'S HOPE

NO THERE ISN'T

F U C K THIS SHIT THEY REALLY JUST HAD HIM TO BE BULLIED THEN KILLED

Y'ALL IM ACTUALLY CRYING THIS NEVER HAPPENS

I NEVER ACTUALLY GET SO EMOTIONAL OVER MEDIA THAT I CRY IT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE AT THE END OF VOLTRON BUT AHHHHHHHH

W A I T

HE'S GONNA BE BROUGHT BACK?????

HOLD UP THEY'RE JUST GONNA BRING ALL THOSE DEAD PEOPLE BACK??????

WAIT IS HE

BLINKY CALLED HIM A SON

HOLD ON IS THIS GOING TO BE A CLIFFHANGER???????????

BRUH THEY REALLY JUST CAN'T END THE SERIES WITHOUT CLIFFHANGERS like there's always an open ending

TROLLHUNTER TOBY????? You know what forget the whole rants I had on how toby was written they just redeemed it all

And that's all! I'd rate it a 6.5/10 because it's definitely the weakest of all the sequels but still had amazing animation and some good plot points. It's just really hard to look over the bad stuff enough to rate it any higher.

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

Vacation (Belphie x GN!Reader) Slight NSFW

(Did I go extra hard on the beach fic? Yes. Yes I did. Are my posting hours absolutely horrid... also yes. It's 3:30AM and I finally finished this fic though! YAY! I also did not read through this before I posted. I'll read it when I wake up to check for mistakes. I need a nap.)

Word Count : 5.1K

You loved the beach, everything about it was so relaxing. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, the smell of saltwater that was carried to your nose with the ocean’s breeze. The only thing that made being there right now better was the fact that Belphie was there with you. You loved Belphie, everything about him screamed perfection, even though he disagreed most of the time you said he was. His disregard for most of humanity aside from yourself, his constant scowl which he probably thought was menacing and scary but you just found it adorable.

It was shocking at first that he actually agreed to go with you, and you thought for sure that he’d want to stay home and just sleep while, but, much to your surprise, he jumped at the opportunity to go to the beach with you. He even said that it would be fun, which… well he wasn’t wrong… but hearing him say something like that… even if it was mumbled, it was kind of shocking.

“You got a room… in a hotel… that’s on the beach… with a balcony that overlooks the beach?” Belphie said, looking around the room as the two of you walked in. As soon as the door was shut, you dropped your bags to the floor and ran to the balcony doors, throwing them open and running out to lean over the railing with Belphie following close behind and quickly wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t do that. You could have flipped over the edge… dork.”

You could only laugh at his worry, but then again, according to him you were fragile, and humans were inherently clumsy most of the time, so you didn’t really blame him for thinking that you’d accidentally lean too far over and do a front flip over the railing… but it was still kind of funny. “I’m not going to fall over the edge, Belph. I’ve done this a lot. And…” You turned in his arms so you could wrap your own around his waist. “Yes, a balcony with an ocean view. The weather said there would be a thunderstorm this week, and I’m hoping they’re right. I love watching the lightning hit the water… the thunder is so loud. It’s amazing.” He chuckled softly, rolling his eyes as he grabbed your hand and dragged you back into the room, not wanting to leave you on the balcony unattended any longer.

“The storm better not hit until the last day. I want to go surfing.” He said as he grabbed his own bag off the floor and moved it onto the bed, quickly pulling out his bathing suit. You were stuck on the whole surfing thing though because… well… it doesn’t need to be explained. It’s just fucking hot. He snapped his fingers to get your attention after you hadn’t responded, rolling his eyes when you blinked a few times and focused back on him. “You alright? You zoned out for a second there.”

“Mhm… I’m good.” You whispered shyly, dragging your own bags away from the door so you could pull out your own bathing suit. “It’s a good time to go down… everyone is clearing out for the day and the sun isn’t going to be beating as hard.” You weren’t really sure if he was listening, you could still hear him rummaging through his own bag as you talked. You were mainly talking to yourself though, looking up out the balcony doors and watching as the umbrellas on the beach slowly dwindled as everyone started heading back to their own hotels.

“You still need sunscreen.” It actually sounded like he was scolding you, and it wouldn’t be the first time he called your ass out for not wearing it. “I’m not having you get burnt on our first day here. You’ll spend the rest of the vacation in pain, and then I’ll have to hold back from saying I told you so because you won’t be in the mood to hear it. Plus…” He tossed the sunscreen onto the bed that was closest to you before squatting down behind you, trailing his fingers along your neck and down your shoulders. “If you got burnt… you wouldn’t enjoy me touching you as much…”

God damn if he wasn’t right, and you hated that he was right. “Hmph… fine.” You groaned, and honestly, you just hated the way the sunscreen felt. It made your arms stick to your sides and you just felt… sticky… and you could never get it off your hands after putting it on. It was a pain in the ass… but he was right, and you wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything if you got burnt, and you definitely weren’t going to spend an entire week in a nice ass hotel with an ocean view and not at least cuddle with him. “You’re putting it on me though.”

“I never said I wouldn’t.” He said it teasingly, kissing your neck before standing back up. “Go change. The waves look pretty good right now, I want to get down there.” He had already started pulling his shirt off and unbuttoning his shorts as you got up off the floor. It was one thing for him to change in front of the balcony doors, he didn’t really care if anyone saw him naked… But he didn’t want anyone else to see you that way. Only he could, and if someone did happen to see you that way, he’d have to kill them and then it would ruin the vacation and neither of you wanted that.

Of course he held your hand on the way down the beach. He wasn’t going to let anyone else look at you, and even if they did, they’d see that your hand was in his and you were his, so they better just fuck right off with their thoughts and their intentions because it isn’t going to happen and you aren’t going to do the things that they are thinking with anyone but him.

“I hate walking in the sand with flip flops…” You mumbled as your feet sunk into the sand with every step, struggling to take steps because the sand kept basically absorbing your flip flop which is the most annoying shit.

“You could always go barefoot.” He said, as if you didn’t already know that… but also walking barefoot on the beach after the sun had been beating on it for hours wasn’t the most pleasant experience either.

“I’d rather not burn my feet… How close do you want to get to the water anyway? I usually stay close to the top so I don’t have to be around all the people.” Which was the truth. You hated being surrounded by other beach goers, and most of them smelt an awful lot like spray tan or beer or both. The ocean breeze would miraculously always start up whenever they were spraying their spray tans on and it would get in your eyes or your mouth, and you’d just rather not be anywhere near them. Plus… who puts on spray tan at the beach? Just lay in the sun. It’s easier and looks more real because it is real. Ugh… people.

“Close enough that I can still see you from the ocean. Right here should be good…” He stopped right at the middle of where the line of umbrellas started and where there was nobody. It was like an invisible line in the sand, and Belphie decided that he wanted his spot to be on both sides of it. He stuck the umbrella into the sand to mark the spot and you finally let yourself sit down before even putting down the towel. You were tired. Walking through the sand is a workout. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re forgetting something.” He practically cooed the last part to you, and you knew exactly what he was talking about, but you wished that he had forgotten.

He started digging through the bag that you had loaded with drinks and snacks because the beach experience isn’t complete unless you’ve tried to eat a sandwich while a multitude of seagulls stand at the edge of your towel and squawk at you to feed them. (But you don’t because it’s not healthy for them. Please don’t feed the seagulls your food.) “I don’t need sunscreen. I’m just gonna be sitting under the umbrella the whole time.” He hummed softly, knowing that you were wrong. Who goes to the beach and sits under the umbrella the whole time? You knew that you weren’t going to, but damn… you really hated the feeling of sunscreen. It makes you cringe. Why is it so sticky????

You laid out the towel and decided that it would be pointless to even try to argue against him. He was right in the hotel room about the sunburn, and it wouldn’t be as bad if he was the one rubbing it on you. “I’m sure a little sunscreen is better than a sunburn…” He said as he squirted it onto his hands. “Lay down, I said I’d put it on you.” You quickly obliged, laying on your stomach and resting your head on your arms as he rubbed it together between his hands before placing them on your shoulders. The feeling sent a shiver through you, and you weren’t sure whether it was just because the sunscreen was cold or if it was his touch that made your body respond that way. “You’re cute… relax babe… this isn’t the first time I’ve touched you.” He teased as his hands made their way down your back, squeezing your sides lightly before rubbing slowly over your entire back and then working down to your legs. Luckily your face was hidden in your arms so he couldn’t see your blushing. His touch was doing things to you that you knew you couldn’t act upon on the beach so it would probably be a while before you got up anyway. “Alright, roll over.” He didn’t really wait for you to roll over, taking it upon himself to do it and then smiling smugly when he saw the flustered look on your face.

“I think I’m just gonna…. Stay here for a little bit… while you go out and…” He had already started running his hands over your chest which had made your sentence get cut short. It would be too noticeable that he was making you flustered if you just covered your face now, so you tried to keep calm as his hands continued to work. You let out a gasp as his thumbs accidentally flicked over your nipples, a quiet hum escaping him as he watched them perk up. “Belphie…” You whined, but he only laughed in response, moving his hands lower until they were at your hips. Your eyes grew wider, and he knew exactly why, and for a second you thought he’d just tease you more, but he knew that if he did that you’d just be begging him to take you back to the room and those activities were for later.

He had finally finished, and part of you wished that he hadn’t because obviously you loved having his hands on you like that, but also you were in public and it couldn’t go any further than that either. “So do you want to go down there with me or do you need a minute?” He joked as he got up, grabbing his surfboard and holding it under his arm. “Would you rather me stay up here wi-”

“You can go! I just… Just need a second.” Your voice cracked as you said it, further accentuating just how flustered he had made you. You ran your hands over your face and sighed, to which he laughed at. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.” You grumbled. You were now thoroughly turned on, it was hot out, you were covered in sunscreen, and he looked really good standing above you like that.

“It actually is really funny. I’ll meet you down there… oh wait… hold up…” He leaned over, booping your nose with his pointer finger which still had sunscreen on it. You wrinkled your nose at him, sticking your tongue out before rolling over onto your stomach. “Aww, you’ll thank me for it later when your nose is sunburn free and not peeling.” He started walking off, that much you could tell as the sun that he had been blocking finally hit your back.

It didn’t take too long for you to gain back your composure. Now that he was off walking down to the ocean, you could actually focus on calming down and relaxing in the sun that was practically baking you because the umbrella wasn’t blocking out anything now that the sun was setting. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the warmth of the sun against your skin had you close to dozing off, but you wanted to see him, you wanted to watch him, so you fought off the urge to fall asleep and pushed yourself up off the towel and started heading down.

The beach had almost completely cleared out aside from the few people who, much like yourself and Belphie, wanted to enjoy it without the screaming children who’d run through the sand and kick it back onto the towels and bodies of unsuspecting people. It was a lot calmer during the evening, and Belphie had a lot of room to do what he wanted to do. Not a lot of people here actually surfed, it was mainly people boogie boarding close to the shore line and riding the smallest waves inland. You on the other hand, you didn’t use a board at all, instead wading out into the deepest part of the ocean until your feet could barely touch the floor, and then when a wave came, you’d jump and ride that shit up to the shore… or get knocked out completely and wash up on the shore looking like you’ve just seen death itself. Either way it’s a blast, and boards held no appeal to you… BUT…

Belphie on the board was a completely different story though. There was something about… him in general that made you so fascinated. Your eyes were basically glued to him, watching intently as he got onto his board and started paddling out deeper. You saw the wave that he was going for, it was forming further back, almost on the horizon line and you knew that it would be huge, which is exactly what he was going for. Go big or go home was always his thing, whether it was with food, pranks against his brothers, and with this as well…clearly. Were you worried, even though you knew that as a demon, he couldn’t actually get severely hurt? Absolutely. He’d probably laugh at you later for worrying, but you also cared about him a lot, so could he blame you? Absolutely not.

You watched as the wave drew closer, and for a second you were beyond worried that it would just crush him since he was sitting there just wading in the water, but as it started closing in, he began paddling again, his board rising with the crest of the wave until he reached the top and stood up. Now, it’s not that you had never seen people surfing before, it’s just that everyone else was boring and you didn’t like them and they weren’t interesting, and they were just… people. Belphie was different. This was your demon and here he was absolutely fucking ripping it, and not only was was he doing it flawlessly, but he looked so fucking good doing it. You wanted to cheer for him, but you also didn’t want to throw him off or anything, so you let out a quiet “yay” as you continued watching. The wave crashed down and broke around him, pushing him closer to you and for a second you thought that he’d ride it all the way up to you, but then he saw you. He pointed at you, the typical finger guns, and then promptly decided to purposely fall back off his board, which made you gasp because like… what the fuck man? Why?

BUT ALSO GOD DAMN. When he reemerged from under the water, he looked fucking…. Hot. And not like, “oh shit it’s summertime and the sun is making things hot” kind of hot… no, it was “holy hell I need to get this man back into the hotel room before I fuck him right here on the beach” type hot, which is still an understatement because there is no way to actually capture the essence of how absolutely hot he is through words. He’s just fucking… hot. He quickly pushed back his hair which was soaked and hanging in his face, and now it was slicked back, which wasn’t a look that you’d usually go for, but on him, again… HOT.

Were you aware that you had been holding your breath as he walked up to you? Nope. But as soon as he reached you, you exhaled sharply and gave him a sheepish smile. “That was… you did… it was great…” You couldn’t think straight and you couldn’t form coherent sentences, and the way you were acting had that smug little smile returning to his face. He knew damn well the way you were feeling, the way he made you feel. He didn’t have to wait for you to fall asleep and see your dreams to know what you were thinking either. But he wasn’t going to let you have it that easily either, he was going to tease you and drag it out as long as he possibly could.

“Come on…” He grabbed your hand, pulling you out into the water which was freezing. It was so cold, your entire body kind of froze up as soon as it reached your mid calves. “It’ll be more cold if you try to slowly get used to it. Just dunk yourself under real quick.” He stopped pulling you long enough to watch you, and what he was suggesting was quite possibly the number one thing you didn’t want to do right now. “I can do it for you if you won’t do it yourself.” He coaxed, stepping a little closer to you. He was serious too, he’d dunk you, whether you were holding your nose or not.

“I-I got it… I can do it…” You mumbled, slowly lowering yourself and then shooting back up when the water reached an area that had been dry before. You could almost see the timer in his head ticking down to the moment where he’d just take over and sweep you off your feet in the most unromantic way just to get you used to the water faster. “Don’t look at me while I… You’re making me nervous!” It was a good excuse. He scoffed and turned away from you, humming the jeopardy song which only made you feel more rushed. “Shush! I’m doing it… I just need a second.”

“You’ve had many seconds. It’s gonna be dark soon.” He joked, tapping his fingers along the water as he started humming louder. You groaned loudly before taking a deep breath, holding your nose, and dropping under the water. And, not surprisingly, it was fucking freezing, and when you quickly pushed yourself back up, the breeze that had really picked up didn’t help… like at all. “There you go. It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No… it was worse.” He snorted softly, shaking his head. You couldn’t understand how he wasn’t fazed by it. Whenever he was in bed he’d complain about it being too cold when he was too lazy to reach down and grab his blankets… but swimming in an ice cube tray apparently doesn’t affect him. It made absolutely no sense, but… he looked happy, and he was having fun, and as numb as your body felt from the water, seeing him this way made you feel warm, at least in your heart, where it was important. “So why am I actually in the water right now?” You would have been perfectly fine staying just above where the waves broke, but he must have had something in mind.

“We’re tandem surfing.” He drummed his hands lightly on the board as he looked excitedly over at you as if you knew what that meant. He could see the confusion on your face though, and he sighed softly, pulling you closer to himself and the board. “You’re gonna be on the board with me.” That… sounded like a trainwreck waiting to happen. It would not go well, you knew that much. You wouldn’t be able to even sit on the board without wobbling, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be able to stand on it. “You’ll be fine.” He could see how put off by the idea of it you were. No amount of his arms wrapped around you would make flipping off a surfboard in the middle of a wave worth it.

“Mmmm… Nope… that’s not gonna… Nuh uh….” You were shaking your head quickly, trying to keep your footing even when you were flat on the ground as the waves crashed around you. They were strong, as was the current that was pulling you deeper into the ocean without you even realizing it. “I can just go stand back up there… I’ll watch you. That sounds like a good idea.” You nodded to yourself, turning to start walking away, but his arm was around your waist, holding you close against him and keeping you from walking away.

“I’m not gonna let you fall off. We’re not going far out… and we’re both sitting the whole time.” He murmured against your neck, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Plus… It’s cold out there… and I want to do this with you.” He made you so weak, it wasn’t fair at all. His fingers brushed lightly across your hip as his lips lingered against your skin. He was waiting for an answer, but he already knew what it would be, he just wanted to hear you say it, and he was having way too much fun teasing you like this. “Fine… just… hold it still.” His hand quickly moved away from your waist and he was wearing the biggest smile as he held the board in place as best he could. The waves crashing around it were the biggest issue, and every time you were about to jump up onto it, another wave would push it against you and make you stumble back. “Belphie… It’s not gonna work.” You whined, your head falling back as you sighed loudly.

“I’m holding it as still as I can, you just need to get on. I’ll tell you when, so the waves won’t knock you off.” He was being really persistent with it, which, in it’s own way, was kind of cute. Either he really wanted you on the board with him, or he really wanted to see you fall off. Sure, he liked you, but even you knew there was something… comical… about watching someone fall off a board… especially if they were just sitting. That’s even funnier. “If you do it… we can go right back to the hotel after we’re done… I know you want to do that.” He’s god damn right you want to do that. Not just for… reasons, but the thought of warm dry clothes and being under a blanket and cuddling with him sounded so amazing right now.

It was motivation enough for you to try again, timing your jump before the next wave came and then gripping onto the board like your life depended on it, because you really thought that it did, once you were on. “Okay…. Now what?” Your voice was kind of shaky, and really, you thought you should be rewarded with the hotel just for getting on the board alone. The waves were rocking you, and you felt like you were going to tip at any moment if Belphie let go, and you were really hoping that he wouldn’t, but when you turned to look at him, he was already behind you, getting ready to jump on the board. “Sh-Shouldn’t I be in the back…?” It was a pretty bad time to realize it considering you were already on it, but you still had time to jump off and switch positions.

“Oh… No. If you’re in the back, you’ll just hide your face in my back as soon as the wave starts pushing us, and that’s the best part.” He climbed onto the back of the board, scooting as close to you as possible. “Now hold on, okay? I’m gonna get us a little further out.” Your head whipped around to look at him, your eyes going wide. You were pretty sure he just said that you wouldn’t go out far, but now he’s saying he’s gotta get out further? He chuckled lightly, shaking his head as if he knew what you were thinking. “Not as far as I went. Just far enough to actually have a wave. The swells aren’t going to do much except rock us around a little bit.” He was already paddling out and your hold on the board turned into a death grip.

Once he felt like it was far enough out, he turned the board around, and that’s when you realized just how far you actually were. “I’m gonna die…” You whispered, which only made him laugh more, leaning in to kiss along your shoulder. “That’s not gonna make me feel better.” Your nails were practically digging into the board and your knuckles hurt from how tight you were holding it, but you didn’t really care, you just didn’t want to fall off.

“Oh, the waves coming! Hold on.” As if you weren’t already doing that, and you couldn’t possibly hold on any tighter than you already were. The wave began pushing you up, and you didn’t, not even for a second, enjoy the sensation of it. “Keep your eyes open.” His arms were wrapped tightly around you, and even with his urging, your eyes were shut as tight as possible, already prepared for when you’d fall off. You didn’t want salt water in your eyes, it burned, it hurt, and you were like 99.5% sure that you’d be falling off at some point.

His arms stayed wrapped around you, as tight as possible, ensuring that you wouldn’t fall off the board and you were beyond thankful for that. In a strange way, it didn’t last that long, but at the same time it felt like you were riding the wave forever. You had opened your eyes once, but the sight of the beach growing closer and closer to you was terrifying and you didn’t like it. “Is it done?” You quietly asked, not wanting to open your eyes yet, but you also felt like you’ve slowed down and you could feel the rocking of the waves beneath you again.

“Yes, it’s done. Your eyes were shut the entire time, weren’t they?” He joked, squeezing your hips which made you squirm and fall off the board anyway. His laughter was so loud you could hear it from under the water, and you quickly pushed your feet up against the edge of the board to try to tip him off as well, which didn’t actually work. You got back up, wiping the water from your eyes and glaring at him, still sitting on the board and smiling down at you. “You thought you’d be able to tip me over… that’s cute. You’re cute. Come, we’ll go back now. We can both take a nap before dinner.”

The sand had finally cooled off now that the sun had practically set behind the horizon line, lighting the waves up in pretty pink, orange, and blue hues. If you weren’t so cold, you’d have loved to stay on the beach and watch the sun continue to go down with Belphie right beside you. That could be done another night though, and you were aching to get back inside and take a shower to get the sand off of you, and then just relax in bed.

“I call dibs on the bathroom first.” You called out as you swiped the card to get into the room, rushing ahead of him to drop your beach bag on the floor and run straight into the bathroom. The sand was sticking to you, not just from being in the water, but also the damned sunscreen. It was itchy and it was everywhere, and you wanted to get it off of you as quickly as you could.

“You don’t have to call dibs, I could just get in there with you.” He said it so matter-of-factly that it made you pause for a second. He wasn’t wrong, and it’s not that you’d mind him getting in with you, so you weren’t going to say no. He walked in just as you were getting into the shower, and no matter how many times he had seen you that way, you still got really shy, which he would constantly say is adorable, but it just made you flustered and even more shy than you already were. “Did you have fun?” His voice was soft now, and you could hear that he was becoming tired. You were sure that he’d end up falling asleep on the beach after being in the ocean, it was enough to even knock you out most of the time, but he held onto enough energy to get up into the room.

“Mmhm… I liked watching you more though…” You heard him hum quietly behind you, his hands roaming over your body as he helped get some of the off. You could have done it yourself, but he did it so much better. “Did you have fun?” It sounded like he had fun, and it definitely looked like he had fun. He was laughing and smiling the whole time which was enough for you. His happiness made you happy, as cringy and dorky as that may sound… which is why you never told him that. He’d call you a dork and laugh it off which would just make you flustered and feel silly.

“Mmhm… I have one more thing to do though.” You were confused because you were pretty sure he was talking about dinner and that was supposed to come after the nap. He finished rinsing the sand and soap off you and himself before turning off the shower and stepping out. He didn’t bother with towels, grabbing your hand and pulling you out of the bathroom and pushing you down on the bed, situating himself between your legs and smiling up at you. “I teased you enough on the beach… I think I should finish what I started.”