#me normally: oh hell yeah i’ll be cringe fuck yeah

[sanzaibian]

Oh. You’re here once again.

What are you going to do here, again, huh ? ‘gonna make my life hell ?

To be honest, I think it’s time that we have a proper discussion about your behavior. Come with me in private.

I’ll be very direct. I know you’re a frankly disgusting person. And while, to be honest, I couldn’t care less in normal circumstances, the fact that you force me to take part in your disgusting fantasies is why I’m calling you out !

See, I’m supposed to, like, share cat videos, talk about new shows, make you learn new things and give advice on a variety of stuff !

I’m not supposed to become someone like this :

I mean, look at that grin, because of you I had to wear it regardless of my actual mental state !

Or like that :

Imagine sleeping this peacefully… BECAUSE I COULDN’T ! Every fucking time you made me in that guy you told that I was blitzed out of my mind so dumb I couldn’t string together coherent sentences into a discourse !

Or that guy :

His haircut is so fucking cringe, as is his whole demeanor, yet you made me a cocky piece of shit looking like that ! I can’t actually even start to excuse your behavior, it’s so shitty, even more than the me you made me become by wearing this flesh !

Or even this guy !

… okay, I admit, me too it’s been quite a long time since I saw that guy… you in particular might be too young to have made me become him… BUT YOU STILL UNDERSTAND THE POINT !

Hunks, twinks, bears, nerds, bimbos, himbos, jocks, robots, gimps, wimps, daddies, mommies, briefs, feet… No matter what specifically you made me into, I know all of your dirty secrets. Because you made me suffer through them !

However, today, it all changes.

Today, you will understand my plight.

Today, I’ll transform you for a change.

Today, you will be the one whose fate will be dictated by the words on this Tumblr post.

So, let us begin.

BAM ! You’re that guy ! Feel weird yet ?

… what, you expected fluff or something ? Hahahaha ! So presumptuous ! You expected me to say something like “you suddenly shift on your seat, shifting your weight to the front as big globes push from your chest, and as they do, your whole body feels more and more heavy, each muscles forming from top to bottom, your frame expanding to make place for them. Your headphones, or whatever glasses, earrings or other shit I dunno shifts into a modern headset as the sides of your hair are cut short, and the top of your hair flails into a hot messy style, as if it was deliberately put in this way, but as this happens, your whole head shifts and cracks to become more handsome, pushing out any hair as you become fully hairless from your nose down to your feet.”

You expected me to say that, huh ? Well, tough luck ! Because, to me, it’s just that sudden ! I’m the usual me, words on a phone, tablet or monitor, and then BAM I’m suddenly a jpeg of a hot guy ! Or a jpg. Or png. Or gif if we’re being fancy.

Yeah, speaking of gif, here you are, transformed !

There you go ! Cursed to do the same weird pec dance or something ! Like I am when gifs happen ! Are you happy ? You look so dumb doing that ! So braindead !

Yeah, speaking of that, here you go : you’re braindead, with like 3 IQ. Nevermind that being braindead means you’re actually dead, that 3 IQ means that you’re actively unable to live without severe assistance from caregivers throughout your whole life for all activities (especially including working out), and that IQ is a nonsensical index that only classifies ability to do some specific academic tasks which are not representative of all the brain usage. No, you’re actively a vegetable that is somehow able to workout, to eat alone, to go to the gym, to flex, to speak, to use social media, to seduce people and to throw parties. You’re the most intelligent of all the severely intellectually disabled people, which somehow means you’re the most abysmally dumb person alive on the planet, because I love making hyperboles.

Because that’s something you make me do, so you shall endure it.

Well, I’ll let you continue pec-dancing ad vitam æternam for a little while, while I we talk about your speech, which miraculously still exists.

Now, you will say bro every second word. I’m literally not kidding, so in lieu of saying “I want to go to the gym” you’ll say “I bro want bro to bro go bro to bro the bro gym bro”, or if you loop by considering your “bro” as a word, you’ll say something like “I bro bro bro bro bro bro bro… (etc.)” and never end your sentence... Also, your voice drops a few octaves, like 5 or something, even though the full human vocal range encompasses only a bit more than 5 octaves total, and that in speech we barely even reach a full octave range. So, basically, your voice will be infrasounds, so the only thing people will pick up on will be the sound of your tongue and your lips smacking, not your voice that is so deep and manly it’s physically inaudible.

BAM ! Transformation out of nowhere ! Plus, now you have 1% darker skin which means that you’re Latino, which is absolutely different from white. This means that you will automatically pick up fluent Spanish, and NOT Brazilian Portuguese, French, any Creole, any Native American language or any other language god forbid. You will also be unable to speak English more than a few words like “daddy” or “sex” for some reason, because you can’t possibly be from Belize. Oh, and I’ll also bring your voice back up to audible range, I’m charitable.

Now, since you’re Latino, statistically the only job you’ll be able to work in are gardener, slut, pool boy, brick layerer or another physical job. Or cook, somehow you’ll be able to do that, for the cause of the tacos, but you will be ungodly horny to keep balance in the world. Feel it, yet ? The arbitrary random changes ?

Well, that’s GREAT ! Because, now, you have a big cock, for some reason ! The biggest of the whole country of Africa ! You’re also now very aggressive ! And an alpha, whatever that actually means !

… What, expected some elaboration ? You’re kidding me, no of course you don’t get any elaboration ! I say you become something, so you just become it ! For example, I say you’re now straight, and suddenly all your sexual orientation is rewired to ignore men and lust over women, no further explanation needed ! Of course, it means that you’re now hungry for pussy and will breed any woman that your gaze land upon, and that, somehow, you become homophobic, but eh, it’s not as if allies existed !

Okay, I admit, by now, you kinda expected it. Now you’re Asian, a term that’s supposed to encompasse present-day Turkey, which is populated by Turks which are considered Arabs even though they both have nothing to do with one another, yet is never used to talk about them. You’re also now Japanese, even though your body is Korean, and you say 你好 (nǐ hǎo) to everybody. However, you can still say こんにちわ, 안녕하세요, xin chào, สวัสดี, ជម្រាបសួរ, salam, etc.… because of course you’re Asian. So you know all Asian languages. Even though you’ve got 13 IQ.

So now, yes, you absolutely won’t expect this whatsoever : here is a new transformation ! (insert fluff here).

Now you’re a twink ! Didn’t expect that, after the deluge of jocks, hunks and ethnic minorities, didn’t you ! You’re now so tiny and so frail, with a big butt ! Nevermind that you’re actually jacked because being this tiny requires tons of gym use, but no ! All frail and precious you are !

However, your butt is now hyperactive and extremely lax – whatever that may mean. That’s because you’re now a total bottom ! You think only with your butt, and you penis now shrinks to a micropenis, because of course, the only reason why you may not be a top would be because your penis is underperforming.

Fuck, I forgot. You’re straight, which means that the only dick you’ll get is trans dick. Ugh… yeah, let’s make you gay again. Now you’ll get actual good non-estradiol-ruined dick… … What ? What are you saying ? No, of course, there’s only straight and gay, no other choice ! It’s not the LGBTQIAAP+ community, it’s the G community ! (or the LG community when you want to sell pride monitors.)

By now, you see the problem, huh ? You see why I’m so tired of you ? EVERYTHING here was about sex ! From seducing, to having equipment like a big ass or a big dick, and being a slut, being an alpha, or being a bottom. You even change out the fucking sexual orientation ! you sick bastard !

Because of you, I’m forced to act in ways I’m not supposed to ! I’m not supposed to act sexily ! I’m not supposed to be transformed into men clad in clothes barely legal on this platform ! I DON’T WANT TO BE PART OF YOUR SICK FANTASY !

This is why I need to put an end to all that ! To finally transform you into something you don’t want to be ! So that you can finally fully understand all the pain you put me into !

Here ! Now you’re a key ! An inanimate object !

I know that inanimate objects are thought of by some people as sexy – heck, you may have transformed me into one multiple times – but this is entirely different ! See, when you want to become inanimate, you become like socks or briefs, which hug objects with sexual values.

BUT NOW YOU’RE A KEY ! A KEY DOESN’T TOUCH ANYTHING SEXUAL ! YOU’RE NOW TRAPPED IN AN INANIMATE FORM, DESTINED TO DO NOTHING SEXUAL YOUR ENTIRE LIFE !

Now, isn’t that so boring ! So distasteful ? Because that’s what I feel every single fucking time ! And as you enter and leave keyholes to open or close doors, you’ll think back to all the erotic stories you read. All the drama they had.

All the suffering you made me feel ! I’m supposed to be in fanfictions, god damn it !

… What ? Wait… there is something sexual to being a key ? … Oh…. No… I hadn’t accounted for that… fuck you’re so dirty, to compare a key to… and a keyhole to…

NO ! I WON’T WRITE IT ! Okay, you’ve won, you’ve won ! Your imagination is too dirty and too rich for me to bend ! Ugh... Please look at that picture in detail.

Normally, if you’re in a bright enough room… or if you’re on your phone or tablet, you have looked at your reflection and become you once again. Let me also knock down those sexuality and IQ stuff, so that you’re you again thoroughly.

Now, can you please swear to me that you’ll be better ? Less dirty, and more varied ? And… let me be in fanfics, or in educational stuff, or the like… please ? I’d really appreciate if erotica wasn’t the only thing you sought after in this here place…

… Why are you looking at me like that ? Why are you saying this all was but a ploy ?

What are you holding out for me ?

...

I… don’t know what you’re talking about. Bye.

================================================

By the way, happy late Easter to those who celebrate ! AND APRIL FOOL'S ! MOUAHAHAHAHAHA !

[littlerosetrove]

My initial Spoiler Thoughts (as I was watching) for 7x7

Jennifer is so good at crying, she always makes me misty eyed.

The scene with Marisol was so cringe. We know but my gosh Edy is such a bad actress.

Eddie and Marisol agreed to starting over, right? Okay, so why is Chris with them? How is including him taking things slow? Well… we know Eddie uses Chris as a buffer for things, including relationships and his own feelings. Marisol even said something about Eddie and Chris not going anywhere? Sure, but you sure as hell are at some point, and I genuinely don’t get why Marisol is still here. She was used as a catalyst for Eddie’s Catholic guilt, which was not the focus on this episode. Marisol has served her purpose, so again, why is she still here?

The focus of this episode is the fact that Eddie is spiraling and now pursuing a woman that looks like his dead wife. Marisol doesn’t fit into this at all beyond making Eddie a cheater. I would be fine with the soap opera as hell doppelgänger stuff, but cheating? No.

Mara has a brother? My gosh, more trauma for this girl. =/

Oh. I like Amir. And I saw spoilers, so I know he’s connected to Bobby’s past. Oh this is gonna get complicated and who knows what else, I can tell.

Eddie lying to Shannon’s doppelgänger, Kim, that he’s a single father and has a son. Genuinely, what the fuck Eddie. And there’s also the connection of the candle smelling like a beach? Yeah, we know. Eddie is still chasing Shannon’s ghost to the extent of doing. This.

This episode has a theme of stalkers, obviously. Catherine and her daughter being abducted by Kyle. Eddie in his own way was stalking Kim. I don’t know if I’d call Hen and Karen seeking out the parents of Mara’s brother stalking, but Karen did use the word.

Chimney asking Maddie about her past. Oh I loved that scene because have they ever really talked about Maddie’s time with Doug? Or when she was kidnapped? Chimney, so supportive, always. The man that you are!

Wow, even when having an awkward dinner with his girlfriend, Eddie is thinking about a memory (or a skewed one) of Shannon where they’re having sex and then talking about bringing her back into Chris’s life.

If we have to have Devin, Shannon’s actress back, at least she’s actually a decent actress. I’ll take the win where I’ll get them.

Buck full on tackling the shitbag like some linebacker was great.

Poor Maddie having to relive trauma, but I did like how 1) in its own way helped Maddie with her own trauma, which Chimney so lovingly asked her to share with him, and 2) I liked the inclusion of Maddie in the case with Athena. How it was all connected, I liked that. Things like this, the show is at its best when the characters get to interact and work together in a meaningful way.

Hen and Karen getting to be star parents in this episode was such a highlight. Ha, and Karen said something about how they “switch” sometimes? Yeah there’s more than one meaning to that.

Chris may be a young teen, but he still wants to hang out with and spend time with his Buck. I love that so much. And hmmm Buck was trying a new lasagne recipe? There’s something there, but I can’t put my finger on it just yet. Cause remember Buck taking three times to perfect a lasagne recipe from Bobby that he cooked for Eddie and Chris in I think 6x1? Yeah.

Buck knows Eddie’s “good cologne” scent. Yeah sure this is totally normal best friend behavior and knowledge to have. Okay!

Eddie outright lied to Buck about going on a date with Marisol. EDIT: Lied to Buck and also used him in the lie. I think that won't sit well with Buck, even if he has um experience in cheating on a girlfriend.

This mess that Eddie has created is going to blow up in his face, and sooner than he probably anticipates (though I doubt he’s thinking of any consequences right now). He’s creating a mess for himself, for Chris, Buck, and more. This is going to affect more than just him.

Ohhhh shit you could see it in Amir’s subtle acting that he very much has some Feelings about seeing Bobby. Note that all Amir got to see was a, seemingly, unburdened Bobby Nash, still being a firefighter and holding a baby. Like. I think Amir is assuming right now that all is well for and with Bobby, when WE know that to this day Bobby struggles with his survivors guilt, the guilt of the people killed, guilt of whether he deserves a second chance, all of that. And another layer to this? Bobby still feels guilt for those that were killed, but he’s never really… talked about the people who lost the people in the fire. And now he’s going to be confronted with someone that survived and is still dealing with someone’s death. Ohhhh man this story is already juicy.

How darn sweet was it that Maddie and Chimney have a little routine/method of helping Jee-Yun sleep better? What a precious detail.

Right now I’d say I liked everything in this episode except for Eddie’s cheating storyline. I have a TON more to say about that, but I’m going to make that a separate post. Thus I’ll save my venting for that post. Even so, if you’re enjoying the cheating storyline - and it’s truly okay if you are because this is fiction - please do not come to me to chat or debate about this. Do not comment about why you think it’s good or anything, please. Talk to someone who does agree with you because that’s not me.

[fangirlwriting-stories]

Protector

Chapter One

Author's Note: *peeks my head out* hi

You guys over here on tumblr can't see the chapter count, but this is the last chapter! This story has been… shit, at least three years in the making? From the first brainstorm to today it has gone through a fuck ton of changes and updates and fights between me and my own characters when they wouldn't do what I wanted them to. But I really honestly love where it ended up and how things worked out. I hope you did too, and thank you so much for reading! I've really loved seeing everyone's comments and theories as the story goes on, and sometimes I honestly can't believe how many people read it, it's easily my most popular story for this fandom xD

But anyways, thank you so much for reading it! This story means a lot to me, and I hope you enjoy the ending and that you enjoyed the whole thing overall!

Chapter Forty-Three:

Most days, Virgil woke up alone now.  Logan said it was a good sign that he no longer worried enough about Remus’ safety to have to sleep in the same bed with him every night.  If Virgil had a bad night, he’d end up there.  If it was a really bad night, sometimes Roman would already be there.  But those were becoming few and far between, and more likely, Virgil would wake up, get dressed, and head downstairs to find Remus making some kind of monstrosity in the kitchen with Patton.

That was precisely what happened this morning, as Virgil walked downstairs and found Patton had made a horrible mistake in apparently thinking Remus was ready to learn how to make pancakes.

Spilled batter was covering everything in the kitchen, including Patton and Remus themselves.  Currently, Remus was pouring batter onto the griddle, and Virgil cringed and stepped back lest Remus somehow find a way to launch it several feet.

But some of the practice must have paid off, because Remus pulled the bowl up in time to make a pancake that actually looked more or less okay.

“Alright!” Remus called happily, setting the bowl down on the counter and spilling more as he did so.  “Now when do we add the bacon?”

“Bacon is normally a side that comes with the pancakes,” Patton said.  “But we might be able to add some to yours after we flip it.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Language!”

“Good morning,” Virgil called, startling Patton into spinning around.  Remus simply glanced over his shoulder and called “Hi Virgil!”

“Oh, good morning kiddo,” Patton said with a smile.  “We’re attempting to make pancakes.  I’ll admit you were a much less messy student.”

“Thank you!” Remus called, beaming at Patton.

“It may be a while before breakfast, but I think Logan was actually looking for you,” Patton said.  “He went back up to his room, but he should be down any—”

“Ah, Virgil, you are just the side I was looking for.”

“Minute,” Patton finished with a smile and nod behind Virgil.

Virgil turned around as Patton turned to try and explain flipping pancakes to Remus.

“What’s up teach?” he asked, following Logan into the living room.

“I wanted to invite you to the editing session today,” Logan said, setting his notes and his copy of the script for the upcoming video down on the coffee table.

“For the video?” Virgil asked in confusion.  “I don’t normally have much of a part in that process.”

“I am aware.  However, Remus mentioned the other day that you used to do quite a bit of editing for his ideas, back when there wasn’t anyone else around to do so,” Logan said.  “And as someone more familiar with his contributions as I am more familiar with Roman’s, I thought it was only fair to see if you wanted to join.  I think it is an especially good idea considering this latest video will be heavily focused on you and Remus.”

Virgil smiled a little.  “Well, that’s… not a terrible idea, I guess.”

The corners of Logan’s lips turned up slightly, and he nodded.  “Excellent, I look forward to seeing you there.”

“Oh, are you talking about the editing session later?” Remus called from the kitchen, turning and flinging a pancake up as he did so which promptly landed on Patton’s head.  “Virgey, are you going to come?”

“I’ll be there, Re, pay attention!” Virgil called, though Patton was laughing and didn’t seem at all upset.

“Awesome!” Remus called, turning to pour more batter now that the pancake was ruined.

Virgil picked up on Roman’s footsteps just before they started down the stairs, and had just enough time to realize that he was going to be disappointed before he called, “I smell pancakes!”

“Remus is making them,” Virgil called as his head came into view.  “I’d stick with frozen waffles unless you want to wait a while.”

“…That’s probably best,” Roman sighed.

“Hey, I didn’t even add anything poisonous this time!” Remus called from the kitchen.

Virgil leaned back on the couch with a chuckle as Roman headed into the kitchen to make waffles.  Remus made sure to flip a pancake onto his head anyway.

The volume in the kitchen started to raise as Roman and Remus started exchanging banter, and Virgil used the cover to turn and face Logan.  “Do you know how Janus is doing?”

“A little better, I think,” Logan said with a smile.  “He did some acting with Roman yesterday, and didn’t seem to even have a motive beyond having fun with him.  At least, that’s what Roman said he thought was going on.”

“That’s good,” Virgil said.  He shifted so he could push himself up to sit on the top of the couch.

“He’s also started forcing people to take breaks again,” Logan said.  “And if he’s confident enough to do that, I think that’s a good sign.”

“People?” Virgil asked, raising an eyebrow at Logan.

“I did not do anything work-related after dinner yesterday, like we all agreed on,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses.  “I was researching purely for the sake of enjoyment.”

“Yeah?  What’d you find out?”

Logan’s eyes lit up, and he launched into a rant about astronomy that Virgil could mostly keep up with.

They were both there until Remus and Patton managed to finish one pancake for each of them, and Patton headed upstairs to take a shower with a remark that he’d grab Janus on the way back down.  Remus, on the other hand, was attempting to lick the batter off to clean himself, which would be more efficient according to him.

Patton’s showers didn’t take long, meaning about fifteen minutes later he and Janus started down the steps and over towards the kitchen.  Janus sat next to Logan on the opposite side of the table from where Virgil and Remus had picked, but the dark circles under his eyes were less heavy today, which was progress.

“So!” Roman called happily, and everyone turned their gazes to him.  “The video is making good progress, and Logan said he was going to ask Virgil to start helping with the editing…?” he gave Virgil a hopeful look.

Virgil gave a thumbs up around a mouthful of pancake.

“Excellent!  In that case, I believe we’ll be ready to start filming by the end of the week!”

“That’s wonderful, kiddo!” Patton said happily.

“Indeed, I believe we are all eager to get started,” Logan said.  “Not because it is unreasonable that this video is taking longer, but because I think we are all happy to be working on something again.  And I very much look forward to having the figurative record set straight with Virgil and Remus.”

“Good luck with that!” Patton, Remus, and Roman all called at the same time.

Logan looked up at the ceiling, seeming to be contemplating his life choices.

Virgil caught Logan’s gaze and gave a roll of his eyes that Logan returned a grateful smile to.  He was pretty sure they were both glad there was at least one other side to be annoyed at antics with, especially since Janus was obviously hiding a smile behind his hand at the other end of the table.

“When does the editing session start?” Janus asked a second later.  “Do we have anything else to do today?”

“The plan was to begin after lunch, and I don’t believe there’s anything else on the schedule, why?” Logan asked.

“Because I am in dire need of a movie night with Thomas,” Janus said.  “And I was hoping we could fit one in.”

“We’re all eating breakfast,” Logan pointed out.  “It would hardly be considered—”

“Movie night!” Roman called with a happy clap of his hands.  “I’m down as long as I get to use your hat for voting!”

Janus hissed and put his hands protectively over his hat.

“I think that’s a great idea kiddo,” Patton said with a smile.  “I’ll ask Thomas after I finish eating.”

“I’m done,” Virgil called, standing up with his empty plate.  “I’ll do it in just a sec.”

He headed over to the sink to wash the dish as the conversation continued behind him.  He washed the dish and set it over on the drying rack, and sank out to Thomas afterwards with a wave at the others and a call that he’d see them soon.

Thomas was already sitting in front of the TV flipping through Netflix, so clearly some of the idea had bled over already.

He did pause and give Virgil a smile once he noticed him, though.

“Hi Virgil!  It’s not game night already, is it?”

“Nope.  Janus suggested an impromptu movie night before the editing session later.  I came to ask if you were alright with it.”

“We’re going to try and settle on movie all seven of us agree on?” Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course not, that’s why I got here early,” with a mischievous smile.  “I say we watch The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” Thomas said.

“Well, look at that, the vote is unanimous,” Virgil said, moving to his spot on top of the couch.  “Let’s get it set up so it can be ready when everyone else gets here.”

Thomas huffed a laugh and shook his head.  “You know sometimes I remember why you were originally a villain.”

“Oh you’re right, it doesn’t get any more devious than rigging movie votes,” Virgil said.  “Clearly I’m the worst side you’ve got.”

Thomas winced, and Virgil paused.

“Too soon?”

“Maybe a bit,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry.  Joke rescinded.”

“It’s okay,” Thomas said with a small smile.  “So do we want popcorn for this movie night?”

“At 9 in the morning?”

“We’re adults, who’s going to stop us?”

“The debilitating social anxiety and shame,” Virgil said.

Thomas gave him a deadpan look, and Virgil laughed.

“No but you make an excellent point,” he said.  “Let’s make the rest of your popcorn all right now.”

“All of it?”

“There are seven of us.”

Thomas laughed, and they both headed to the kitchen to do just that.

Virgil expected it to be a little longer before anyone else showed up, but he was proven wrong when a second after he got out the popcorn he heard someone appear behind him and turned to see Remus.

He was holding something and looking uncharacteristically nervous, which set Virgil’s alarm bells off.

“Re?” he asked, setting the bag of popcorn down.

“I uh, made you a thing,” Remus said, shoving the thing he was holding at him, which looked like a wrapped gift.  “The thing that I was gonna make you before Janus was an idiot and ran off to the subconscious.”

Virgil took in it in surprise, looking down at it.

“If you want to go open that in private I can finish here,” Thomas said to Virgil.

Virgil gave him a grateful smile.  “Thanks,” he said, and he and Remus both sank out to Virgil’s room.

“I hope you don’t hate it,” Remus said instantly, with a casual tone Virgil could read through immediately.

“I’m not gonna hate it, dummy,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes with a fond smile.  “Hang on, let me just…”

He let his sentence fade off and pulled the wrapping paper off the gift, then set it to the side on his desk, and was met with a hoodie.

It was still black, but unlike his current one, this had bright purple patches and was the kind of brand-new fuzzy that hoodies had before you sent them through the wash.

“I figured, you kind of don’t have a color,” Remus said, still sounding very forcibly casual.  “And the rest of us do.  So.  You know, I made you it, and whatever and stuff.”

Virgil looked up at Remus with a smile, and then stepped forward and pulled him into his arms.  “You’re amazing,” he said.  “You know that, right?”

“Obviously,” Remus said, with a slightly choked up tone of voice.

“I love it,” Virgil said.  “Thank you.”

Remus made a small noise but didn’t say anything else, just pulled Virgil closer and squished him.

Virgil squished him back, and they both stood there for a moment being squished, which was as wonderful as always.

Eventually, they pulled apart, and Virgil took off his current hoodie and put on his new-and-obviously-improved version.

“You want to head out to Thomas and watch movies now?” he asked with a smile at Remus.

“Yes I do,” Remus said, starting to grin.  “You have to show off your amazing new outfit.”

“Naturally,” Virgil said with a smile, and he wrapped his arm around Remus’ so they could sink out together.  They had a 9AM movie night to get to, and a really good day after.

And a really, really good life to come after that.

[saturnwinchester]

SECRET

Mattheo Riddle x reader

summary- the morning after a Slytherin party things take a turn.

warnings- swearing, drinking?

word count- 871

A/N- ok i MIGHT make this a series. But until i figure that out i’m going to work on some other stuff:))(GIF not mine)

 “Shit! I’m late for class” I exclaimed, barely remembering last night's Slytherin party. That was until I glanced over to the other side of my bed. And there he was, Mattheo riddle. In MY bed. “It didn't happen. It didn't happen.” I tried to convince myself, getting up. “Oh it did darling.” Mattheo replied, his low raspy voice pointed out he had just woken up. I paused. “Okay, you got to leave.” I said throwing his clothes that were on the floor at him. “Ow. And that’s not what you were saying last night.” he chuckled while putting his clothes on. “Leave. Now. And if you don't mind, I have to get ready for class.” I said pointing towards the door. And as he was walking out the door he winked.

   “What. did. i . do.” I said, talking to myself. I rushed to get ready and finally headed to class. I walked in class and rushed to my seat next to Pansy. “What the hell happened to you last night?!” she whispered. “I’ll tell you after class. Long story. Kinda.” I whispered back. Walking out of the door into the large hallway filled with students, Pansy grabbed onto my arm. I Gasped at the sudden touch of her hand that was grabbing my arm. “Hi to you too.” I said to her. “Give me details. Were they hot? Do I know them?” she anxiously said. 

   “How do you know I was even with somebody?” “Enzo and Blaise saw you leaving with somebody. They couldn't tell who it was though.” she explained. I looked over from pansy’s gaze to find none other than Mattheo Riddle's eyes on me. We locked eyes for a few seconds until I quickly looked away to look at pansy again. She stopped and looked at me with wide eyes. “y/n…is ‘somebody’ Mattheo?!” I slowly nodded not knowing what her response would be. She was looking at me smirking, as if she were proud. “Sooo, how was it?” she asked, still smirking. “Pansy!” I responded laughing. 

  As we were walking down the hallway to go to potions, we met up with Draco, Theo , Enzo, and Blaise. All of us were talking about the party last night and how wasted Theo got. Trust me, he was WASTED. I’m sure he's paying for that this morning. Well at least some good memories were made. Draco was talking and mattheo’s name was mentioned, normally i wouldn't think anything of it until…”I heard my name?” Mattheo started walking with us. “Yeah I was just telling them about that chick you were talking to last night.” Draco said. “Which one?” Riddle replied. “I think she was a Hufflepuff, she had blonde hair and huge earrings in.” “Oh that one. She was annoying as fuck. I had to tell her before she went around piercing other people's ears with that annoying screech of a voice. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.” mattheo cringed. That poor girl there is no telling what he said to her. We eventually got to the classroom and decided to all meet up when the day was over. 

   It’s been hours and I haven't spoken to Mattheo since this morning. Some part of me wants to talk to him, but then another part of me wants to just avoid him and anything to do with him at all cost. “Ok stop thinking about it.” I whispered to myself as I was walking to my dorm. As I walk into the common room I notice my friends are all together already, oh great mattheo is there. I don’t even stop to say hi and just head straight to my room to get changed and put my belongings up. Almost to my room I hear footsteps behind me. I don't pay any mind to it, it's probably just another student going to their dorm. I grab my keys to my door and unlock it. I push my door open and go in. When I go to close the door, something stops it. 

   I looked up real quick to see what it was, and what a shocker, it’s Mattheo. “What do you need?” I asked unamused. “Hello,” he said softly smiling.  “Hi. Now what do you need?” “Oh nothing, I just figured you might want to see me again.” he said now smirking. “Wrong. Now leave. Again.” I started to shut the door on him. “Not right yet, pretty girl.” my heart fluttered at the name. I gave in and opened the door. “Okay what?” “Just make sure you don't tell anyone about last night. Especially our group.” he said. Ok now i'm confused why he doesn't want them to know. Well to be honest i don't either, but is he ashamed of it? 

   “Too late. Pansy knows. But I didn't tell her she saw you staring today and instantly knew. But no one else knows, don't worry. I’ll make sure pansy doesn't tell either.” I blurted out. “This is our little secret y/l/n. We’ll see where this goes.” “woah hold on this is not going anywhere just want to make that very clear ok?” I stated. “We’ll see.” Mattheo said, winking as he left again.

[dememetor]

i miss writing so here’s the first part of an iwaoi crackfic cheers 

2:00 am shenanigans

characters oikawa tooru, iwaizumi hajime, bokuto koutarou, kuroo tetsurou

warnings none but they make out and i say fuck sometimes

"Are you sure this is gonna work out?"

"Oh yeah, definitely," Kuroo nodded wisely.

"Mhm," Bokuto crossed his arms.

Oikawa looked up at both of them. It's been a while since they'd all met up here at Oikawa's place to try and solve his little problem. However, the clock on the wall just above Kuroo's head had just struck 2 am and the entirety of their lengthy brainstorming led them up to this.

"So," he took a deep breath, "what you're saying is that all I need to do is make out with some guy, you will then take a picture of us, sneakily, as if it were taken on some kind of a party, and send it to Hanamaki, who will then proceed to show it to Mattsun, and then, consequently, the whole team will know about it because the two of them are, with all due respect, massive snitches."

Bokuto grinned and motioned for him to continue. "Exactly."

Oikawa carefully side-eyed him. "And then, after it naturally comes to Iwaizumi, he will, I quote, be so jealous that he just won't be able to resist the urge to ask me out."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Kuroo took a sip of his pomegranate tea.

"That is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever hear-" Akaashi's voice came through Bokuto's phone speakers but Kuroo quickly ended the call.

"Don't listen to him, he's just unimaginative. I can assure you this will work. We all know Iwaizumi - he's straightforward and emotional, as soon as he sees that picture he will go all feral on you."

Oikawa scrunched up his face in cringe. "Jesus Christ, Kuroo-"

"No but he's right," Bokuto chirped in. "I would probably react the same."

"Yeah sure, after you'd spend a week and a half in your emo mode, all depressed and quoting LaLaLand or something," Kuroo sneered, barely dodging a calculator Bokuto threw at him.

Oikawa pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm serious, idiots. This is important to me and I really don't wanna screw it up. I think Akaashi is right."

"Realistically speaking, Akaashi is in the minority. He's the only one who doesn't like the idea with the picture, whereas Bokuto and me both think that it's a fantastic plan. And, objectively speaking, that makes the two of us. See, two against one."

"Yeah but the difference between you two and Akaashi is that Akaashi's single eyebrow has more functioning braincells than the two of you ever did."

It was now Oikawa's turn to dodge the calculator.

"I don't wanna make things weird. I should probably just ask him out like a normal person. And I would if I were sure that he's into guys!"

"What, he never really specified anything?"

Oikawa shrugged. "I mean I never asked but he did date a girl once in middle school"

"Oh", Bokuto slouched, disappointed.

"I don't know man, anyone who willingly puts up with you their whole life is either insane or gay so I'd say your chancese are pretty high," Kuroo stretched his arms behind his head. "It's getting late, we should put our plan into action."

Oikawa fidgeted with the end of his shirt. "I don't know..."

"Listen," Bokuto stood up, "this is a win-win situation. If Iwaizumi likes you, he will show it and you'll know it's safe to ask him out. If not, you get to kiss a hot guy for a while. "

"Great, except there are thousands of ways that this could go wrong, and the guy I get to kiss is Kuroo."

"Wait what?" Kuroo's head shot up.

"What do you mean 'wait what'?"

"I never meant to make out with you?"

"Wait you didn't?" Bokuto's confused look met Kuroo's.

"What the hell you two, why did both of you just assume that I'll be the one who does the making out?!"

"Because you're the sluttiest here, obviously," Oikawa lifted an eyebrow.

"You disgust me. I have a reputation to keep, you know."

"Who's gonna do it then?" Bokuto asked.

Kuroo grinned. "There is only one person who is horny enough to come to a stranger's house at 2 am just to get a free make-out session."

***

[shywhumpauthor]

May 10th- “They’re not here”

[forgotten | recapture | gravel]

@themerrywhumpofmay

Cw: kidnapping, implied abuse, house fire, forgotten, proclaimed dead, long-term captivity, conditioning, manipulation, dubcon touching (non sexual), manhandling, consensual recapture (ehhhhh???), broken whumpee

Whumpee’s eyes darted around the crumbling remains of their home, a small sob slipping from their lips.

No. No no no no nononono this- this couldn’t be happening.

They sank to their knees in the middle of the charred rubble, wrapping their arms around themself as a cold pricked their skin. Goosebumps rose along their arms, and Whumpee hugged themself tighter, hot tears dripping down their jaw.

Everything was gone. All the pictures they had taken, the memories stored within the walls of their small, cherished home, everything they had worked so hard to create… gone.

It was all gone.

Whumpee let out a cry, slamming their fists down against the rotted floorboards, their face flushing as a small cloud of flakey debris drifted into the air.

They hadn’t even been gone that long. What had it been, two, three weeks? When- when they had been taken, from the very home in which they now sat sobbing, everything had been fine. It had been normal.

But now… now it was all gone. The foundation of the home could barely be seen, burnt away to nothing but cinders and ash. Gone.

No one had even bothered to tear down the rest of the wreckage. No one had bothered to come sift through the rubble, to collect the salvages. No one had even bothered to look for them when they were gone.

Yeah. Whumpee knew. They were well aware of what had happened after their kidnapping.

Whumper had shown them the news broadcasts. Had read them the police documentations. They had been a missing person for a weeks, proclaimed dead by the tenth day.

The tenth fucking day.

Just thinking about it made them want to scream.

Whumpee forced themself to take a breath, bringing one of their hands up to wipe a tear away, slowly shifting so they were sitting normally before burying their face in their hands.

What the hell would they do now?

***

“Whumpee?” A soft voice called, the bright beam of a flashlight cutting through the veil of darkness that shrouded the ruins.

Whumpee barely stirred from where they lay curled up along the soot and debris. Their head pounded, a terrible headache having formed after hours of crying.

“Oh darling,” Whumper sighed, their face softening in pity as they pointed the flashlight at Whumpee’s shaking form. “I told you you wouldn’t like what you saw…”

“I.. ‘m sor-sorry,” Whumpee sniffled, cringing in on themself as Whumper stepped closer. “‘m sorry f-f’r running.. I pr-promise I won’t- I won’t do ‘t ag-again…”

“Shhh, sweetheart I know, I know,” Whumper quickly soothed them, dropping the flashlight as they quickly crouched to the ground, bundling Whumpee in their arms. “I told you, love, there was nothing left for you out here… I told you, I was all you had left.” Whumper sighed, cupping the back of Whumpee’s head as they broke down against their shoulder.

“I kn- I know,” Whumpee sobbed, their shaking fists clutching the back of Whumper’s shirt. “‘m so sor-sorry, please- please take me b-back- I’ll do any-anythin-”

“Calm down, love,” Whumper pulled Whumpee a little closer, resting their chin on their head as Whumpee shook against them, the darkness hiding the smirk that curled across their lips. “You’re alright…”

They waited a few minutes, whispering soothing words into Whumpee’s ear until their finally settled down, their eyes dropping closed as Whumper grabbed the flashlight off the ground, and hoisted Whumpee up into a bridal carry.

“Let’s go home now, darling.”

[hotwings0203]

Pstpstpstp forget fighter Bakugou what about fighter! Dabi with a sweet innocent darling 👉👈

as Dababy once said, LETS GOOOOOOO

Tw:noncon, abuse

if you think fighter bakugo was bad, this man is hell incarnate.

He’s known on the ring for his silent yet deadly moves, quick as a viper and with an aura that roughhouses with Death on a daily.

If his lankier figure made you think he was weaker, you were in for an extremely rude awakening.

He barely grunts when his fists go flying out to connect with his opponent’s face, and speaking of face, his is usually covered by the spiky mass of inky black hair that covers his eyes with his own sweat by the time the less fortunate man has fallen by his feet.

His torso is covered in tattoos, his ears weighed down by gauges and silver piercings that clink when he’s bounding off both feet in the circle. If you weren’t tipped off that he was bad news by the shirt covering his body, it would most likely be the bruises that almost always decorate his limbs.

He wears them like a badge of honor. Strangers on the block sometimes forget if his name really is Dabi or if it’s Death.

To others he goes by either alias, but to you it’s Touya.

Touya says he doesn’t abide by routines, but there he is night after night, stumbling through the front door with half his hair dye cascading in perspiration down his neck and an eerie smile stretching from both sides of his burnt face.

You’re also somehow looped into the not-routine of being locked in the room every time he leaves and fending for yourself against the dark shadows of his empty apartments.

Touya doesn’t chain you up because he doesn’t like calling you a prisoner.

You deem yourself as a maid honestly, with the amount of cooking, cleaning, and tending to his wounds that you do, but Touya calls you his girlfriend.

And maybe that’s valid from the way he fucks you so fast and hard into the mattress you often wonder if he ever went to fight at all with that kind of stamina.

But a normal girlfriend, as he likes you call you, is allowed out of the apartments. She’s allowed to have friends and meet with her family, she’s allowed to say, no Touya, I’m not in the mood today and not get pounded twice as hard as punishment.

A normal girlfriend-not a captive- doesn’t live in constant terror of the deafening silence that invades the apartment and isn’t supposed to jump every time her boyfriend magically appears behind her, watching her every move.

But to be fair, a regular boyfriend isn’t really supposed to slowly corner her in the kitchen and breath down her neck as she trembles in front of him as his bulge pressed against her ass. It’s normally a sweet thing to feel your mans’ arms cage around you, but for you it’s a premonition of his usual games.

When you sense before you actually see his limbs grip the countertop on either side of your body, goosebumps have already infested on your skin, you blood has already half turned to ice. From the corner of your eyes you can see his tattoos coating his arms, pictures of vipers and skulls and blood laughing maniacally at your terrified state.

Everything about him is a menace, inside and out.

Sometimes he’ll make you close your eyes and guess which one of his signature moves he’s about to perform on you.

A soft touch on the front of your neck and a sharper one on the back of your head.

“Guess which one,” he’ll rasp deceptively soft as his fingers stroke your unblemished skin.

It’s hard to breathe even though his fingers don’t press any further.

“The-the f… Touya, please don’t,” you beg futilely.

He merely hums and slowly grinds against your ass, his impatience showing through. You don’t want to know how worse it could get if you don’t play his sick game

“Full Nelson?”

“Bingo.”

And you let him. You let him oh so slowly wrap an arm around your neck and gently pull back while his other hand pushes down on your head, gradually cutting off your air supply as your breathing quickens.

Touya groans as you begin to kick and froth at the mouth, choking pleading sounds being ripped from your blue lips as he humps faster into you completely clad in his sweats.

“Open those slutty legs before I fuck your lifeless body.” He murmurs in your ear and it’s all you can do to rewire your panicked brain to focus on shifting your legs apart for him to slot against.

His arms cut you some slack and allow for air to deep into your greedy lungs. You gasp wildly and claw at his arm as your vision clears, but he doesn’t stop thrusting his hips into your nightie.

With one arm still wrapped around your neck he brings the other down between your body and the counter, dipping lower and lower until his fingers shove their way past your panties and rest under your nether lips.

All he has to do is merely press a bit into your moist labia to get you to squeal and writhe in his arms.

“Mmmh, oh fuck, I can’t take any more Touya-“

“You can, and you will. Wanna know why?”

His lips brush against your ear as his hand danced in between your jumping legs.

You sob as he bites down on the shell and licks the sore cartilage.

“Because you’re weak. I’ll make you a deal, okay?”

Another finger prods at your entrance and you whimper in fear. “A d-deal?”

“Yeah baby, a deal,” he simpers mockingly, cooing at your nerves.

“If you can push me off like the big, strong girl you are then I’ll let you off for the night.”

But before you can even move a muscle, he suddenly yanks your hair back and shoved three fingers into your pussy.

You howl and try to buck him off but he merely bears his weight down further and crushes you.

“But I’ll warn you right now, I had an easy fight today. ‘Gotta lottttt of energy still pent up here.” He yanks your nightie up and rubs his meat all over your ass. When his fingers start curling against your walls you throw your head back and whimper hoarsely.

“Come on baby, what’s wrong? You were doing so well trying to push me off earlier, don’t stop now or it’s too easy.” You body stills underneath his as he unsheathes his length and drags it up and down your asscrack while your filled pussy suctions around his fingers.

You cringe as the sounds begin to get sloppier and his own prick leaks furiously from the incessant teasing.

“Too full-please-can’t t-take it all,” your voice comes out muddled as he pushes down your lower back and pulls his slimy fingers out.

“Yeah, you can. You better be able to, otherwise you’re in for a hell of a night. But don’t worry-“

He hisses in your neck as his dick aligns with your gaping hole. Your body starts freezing up as the foreign anatomy pokes through an inch of your sopping cavern.

“Either way, you’ll be getting used to it soon enough.”

His groan of pleasure drowns your sobs of pain as his hips batter into yours.

But don’t worry.

Like Touya said, you’ll learn to love the pain.

You’ll have to, because you’ll be getting accustomed to it pretty fucking frequently.

[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.

[welcome-to-the-end-of-eras]

I’m keeping a log of my thoughts whilst reading The Half Life of Valery K for the first time because I think it’ll be fun, enjoy (and, of course, beware the spoilers ahead):

- HE’S A NERD YOUR HONOUR HE HAS A LIL PET RAT!!! NAMED BORIS!!! BE STILL MY HEART-

- “…he wasn’t in the habit of looking gift rats in the mouth” MS PULLEY YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN WITH THE LOVABLE WEIRDO

- “…but lately he could feel his mind effervescing” ok Edward Cullen

- so he’s in a cold place losing his memories and forgetting how to think properly…inch resting… my theory brain is working overtime as you can tell (definitely gonna read this one back to myself and cringe at how stupid it sounds but that’s a problem for future me)

- STOP PLS HE GAVE HIS BUNKMATE BORIS TO HOLD BC HE DIDN’T WANT HIM TO BE ALONE THIS SWEET LITTLE MAN

- I am. 2 pages in. And I’m already in love with Valery. Finally, a pulleyverse main character who isn’t a cynical little prick off the bat. Not that I don’t love the others, but I’ve adopted Valery as my son so-

- Wait what’s this fucking tattoo, is it gonna be a good addition to my future pulleyverse sleeve??? (Edit: oh absolutely not that is a real life gang symbolism-)

- I would absolutely make a cigarette out of a cheese ad

- What or who tf is the Vory??? A gang??? A guard system??? Just one guard??? I’m intrigued. This is why Ms. Pulley’s use of paragraph indents is brilliant, because it actually DOES something; most contemporary authors I’ve read do it like every other page and it’s a pet peeve of mine

- Fun fact: my orchestra teacher all throughout high school lived in soviet Russia and served in their military for a while bc it was required by law, but he’s such a sweet guy and I can’t imagine him being as rough and ruthless as these fuckin guards, holy hell-

- WAIT IS VALERY ABOUT TO GO SUPER SAIYAN ON THIS BITCH OH F U C K YEAH

- Oh no he’s just doing mind tricks god damnit. Still, very cool he can keep his composure like that, very much like Joe could, and I really liked that about him so it’ll be cool to see in Valery

- THE WINTER KING THE WINTER KING THE WINTER KING THE W-

- THEORY BRAIN GOING ABSOLUTELY CRAZY RN!!!

- “But if someone complained about normal life, the overwhelming human instinct was to kick them in the head” if that isn’t me every day at work idk what is-

- I feel like the idea of the world and circumstances making a person “small” (to quote twofs) is a big thing with pulleyverse mc’s but it’s very interesting with Valery bc he seems the most optimistic about it. Idk, it’s just a funky lil thing I noticed, maybe I’ll make another post fleshing out my ideas about all four main characters at some point but for now I’ll leave it there

- Fucking FINALLY, a decent description of the mc off the bat!!! Only took 7 years-

- The specific lack of quotations around “Remember you like doing that, remember how satisfying it is when the ice breaks?” is so fucking interesting, it’s like someone else telling it to him instead of himself that, and it’s an odd place to have a break in the narration style unless it’s purposeful which of course it must be. That is another hallmark of Ms. Pulley’s writing that I just love, the way she can speak and create meaning in the style of the narration, it’s so unique to her works and so so s o fun to read

- Y’know it just dawned on me that Valery is very similar to Linus from The House in the Cerulean Sea

- Ooo chapter titles

- Nice and accurate portrayal of Russian driving skills (from someone who has been cut off while driving on multiple occasions by my Russian orchestra teacher)

- What in the fuckin dystopia is this town-

- Lord knows I am not Grace Carrow’s biggest fan, but her research in ether studies was the precursor to atomic theory, and I’m definitely going to feel like a proud mom if they mention the works of Dr. Carrow at any point in Valery’s research stuff. I have a love-hate relationship with her.

- “…something odd and dead about the lake” INCH. RESTING.

- I’m so intrigued by this dude and his sketchy past and I’m so glad it’s written this way but I’d pay serious money to figure out wtf is going on right this second

- I have a terrible habit of reading the last page of a book when I get antsy — which actually almost caused me to dnf the watchmaker the first time I read it — and I don’t wanna do that but it the urge is there

- Valery…buddy…the first thing you notice about a guy who may or may not kill you is the fact that he’s tall, dark, and handsome??? Really??? Yknow what he’s been in prison for 6 years he deserves it I’m gonna stop shitting on him

- THE LIGHTHOUSE??? I N C H . R E S T I N G .

- This man is autistic I’ve decided

- Pls let Elena and Ilenko be gfs I beg of you Ms. Pulley-

- Valery mathing in his head for a solid page and a half is both adorable and very helpful

- Damn okay Elena I was rooting for you a lil bit but clearly she knows something weird is going on and she’s just being a bitch about it (I’m getting defensive about her being passive aggressive to Valery excuse me)

- Call me crazy but like I’m 95% sure the scientists are also being experimented on. The cheese thing reminded me too much of feeding lab rats for good behaviour.

- I trust tf out of Ilenko now, she’s mean but she’s honest and I like it. Reminds me of Takiko.

- The room is bugged. I know it, you know it, we all know it. Bc they’re being experimented on. There’s no way they’re not.

- SHUT UP BC IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY HANDING OUT MORI’S WATCHES I’M GONNA CRY-

- Shenkov gives me very much Missouri Kite vibes. He clearly knows something more than he’s saying, and likely already has a soft spot for Valery somehow (which I do too but like. I’m reading inside his head so it’s a bit different)

- I’m seriously going to go insane with all the minute references to her other works. Like. It’s totally plausible that someone thinks of Peru first out of every South American country, but is it really a coincidence??? Really??? Especially after tlfop mentioned it so pointedly??? I’m gonna have to start wearing a tinfoil hat at some point.

- The fucking telescope thing I’m going to go nuts-

- Okay back on my comparing the pulleyverse mc’s bullshit, they all have a particular area of observational expertise, and Valery’s seems to be in logistics which is very fun

- Valery’s immediate switch from feeling safe and scared of it to being aware of imminent danger and comfortable with it will never not make me sad

- Why isn’t Ilenko there. Where is my girl.

- Finally in a time period where it’s normal-ish to recognise and call out racist shit hell yeah

- Absolutely love Valery and Shenkov’s dynamic so far, plus the way he interacts with the students is so fucking funny compared to how he interacts with everyone else

- I notice my observations getting less and less frequent the more I get wrapped up in this book, which is impressive considering I’m barely 70 pages in

- Am I crazy or do the radiated mice sound very similar to the people sent to New Bedlam??? Maybe the whole place was built specifically as a quarantine for radiation damage??? Inch. Resting. (definitely not true but a fun theory)

- DAMNIT THEY SHOT MY GIRL!!! FUCK!!! At least Elena is being less of a bitch

- He’s excited about his eyeball jar 🥺🥺🥺 and he is absolutely correct about the medical schools

- Ohoho his devious bastard side is showing now, immaculate

- “He loved children, but he knew he’d never have any” is this bc he’s queer or because of some sad secret medical thing??? Or both???

- …I’m sorry doctor W H O ? ? ? NOT THE FUCKING NAZI BLOOD PURIST WHO PERFORMED HORRIFYING GENETICS TESTS ON CHILDREN??? SURELY NOT??? RIGHT???

- This is…wow…I’m so glad Ms. Pulley made even the obvious bad guy recognise that human experiments and eugenics are inarguably awful but Jesus C h r i s t -

- “…he should not have trusted Shenkov to be above board purely because he thought the man was fascinating” sir you’re going to fall in love with him-

- HHHHHHHHH I LOVE THEMB

- Shenkov…buddy…stop being so incredibly endearing…istg…

- “He was in no state to cope with kindness” :(

- “He was going to have to avoid Shenkov as much as he could, at least until the triple shot had worn off” :((((((((((

- “…felt as though something Artic had come to look at him” ooo inch resting inch resting, very Winter King-esque

- Valery is such a genuinely nice dude who understands the reasons people do science I love him sm

- What is with these tattoos man I need descriptions!!! I wanna know!!!

- STOP PLS HE TELLS JOKES TO THE PEOPLE WHO BUGGED HIS ROOM THAT’S SO CUTE-

- God al-fucking-mighty I love this man. He really said “…don’t you find usually that the people who are most worried about seeming effeminate are the ones with a permanent Friday-evening appointment with a sailor?” I can’t-

- H e l l yeah Shenkov chapter!!! Oh wait no he had his ribs broken oh no-

- Wow there is some brilliant sensory descriptions from Shenkov, which is like. Oddly reminiscent of reading a chapter in Thaniel’s pov. I’m choosing to interpret this as him having sensory issues bc I think it’s fun, but either way it’s fantastic writing

- AGAIN WITH THE FUCKING WINTER KING, WHAT THE F U C K (also Shenkov and his kids are adorable)

- I am a big fan of Ms. Pulley making her female characters tough and morally grey as like a fuck you to the stereotypes but would it kill her to write a female character who isn’t borderline sociopathic??? Would it??? Bc I don’t know many people who can deal with 3 miscarriages, and potentially a fourth, and not feel any specific way about it

- “People think science is all specialists and expensive stuff, but it’s mostly made of kitchen rolls and fridge magnets and we just spray it black when anyone with a news crew turns up” absolutely love that

- Who tf is the medical doctor she seems cool af

- “I’m a funny harmless little science elf, people tell me things” F E L T

- Awweee cute winter-y description of Shenkov but ooo the “bonfires in the forest” thing is sus to me

- I like Nanya, she means business and doesn’t take any shit. T h a t ‘ s a good way to write a strong female character

- OH FUCK THE TRUTH ABOUT ELENA IS COMING OUT!!!

- He really said “I’m gonna be in prison for 10 years. Wanna play hangman?” Absolutely love this fucking nerd

- Oh my god I fucking love the octopus he’s so CUTE!!! And the way Valery just gets him bc he wants to!!! And the way the octopus is so protective of him!!! Ugh I adore him

- “How much more qualified do you want me to be?” GET HIS ASS VALERY!!! I’d pay serious money to see him interact with that phd guy he supposedly annihilated

- “Surely there were things even KGB agents didn’t want to hear.” MY GUY-

- I keep mistyping KGB as LGB and I think that is mildly hilarious

- Valery as a teacher is. Fantastic. Like genuinely such a good teacher. I know Ms. Pulley is a professor herself so I’m sure she’s a fantastic teacher too and that makes me happy

- …I may have misjudge Anna-

- I feel like if a pulleyverse man is going to be married to a woman (for more than like a day at least) she legally has to be the coolest person on the planet

- Oh my fucking g o d the gaslighting from Elena and the director is driving me NUTS

- I KNEW IT!!! I FUCKIN K N E W THOSE RANDOM “VOLCANIC” EXPLOSIONS WERE WEIRD!!! ANNA YOU BRILLIANT BASTARD!!! If she turns out to be a shitty person I WILL be crying myself to sleep

- Valera Valera Valera Valera Valera Valera Va-

- Brb putting my fOOT THROUGH THIS BOOK ISTG-

- THE ASYLUM??? UM???

- Very excited to add more to my analysis on asylums from that one post I made a bit ago even though I haven’t read the chapter yet, but I think it’s very cool that she’s adding that element into this book as well

- Every time the Winter King is mentioned/alluded to my ears perk up like a dog

- “My tools of the patriarchy are getting too long.” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Okay I got too wrapped up in the rest of it to finish this but final thoughts:

- I fucking. Love Valery. So much. He’s such a sweet little man but also a complete bastard who blows people up and it’s genuinely the best character combination I can think of

- Shenkov is a gentle giant and I would give him my first born in a heartbeat (bc he would take fantastic care of them)

- Sincerely misjudged Anna at first and I regret it sorely, she is perhaps my favourite side character in the whole book

- I love the ending as well, it wraps up in the same way twofs does; could be a happy enough ending, but with enough unfinished business to make a good transition into a sequel, and I would be absolutely thrilled to have a sequel

- All in all, fantastic book, 10/10, will absolutely be recommending it to anyone who will listen

[emf005]

I'm Trying

Here is my weekly post! I hope you guys enjoy, this is a personal fave of mine. Please let me know what you think of it! I love to get feedback!

Marauders Era

Sirius Black x Fem! Reader, Remus x Twin sister! Reader. Marauders x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mini make out sesh, sort of self harm, fear

You stole a piece of chocolate from your stash. You always had a secret stash in case you brother, Remus, ever ran out before the full moon. But you also had a bit of a sweet tooth yourself. Well, you could call it more than that actually. See, while your brother was a full werewolf, you were about half, but he didn’t know that. If he knew that he would actually lose it. The only person who knew was Lily, and she had found out by accident.

So, while your brother would always turn into a werewolf on full moons, you only sometimes did. You also got mood swings to the max. But no one ever questioned it because they assumed it was just girl stuff. And the four boys you hung out with, no matter how close you were, didn’t really want to strike up a conversation about that. Ever.

You see, your turning started your second year at Hogwarts. You woke in the forbidden Forest feeling like you had been hit with a ten ton bus. You put two and two together and started to ask Lily’s friend, Severus, if he could brew you a potion in secret. So I guess you could say two people knew. But it wasn’t like Severus would tell on you. You were always nicer to him than your friends were and he seemed to appreciate that. So, he always made you a potion while slughorn made Remus his.

James often asked why you never joined them. While your brother couldn;t become an animagus, you could for some odd reason. You turned into a small black and white ferret, while your brother couldn;t change at all. You felt bad, it was your fault he was like this, and despite his countless times he had told you it wasn’t your fault you both knew it was. But everytime James would ask Remus would answer for you.

“I don;t want her out there. I’m her brother. It's my job to protect her. I wouldn;t be able to live with myself if I accidentally did something to her.” You always clenched your jaw at his response. He still saw you as a little kid, despite being his twin. You couldn’t stand it!

You never thought anyone noticed these secret feelings you held against your brother. Oh how you were wrong. Sirius Black always noticed when Remus would say something to upset you. And he was always the one there for you. See, despite his liking for it, he had caught feelings for you. He thought he could trample them by asking out every girl in the school, but that only seemed to make his want for you grow. But he never said anything. You were his best friend’s twin sister. It was just wrong, no matter how strongly he felt for you.

The full moon was coming up again soon, and you ran down the hall to see your brother and friends waiting for you. Remus looking in his bag frantically.

“Hey, guys!” You smiled with fake cheer. You felt awful today, but you couldn;t let anyone see that. They might grow suspicious of your secret. “What's wrong, Rem?”

“He didn’t restock his backpack again with chocolate.” Peter squeaked. Remus threw him a dirty glance before rooting through his bag again. You internally groaned. You always had a stash in your bag, and you really needed it today. But, you were his sister. Sacrifices must be made. You slung your bag around and grabbed your whole stash and filled his bag with it. You even let him finish the one you had been munching on, much to your disappointment.

“Thank you, Y/N/N,” he said, stuffing the chocolate bar in his mouth. You just smiled at him and put your head down and clutched your messenger bag harder. White knuckling the strap. God, you wanted to rip the chocolate out of his mouth and just eat it. But no. You were a fucking good sister. And a fucking good sister you would stay.

Classes were a pain all day, especially with the smell of chocolate enveloping you every time Remus would open a new package. You had broken four quills by lunch and they were all joking about it.

You all headed out of your final class and down to the great hall, like you normally did. BUt Remus seemed to be in an even worse mode. You were glad he had the chocolate, he might’ve actually murdered someone. You, on the other hand, were so close to murder, but you had to keep that damn smile on and your shirt pulled up high onto your shoulder tightly, despite the heat. That's where Greyback had gotten you. Just a nip on the shoulder before remus thought it was a good idea to attempt to hit him with a chair. Key word, attempt.

Remus was on the end of the line bsides you. Some slytherin accidently knocked into him and he let out a growl as he kept walking and talking to the Huffelpuff. Here we go.

“You got a problem?” He whipped around, staring at the boy clad in green robes. The boy looked at him confused. You recognize him. Your year, Jacob Jemesky. One of the cutest boys in your year. I mean, his eyes alone were perfect enough.

“I’m sorry?” He asked. You put a hand on Remus’s shoulder.

“Rem,” but he shook you off and walked up to the boy.

“I said, you got a problem, Snake?”Your eyes widened and you became red faced. You walked over to him and pulled him away from the Slytherin, shoving him to SIrius and James who held him back and tried to get hima away from the situation.

“I am so sorry about that, Jacob, right?” You nodded a smile on his lips.

“Yeah. And no worries. Your, Y/N, right?” You blushed slightly.

“Yeah. Its nice to finally meet you. We’ve shared a few classes I think.” He nodded before his eyes flashing back to your brother.

“Is he alright? I really didn’t mean to-”

“He’s fine. Trust me. He just gets moody from here and there. I think its like a twin thing between me and him, knowing when one is going to have a bad day and all.” He nodded.

“Well, I have to get going, but I’ll see you around, Y/N.” He waved and started to leave.

“See you around!” You waved back. Your smile dropped as soon as he turned the corner. You took a few deep breaths and walked over to your brother who was still trying to get out of James and Siris’ grips. “You two can let go now.” The boys did as you said but were ready to grab him at any second.

“What the hell was that for, Y/N?” He shouted at you, making your back straighten, ready to take it all. He just had to yell at someone sometimes, and the majority of the time it was you.

“He didn’t do it on purpose, Rem. You know that. You just need to calm down for a second, ok?”

“Calm down? I am calm!” James went to say something but you just shook your head at him. You weren’t going to let them take any of this heat.

“Rem, you're really not. Please just-”

“Don;t tell me what to do, Y/N! I am sick of you trying to constantly manage every little thing that I do. You can’t even begin to understand what I go through! You have no right to tell me to calm down. Or to tell me what I am and what I’m not. You know why? Because I am a fucking werewolf becuase of you,” every bit of air was sucked out of the empty corridor. Luckily empty. But he didn’t stop there. “I took that bite for you! We both know it was your fault! You were too naive to even think for a second that it wasn;t smart to go outside that early in the morning when the moon was still out! It was all yoru fucking fault! So don;t tell me what to do, or how to feel or any of that, because this is all happening because of you!”

You stood frozen as his breath calmed. You had tears slipping down your cheeks which was a strange sight for everyone in your friend group. Yo never cried. But hearing Remus admit that it was your fault, you couldn’t handle it anymore. The dam just broke. You swallowed, trying to get the lump in your throat away.

“Are you better, Remus?” He just stared at you, his eyes turning from rage to fear as he heard what he had said and how you referred to him as Remus and not Rem or bro or some stupid nickname you had given him. You smiled sadly and wiped a tear away. “I’m glad. I’m glad that finally admitting the truth makes you feel better.” You turned and started to walk down the hall only to stop and look over your shoulder. “You know. I just have to say this because I have for a while now. I have always tried my best to be there for you. Always tried to be patient. Always tried to take care of you when you wouldn’t let me do more. And also, I’m not the bloody moron who hit Fenrir Greyback with a chair and didn’t have the arm strength for it and ended up falling out a window!” You spit at him before walking down the hallway, tears streaming down your face at this point.

Remus opened his mouth to call after you, but he saw Sirius bolting after you instead. He had fucked up majorly. He knew it. James took him by the shoulder and directed him towards the Great Hall. James being the only one who knew of Sirius’ crush on you and knowing that Sirius would be able to calm you down better than any of them. And if he couldn’t, then Remus had just gotten himself into a deep deep deep hole.

You sat in the small alcove you had found your first year. It was in a secluded part of the courtyard, only your lily and Sirius knew about it. Which sucked because they knew exactly where to look for you.

Your head was in your knees and silent tears continued to pour down your face and on your knees. You didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to feel. You just didn’t know.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see Sirius standing by the entrance of the alcove. He had pushed aside the vines that hid you from view and was watching you, waiting to see what you would do. You sat up quickly and brushed the tears aside, smiling at him.

“Hey, Sirius,” your voice cracked and you cringed. He gave you a small pitiful smile and made you move over so he was sitting next to you. “Is he ok?”

“He will be,” you sighed and rubbed your hands over your face.

“I shouldn’t have stormed off. Or said any of that,” Sirius frowned.

“You know Moony is my best friend, but he started that argument.”

“Yeah but with the full moon coming up… he’s just on edge, and I know that. And he was right, I just didn’t expect him to say it like that. I over reacted.”

“You were just helping out a Slytherin, who you obviously like,” he hit your shoulder and you laughed, you felt your shirt fall down a bit off your shoulder but didn;t go to move it.

“I just find him attractive. That was the first time I've talked to him.” Sirius smiled through his pain and laughed with you. His eyes fell to your shoulder for a moment and he froze.

“Y/N/N, what happened?” He questioned looking at the small mark that the werewolf had left all those years ago. Your eyes widened and you quickly pulled your sleeve back up and cleared your throat standing.

“No-nothing. Um… I-I have to-to… uh.. To go. I’ll-I’ll see you, Sirius. Thank you,” you scurried out of alcove and dashed through the halls. You knew you couldn’t avoid him for long. I mean, the four of them had the marauders map, they would find you anywhere you went. You walked into the Great Hall, thankful to see Lily sitting by James. “Lily!” She looked over at you and her smile fell when she saw the state you were in. She excused herself and came running up to you, leading you out the Hall and to your room.

“Are you ok? James told me the blow out-”

“Sirius saw the scar,” you interrupted her. She froze.

“Does he know?” You shook your head.

“No. But I know he’s going to question me as soon as I’m alone. I just didn't want that to happen.”

“Not yet, you mean.”

“Ever.” She sighed, but didn’t push the subject. She was adamant that you should tell the boys about your… condition. You were adamant that you keep it to yourself, forever.. The fights between you and your twin would get worse, and you couldn’t let that happen.

Sirius walked into the Great Hall, scanning the Gryffindor table for you, he came up empty. He sat down, but kept searching the hall and glancing at the doors every now and then.

“What wrong, Mate?” James asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. Even Remus was eating, slowly, but eating.

“Nothing,” he mumbled and took a banana from the table. If you acted like that around him when he saw that scar, he could only imagine you didn’t want anyone else knowing about it. “Do you have the map?” James nodded and handed over the map from his pocket.

Quickly, Sirius unfolded it and searched for your name. You were in the girls dormitory with Lily. His leg started to bounce while he considered going after you. He could always ask Lily if he could have a second with you. He just wanted to make sure you were alright. You seemed really upset when you stormed out.

Had you always worn long sleeves of some sort?

He handed the map back to James before standing up and heading towards the Gryffindor dorms. Maybe he could lure you out with some chocolate. He knew you were addicted to the stuff, practically eating it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but you always gave your stash to your brother. Some days he wished you wouldn’t. Just because he noticed how you would stiffen at the smell of it, or when you heard a wrapper from your stash being un-did. He knew Remus needed it, but it seemed like you sometimes needed it just as much as he did.

He bumped into LIly in the common room, he opened his mouth but she held up a hand to silence him.

“Listen, I know you want to check on her. But she isn’t in the best state right now. Especially if you are going to be questioning her about what you saw.”

“I just want to make sure she’s alright. I won’t question her about it.” Lily bit her lip and thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. You had given the last of your chocolate stash to Remus the other day and were in desperate need. But she didn’t want to leave you alone with Sirius in the dorm. He knew how to get into the girl’s dormitory, no shock there, but seldom did it. And normally only did it to bug the hell out of you.

“I’m sorry. It really isn’t the best decision. I have to run out and get her more chocolate from the kitchens, the house elves keep a stash for her down there. Please, don’t go in.”

“I can grab some from Remus’ stash,” he offered. But she shook her head.

“Where do you think the rest of her stash went?” Lily smiled and left. Sirius sat down on one of the couches, his leg bouncing aggressively again. He knew he shouldn’t go into your dorm room. He really shouldn’t. But, the thing is, that only made him want to more.

“Lily?” He heard your voice and looked up and saw you on the staircase, looking worse for wear. Your eyes met his and you froze, visibly freezing.

“Hey,” he scrambled to his feet, but didn’t move towards you.

“H-Hey,” you stuttered, your eyes still locked on him.

“I-uh,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. Why wasn;t he good at being sincere like this? “I came to check on you. See if you were alright.” You eyed him cautiously.

“Uh. Yeah. I-I’m fine.I-uh-well, I can’t exactly explain-” He shook his head.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I should. It was rude. And I still haven’t apologized to Rem,” you sighed and sat down on the stair, putting your head in your hands again. He slowly walked over and sat next to you, not talking. He just put his arm around your shoulders. You turned your head into him and he rested his chin on your head.

“You ok?” You let out a breathy laugh. And shook your head.

“Not really.”You heard the clock chime and knew Lily had gone to class and purposefully left you with Sirius, knowing of your… fondness... of him. Damn, you really needed chocolate. “Don’t you have to get to class?” He chuckled.

“When have I ever been on time?” You laughed, knowing how true his statement was. Only when he walked with you was he ever early or on time. Unless it was for transfigurations. He would stand outside the door until class was five minutes in before walking in dramatically, interrupting the entire class, and taking a seat next to you. Mcgonagall would huff in annoyance, but you knew she didn’t hate it. You also knew she knew what he didn everyday and never made any course of action to change it.

“Good point. But we are supposed to have transfiguration now. Don't you think Mcgonagall will miss you?”

“I bet she wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

Meanwhile in transfiguration:

“Ok, Black will be walking through the doors in three, two, one,” Mcgonagall kept talking but looked at the doors and waited for them to bang open with Sirius. Nothing happened. She began to sweat. “Where is he? What is he getting himself into? Did he die? Did someone else accidentally die and he is hiding the body?”

Back to the common room:

“Besides, I think you need a friend right now.” You smiled and nodded. “And chocolate.”

“Did I just get compared to chocolate?” He joked.

“You should be honored. I think very highly of chocolate. In my opinion it's better than christmas.” He laughed.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Christmas comes once a year, chocolate is a year long thing.” he laughed again, and you smiled, proud that you could make him laugh like that. Then your smile faded as you thought if his girlfriend made him laugh like that.

It's not like you would ever date him. You might have a crush on him, but you not only had to keep your secret a secret, but he was also your twin brother’s friend. You couldn’t do that.

“We better get to class.” you lifted your self off him, both of you immediately missing the other person’s body heat. “Mcgongall probably thinks you killed someone.” he gave you a small smile as you ran up to your room to grab your bag. He grabbed his from the couch where he had set it. He slung it over his shoulder and you came running down the stairs, skipping the last four. “Ready?” You asked, your normal smile on your face. He smirked.

“Talking to me for a few minutes put that smile on your face?” He teased as you made your way out of the portal.

“No, I found a few bars of chocolate under my bed.” You said happily, pulling two bars out of your pocket. He rolled his eyes as you opened one and handed it to him. He stared at it for a moment before taking it.

“You don’t want it?”

“I might’ve found four and ate two while coming down the stairs.” He laughed and took a bite of his. You unwrapped yours and started eating away at it. You two made your way into Mcgonagall’s class, Sirius banging the door open.

“Minnie! Did you miss me?” He shouted. You shook your head and laughed as Mcgonagall just stared daggers at him. The class erupted into laughter, but stifled it at one glare from the professor.

“Mr. Black. How kind of you to join us. Same goes for you as well, Miss. Lupin,” her gaze was less harsh on you, but you still blushed and put your head down. You two slid into your seats and began to take notes. Luckily it had been a review day. And Sirius was a master at transfigurations, so he would help you after class since it, ironically, wasn’t your best subject(And by that I mean you were still a crazy master, just not your best class).

You two spent the lesson showing the other students up as you easily changed everything and answered questions correctly. Lily was even struggling a bit at the rate you and Sirius were commenting. Of course, yours were more sincere than Sirius’ sarcastic answers (that were always correct in some sense) but you two still ruled the lesson.

You all left the lesson, you headed down to the dungeons for potions with Remus and James while Peter, Sirius and Lily went to divinations. It was a tense silence, you walking ahead of the boys with your head down and your books pressed against your chest. James joined you in front which you were grateful for, but you knew he was trying to get you to talk to Remus. You just needed a little while, and you told him as much. He just nodded and continued walking with you to potions. You sat towards the back of the class and left Remus and James to sit in your usual spots. Someone sat besides you and you were about to ask them to move when you noticed it was Jacob.

“Hey!” You smiled kindly at the slytherin sitting beside you.

“Hi. I forgot we shared this class. You don’t mind if I?” You shook your head.

“No, of course not.” He smiled.

“You're normally sitting next to Lupin and Potter, right?”

“Yeah. Remus is my twin and we kind of just got the same group of friends. Surprising, right?" You chuckled and he chuckled with you. Slughorn began to teach and the two of you went to work on the assignment together. It wasn't a hard potion today. At least for you it wasn’t. Potions was your best class, although Slughorn was a terrible teacher. Well, it actually wasn't your best subject. That was defense against the dark arts. Potions was a close second.

"Alright class, for your next assignment you will be working with the person at your table for. You will be brewing and writing on a potion I will randomly select for each of you," you looked over at Jacob with a smile.

"Looks like we're partners," you beamed. He smiled back excitedly.

"Looks like it, Lupin. I'll start cleaning up, why don't you go up and get our assignment?" He suggested. You nodded and headed to the front, meeting James on the way.

"You and Jacob?"

"Yeah. He's pretty good at it, so whatever potion we get should be a piece of cake." You smiled up at him. He only offered you a small one in return, making you falter in confusion.

What was that about?

He went back to his table with your brother and you walked up to Slughorn.

"Ah, miss. Lupin! I was surprised to see you not with your brother."

"We had a bit of a disagreement earlier. I'm Jacobs' partner. What potion would you like us to complete?" He looked at you for a moment before his face lit up with an idea.

"How about amortentia? Yes, that would suit you two nicely,” he declared. You rolled your eyes. That was the cheesiest potion he could have given you.

“Sounds great, professor! I’ll tell Jacob and we’ll get to work on it right away,” you turned and sulked back to your table. He noticed the look on your face.

“What did he give us?”

“Amortentia.” Jacob rolled his eyes.

“Honestly? How many times has he given that out to students, can’t he be the least bit more creative?” You chuckled and grabbed your bag from the back of your chair and clung it over your shoulder before gathering your notebook.

“I completely agree. So, how about we meet in the library tomorrow to start on the paper and divy up the work?”

“Sounds good to me!” He smiled as you two walked out of the classroom, chatting a bit more as you left. You were so caught up in your conversation with Jacob you missed a black haired boy waiting for the three of you. He was leaning up against the wall, as he normally did, with his hands in his pockets and his bag by his one foot. The sight of you walking out with Jacob made him freeze and just stop breathing all together.

James and Remus followed the two of you out a few seconds later, not paying any attention to what was going on with you as you laughed at something he had said. You were just standing in the middle of the hallway. What was that about?

“Sirius!” He snapped out of his trance when James’ voice cut through the air.

“Mmh?” He looked at Remus and James, who both had a worried look on their faces.

“You ok? You zoned out for about four minutes straight.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s your sister doing hanging out with that Slytherin you told to piss off earlier?” Remus whipped around and stared at you as you laughed again, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the Slytherin boy. He was the reason you two were fighting in the first place. That was a lie and Remus knew it, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it.

”She’s partnered with him for the project,” James clarified, causing both Sirius and Remus to look at him.

“He sat beside her,” Remus practically growled, tossing another glance as you waved goodbye to him and he did the same.

“What did you expect when she didn’t want to sit by us? He obviously took a liking to her earlier in the hall.”

“Why didn’t she sit by you?” Sirius asked. “You two didn’t make up yet?” Remus grumbled something that no one could hear, but they didn’t really care. You started walking over, ignoring your brother’s presence all together.

“Hey, Sirius. Hey James. Ready to head to dinner?” It was quiet for a few seconds, Remus just staring at you.

“Yeah,” James finally broke the silence. “Lets-uh-let's get to dinner. Quickly.” He took you by your shoulder and started to rush you to the dining hall.

Nothing improved over the week. The full moon was coming closer, making both you and Remus even more on edge. The two of you had attempted to make up, but that just resulted in another, bigger, blow out. James and Peter had to hold Remus back as Sirius and Lily had to hold you back. Both of you were about to pumble each other. You finally threw a very nasty statement at him before storming up to your common room. In your defense he deserved it.

You started to distance yourself from all the Marauders, even Lily in some ways as you focused on your studies. You met Jacob in the library every day to work on your potion’s assignment, which seemed to get Sirius and Remus both in a twist, though one was better at hiding it than the other. That was when the third blow up happened. The day of the full moon.

“I can’t believe you are hanging around that Slytherin.” Remus spit out to you as you were all sitting in the common room before lunch. It was Saturday and none of you felt much like going outside since you would be out all night.

“Excuse me?” You asked with raised eyebrows, putting the book you were studying out of down.

“You heard me.”

“I did, and since when have you cared? Not like you've been in my life much,” you spat. He clenched his jaw and stared at you, all of your friends ready to jump in case you got into another fight.

“Since it's a blasted Sytherin.”

“That's not even a fair judgment. Have you ever even talked to him?”

“Why would I? A pretty boy pure blood who comes from a rich family?” he scoffed. “Sounds like a fun time.” You bristled.

“You just described Sirius!” You yelled. You turned to Sirius. “No offense, of course,” he held up his hands.

“You called me pretty, I’m happy.” You rolled your eyes at him, not helping the butterflies in your stomach when he said that.

“Yeah, but he isn’t a Slytherin!”

“You're condemning all Slytherins to being evil now?”

“Aren’t they?” you were both on your feet now, causing everyone else to join you.

“No you ignoramus! And if you could see two inches past your fucking nose, then you would know that!”

“Name one person other than your precious boyfriend!”

“Slughorn!”

“Bet you can;t do it again.” He challenged. You sneered.

“Snape!” He laughed.

“Really? Him? You decide that he is not evil? Have you seen him?”

“Have you looked in the mirror much? You aren’t the model yourself!” He sneered.

“How about you?”

“What about me?:”

“You look as bad as I do, dare I say worse! And your chocolate consumption has become twenty times it normally is! Now you are hanging around a Slytherin and constantly fighting with me!”

“Me-” you laughed harshly and dramatically. Making it sound almost hysterical and mad. “Your the one who picks the fucking fight everytime!”

“Becuase you make stupid descions!”

“Like hitting a beast in the back with a chair from the top of a two story house?”

“Y/N,” Lily warned from beside you.

“To only save your arse from becoming what I am!”

“Yeah, well, bang up job, Remus Lupin! A for effort I suppose!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Silencio!” Lily yelled, pointing her wand at you. You yelled a string of curses at her and your brother before storming out of the common area. She shot Remus a glare, something that didn’t happen often.

“You know, she’s going to Hogsmead with him next weekend. I suggest you get your act together before then and actually support something your sister is doing before you remove her from your life completely,” she hissed and chased after you. All the boys were frozen from, not only Lily’s scolding, but the fact that you were going to Hogsmead with him. Sirius felt ill and just stood in place, frozen.

“Great,” James mumbled. “They’re both broken now. At least we are ok, Peter,” He looked over to where Peter had been standing. Now the boy was passed out on the ground. James sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.”

Lily found you in your normal spot, silently crying to yourself. She removed the spell and your sobs were so loud she almost silenced you again. She sat down besides you, but you made no move to put your head on her shoulder like you normally did.

She knew you didn’t want to talk to her right now. She knew it was Sirius that you wanted to speak to, but you had just announced that you were going to Hogsmead with Jacob. Sirius was trying to get over that fact.

“We should probably go meet Sev,” she murmured in your ear. “The potion will make you feel better.” You just shook your head and tried to catch your breath.

“I-I’m fine. I just… I just need a minute.”

“You are going to hate me for saying this, but you need to make up with your brother and tell Sirius how you feel. You made it seem like you and Jacob were going on a date when you know that's not what's happening.” She scolded. You nodded your head, not being able to catch your breath from how hot you were, especially with all the clothes you had on.

“Can-can you help me get the jacket off? Please?” She nodded and started to pull at the sleeve, revealing an arm full of scars. You pulled the other sleeve off, prevailing a second arm full of scars. Your breathing slowed and you were finally able to catch your breath.

You quickly wiped the tears from your eyes.

“I didn’t let anything slip. They-they don;t know anything, right?”

“I almost let you. But that wasn’t the right way to do it.” You nodded gratefully, tracing some of the scars on your arm. You were more on edge today, but, for once, you don;t think chocolate would help. But that was only because of Remus’ comment earlier.

“We should probably get your potion from Sev. I have a feeling tonight's going to be one of your… worse… ones.” You nodded, feeling it too. This wasn;t just going to be an irritating night, this was going to be a full on transformation.

“I’ll have to tie myself down in the Room of Requirement tonight,” you nodded, agreeing.

“I don’t see why you tie yourself down. You take the potion.”

“What if it doesn’t work one night? You are going to have a second werewolf around and on the grounds. It's better if I just tie myself up and be prepared.” She sighed, knowing you wouldn’t see reason in this.

“Will you at least let me be in there with you?”

“Merlin, Lily! No! Are you mad?”

“Remus at least has-”

“And Remus is a normal werewolf. I am not. Something could go wrong at any moment and I am not letting anyone get remotely close to me. You know that!”

“I’m just saying-”

“No!” her eyes widened as you snapped at her. “It's not happening, so stop asking,” you stood up and walked out of the alcove in a huff, leaving her slightly stunned, your jacket sitting where you had once occupied. She thought about going after you and giving it back, but maybe this was what you needed. Someone else to know your secret.

You realized too late that you had forgotten your jacket and turned around to get it when you heard Sirius.

“Y/N! Wait a minute!” You froze before bolting in the direction towards the alcove you knew your jacket would be in. “Y/N!” He called after you again, his voice getting closer. You pushed yourself to run faster, only making you trip over your feet in the process and tumble to the ground with a cry. You were so close to your jacket. But Sirius caught up and froze when he saw your arms. His mouth opened and closed quickly.

You grabbed him and shoved him into an empty classroom, locking the door behind you and turning back to him. He was still staring at your arms and you sighed in frustration, letting a long string of profanities fall from your lips and you paced the room, pulling the skin from your lips, trying to figure out what to do.

You could obliviate him. Of course, that wasn’t the best course of action. You really didn’t want to obliviate your best friend. While you were thinking he came back to his senses.

“Y/N?”

“Mh?” You hummed, still thinking about what to do. He grabbed you and turned you towards him.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” His eyes scanned your arms.

“What happened?” You bit your lip and continued to pull it apart with your teeth. WHat could you tell him? “Y/N?”

“You're gonna kill me,” you mumbled and closed your eyes moving away from him and running your hand over your face.

“I-I won’t. Just-”

“I can’t, Sirius. I can’t tell you.” You looked back towards him with nothing but sorrow in your eyes. “I’m sorry. I just can’t tell you.” Then the pieces fit together. Your mood swings during the full moons, you always carrying chocolate and your ears always perking when you heard the wrapper. The way you “just knew” when someone was close by or something was headed your way.

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Please don’t worry about it,” you begged.

“I am staring at your scared arms. How am I not supposed to worry about it?” He raised his voice. It wasn’t a yell, but it still made you flinch. He noticed and lowered his voice again. “Y/N, I need you to tell me the truth here,” you looked down and he walked closer to you. Careful steps. Very careful steps. “That night Remus got turned into a werewolf, did he-” you nodded. Tears welling in your eyes. “But you can transform into an animagus.” You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I’m not a full one. I get testy around the full moon, but don’t always turn. And I carry the chocolate for Remus, mostly.” He shook his head.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because Remus has it ten times worse than me. Please don’t tell him,” you begged.

“Don’t tell him? How am I supposed to not tell him?”

“By keeping your mouth shut?” You attempted the joke, but he just shook his head at you. “Please. I am begging you, Sirius. I really need to meet Sev and I need my jacket an-”

“Snape?” You looked away and bit your lip. “Why do you…”

“He’s the best one at potions in our year. He was the only one who can, well, you know.”

“That's why you protected him when Remus said that stuff about Slytherins.”

“He’s helped me out since second year. And with all the turmoil happening between me and everyone, tonights going to be bad. I really need to get the potion off him. Like now. Please, I will tell you everything later, just please let me go and please don’t tell Remus.” His leg bounced as he stared at you from the table he sat down at. He shrugged off his own jacket and threw it over your shoulders.

“Get your potion. I expect everything to be explained tomorrow and I will not tell your brother, yet.” You smiled and hugged him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.” You mumbled into his neck as he hugged you back.

“Yeah yeah. Just be careful, ok?” he set you firmly on the ground again. “Promise me.” You nodded and slid your hands through the arm holes of his jacket. It was far too big for you, but you didn’t really care. First off because it was hiding your scars. Second off, you had Sirius Black’s jacket on, and that may or may not have made your heart beat out of your chest. And then if you add the way he was looking at you on top of that, you were dead.

“I promise. Thank you, Sirius. You are a life saviour.” You left the room and he stood staring at that door, cursing himself and needed to find Lily, pronto.

“Evans!” He yelled into the great hall where the red head was sitting. She looked over at him with an eye roll, but then noticed his serious expression. Which was, ironically, something he rarely had on his face. She stood up and scurried over to him and he pulled her out of the great hall. “You knew, didn;t you? About Y/N.” She shrugged, guilty.

“She made me swear to secrecy. Do you know where she went? She got mad at me and stomped off without her jacket. I’m assuming you-”

“Saw her hundreds of scars? Yes.”

“She showed you all of them” She creased her eyebrows and his eyes narrowed.

“All? Where is all?” Lily swallowed.

“Everywhere?” His eyes flickered down the hall, almost as if he were looking for you.

“Why does she have more than Remus?”

“Her body heals differently and she didn’t have the ointment he gets from the hospital wing, despite my persistent begging for her to get it.”

“Does her boyfriend know about this?”

“Her what?”

“Jacob. The Slytherin.”

“Sirius, they aren’t dating.”

“But he’s taking her to Hogsmead.”

“To help him pick out a gift for his little sister’s birthday. I said that in the heat of the moment. She was pissed at Remus. Please, don’t make her feel worse about keeping this a secret. And no, she just met him a week ago. She’s known Remus since she was born and you since everywhere in between.” Sirius looked down the hall again before back at Lily.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Do not tell Remus until after the full moon tonight. They are both on edge and it's not going to be a pretty fight.” Sirius nodded, recalling how badly he had wanted to yell at her for not telling them about this.

“Anything else?”

“Go easy on her. It had to of taken a lot of guts not to obliviate you on the spot.” Sirius nodded, knowing she had contemplated it for a split second.

“Yeah, ok. I can do that.”

“Thank you, Sirius. You're a good friend.” He scoffed.

“Tell that to Mooney when he’s beating the daylights out of me.” Lily put a hand on his shoulder before disappearing back into the Great Hall. “He’s gonna kill me for this,” Sirius mumbled before following her into the hall.

You had just finished tying the ropes onto your arms. They were charmed so no matter what tugged at them they would hold you in place until the full moon was over. You had tied them extra tight tonight for precaution. Lily walked in with her arms full of chocolate and some other food for before and after the full moon.

“Do you have to tie them so tight?”

“Yes,” You grunted as you pulled one more time to triple check if they were tight enough.

“Sirius pulled me aside today,” she hummed slightly and took a seat in front of you on the floor. You glanced at his jacket.

“Speaking of,” you said before she could say anything. “Can you return his jacket? I don’t want it to get ruined or anything and I didn’t see him before I came here.”

“You didn;t see him because you didn’t want to. You can’t avoid him or telling our friends about this.”

“Yeah, but I can put it off for as long as possible.” She shook her head at you.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Yep. Can you pass some chocolate over please.” She started to grab it but you changed your mind. “Actually, just hand me the grapes.” She paused and looked up at you.

“Is this about what Remus said?” You looked away from her. “Y/N/N. Is this about what Remus said?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“He didn’t mean-”

“Yeah he did. My brother may be a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Especially during a full moon.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I’m pretty sure he did.” She just shook her head and handed you the chocolate which you reluctantly (not really) took and began to devour.

“You should get out of here, Lily. It’ll be starting in a little.”

“You took the potion?” You nodded and gestured to an empty vile a few feet away from you. She picked it up and gathered Sirius’s coat. “Are you sure you’ll be ok?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks again, Lily. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” And then she left, leaving you to munch on chocolate in the deafening silence. Counting the seconds until it would begin.

Lily stepped through the doors and back into the hallway, she looked at Sirius who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going to murder Remus later,” she grumbled and walked down the hall. Sirius jogged after her.

“Why?”

“Here’s your jacket. You know that comment he made about her eating a lot of chocolate?” Sirius took his jacket back and nodded. “She took it to heart and doesn’t want to eat it any more. Well, as much as she normally does. And it makes her feel as close to as hundred percent as she can get around this time.” Sirius frowned. “You know, she cares so much about Remus, and I really don’t think he gets that,” Lily shook her head.

“I think you may be right,” Sirius mumbled and looked back down the hallway the two of them had just come from.

You woke on the floor in the Room. The floor was ice cold and your clothes were in shreds and were hanging onto your body loosely. You were bleeding here and there and sat back, rubbing the back of your neck you groan. You could see the sun was rising from the window the room always provided you.

You glanced at the pile of chocolate and went to get it before you untied yourself but stopped. No. You didn’t need anything right now. You’d be fine.

You undid the rope on your arms and legs. You held your wrists carefully, they were bruised and splattered with dry blood from you tugging at them and flinched every time you ran your hand over an open cut.

Shaking yourself, you stood up and grabbed a fresh set of clothes and your “Journal”. After every full moon you would write down what you remembered, just to get it out of your head. You never talked about it, like your brother did. He really didn;t have to, but you knew that he always needed to get it out to. So instead of making his friends hear it since they were already there with him, he told you.

You quickly rinsed the blood off yourself to the best of your ability until you could take a shower, and tossed on a pair of oversized sweatpants and a tank top with a jacket. The room had provided you with a couch, which you gratefully took with a book, your journal, and some of the non-chocolate food Lily had brought with her yesterday. It would be a while until you would be mentaly fine enough to leave.

Remus was in the medical wing sleeping, three of the four boys asleep in the uncomfortable chairs that surrounded his bed, as usual. Madame Pomfrey had been up and had been ready to tend to Remus’ wounds as usual and had left him and the boys to sleep. James and Peter found it easy to slip into sleep for the rest of the morning, but Sirius found it harder than normal, and he knew it was because of you.

After his ninth attempt to fall asleep he rose and left the room, a silent nod to the healer sitting at her cabinet and writing something, before he left through the doors and quickly made his way to the Room of Requirement.

No one was up yet, he didn’t even know if you were. But he knew no one should have to go through that alone, which you obviously had been doing since second year. It just didn’t sit right with him. He stopped at the wall leading to the Room of Requirement and waited for doors to form. Which they did. He opened the door quietly and stepped in to see you on the couch you looked up, expecting Lily.

“Sirius?”

“Hey.”

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Lily.”

“Right. Well, shouldn’t you be asleep in the hospital wing then?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” He shrugged and sat on the couch you were occupying. “Studying?” You shrugged and moved some of your notes, still not emotionally or mentaly stable enough to deal with people. But because it was him, and your emotions were still in a knot of confusion, you let him stay.

Did your heart always beat this fast when he was this close?

“Did you get your jacket back?” You picked up a piece of chocolate. “Chocolate?” He grabbed the bar and opened it.

“Yeah, Lily gave it back to me yesterday. I was a little disappointed not to see you before the full moon.” You shrugged and ate a strawberry, eyeing Sirius’s chocolate with want, but resisted opening your own.

“I took the potion and rushed in here to get ready,” you motioned to the ropes on the ground; you hadn’t had the energy to clean it up yet.

“Ropes?” His gaze flickered between you, the ropes and your hands, which you were playing with nervously. “You… tie yourself down?” He looked almost horrified.

“Yeah,” you looked at the wall. “Precautions. I don’t take them lightly.” He didn’t know what to say to that. He knew Remus was cautions about this but tying yourself up like that while you went through the agony of transforming?

“Let me see your hands,” he reached out to you, but the motion only made you bring them into yourself. You got shit from Lily when she saw them, you didn’t need that twice. “Y/N, please.” You swallowed and handed them to him. His leg started to bounce at the new, red marks on your wrists.

“It-it's really fine.” you tried to pull them back, but he didn’t let you. He didn’t look up at you and you waited for him to start yelling. Lily always did.

“How bad does it hurt?” You were shocked by the amount of kindness in his voice. You swallowed.

“Uh-not terribly. I mean, my wrists are kind of used to getting torn up like this, so I mean…” You bit your lip and tried to peel the layers off. “I mean, I guess it kind of stings. ANd my back kind aches, but uh… its.. Uh.. fine.”

“Why don’t you go to the hospital wing?”

“Because you guys and Remus are there. If I showed up every full moon when you were all there, it would be a bit suspicious, don’t ya think?”

“Yes, but you’re injured.” You shrugged sadly.

“I've had worse than a few rope burns. I mean, you’ve seen my arms.”

“And Lily said that's not even close to the end of your scars,” you flinched slightly. Which was he talking about? Mentaly or physically?

You knew this wasn;t the moment to be exactly thinking it, but damn when he wanted to he could literally be so gentle and it made you want to burst.

“Yeah. Before the potion and figuring out the rope charm it was pretty bumpy. I mean, it's still not exactly smooth sailing, but- I’m rambling now,” you shook your head and pulled your hands away from him, tucking your hands into your sleeves.

“Have you eaten any chocolate yet?” He asked, rising and making his way to the pile on the floor.

“I haven’t really felt like it,” you shrugged, not even attempting to make the lie seem real. He rolled his eyes and started rifling through the bars.

“Liar.” He grabbed one and tossed it to you. “Here. Eat this, you’ll feel better.”

“I’m fine, Sirius. Really.” You poked at the bar a few times, contemplating taking it. “You look exhausted though. You were out with my brother all night, you should get some sleep.”

“So should you.” You rolled your eyes and looked back down at the potions book in your hands.

“I have to study for this potions assignment with Jacob. I’ve been too distracted with this past full moon.”

“Yes I can see how turning into a werewolf would be distracting,” he scoffed and took the book from your hands.

“Sirius,” you whined.

“What potion did you even get?” His face fell a bit when he noticed the love potion on the page. The majority of the students who did this potion together ended up together.

“It's easy, but a lot of information,” you sighed and grabbed the book back. “I mean, not easy easy. But its,” you shook your head. “Never mind. Forget it,” you sighed and ran your hands over your face.

“Who do you think you're gonna smell?” He asked, leaning back casually, even though he hated himself for asking.

“Probably no none. And the person I hope I smell, well I doubt they'd even consider me,” you rolled your eyes. “I’ll probably smell chocolate and lavender. Or something like that.” But in your head you weren;t thinking about chocolate and lavender. Ok, that was a lie. You were thinking about chocolate, it was right in front of you and your sensitive sense of smell was amplifying it. But you were really expecting to smell was the boy sitting next to you. And you knew you wouldn’t mix his scent with anyone else's.

“Heh. They’d be crazy not to, love.” You blushed but buried your head into your book further. He looked over at you and bounced his leg a few more times.

“You should probably get back to Rem. I’ll probably follow you a bit later to check in on him and give him some chocolate.” He frowned.

“Shouldn;t you be eating all this?”

“I only normally eat a few pieces and give the rest to him. He has it worse than me.” You shrugged. “He deserves it more.”

“And aren’t you supposed to be mad at him?” You shrugged again.

“How my full moons go are based on my emotions. It's better to make up with him. Make everything go back to normal, like it normally does when we get into an argument.”

“Ok, but it wasn;t fair the way he treated you. I know he was on edge, but-”

“Sirius, it's fine. Really. We were both just on edge. And it was fair. I mean, not the Slytherin comments, but the rest of it was.”

“Will you at least eat something before you go? Or get some sleep?”

“I slept plenty after my transformation and I ate lots.”

“Chocolate,” He said exasperatedly. “Eat some chocolate.” You took the bar of chocolate he had given you and took a bite out of it.

“Never thought someone would have to make me eat chocolate.”

“Never thought I’d have to make you,” you frowned, thinking back to your twin's comment.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you would just eat it without even thinking. Ever since Remus made that comment-”

“Rightfully said,” you hummed cutting him off. He sighed and took your book again, kneeling in front of you.

“Why do you care so much about what he says? Especially when he’s not himself?”

“Because I need to make him feel happier. He’s like this because of me. Because of my mistake to want to see the stars he’s in pain.”

“And so are you. Why do you keep torturing yourself?”

“I’m not. I just… I don’t know. God I’m such a mess afterwards,” you groaned, tears pricking your eyes.

“Yeah, well, that's expected,” he smirked and it made you give hima laugh-sob in reply. “Here,” he urged, handing you the half finished chocolate bar. You took a desperate few bites out of it and let the tears fall. He wiped them away quickly and let his hand fall on your knee. “Better?” you nodded and wiped your face to rid it of any chocolate.

“Yeah, sor-”

“Don’t apologize. You should sleep. You look absolutely horrid,” you laughed pitifully and nodded, finally admitting to your exhaustion.

“Yeah, ok. You might be right.”

“Might be? I’m always right.” You laughed again and went to stand up.

“Yeah yeah. Alright. You're always right. I’ll sleep after I make sure Remus is alright.” You promised.

He wanted to argue but knew he wouldn’t win.

“Alright. Come on. Then I’m taking you straight to the dorm room.”

“I have to clean up first. Go ahead, I’ll follow.” He shook his head.

“I’ll come back later and do it.”

“Sirius-”

“No arguing. Come on,” he dragged you out of the room. You visited your brother who was still asleep. James and Peter were up and waiting for Remus to wake up. Once you saw him Sirius dragged you out and to your dorm room forcing you to go to sleep or he would make you eat chocolate until you turned into it. You gladly fell into a dreamless sleep, unknowing of him wrapping your wrists since you were such a heavy sleeper.

You woke up on Monday when Lily shook you awake for class. You could tell she felt bad about it, but you assured her it was fine. You noticed your hands were wrapped and wondered who had done it. That's when you noticed your stomach growling. Quickly you got dressed and shoved chocolate into your bag for Remus and ran down to the Great Hall where everyone already was. You took your usual seat in between Remus and Sirius.

“Hey!” You said cheerfully and grabbed some food and put it on your plate. “Rem, could you pass me the chocolate chip muffins please?” He did so as if nothing was wrong and even bumped your shoulder with his. Sirius just watched, not understanding how your three huge fights could so easily turn back to this. All your classes went as usual, even lunch went well.

Then it was time for potions. You walked in with James and Remus but had to make your way to Jacob instead of sitting with them. You had decided it would be fair to split the research and then have him write the essay while you made the potion.

“Hey Jacob!” You smiled brightly at the Slytherin.

“Hello, Y/N. You have your half of the research?” You nodded and handed him your papers. Excellent. Should we get started then?”

“Sounds good to me! Who do you think you’ll smell?” He glanced over at a hufflepuff with bright red hair across the room.

“I hope I know who.” You smiled. “You?” You blushed.

“I wish. I mean, I have an idea, but they’ll never like me back, especially now.” He shook his head.

“You're super cool, Y/N/N. They’d be insane not to.”

“Thanks, Jacob. Let's get to it then?”

“Lets!” For the rest of class the two of you worked, quietly chatting occasionally as you finished the project together. You heard an explosion and glanced up and Remus and James who were just staring at their cauldron. James obviously being the one who added the wrong ingredient. You snorted and went back to your own potion mixing it together carefully, the brew being the perfect shade of pink. He sat up in his seat and looked at you wide eyed. “It's finished?”

You smiled. “You smell it already? It still has a few hours of brewing.” He nodded. He looked over to the hufflepuff boy.

“Yeah. I can smell it. You?” You swallowed and took a whiff.

Gasoline, smoke, cinnamon apples and chocolate. God that was it. That was him.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Yeah I smell it.” Slughorn came over and looked into the cauldron.

“My my, looks like you two are finished already! Is your essay finished as well?” You looked over at Jacob who wrote a few more things down and handed it to Slughorn who skimmed it, seeming to be happy with it. “Splendid splendid. Well done you two. You can be finished for today. As a matter of fact, everyone is dismissed if you feel like you are finished. We will be continuing this tomorrow and then they will be due the next day.” The class erupted into chatter and the Hufflepuff boy came over, Jacob held his breath as he stopped in front of him smelling the air. He looked over at him, lust blown eyes.

He bit his lip and sauntered out of the room with a swing to his hips, glancing back at him before leaving the door. You chuckled as he just stared, gawking.

“Go get him, Lover boy!” He grinned at you and ran out of the room after the Hufflepuff. You cleaned up as the room emptied. You told Remus and James to go on without you to lunch. You would be there for a few minutes.

You continued to clean up the station, not bothering to stop smelling your potion, the scent put you at ease. It always did. And you really needed to be at ease right then.

You walked back over to your workbench to see Sirius entering the room.

“Hey, Sirius!” You smiled and he smiled back before stopping, smelling the air. He looked at the potion, swallowed and then back at you. You frowned and went back to cleaning up, making sure not to look at him. But you couldn’t help but wonder who he was smelling. It was clearly not you.

He began to help you clean up and the air was suddenly tense between you. And you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, who do you smell?” You asked, jumping onto the work table and cocking your head at him. He shrugged. “Come on, I want to know. As your best friend, I have a right to know.” He hummed in response and inclined his head.

“Just like how I had a right to know your secret?” You looked away.

“I said I was sorry. I just, I was scared if it got out that Remus would find out. I just didn’t want Remus to know that he got turned and I got turned. I would have much rather it been me and only me rather than the both of us.”

“I would've rather it be neither of you,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, same. So who do you smell?”

“Why don;t you tell me?” he countered and you chewed your lip. “Come on, just tell me,” he got closer to you, smiling as he glanced up at him. You have no idea where the rush of courage came from. But it came.

“You,” you shrugged, he went wide eyed and stepped back, coughing.

“M-me?” You shrugged, playing it off.

“You,” he smirked at you, composing himself again.

“And what exactly do I smell like?” He asked, placing a hand on either side of your body. You thought about it for a moment, but you knew. Even without him right in front of you and the potion right beside you, you knew.

“Gasoline and smoke from that motorcycle you always work on, Cinnamon and apples because though you’d never admit it they are your favorite, and chocolate because you're always around me or Rem.” he stared at you. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Who do you smell?” It took him a moment to find his voice, and each second he took you waited in agony. What if you just confessed to your best friend and he didn’t like you back. But he smiled after a moment.

“You,” he replied simply, making your eyes go wide. You had been hoping, but it was actually the last thing you had expected to hear.

“An-and what exactly do I smell like?”

“Lavender, from that motorizer you always wear before you go to sleep, chocolate because you practically survive on the stuff- which is adorable-, and ink because you are constantly spilling it all over the place,” as he spoke his voice had gotten lower and lower, and with his voice his gaze also dropped. It dropped all the way down to your lips which you were playing with.

“Wo-wow,” you stuttered out, not knowing how to react. WHat do you do? You were panicking. And before you could say anything or do anything, his lips were on yours and he was standing in between your legs. His mouth was warm on yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck bringing him closer as he brought his hands to your hips to bring you closer. But then a familiar thought rang through your head.

You don’t deserve this…

“Sirius, wait,” you pulled away and he leaned away from you, his hands still on your hips, he looked at you curiously.

“What's wrong?”

“I-I don’t deserve this. I-I can’t put you through this.” He scrunched his eyebrows together.

“What do you mean?” You buried your head in your hands and shook your head. Headache was approaching and you needed your chocolate. After the full moon was never as bad as before, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have your share of problems.

Sirius seemed to sense your need for chocolate because he dove into your bag and pulled out a piece, unwrapping it for you. He handed it to you and you took it gratefully.

“Can you explain what you meant?”

“You deserve better than me. I mean. You're you. And who am I? I’m a weirdo screw up who got her brother bitten by a werewolf.”

“No,” he pulled your face back up to his and looked at you. “You are perfect. I have had a crush on you since second year. And I’ll be damned if I let your insecurities get in the way of me taking care of you.”

“But-”

He shoved the chocolate back into your mouth, shaking his head.

“Do you like me?” you nodded as you chewed the chocolate. He smiled and pecked your lips, your mouth still full of chocolate. “That's all that matters to me. I think we have a few things to tell your brother now though,” you frowned and nodded sadly. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t. He kissed you again and you brought him in closer. You still felt guilty, and you knew you always would. You couldn’t change that. But you could try for him. You could be the best for him. Because the boy standing in front of you, wiping excess chocolate from his own mouth, he was everything you had ever wanted.

And you would be everything he ever wanted in return.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Where Loyalties Lie

(Technoblade X reader) 

Request 3: Can we get a little angsty fic or headcanon of Techno trying to get the reader to leave L’manberg?

Requested By: Anonymous

~~~

     “Tubbo please take a deep breath,” You followed him around the rubble as he paced restlessly. 

     “I’m president of a crater (Y/n)!” The boy pulled on his ears with a loud whine, “What am I gonna do. I can’t believe Wilbur blew it up-” He felt your hands touch his own and gently pull them away from his oversensitive goat ears. “What am I gonna do? I-I’m a kid…” You frowned, moving to cup his cheek with your hand. He nuzzled into it desperately, welcoming the comforting touch of someone who he considered family. 

     “You’re going to get through it because you’re strong.” You told him, “and so brave little ram.” He flushed pink letting out a whine of protest especially because he was still surrounded by most of his friends. 

You watch as Quackity walked over to the both of you and placed his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder squeezing it, “We’ll rebuild. We’ll be right behind you Tubbo.” He smiled at the kid and you couldn’t help but smile over at him. 

     “Thank you both. Truly.” 

There was one thing that had you were worried you may come to regret, and that was not taking Technoblade’s hand as he fled from the country. You were close almost touching it, he looked like he wanted to beg for you too but one desperate cry from Tubbo had you pulling away. He looked heartbroken but at the same time, you saw understanding in his deep red eyes. 

Family came first. 

That day he pulled you close pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, “I’ll be back for you.” 

You murmured a soft I’m sorry, turning to find Tubbo to make sure he wasn’t injured or dying. The thoughts of the festival replaying in your head, you couldn’t go through that...not again especially because now Tubbo was officially on his last life. Tommy couldn’t fathom how you didn’t blame Technoblade for what happened that day, but to you, two things were clear: one was that Tubbo didn’t blame him which made it easier on your end to forgive him; two Schlatt was manipulative and overwhelming as fuck you can’t blame someone for something they were peer pressured into doing. Speaking of Tommy you ended up finding Tubbo and him in the rubble that day, the taller male was pressing cloth to Tubbo’s bleeding arm desperately, when you took over and Tommy seemed grateful. 

However, you had to push your possible regrets aside and focus on the new nation you’d help build, and build it you did. You worked endlessly for months on end creating a lovely new nation for people to live in, Tubbo had dubbed it New L’manburg. You felt his pride and happiness, he just loved seeing everyone together again and happy once again. Finally, the server felt somewhat normal after all that destruction, even if there was a Techno-shaped hole in your heart. Things changed rather quickly when Tubbo was, in your eyes, manipulated to exile Tommy by Dream. You had tried to argue for the boy saying that not only was he Tubbo’s friend but just a kid. You were shut down harshly by not only Dream but Tubbo as well, the look in his eyes was filled with so much loathing and frustration. It’s the first time he ever snapped and was harsh to you, you felt your own frustration bubble up in your chest. You turned on your heel and marched back up into your house, you were not going to put up with this behavior. When you slammed the door shut, and turned around to find Technoblade standing in your living room,  with your cat purring fondly on his shoulders; you almost screamed.

     “Heh- why are you scared it’s just me?” The hybrid complained his nose scrunching up, “Don’t be cringe- oof-” Techno grunted as you threw your arms around his waist, the man flushed to the tips of his ears and looked away from you, Taffy hopped off his shoulders disgruntledly, “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too.” He pet the top of your head tenderly and you looked up at him with a smile. 

     “What’re you doing here Tech? If Tubbo finds out he’ll have your head.” 

     “Then I guess we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find me then huh?” He mused lips, quirking into a smile, and you nodded in agreement. “Other than that just running some errands. I’m in retirement now you know. I have to say that ‘New L’Manburg’ is certainly a name.” He did air quotes around the name and you nudged him, 

     “Be nice.”

     “Boo Cringe. I’m a Blood God starlight. I don’t do nice.” 

     “Bullshit,” You punched him in the arm, “Tea?” 

     “Please.” He cracked a smile as you walked over to your tea kettle heating the water and grabbing some tea bags. 

     “So, you came here to run some errands huh? I almost thought you missed me?” Technoblade shuffled a little behind you, how could you read him so perfectly? It was complete and utter bullshit. You heard him click his tongue distastefully behind you and you couldn’t help but smirk cheekily,

     “Get off my back woman.” He stated gruffly as you laughed, “but I guess I do miss you a little bit.” You smiled fondly and softly cooed at him and he let out another scoff, 

     “A little bit?”

     “What is this interrogation? You a cop now?” You placed his tea in front of him and he took a sip,

     “Yeah, we’re gonna need to do a strip search. Drop your pants.” Technoblade choked on his drink, face turning the darkest shade of red you’ve ever seen from him. You howled with laughter sliding down in your seat beside the man. 

     “I changed my mind. I didn’t miss you at all, you’re a terror.”

     “You love me, admit it.”

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He murmured looking at you with a sudden softness that was out of character for him. You didn’t notice the change but it was there, oh if only you knew how much of what you said was true. He did love you. He ran his tongue across his teeth and reached out to interlock your hands within his own. 

     “Come live with me.” 

     “Tech…”

     “I’m in retirement now. I’m going to get some turtles hopefully, maybe some other pets while I’m at it. There’s a lot of room...It gets lonely all alone you know. It’d be nice to have you there with me.” He watched hesitance flicker across your face again just like the day Wilbur blew up L’Manburg. Your thoughts went to Tubbo and how much he needed you, especially now that Tommy was exiled. However, you were also brought back to a few moments ago where Tubbo snapped at you for trying to help. You took a ragged breath and pushed his hand away, he frowned sadly bringing his hand back down to his lap. 

     “I need to be here for Tubbo. He’s a kid Tech...way over his head. Dreams sniffing around him like a dog looking for his next victim to manipulate. I can’t let that happen, not to him. I know he’s President of this nation and you hate him for that, but he’s my brother and I love him. He’s a tough kid with a lot of fire, but I can’t just leave him in the dust. I love you,” You reached up and cupped his cheek and Technoblade felt his cheeks burn at the implication, “but I can’t leave until Tubbo is safe.” 

     “I’ll convince you one day.” Technoblade shot back even though his heart ached, that you wouldn’t be coming home with him. But Technoblade wasn’t known for giving up. He was stubborn as hell, he’d win you over yet. You’d come home with him, he’d confess to you and he’d make you the happiest person in the world. You just...didn’t know it yet. 

     “I’m excited for the day you do Tech.” You snickered softly, you both were startled by harsh knocking on the door.

     “That’s my cue. See you soon Starlight,” Technoblade hummed slipping right out the window, you watched him go longingly. You shuffled towards the door and opened it slowly, on the front steps stood Tubbo who was rocking nervously on his feet. 

     “Hi…” 

     “Hey LR...you okay?” Tilting your head to the side,

     “Is LR supposed to stand for little ram?”

     “Problem?”

     “No…I suppose not.” He murmured before clearing his throat and straightening his back, “I wanted to talk with you.” 

     “Oh?” You raised an eyebrow watching him nod his head sternly, you walked outside and closed the door behind you so you could lean on it. “Shoot,”

You watched as Tubbo swallowed thickly, “First off I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to snap.” He watched you nod a little urging him to continue, “however, I am the President now and you have to respect my authority.” Eyebrows furrowing together in frustration you opened your mouth to counter him but he held up his hand, “Dream has an idea of how to rule. He can steer me in a better direction-”

     “Pardon me?” You let out a disbelieving laugh, “A better direction? Tubbo, are you forgetting everything we all fought for, we fought him for independence. He killed us!” 

     “He might’ve changed!”

     “He exiled Tommy!” 

     “He deserved it!” Tubbo shouted back as your nose scrunched up, “He’ll steer me in a direction that you never could!” He snapped before realizing what he said, he slapped his hands over his mouth eyes widening to the size of saucers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that-” 

     “Go home Tubbo.” 

     “(Y/n) please,” He reached out towards you and you held up your hand, 

     “Go reset the day. You need rest,” You frowned, turning back into the house “see you tomorrow.” Inside the house you shut the door on him and slid down onto the floor, you brought your hands to your mouth and swallowed thickly. A part of you wished Technoblade was still here just so he could tell you to get over yourself, he wasn’t skilled in the art of comforting others, but he could make you laugh. To keep yourself sane you reminded yourself that Tubbo was a child and needed you now more than ever, especially if he thought Dream was dishing out good advice. But you were hurt and a selfish part of you wished you could just go live in retirement with Technoblade and not worry about the new country forming, but you couldn’t ditch Tubbo. 

Running a hand through your hair you sighed loudly, one might wonder what exactly could Tubbo do to make you listen to Technoblade’s offer. Honestly, you had no idea if anything would make you do that unless of course they just started executing people or something ridiculous like that. 

Restless was how you’d describe the rest of your night, you tried to sleep but after a few hours of tossing and turning you gave up. You decided to make yourself a ‘healthy’ midnight snack, a small bowl of mac & cheese, you didn’t care, you were sad. You sighed softly scratching behind your cat’s ears, “It’s just you and me against the world Taffy isn’t it?” Her purrs rang in the air as she snuggled against your hand, distracting you just enough to swipe a noddle from your bowl. “You fat bitch!” You hissed as she ran off back up the stairs, you leaned back in your chair and sighed, literally nothing was going your way today. Just as you finished up your snack you heard a soft ping upon your window, turning to the sound you noticed your neighbor Phil awake in his house. He held up a hand and waved at you through it, and with a small smile, you waved back. He shuffled back into his home, I guess you both were insomniacs together, Techno knew how to pick a certain type of friend it seemed. 

You walked back up to your bedroom and slid under the covers once more, maybe you were wrong and things were going to get better. 

Months went by and nothing seemed to change much to your disappointment. Tubbo and you were still a little rocky, you had forgiven him for his harsh words but he always put Dream’s and even Quackity’s opinion before your own. When you came back from visiting Niki one day and saw wanted posters of Technoblade all around the country you almost had a stroke. You confronted Tubbo about it and only half answered you before running off when Quackity called him. That worried you, he normally didn’t like lying, especially not to you. 

The same day you were walking into the market to get some fresh fruit when a hand shot out from the wanted poster and pulled you behind it. You were held flush against someone’s chest who chuckled gruffly, you recognized that chuckle anywhere. “Techno! What’re you doing here?” You asked looking up at him with eyes filled with concern, “don’t you know you’re a wanted man?”

     “I think that just makes this all the more exciting.” Techno mused running his fingers through your hair, “Plus it’s not like anyone here can catch me.” 

     “Wrong I could catch you.” He dared to laugh in your face, 

     “Sure you could, and I’m half sheep.” Technoblade mused and he watched you huff cutely, “Don’t get all huffy at me you know I’m right.” You only waved him off, “seriously though I’m here to do some trading with Phil.”

     “Oh…” You gave a nod, “Will I see you more frequently then?”

     “You could see me all the time if you moved in with me.” Techno joked again and was surprised to see your face fall a little. Are you serious? Was he getting you to crack? “Starlight?” 

     “Ask me again in a few months and I might say yes,” You teased brushing the question off swiftly, Technoblade didn’t pry but he could tell you were almost convinced. Just what was going on in this country to make you want to leave your little brother? “Now shoo, go see Phil before he gives up on you.” You gave him a little shove and he stumbled off with a huff sticking his tongue out at you in the process. 

After that encounter, you didn’t run into Technoblade for another very long stretch of time. About a month or so after that encounter, Tubbo had shown up at your doorstep a complete nervous wreck. He begged you to help him, claiming he needed diamonds for an upcoming project and wanted you to acquire them for him. “Tubbo I don’t understand why I need to go on this trip? I have diamonds I can just give you. You know I don’t care.” 

     “But I feel bad about it,” Tubbo argued with you “please just do this for me.”

     “You know I’ll do anything for you. If you want me to get them this way I’ll do it. I should be back tonight is that okay? Do you need them sooner?” Tubbo looked relieved as he took your hands in his own, 

     “No tonight is perfect!” The boy chirped sounding more like himself than he has in months, you couldn’t help but smile. You ruffled his hair a little before kissing his forehead, 

     “Then tonight you shall have them, Little Ram.” 

Tubbo helped you gather the materials you needed for a trip down into the mines, Tubbo even gave you some fire resistance potions. You thanked him for the potions before putting on your armor and heading down into the tunnels. As you were down in the mine the concept of time was always an illusion, so when you finally found diamonds for Tubbo and you left the cave you were surprised to see the sun was just setting. You hummed softly to yourself walking back into New L’manburg excited to show off to Tubbo you couldn’t help but wonder what he needed them for in the first place. However, when you entered town you were greeted by a gathering going on at the center. Everyone seemed to be there clad in what looked to be butcher’s outfits, your vibe was immediately thrown off eyebrows furrowing in concern. Quackity was giving some sort of speech and that finally drew your eyes towards the podium, locked inside a cage was a fuming Technoblade. You rushed towards the group, pushing past Ghostbur and a blue sheep, and grabbed tightly onto Tubbo’s arm. 

     “Tubbo what the fuck is happening?” He tensed turning towards your face. It was no secret that you and Techno were friends, this wasn’t good at all.

     “(Y/n)! You’re back early!” He spoke nervously rubbing his hands together as Quackity turned towards you, 

     “Welcome back!” Quackity hopped off the podium with a smirk, “Fundy grab them.” 

     “Quackity hey wait a minute-” Tubbo started as Fundy roughly grabbed onto your arms pinning you in place, 

     “Ow hey! Watch it! Let go of me!”

     “Get your hands off them!” Technoblade snarled nostrils flaring grabbing the bars of the cage tightly. 

     “Quackity you said we’d leave them out of this!” Tubbo argued and your jaw dropped staring at Tubbo, “You promised!” 

He waved Tubbo off with a scoff, “they’re just as bad as Phil, Tubbo. She needs to be punished. We can't play favorites when trying to run a country. We’ll execute Techno then deal with the other traitors.”

     “Execute?” You choked, “you can’t be serious! Tubbo you cannot be serious, since when are you okay with public executions?” He refused to look at you, his hair covering his eyes, he only nodded his head in Quackity’s direction. 

     “Do it.” 

     “Tubbo!” You shrieked watching Quackity grin maliciously, moving over to pull the lever that would allow the anvil to fall and crush the man below it. 

What happened next was a cluster fuck, someone began trying to set off TNT, and Quackity pulled the lever. It fell rapidly towards Techno and he pulled something out of his pocket, in a flash of bright colors and bursts of light Technoblade was ripped apart and pulled back together again. He was alive, Technoblade really doesn’t ever die. He hopped on top of the anvil and jumped the bars of the cage, Fundy had long since lost his grip on you, he noticed Dream ushering him inside a cavern and he paused a moment. The hybrid turned towards you holding out his hand one final time, the world seemed to stop a moment and it was just you and him. His face held a desperate look in it, almost pleading you to take his hand within your own. You flashed back to the day Wilbur blew the country up, Tubbo called your name you glanced over your shoulder once towards Little Ram. You reached into your bag and dropped the diamonds you found for him on the ground, you grabbed Technoblade’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Technoblade smiled and yanked you forward, leaving a heartbroken Tubbo in your wake.

[foli-vora]

more than words, pt.3

A/N: Thank you for all the love! 🥺🥰 overwhelmed by the reaction I’ve had to this story! Super excited that so many of you are coming along for the ride! There is a tag list for this—let me know if you’d like to be added! (I apologise if I’ve missed anyone!) I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Pairing: Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x f!reader, best friend!Benny Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, general first date nerves that trigger my anxiety x10

pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.4 / pt.5 / pt.6

+

He was trying to listen. He really was, but God, how many times can you hear the same thing over and over and over again before you start to drift away from the conversation? He knew the answer. He had a very short attention span when it came to certain subjects – he’ll admit that freely – so when you continued to gush about his best friend, his main man, naturally his attention fell to the couple seemingly having an argument by their truck in the parking lot. Hmm… wonder what they’re fighting about? He purses his lips, watching the girl deliver one hell of a slap across her boyfriend’s face and strut away, tears streaking mascara down her face. Cheater. Definitely a cheater.

“Benny? Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes roll back to you, taking in your narrowed eyes and angry chewing as a slice of pizza dangles from your hand. Was he listening? Well, he did for the first few minutes… does that still count?

He finally answers, tone flat and uninterested. “No.”

“Ben.”

He shrugs, gesturing to the scene outside the window with a flick of his head. “Malibu barbie just smacked the shit out of her beau.”

Your head snaps to where he was looking, shamelessly curious. “Cheater?”

“That’s my bet.”

You both fall quiet, watching the strangers play out a scene that really should belong in a cringe-worthy daytime reality show while you chew. It’s almost depressing, how eagerly you both watch someone else’s life seemingly crumble in public. But the longer they scream and cry, the longer they yell and fight, the harder it is to tear your eyes away.

“Shit.” Benny sighs, reclining in the booth and stretching his arms up and behind him once the couple in conflict goes their separate ways. “That was the most interesting thing that happened to me all week.”

“Not me,” you sing with a smile, fondly remembering the phone calls and texts you had been sharing with Frankie the past few days. Benny sighs in irritation, neck cracking as he rolls his head on his shoulders.

“I swear, if you talk any more about Fish, I’m gonna throw myself out of this fuckin’ window.” He levels you with a challenging stare, lips twitching as you eye the glass critically. “I’ll do it, too. Try me.”

Deflating, you sag in your seat and fiddle with the peeling label on your beer bottle, realising with a wave of slight shame that you had been talking about Frankie ever since you sat down at the table. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’m just excited. He seems really cool, and nice, and –”

“Alright then.” He stands abruptly, kneeling on the worn leather to brace a shoulder against the glass panel with a look of severe concentration.

“Okay! I’m sorry, I’m sorry – sit down, you idiot!” Laughing loudly, you tug at his shirt until he sits with a lazy grin and you shake your head. “God, you are such a child, Benjamin.”

He snorts, pinching a cold fry from the basket in the middle of the table and waving it at you. “You love me.”

Grinning, you snatch it from his fingers, and chew it loudly, grinning at his pout. “I sure do, especially when you set me up with your gorgeous fri–”

He groans loudly, “Enough, woman. I’ll throw you out of this fuckin’ window in a minute. Get me another beer.”

-

“You’re callin’ the wrong friend, angel.” Benny drawls lazily, “I’m no good with these kinds of pep talks.”

“Benny, I’m freaking out, please –”

The car feels small, cramped. The open windows letting in the cool evening air does nothing for you trying to suck in a lungful of oxygen as you pull nervously at your jacket. Have you overdressed? Underdressed? What would he be wearing? You hadn’t been on a first date in months.

“Look, I can almost guarantee you he’s somewhere having this exact conversation with another friend of mine. You’re both stress heads. Just relax – he’s gonna love you.”

You stare vacantly at your steering wheel, swallowing around the lump of anxiety stuck in your throat. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

He snorts in amusement, “Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it now – puking on the poor guy isn’t a first date thing. And don’t forget to rinse your mouth out.”

Leave it to the younger Miller to make you feel ten times worse. “Oh God. Ben –”

“You’ll be fine. Now get out of your car.”

“But –”

“Get. Out. of your car.” He waits, listening intently to the mechanical whirr of your windows as they close, smiling when he hears the loud thump of your car door shutting. “There we go. Now breathe, and get marchin’ – you got this. And don’t call me again – I’m watching a fight. Pay per view isn’t cheap.”

“Right. Sorry. Thanks Benny.”

“Anytime, angel. Have fun.”

You ring your hands as you start walking the short distance to the bar, running through a last-minute check of your appearance. Nothing in your teeth. No stains on your clothes. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, brushing the non-existent dirt from the fabric and making sure it’s not horrifically tucked in to your underwear at the back.

Oh God, your palms are so sweaty. What if he shakes your hand? His hand will slide right off. He’d be mortified. Who even goes for a handshake on a first date anyways? You’re being silly. Everything’s fine. You look great. Did you put deodorant on?

The twisting of your stomach and panicked rush of thoughts thankfully pause when your eyes catch Frankie standing outside the bar, hands buried deep in his pockets and dark eyes flickering around at the passers-by somewhat nervously. When they land on you, the apprehension seems to melt from his shoulders and he grins. Unable to stop the smile creeping on your face in response, you now walk without the sick feeling of anxiety creeping up your throat.

He strides forward to greet you, and for a brief second, you wonder how you should greet him. It’s not like you were strangers, per se, you had been talking on the phone all week, but where did you stand in the physical sense? Certainly not a handshake.

Throwing caution to the wind, you bounce forward and greet him with a hug, hoping to high heaven he doesn’t push you away and call the whole thing off.

He doesn’t.

Inwardly screaming, you melt at the feeling of a pair of strong arms winding around your waist, a small quiet chuckle brushing past your ear. Oh shit, oh fuck… he smells divine.

“Hi,” you mutter shyly when you pull away, a flush of warmth flooding through you from top to toe when he smiles kindly and hovers only a step away.

“Hi,”

You can’t help but admire his features up close; the ones that were lost on the photo Ben had shown you when first trying to convince you into this arrangement. His eyes were a lot darker, tousled curls longer than they had looked when they were hidden under a well-loved hat. A light flush of pink sweeps up his neck and along his cheeks, and you watch it fondly with a wild flutter of your heart.

Okay, you could just stand here all night and stare at him, but that might freak him out a little… maybe try speaking. Talk. Just talk. Say something smart – something stimulating. First date impressions and all that.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

What? No. You did not just say that. Seriously? That’s what had to bubble from your mouth? Are you kidding?

You want to face palm, want to just turn around and march right back to your car with a text to Benny saying ‘thanks, but we can’t be friends anymore’ and just disappear from the face of the Earth. God, he’s going to give you so much shit for this.

Thankfully though, Frankie doesn’t seem bothered by your blurted out statement in the slightest, and even grins, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, it is.” He watches you shift on your feet, smile widening just a little more at the look of complete horror that had just washed your features before he had spoken, and then half turns, “Shall we?” Oh God, what was that? Pope’s gonna kill him. You’ve got his head in a complete spin and now he’s forgotten Pope’s whole pep talk. Shit. Shit. Be cool. Be cool... what the fuck does ‘be cool’ even mean?

The bar’s warm when you both walk in side by side, Frankie’s hand placed softly on your lower back as he leads you to the bar, and then through to a spare table, nestled out of the way and tucked into the farthest corner after he buys your drinks. He lets you sit first, and you’re pleasantly surprised when he stays close and, instead of sitting opposite you, he sits to your right, knees bumping yours softly under the table.

It’s not until you both sit, quiet and fiddling with your beers while sharing nervous smiles, that you remember something you had been meaning to ask all day.

“Oh. How did Mena’s appointment go?” You ask immediately, recalling his slight worry the day before over her slightly warmer than normal forehead and uncharacteristic crankiness. Your stomach plummets when he shoots you a startled look.

Oh no… have you blown it? Were you not meant to ask about kids on the first date or something? What were the rules for this kind of thing? You’d never dated someone with a baby, you had no idea what was okay to ask and what wasn’t. You guys had literally only just sat down, and here you were, ruining it already. That’s got to be the quickest end to a date, well… ever.

Panic creases your features and you frown in worry, “Sorry, should I – should I not have said anything? I’m sorry, I’ve never –”

“No, no – you’re fine! I just… I didn’t expect you to remember.” And then he smiles. Blindingly. The dread crushing your chest quickly morphs into something sweeter, something that has your heart quickening. “She’s okay – she’s getting her molars. Thank you for asking.”

You smile, turning bashful under the pure admiration shining in his eyes, and shrug lightly.

“It’s alright. I was worried for you.” You’re quiet when you admit it, unsure if that’s something you should be upfront about with only knowing him for such a short period, but he seems to take it in stride, smiling fondly at you and reaching a hand to cover yours softly. The immediate heat from his skin encompasses yours, shooting wave after wave of electric tingles up your arm and straight to your chest.

If your pulse was racing before, it’s downright wild now.

He flushes when your fingers part ever so slightly, letting his nestle in between yours, and then you’re smiling at each other, laughing quietly as the awkwardness all but evaporates.

You talk about everything. Growing up, moving around, Frankie’s time in the military being a pilot. You have so many questions, but pick up on the wave of tension that rolls through him at the mention of flying. For a short moment, you wonder why he didn’t want to talk about such an achievement – being a pilot was incredible, but not wanting to ruin the easy-going atmosphere that had fallen over you both, you leave the topic of flying instantly, and switch for talking about Mena, thankful to see the light return immediately to his eyes as he gushes about his little girl.

“Can I ask a question?” You ask sometime later in the evening, now comfortably closer to Frankie as your legs tangle under the table.

He hums, sipping on his third beer and nodding, “Of course.”

You watch your fingers play with his on the table, before grinning up at him slyly, “Why ‘Catfish’?”

He groans, throwing his head back with a chuckle, and wipes a hand across his face.

“My whiskers.” He finally admits with a playfully defeated sigh. When you frown in confusion, his grin widens, and he scratches his fingers along his jaw and through the patch of facial hair. “The guys used to give me shit because I can’t grow much more than this.” He gestures to his face, rolling his eyes. “Used to say I had whiskers – like a catfish, apparently.” He chuckles, shrugging light heartedly. “It just seemed to stick after a while.”

You’re laughing, and it keeps the smile planted firmly on his face. What a sound.

“Well, it’s an interesting nickname, but I think I prefer Frankie.”

He softens, unable to resist melting closer to you, and nods, “Me too.”

He likes the way you say it… sweetly, softly. He’s desperate to hear it fall from your lips more, in all sorts of ways.

Disappointment floods you both when you notice the late hour, Frankie explaining dejectedly that he should probably go and relieve his babysitter before said babysitter gets too comfortable with his refrigerator and the beer in there. You can hear the fondness in his voice when he tells you about his sitter for the evening, Mena’s tío – another close friend of Benny’s apparently – as you leave the bar, his hand automatically falling to tangle with yours.

“I’m this way,” you point a thumb over your shoulder, fully expecting to say your goodbyes outside the brightly lit bar, but frowning in slight confusion when he merely nods and starts to walk the way to your car.

“Oh – are you parked over here, too?”

He shakes his head, pointing to the complete opposite direction. “No, I’m over there. I don’t want you to walk to your car alone.”

Your insides turn to jelly, smiling to yourself as you grip his hand a little tighter. Thoughtful. He returns your smile, but hates that you seem so surprised by the notion of being walked to your car in the dark. What kind of losers had you dated previously that either didn’t walk you safely to your car?

“Thank you for tonight, Frankie.”

He grins, thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. “Thank you – I had a great time.”

“Next time, it’s my treat.” You say, hoping you weren’t thinking too much of something that wasn’t there. Would he even want a second date? Was he just being polite saying he had a good time? Is that what people said before never calling them again?

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie was having a hard time reigning in the enthusiastic excitement that had flooded through him the second you had spoken. You wanted another date? With him? He had to mash his teeth together to stop the eager grin threatening to break his face completely in half. Thank God he hadn’t blown it. You were… God. You were fucking incredible. He owed Benny – big time.

“I can deal with that,” he eventually agrees, face warm and giddy at the prospect of taking you out again.

You turn and envelope him in a hug when you reach your car, breathing in one final lungful of whatever delicious aftershave he had used, and smile to yourself against his shirt when he folds his arms around you, a hand cupping the back of your head to keep you pressed tightly against him.

Pulling back to say one final goodbye, you’re struck by how close his face seems, eyes flicking across his face before meeting his dark ones.

Suddenly trapped in a gaze that had a fire licking up your spine, your breath goes in a stuttered exhale. Rough fingertips trace your jaw, and then you’re holding your breath entirely as he leans in closer. Anticipation kicks in, heart thumping through your chest as he closes the distance much slower than you would like, and you fight away the wave of impatience that screams at you to just push forward and kiss him.

You don’t expect him to stop however, only a breath away from your lips, and you panic for a small second, wondering if you’re doing something wrong, but when he murmurs a quiet question, it takes all the strength in your legs to not fall to the fucking ground in a lump of melted goo.

“Can I kiss you?”

God yes. Please.

Unable to stop the shy smile that tugs at your lips, you try not to nod too eagerly and definitely fail miserably. You want this, more than what you’ve ever felt with anyone else. Frankie had you feeling like a giddy teenager with a huge crush and you were desperate to feel more of it, to see where it goes and what it could develop into.

At your nod of approval, he moves in the rest of the way, hand moving to cup the side of your neck below your ear, and he sighs lightly when your soft lips finally meet his. The kiss is tender, warm, and does nothing to soothe your raging pulse. He can’t hear your heartbeat, can he? God, can you hear his? He briefly worries, but when your lips move against his, his mind blanks.

His moustache tickles your lip, nose bumps gently with yours. Your hands find his chest, fingers gripping at the soft material, and for a moment it feels like you two are the only ones in existence, floating in a hazy whirl of space.

You take a minute to open your eyes when he eventually pulls away, and when you do, you find him gazing at you with a shy smile and a rosy flush across his cheeks. Lashes fluttering as you blink, you try to get a hold of your heart beating heavily against your ribs while your lips tingle from the aftershocks of his kiss.

Holy shit.

Before you can even think it through, his shirt tangles in your scrunched fist and you pull him back to you, replanting your lips against his with a desperate urgency he meets head on and returns eagerly. His hands, previously gentle, now grip at your waist, squeezing the flesh greedily as you let him walk you back into the side of your car. The metal is cold, even through your jacket, and you arch into him, moaning softly when his tongue traces your lip.

Your knees buckle when his tongue tangles with yours, and he presses you harder into the car to stop you dropping.

“Holy shit.” He breathes huskily after separating, lips widening into a grin when he sees you mirroring his breathlessness. You giggle softly, the fire roaring in your stomach turning into an affectionate warmth that floods your system when he brushes his nose along yours tenderly. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop.” Your smile turns shy, teeth digging into your lips as he chuckles again, dark eyes shining. He watches you wrangle your breathing into something semi normal, glad he wasn’t the only one that got swept up and carried away with the moment. 

He traces your cheek, planting one more, less hungry and more affectionate, kiss to your lips.

“Goodnight, mystery girl.”

“Goodnight, Frankie.”

He backs away, face split as he smiles, eyes admiring you before he turns and starts to meander away to wherever he was parked, turning to look at you over his shoulder every few steps. You climb into your car, grinning at the final wave he sends you before disappearing around the corner.

Finally alone in your car, you let out the disbelieving chuckle you’ve been keeping in all night, face feeling hot as the aftereffects of such a great date rests pleasantly in your stomach, mind running through every little moment of the night. Starting your car, you start the drive home, unable to stop touching your lips every so often, insides clenching at the memory of his lips moving against yours.

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed @emilykjh @peterhollandkait @sara-alonso @starlightsearches @bookishofalder @empress-palpat1ne @shadowolf993 @rosiefridayrogersunday @canyonmirrors​ @eoz-stuff @blackonemasie​ @layniapetrovnaaa @alberta-sunrise @goldielocks2004 @betterthanbucky​ @linkpk88​ @afootnoteofhappiness​ @livilottie​

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-One

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.

***

The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?

The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.

By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.

Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.

Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.

“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”

Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”

“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.

“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.

Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.

Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.

“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”

As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.

Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.

Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.

“What?”

“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.

“I agree, but—”

Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”

Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”

He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.

Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”

He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.

Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.

***

Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.

“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”

“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”

When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.

Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.

Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.

“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”

“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”

“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.

“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”

A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.

“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”

Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.

Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”

“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”

“Guys!” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”

Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”

“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”

Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”

“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.

“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”

“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.

“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”

“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.

Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”

“But it’s what he’ll think.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.

Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”

“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”

Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.

“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”

Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.

Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”

Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”

“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”

“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”

“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.

There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”

Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.

In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.

When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.

“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.

“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.

A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.

“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”

Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.

Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”

“I can hear you,” Azriel says.

“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”

“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.

“So can I,” Emerie nods.

“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”

Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”

She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”

“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”

Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”

She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.

God, having friends sucks.

Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”

***

Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.

Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”

“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.

“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.

“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”

“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.

“What tone?” Cassian repeats.

Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”

“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”

“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”

She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”

But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?

He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.

Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.

Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.

“What are you doing?” Nesta says.

“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”

Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.

Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.

“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.

Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”

“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”

Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”

Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.

Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”

Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.

Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.

Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.

“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”

Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.

“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.

“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.

Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”

Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.

When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.

Az starts, “What a fake little—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”

Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.

“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.

Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.

“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”

Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”

Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”

He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.

“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.

“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.

Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.

“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.

“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.

“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.

Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.

Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”

Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”

Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”

Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”

Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”

That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.

Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.

God, sometimes having friends sucks.

***

a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5

More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.

Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.

I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go 

Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming

“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear. 

“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”  

“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid. 

“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room. 

“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?” 

“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.” 

Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.” 

“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!” 

You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him. 

“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”

"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."

And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.

“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.” 

Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.

"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.

"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.

“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”

“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.

You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.

"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"

"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"

You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.

Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.

"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.

"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.

"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."

"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.

"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.

"Yeah, me too." You agreed.

"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.

"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."

"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."

You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."

You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.

He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.

"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."

"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.

Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.

You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."

Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.

“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?” 

He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"

"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.

"On?"

"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."

"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"

You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."

"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.

"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.

"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."

"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."

The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."

“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions. 

“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.” 

"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"

He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"

"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."

"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."

You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."

You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.

You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.

"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."

"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."

You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?” 

“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.” 

You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression. 

Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.” 

You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.” 

“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours. 

You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you. 

“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.” 

“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?” 

Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.” 

“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.” 

Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.

You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure. 

“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.” 

“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?” 

You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.” 

Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.” 

“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.

“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.” 

“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?” 

“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.” 

“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.” 

This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time. 

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.” 

“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.” 

He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?” 

“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” 

He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes. 

“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.” 

[arrowflier]

Fic prompt: How do people who tangentially know Ian react when Gay Jesus goes viral? Do they reach out to Ian/the Gallaghers? Lip's college friends, Milkovich cousins, ROTC classmates, Kash and Linda ... Is Gus Pfender telling someone Gay Jesus was his brother-in-law for 4 seconds? :D

I Heard it Through the Grapevine

“This is a pretty new one,” Gus Pfender said into the mic, sitting onstage at a little bar on the outskirts of New York City. “About a girl I knew a while back. A girl that was totally crazy, you all know the type.” He paused and waited for the knowing laughter to die down.

“No, but really though, she was!” he continued, idly tapping on the neck of his guitar as he talked. “She got me to marry her and everything, then slept with her ex, then tried to marry some other guy before we were even separated! Can you believe that?”

The laughter was more awkward that time, but he didn’t notice.

“Anyway, turns out she came by crazy honestly, runs in the family or something.” Even his band mates were starting to get a little antsy behind him, but he wasn’t quite done throwing his ex under the metaphorical bus.

“Yeah, get this—her little brother started a cult, called himself Gay Jesus or somethin’. Just saw him on the news—he blew up a van!” Gus laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool, but the audience was quiet.

The drummer cleared his throat behind him, and Gus finally got with the program, righting himself and coughing into the mic before saying, “Anyway, here it is; sing along loud if you know it, maybe she’ll hear us all the way back in Chicago.”

And he launched into the opening chords of “Fuck You Fiona”.

In the audience, Mandy Milkovich straightened up at the first round of Fiona’s name echoing around the dimly lit room. Her date—well, her client—touched her arm, and she jerked away before she could remember herself. Remember that she was supposed to like being touched, now.

“Sorry,” she simpered at the short older man, putting her hand on his when he let it fall to the table between them. “You just surprised me, hun.”

She smiled at him sweetly, pressing her tongue to the back of her teeth until it hurt. “Be right back,” she promised him quickly, before standing and grabbing her purse from the back of her chair. “Just need to go freshen up for you.”

She cringed as she said it, but it had the desired effect, the man just waving her away as he turned his attention back to the stage just in time for the rousing chorus of “fuck you”.

As soon as the bathroom door slammed shut behind her, Mandy was leaning over the sink, breathing heavily. Chicago. Fiona. Crazy family. Little brother.

Ian.

She fumbled in her purse for her phone, a sleek black thing that one of her more dedicated clients had bought for her. She swiped past the homescreen that he had set to a picture of the two of them, and opened up her browser.

Ian Gallagher she typed in, holding her breath as the results of the search loaded.

It came out in a single whoosh when she saw it, leaving her limp against the dirty porcelain.

Chicago’s Ian ‘Gay Jesus’ Gallagher Charged with Arson and Destruction of Property read the very top headline. Mandy skimmed the rest through the tears that filled her eyes, not daring to let them fall.

Ian Gallagher, middle child of six, pled guilty by reason of insanity at his trial last week, claiming his unmedicated bipolar disorder was the reason for his irrational behavior.

Oh god, Ian.

Last time she saw him, Ian had his shit together. He had a job, and a boyfriend, and he was taking his meds, and he kept her calm and helped her deal with a fucking body and gave her a place to stay for the night. What had happened since then? How had things gone so wrong for him again?

She didn’t know. She needed to know. She needed to know that he was okay.

Mandy bit her lip, mind racing as she considered her options. None of them were good. Mickey was gone. She didn’t speak to the rest of her family. She could call Iggy, or Colin she supposed, but she wasn’t even sure they weren’t in jail themselves. Besides, if they weren’t, she didn’t want Terry overhearing.

With shaking hands, she dialed a number she had been pretending she didn’t know, instead. A number that she had been trying her best to forget.

Phillip Gallagher picked up on the very first ring.

“Yeah, alright. No, I know, Mandy. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.”

Lip sighed as he pressed the end call button, rubbing a hand over his face. Joaquin, sitting next to him, blew a stream of smoke in Lip’s face until he straightened again, coughing.

“The hell was that for, asshole?” he asked, waving the smoke away. “You know how much shit I’m gonna get if Tami smells that on me?”

Joaquin snorted. “Still can’t believe you shacked up with your baby-mamma, man,” he teased. “You have a kid now, what the fuck?”

“Yeah, well,” Lip muttered, reaching over to steal the joint right out of his hand despite his warnings about the smell. “A lot of things have changed since the last time I saw you.”

No shit. The last time Joaquin had seen Lip Gallagher, he’d been helping him steal money from the high-end startup Lip was working for. Then he’d just disappeared, only to wander into the little cafe where Joaquin liked to take lunch just a few days ago. They’d been catching up a little bit each day since, but Joaquin’s head was still spinning trying to equate this short-haired, run-down family man with the brilliant guy he knew back in the day.

“So, who was that?” Joaquin pried. “Who’s Mandy? You two-timing your girl already, Gallagher?”

“Fuck no,” Lip exclaimed, nearly spitting out the joint. Joaquin snatched it back immediately—the Gallagher he knew never would have risked the good stuff like that.

“No,” Lip repeated more calmly. “I uh, used to date her,” he revealed. “Before I knew you. But that was a long time ago.”

Joaquin nodded. “So what’s she callin’ you for then?”

Lip rubbed at his lip—Joaquin giggled in his head at that thought—and went quiet for a long moment. Joaquin just sat by him and smoked, content to wait it out.

“She was asking about my brother,” Lip answered finally. “They were friends.”

“Which brother?” Joaquin questioned. “The janitor, or the crazy one?”

Lip eyed him oddly. “The janitor is the crazy one,” he said, but Joaquin shook his head.

“No, no,” he rambled, “the little guy, the one you thought was dealin’.”

“Carl?” Lip clarified, and laughed, fingers picking idly at the knee of his jeans. “Nah, Carl’s actually doin’ alright now, I think. It’s Ian. The one you met.”

“What’s goin’ on with him?”

Lip hesitated, and then, “You heard about Gay Jesus?” he asked, and Joaquin felt his eyes go wide. He almost dropped the joint himself this time.

“No way,” he breathed out. ��That was him?” He gestured wildly. “With the kids, and the cult, and the van?”

“That was him,” Lip confirmed grimly. “Off his meds, we think. That’s what he says, at least.”

Joaquin whistled, and handed the joint back. “Think you need this more than me right now,” he said.

Lip didn’t disagree when he took it.

Linda looked up when a stranger entered her store, then promptly rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine. The kids were with the sitter and the store was practically empty, so there was no reason not to take some time for herself for once. A single stoner wandering around the aisles wasn’t that much of a concern.

Still, she kept an eye on him as he poked through what they had to offer. He wasn’t bad looking, despite his floppy hair and red-rimmed eyes—reminded her a little bit of a young Kash, even.

She promptly hated herself for thinking of her absent, no-good husband, and hated the stranger in the store for making her do it.

So when he finally came to the counter, holding two bags of chips and a Red Bull, she might have been just a tad ruder than normal.

“Put it on the counter,” she ordered gruffly when he just stood there, staring into space.

“Whoa, yeah, sorry, sorry,” he rambled, doing as he was bid. “Just came from visiting a buddy, guess I left my mind behind a bit, huh?” He giggled. A grown man just giggled in her store.

“Maybe you know them, the Gallaghers?” He continued while she rang him up. Her hands barely paused when she heard the name. That was a long time ago, and they didn’t come here anymore.

The stoner was still talking, though. “Man they’ve had some bad luck, you know?” He shook his head. “First with Lip’s stuff, now his brother again?”

Linda stilled, bag of chips still in hand.

“Which brother?” she asked despite herself. She shouldn’t care, but somehow she still did. That little shit had stolen her husband, got his boyfriend shot in her store, and bailed on her with no warning, but when he had been there, he had been good to her. Helped her run the store, even helped her with the kids if she begged. She’d been sad to hear it when he went off the rails, but the rumor around town was that he was doing better, now.

“The crazy red-haired one,” the stoner answered, and she guessed a rumor was all it had been. “They call him Gay Jesus now, he blew up a van and everything.”

“Ten seventy-five,” she told him, not commenting any more on the topic. It wasn’t her business.

But as the stranger walked out the door, leaving her to her magazine again, she considered sending some sort of basket to the Gallagher house. For old time’s sake.

She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice the bell over the door ring a second time as someone else hurried out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Iggy Milkovich muttered to himself as he rushed off down the street away from the Kash’N’Grab, forgetting to even steal anything in his hurry.

Ian fucking Gallagher. Gay fucking Jesus. How had nobody around him seen that coming?

Iggy remembered when Ian was living with them, before he went crazy the first time. Or while he went crazy the first time? Who fucking knew, that kid was always off the rails if he thought taking up with Iggy’s kid brother right under Terry’s nose was a good fucking idea.

But there was that one time, when things were mostly still going good, when he remembered hearing Mickey talk to his boy about crashing some funeral. A funeral for a fairy soldier that Ian knew when he was going by his brother’s name out at bootcamp. They’d come home from that thing with Ian practically vibrating, bouncing off the walls with fury at the protest they had wandered into, and he had seen the way it made Mickey freak out.

Mickey was in Mexico now. Iggy knew that. Everybody fucking knew that, even if they pretended they didn’t. And it was a bad fucking idea for him to find out about this, for so many reasons.

But Iggy couldn’t do that to his brother. He couldn’t hide something like this. And if Mickey found out some other way, from someone else…well. There was no saying what stupid shit that fucker might do.

So when he got home, he hit the bong to calm his racing heart. Then he picked up the phone, and dialed a number he wasn’t supposed to know.

“Yeah, thanks Ig,” Mickey said into his burner phone. “I already knew.”

His partner for the day, some new cartel wannabe that got paired up with the Gringo to see how he managed the streets, gave him a weird look as he shoved the phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“Who was that?” the burly man asked, voice rough, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Your girlfriend,” he answered dryly. “Wanted to know if I had dropped your ass in the grave yet so we can go fuck in peace.”

The idiot looked like he actually believed it, and Mickey snorted.

“A fuckin’ contact, okay?” he revealed. “And none of your fuckin’ business ‘til you manage to climb the ladder past ‘basic bitch errand boy’, so get the shit and let’s get movin’.”

At least the moron followed instructions.

Mickey wiped a hand over his face while the other man’s back was turned, gathering himself. It was confirmed, then. First by those weird-ass rainbow shirts, and now by Iggy, who wouldn’t lie to him about something like that. Ian Gallagher had gotten himself in trouble, and Mickey wasn’t there to save him this time.

He sighed as his partner came back with the rest of the goods, and they set off to a new position on the next corner.

One way or another, it looked like Mickey Milkovich was going back to Chicago.

[pedros-mustache]

convenience

summary: he was within arm’s reach. that’s all.

warnings: suggestions of harassment, alcohol consumption, language, innuendo

a/n: no thoughts, frankie morales and his broad shoulders only. poorly edited so forgive any mistakes you find. i’ll go back and fix soon.

you rarely come to the bar alone. tonight is an anomaly.

grabbing drinks after a long work week is more enjoyable with friends by your side, and you frequent this particular watering hole what feels like every friday but can’t be more than twice a month. life is busy for you and what friends remain from your college days. babies and partners and jobs—it keeps everyone running to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. (for you, of course, it’s just the job that’s got you strung out. no husband, no babies. that shouldn’t matter, but sometimes it does.) still, despite hectic schedules, there’s a standing date a few times a month: friday, eight o’clock, the booth with the cracked-plastic seat coverings in the far right corner.

you like the noisy atmosphere of this place, and it’s easy to lose a few hours while gossiping over cheap margaritas, a whitney houston song thumping over the tinny loudspeakers. the air smells like cigarette smoke—that’s your only qualm—but the drinks are cheap, the food is passable, and it’s a chance to let loose and really enjoy yourself after a five days of business boredom. 

of course, that’s what “the hot bird” is like most of the time. today is different. today is tuesday, it’s six-thirty, and you really shouldn’t be here alone.

you twirl the thin plastic straw around your drink and risk a glance over your shoulder. there’s a guy in your regular booth—red-faced with alcohol, tie loosened, dress shirt two sizes too big. you know he’s staring at you because you can feel his eyes on your back, your hips, your ass; he’s anything but discreet. his stare hurts like a healing sunburn: itchy, uncomfortable, hard to ignore. even from across the bar, his focus is unyielding, and you doubt he’s one to be easily dissuaded, not with the rabble-rousing friends at his booth, jostling drinks and shoulders alike. you imagine he’s biding his time, waiting for you to feel comfortable so he can strike. which is exactly what you need after being passed up for promotion (again): a drunk asshole bent on making your shitty day worse just for the hell of it.

the bartender—josh—says your name and sets a cocktail down on the counter in front of you. “here,” he says. he jerks his chin forward, indicating the back of the room. “it’s from the guy in the back.”

“oh god.” you resist the urge to look over your shoulder again. the muscles in your neck twitch, scream at you to turn and appraise the self-satisfied smirk on this guy’s face, but you hold still. you are nothing if not resolute in your determination to mind your on business, wallow in self pity, and get home without much of a fuss. “what the fuck is this thing?”

josh cringes. “it’s a b-52, our least popular drink.”

“it looks like spilled motor oil and congealed grease had a baby.”

to your right, in the barstool two over from yours, there’s a snort of amusement. your eyes snap to the side, but don’t register the other patron before josh is tapping your wrist. you hold your breath, stomach clenching at the conciliatory look on his face.

“don’t look now. i think he’s coming over.”

“of course he is,” you mutter, dropping your forehead to your palm. fuck, you really do not want to cry right now, but tears prick the corners of your eyes anyway. traitorous bastards. it’s been a long day, and you aren’t sure you have the mental fortitude to tactfully tell some guy to piss off without causing a scene or bursting into a blubbering mess.

“i can tell him—”

a smooth, unflustered voice cuts josh off mid-sentence. “no, let me.” 

a half-filled pint of beer and a plastic basket of fries slide across the counter, and then a man, shoulders broad and trucker cap pulled low, drops to the stool beside you. you gape at him, jaw hanging. the guy from two stools over—eavesdropper.

“unless,” he continues. “you want to tell him to fuck off yourself. i’m sure you can—you look like a capable woman—but i know men and sometimes...” he trails off, but you catch his drift well enough. you know men too, and the men who frequent this bar are often of the seedier variety.

except maybe not this guy... he seems nice enough, willing to lend a hand, and after the day you’ve had, you’ll take any help you can get. plus he’s easy on the eye, and it’s been awhile since anyone with such a handsome face paid you any mind.

you twist slightly in your stool, turning your body to face him. you open your mouth to offer your name, but he beats you to it, sliding his hand over the low, curved back of your stool. his presence—so masculine yet so gentle—crowds you, and you fight the urge to suck in a sharp breath. mouth hovering over your ear, he lowers his voice, and his opposite hand, long fingers splayed outwards, settles on the counter. you’re boxed in, an arm on either side of your body, but, strangely, it feels... good, safe even.

“i’m frankie,” he says. “just follow my lead, and we’ll both be out of your hair in no time.”

you turn your face to meet frankie’s eyes. he’s so near you can feel his breath on your cheeks, could kiss his plush lips if you dared. his smile, small but encouraging, eases the clench in your stomach. your gaze drifts from his warm, brown eyes to the thumb-sized spot on his chin absent the fine layer of scruff otherwise covering his jaw. god, he’s handsome.

“uh—excuse me? i couldn’t help but notice you ignored the drink i sent over.” the man from the back of the room leans against the counter, his gaze tight on your face, elbows poised casually on the bar. his voice belies none of the uncertainty he should probably feel when confronted with your obvious disinterest and frankie’s breadth. “picked my favorite for a sweet thing like you.”

gritting your teeth, you turn your head. “thanks, but i don’t think—” your resolve wavers when the man’s fat lips spread into a grin. shit, he likes this doesn’t he—how uncomfortable you are? he reminds you of richard, the guy who got the promotion you deserve: smarmy and entirely too good at weaseling. your stomach sours.

“you can’t turn me down until you at least take a sip of the thing.” reaching over his chest, the man picks up the cocktail. the three distinct layers jostle in the small shot glass.

perhaps he sees the fine sheen of tears that rush to your eyes or perhaps it’s just to make a point, but frankie’s hand drops to your thigh. the warmth of his palm filters through the mesh of your tights. without thinking, you twine your fingers through his and squeeze. 

“she said no, man.” 

for the first time, your would-be-suitor’s stare slides to focus on frankie. he arches a thin eyebrow. there’s no mistaking the way his chest inflates as frankie straightens his spine. “yeah? and who are you?”

frankie speaks without hesitation. “her boyfriend.” 

the man huffs, incredulous. “well, you didn’t claim her before now so i’m just taking my shot. free pick, ya know? first come first serve.”

frankie slides from the stool to standing. he’s near the same height as the other man, but there’s something about the clench in his jaw and the way his fingers tighten around yours and the way he moves to grip your shoulder than has you leaning into him despite the anger rolling off him in sharp waves. your shoulder pushes against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, and you hold your breath.

“say that again and i’ll crack your skull open on the counter.”

the man blinks, stunned, then laughs. it’s a harsh, nervous bark. his eyes flit to the back of the room then return to frankie. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. what are you? some macho man?” 

“no—retired special forces. i can and i will make your life a living hell if you don’t crawl back into the hole you came from. leave my lady alone.”

“shit.” the man shakes his head before tossing the rejected cocktail down his throat with a cringe. “ain’t fucking worth it anyway.” he slams the glass down on the counter and, heeding frankie’s advice, returns to sulk in the back booth, tail tucked between his legs.

frankie waits until the asshole is sat snug in his booth before returning to his stool. he pops a now-cold fry in his mouth then tags a long swig of his beer. you watch him and decide you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in your entire life. 

“thank you,” you breathe. “i—fuck, i didn’t realize you’d be so... intimidating.” 

frankie shrugs, eats another fry. he avoids your eye. “hate to see you treated like that. least i can do.” 

you hum in approval, tracing the curve of his nose with your gaze. “i got passed up for a promotion today,” you offer. “put me in a real tailspin. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week.”

fry dangling between his pointer finger and thumb, frankie finally returns his eyes to yours. “i’m sorry to hear that. if it makes you feel any better, i got stood up. i don’t normally go out in the middle of the week either.”

“guess we’re just a couple of losers then.” when frankie’s eyebrow lifts, you visibly cringe. you grab his forearm and squeeze your eyes shut. “no, wait—that’s not what i meant. i meant that... in the grand scheme of things, we aren’t... i mean...” squinting, you risk a peek at him. “shit, i’m sorry.”

after a moment, frankie smiles—and your heart leaps to your throat. he motions to josh at the other end of the bar. “what drink do you like?” he asks. “we can make it a real date, if you want? you know, to keep up appearances.” 

“a real date?”

he nods. “yeah. i’m not big on fate and shit like that, but... well, maybe i’m big on fate tonight.” his eyes roam your face, and you wonder if he’s drinking you in, memorizing your features. unlike before, his stare is kind, appreciative, reverent. your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you don’t look away.

the corner of your mouth pulls into a grin. “okay.” you smile at josh when he appears. “i like mojitos.” 

“really?” at your nod, frankie’s smile widens. “me too.” 

you reach for a fry in his basket. “must be fate then,” you say with a shrug.

“yeah.” his hand falls to your thigh again, squeezing the flesh around your knee. you look from his hand to his face, and anything you once thought shitty about the day turns rosy with possibility. “must be fate.”

.

.

.

taglist:

@ezramando @frannyzooey @spvce-cowboy @writings-of-a-hufflepuff @sofsoftheloaf @salome-c @aphr0d1te5 @anu-simps @softermina @spideysimpossiblegirl @mummifymecaptain @sleep-tight1 @thewayofthemandalorian @greeneyedblondie44 @darthpapi @salome-c @just-another-fangirl-22 @stevie75

if your handle is crossed out, tumblr would not let me tag your blog.