#please come talk to me about this au

[alfryco]

There's Beasts and Then There's Prey

summary: Dave's about to find out that if you fuck with one of the Dogs then you fuck with the whole pack. word count: 2,569

Finding a bar in this city is like trying to get a ticket while driving on the Los Santos Freeway. Easy.

The tricky part is finding a bar that has more than one good light bulb in the whole joint and that doesn't smell too much like stale beer and piss.

Though they all call Los Santos their home, and have done so for numerous years, Michael's the most familiar with the city and its many creature comforts. He was the one to originally find their headquarters in an abandoned dog shelter and he was the one to find this bar a few months ago. It was one of the bars that had more of a relaxed air to it, more fitting for shooting the shit than the energized air of a club or the darker, uneasy atmosphere of one of the seedier bars they frequented to discuss business.

For about an hour the four of them trade talk over a few drinks before taking their conversation to the nearby vacant pool table.

A few rounds in and a guy that Joe can't remember the name of; Dave? Dan? Donny maybe? joins them. He states that he’s a decent player and he doesn’t have many people to call friends in the city at the moment. Dan seems chill enough, he’s not triggering any alarm bells in their heads, looks to be just some middle-aged dude out on the town for the night.

The pack has no problem playing nice with others, as long as they don’t start any shit with them.

They joke about the word ‘pack’, tossing it around flippantly and saying it's just used to follow their gimmick, but even though Joe has only been in with the Mad Dogs crew for a year now he really does feel like that’s what this group is. A pack. In all of his criminal history he's never had anyone he's trusted to have his back more than the three men surrounding the pool table.

Michael, their muscle and lead (read only) demolitions expert, tosses back the last of his beer before lining up his cue.

“This is the one boys, can feel it in my bones,” Michael says, all confidence in the stance he takes on.

He sends the cue ball rolling and breaks apart the rack of striped and solid colored balls, the clack of them hitting each other filling the air of their tucked away corner. The pool balls scatter across the green felt of the pool table, dispersed by the momentum of the cue ball. Although Michael sends them all rolling, not a single one makes it into one of the pockets bordering the table.

“Fuck,” Michael mutters under his breath.

“Not bad, not bad, but let me show you how it's really done,” Trevor says cheekily. The frontman and leader of their crew drapes his body over the pool table before smoothly lining up with his stick in a fluid motion. He takes a few seconds to relax before sending the cue ball in a way that gets two stripes to roll into the corner of the table, dropping into the pocket below one after the other. He ends up knocking two more balls into their pockets before he finally misses a shot, ending his turn.

“Show off,” Michael comments with a grin. Trevor just shrugs his shoulders with a smirk on his face that gets a chuckle out of Alfredo.

Alfredo has chosen to opt out of the game this time, which Joe counts as a win in itself seeing as their marksman is entirely too steady when it comes to his hands and his aim. Don’t get him wrong, Joe’s grateful for it when it comes to keeping people off their backs in a deal or keeping a steady eye on them from above, but he absolutely rinsed the rest of them in the last round they played. Joe's $100 bill is currently sitting comfy in the pocket of Fredo's jeans and he doubts he'll be getting that back. Should’ve known better, he should've thrown in a $20 instead.

Donny laughs easily at Trevor's coy gesture. “Good one, man.”

“So, you from around here Dave?” Michael asks as the other man lines up his shot.

Dave. So that's his name.

A solid blue ball rolls and banks off of the left side of the table before sinking into a corner pocket.

“Actually I’m from out of state. Just moved down here with the wife a couple weeks ago,” Dave replies.

“Oh yeah? What - you just saw all the shit that happens here on the news and decided to move here?” Michael asks jokingly.

Dave laughs in response and goes on to explain how they ended up moving here because of a transfer in his wife’s location for her job.

“I mean, it’s good that she got a promotion and all, we need the money, but I feel like she’s holding it over my head now. I’m the one who has to pick up the kids and cook dinner and all the shit she should be doing. And- and- she makes more money than me now. What the hell is up with that?”

Joe cuts his eyes towards Dave, noticing the eyebrows that Michael raises behind him as the man leans over the table to make his next shot.

Read the rest on AO3!

[maluspumilaa]

kept having thoughts about this post i made so heres sketches for the southerngothic farcille i have vaguely floating around in my mind

+ laudna in her monstery form

[kris-sona]

bungou stray cats (ft skk)

and lore under the cut i’ve been thinking about them…

dazai

-shadowclan born and raised

-disappeared and showed up with thunderclan at the next gathering rip chuuya

-keeps raiding the medicine den (yosano has banned him to no success)

chuuya!

-former kittypet, still has the collar

-got recruited to shadowclan (similar to firestar’s situation)

-in line to be deputy probably

-trained together while they were apprentices, double black rumors still spread at gatherings and etc

-their names just called to me i swear yarrow and bark just appeared in my mind and wouldn’t go away

-art is during their apprentice era where they were always all over each other (squabbling and cuddling and etc) before dazai left

[myokk]

Sebastian had a few days leave from duty so he visited Eloise😇😇

[lotsadeer]

Oh ashes, ashes, dust to dust The devil's after both of us Ooh, lay my curses out to rest Make a mercy out of me

Commission for @strangeharpy of our blorbos whomst we go feral over, specifically for the Werewolf Ren au. I had so much fun with this and I hope that folks can find all the fun symbolism I accidentally and purposefully put into this image.

ID in alt text

[r0swells]

erm so I read the book of bill

I wanted to explore what happened between Bill destroying his dimension and becoming the chaotic demon he was with the Henchmaniacs. I liked the idea that it was The Axolotl that saved him and lead to him to becoming the Bill we know today (more thoughts under the cut)

we're told a couple of times that Bill is kinda the opposite of The Axolotl, so I like to believe that it leans more good than just neutral. So, even though they knows Bill destroyed his home dimension, it tries to comfort him and tell him he did nothing wrong. This in turn leads to Bill's whole mentality later on (the whole "blames the arson for the fire" thing)

I like this because it would explain why The Axolotl keeps trying to redeem Bill, it feels responsible for Bill since they're the one who saved him initially

maybe this is also how Bill became a dream demon? he seems at least somewhat mortal in Euclidia (but he did manage to flip the whole thing so idk how mortal that is) so maybe being around a divine salamander does that to you

Now I have no idea why they fell out of touch (thats one way to describe it) but maybe it's because of their different mentalities where The Axolotl wants no change and Bill does? leading to Bill leaving? idk

I just think them having been friends creates a lot of angst potential, they were besties your honor

also I think The Axolotl would have given him the bow tie :]

[sillyangstyimp]

Demons have possessed me and the voices urged me to make a crossover au between my two favorite indie games at the moment, Hyper Light Drifter and Cave Story. Unable to stop them, and having not much else to do this summer, behold doodles that probably no one else but me will particularly care for.

Despite being from pretty different games, the two actually have a lot more in common than some might think. Also I think they would be good buds. Pals, even. They would sit together in a comfortable silence.

[benevolenterrancy]

I am both so sorry and so delighted to have given you OHSHC/TGCF brain worms it’s literally the best thing ever though!!!

It is seriously haunting me at the moment, I can't stop finding the premise absolutely hilarious... here, have some Three Tumours

au notes:

Ling Wen doesn't like wearing dresses and uses the boys' uniform instead. For this reason she's often mistaken for a boy which drives her nuts. She's been accused of doing this for clout or preferential treatment.

Ling Wen is the president of the Computer Sciences Club and manages the school's monstrous group chat server. It is hell. She secretly can't wait to graduate because everyone else refuses to learn how to run it and she knows it'll go down in the flames the second she's out the door

Pei Ming is a certified Jock™ and tries to convince his friends to join him on a sports team -- any sports team! -- every year. Hasn't happened yet but he's persistent

(Pei Ming eventually learns that Xie Lian is a Secret Jock and begins a dedicated campaign to pilfer him from the Host Club; Hua Cheng is Not Fucking Amused)

Shi Wudu is easily the richest student in this school of rich kids and is not above throwing his wealth around to get what he wants. This earns him the less than affection nickname of "Tyrant"

He Xuan applied for this school and got through its entrance exams specifically to ruin Shi Wudu's life. No one knows this (or why he's so set on it) except Hua Cheng who thinks it's hilarious

There's a sign outside the compsci club door that says "Palace of Ling Wen". No matter how often she takes this down, one of her compsci minions will put up another of increasingly elaborate design (everyone at this school has money to burn and time to kill)

[smeddiemunson]

I know this has been done to death now but Eddie, Steve, Chrissy and Robin all in a band together.

Eddie plays lead guitar obviously. Chrissy is the singer and plays a little rhythm guitar. Robin plays the bass and Steve is the drummer. They all write songs but it’s mainly Eddie and Robin on the music and Steve and Chrissy on the lyrics. They share all the royalties equally.

Chrissy is the perfect front woman for the band, she’s cute and charming and not quite as abrasive as Eddie or Robin tend to be when asked the more rude questions. She has patch work tattoos that stand out from her pale skin. While her guitar is featured on every song on the recorded version, when she’s playing live she’d much rather just have a microphone and the ability to dance around and have fun with her friends.

Steve never talks in interviews. He’s happy to sit back and let his friends talk about what they’re passionate about. Eddie and Robin know so much about the technical side of music and will go on and on about it for hours, and Chrissy just loves performing. When Steve does speak it’s to wax poetic about his love for everyone else in the band. He develops a little bit of a cult following and doesn’t really know how to handle the outpouring of love from the fans; he doesn’t want to let it go to his head like popularity did in high school. But he knows Robin would never let that happen.

Eddie was made to perform. He was going to anyway, with corroded coffin or otherwise. But Robin and Chrissy came to him with the idea and he can’t say no to his favourite girls. He’s a little more what people expect from their band’s sound. He looks like he would be the creator behind heavy guitar riffs and aggressive drums. No one really expects him to be as fun as he is, always joking around on stage and always hanging out by the stage door just a bit longer than his band mates to talk to the fans that stayed.

Robin looks effortlessly cool. She’s still neurotic as hell and worries a lot but as soon as her bass is in her hand she goes to a different place. They all like to joke about who has the most fans, but it’s Robin by a mile. She oozes sex appeal and mystery while she’s on stage, and she’s such a dork off it that people can’t help but be endeared. There’s even a Twitter account dedicated to finding the clothes she wears because she has the best style in the band and is definitely responsible for making sure they’re cohesive. She’s the glue that keeps everyone together.

When they win their first Grammy for Best New Artist, Robin gives an impassioned speech about finding your people, always being yourself and doing what you love. She shares the message for anyone that’s struggling that it does get better and she’s proof of that, all four of them are proof of that. They preform at pride every year and regularly do stuff for queer charities. Each piece of their merch has a different charity that a percentage of the proceeds go to. The badge set donates to helping homeless teens and the key ring donates to an eating disorder charity.

Their shows are Gay™️. Someone from the crowd will throw a pride flag on stage every show without fail and Chrissy will dance around the stage with it, wrap it around her shoulders and make sure everyone hears her when she sings about wanting to fuck hot girls.

She dances with Robin while she sings and Robin gets on her knees while she’s playing and looks like she absolutely worships Chrissy (which she does) and the only thing stopping her from getting her head under Chrissy’s tiny skirt right then and there is the looming threat of indecent exposure charge. But she doesn’t wait long to satiate her need when they get back onto the tour bus after the show and meet and greats are done.

Eddie is so active on stage. He really gets into the music, so it’s no surprise that he has to take his shirt off after the first song. He always drapes it around Steve’s shoulders and pinches his cheeks in between his fingers so Steve’s lips pucker and he can kiss him. Steve blushes bright red but goes straight into the opening of the next song.

Steve and Eddie like to tease one another. Everything they do on stage is to entice each other. Steve being on the drums means he’s at the back of the stage but the band knows the fans are obsessed with him and make sure to have a camera on him at all times that feeds into a livestream that hangs over the stage. Sometimes Eddie will get distracted between songs when he’s supposed to be bantering with Chrissy because Steve’s getting too hot and just poured a whole bottle of water over his head to cool him down, and all he can think about is licking up every droplet of water dripping from his hair onto the slope of his neck.

They like to change up the set list a lot so the fans are always surprised by what they get to hear. It’s the best part of touring when they hear the screams when a favourite is played.

There’s one song that Eddie and Steve wrote together that’s only played once a tour. Those shows get an adult content warning. Because they can’t help themselves. They wrote it in bed after spending all day wrapped up in one another, taking turns to write notes or lyrics on each others skin. When they finish, Eddie gently places his guitar on a stand and climbs up the dais the drums are on so he can straddle Steve’s legs, wait for him to open his mouth so he can spit in it then lick it up from his tongue, and filthily make out with him to the sounds of their fans screaming. It’s all caught on Steve Cam.

At all times, Steve and Eddie, and Robin and Chrissy are seconds away from fucking on stage. All the endorphins and energy just get to them.

They’ve had multiple articles published about them being vulgar, degenerate etc etc by religious groups. There was even a short time where a petition for them to be banned from performing went around. But that only seemed to get more people to check them out.

They put out a Rumours style record and the fans get so worried that their favourite band is breaking up, but actually no they were all arguing about stupid stuff and channeling their feelings into music. They’ll never break up, they’ve been through too much together.

They take a break after their fourth album in as many years. They’re still making music, always making music, but they need some time just for them. Robin and Chrissy road trip around Europe so Robin can flex her language skills and Chrissy can take Robin to every cool historical monument she’s ever wanted to see. They try new foods and every local beer they can get their hands on, document it all on their instagrams. Chrissy’s pictures are super artful and captioned with really deep thoughts, how grateful she is to be alive and thriving. (Their good friend and journalist Nancy Wheeler wrote an interview where Chrissy was able to speak candidly about her mental health troubles, eating disorder and how finding music and love helped her, continues to help her get through it). Robin’s pictures are always of Chrissy, complete candid, laughing or pointing at something with a caption in the local language saying how in love she is or how beautiful Chrissy is.

Eddie and Steve spend all their time in the fishing cabin Eddie got for Wayne with their first big paycheque. They don’t need to see anywhere else, they just want the quiet. They spend their mornings cooking together and their afternoons writing songs or reading books. In the evening they’ll dress up fancy and have candlelit dates inside the house, speak softly and tell each other how much they love each other.

Fans speculate what Eddie and Steve are doing. They haven’t been seen since the last show, haven’t posted anything on Instagram, and there are rumours that Eddie’s been checked into rehab (his drug use is wildly over reported. He smokes a joint after a show and nothing else. He’d seen what meth did to his parents and he wants no part of it, no matter how “rock ‘n’ roll” it may be.)

It’s not until Chrissy and Robin get back to the states that Eddie and Steve come out of hiding. Robin posts a video of them doing karaoke together, clearly a well practice routine where they do ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ by Elton John and Kiki Dee. And after the freak out by the fans over Eddie knowing a song like that, how in love they are, and how glad everyone is to know that Steve and Eddie are alive and apparently thriving, the fans notice something.

Steve’s wearing a ring, which is strange because Steve never wears rings. The only piece of jewellery Steve has ever worn is a gold chain with a guitar pick hanging off it that matches a silver chain around Eddie’s neck.

Steve waits three weeks after that video to post on Instagram (which he never does) to tell everyone that he and Eddie got married the day Robin took that video. It was a small ceremony, just their friends and family in attendance. Claudia Henderson (a surrogate mother to both of them) officiated. He posts a picture of his and Eddie’s hands entwined, Eddie still has rings on every finger but the single band on his left ring finger matches the one on Steve’s exactly. Steve has an extra ring under his wedding band, something simple and almost cheap looking. It’s not until years later that it’s revealed that Eddie bought the ring three months after he and Steve started dating; way before they had internationally famous band money to spend.

The other pictures that come out were all taken by Jonathan, another close family friend who is usually seen doing pictures for art houses in New York, or occasionally photo reporting for his wife because no one else is able to capture her vision the way he does.

Steve and Robin are pictured crying as they slow dance, captioned ‘father-son dance’. Eddie is captured crying at what looks like a speech from Chrissy. Robin stands up for Steve and Chrissy stands up for Eddie, but Eddie also has his old band mates with him (who still fly the corroded coffin flag and let him record the guitar on their albums) and Steve has a group of 20-somethings stand up for him that someone points out are all people who are making waves in various scientific endeavours, and how the hell does Steve know them?

They come back for their fifth album bigger and better than ever, and their fans don’t even know why they worried. There’s clearly nothing in this world that the four of them would rather do.

[onyxsboxes]

Werewolf Gale

I want to rant about werewolf Gale, so here some headcanons about him.

It's a mix of what I imagine him to look like in his wolf form (just with more grayish/blue eyes). Isn't he cute 🥰? Tall and slender, his coat is dirty white, a combination of sand, light gray and white. Depending on the season, the colors are more or less marked.

One winter, Bucky gave him a bath. After drying off, Gale looked like a fluffy cloud with paws. Brady couldn't stop laughing for 10 minutes straight at the sight. While Gale made a cat-like face, “I know you're laughing at me, stop it” (which did nothing to help the others to calm down). Fortunately, after a little bit of sweet talking from Bucky, Wolf Gale was back to being a happy, cuddly puppy.

Gale's favorite food (apart from meat) is apples. He could eat them all day long. It's his favorite food, especially when he's not feeling well. Buck always carries one with himand he gifts them to his packmates randomly. After arriving in England, he tried Granny Smith apples in London, and they've been his favorite ever since.

In his wolf form, Gale communicates mainly through his body posture: ears, tails, eyebrows, eyes, fur on his back and so on. When he uses his voice, it's mainly in the form of growls, whines, yelps and whimpers. Like a real wolf, he rarely barks.

Gale, in all his forms, loves heights, he feels good there, closer to the sky.

He has scars: some date back to his childhood, the bite, and serious injuries he's accumulated over the years. Most of them are usually hidden under his clothes.

He hates it when people touch him without his consent.

Pubs are sometimes too crowded for him, with all the noise and smells.

Underneath his air of top pilot and major, he's an awkward little nerd.

Gale can go from intimidating big bad wolf to sweet puppy in a second if he sees Bucky. Kidd doesn't know if it's more impressive when he's in human or wolf form.

[crossbackpoke-check]

the deweys photos are from this video: https://youtu.be/5xTwJho44ao?si=bPw8MZZ327lCogVZ aren’t they just everything

kissing you and the minnesota wild official media team (with consent) full on the mouth, THANK YOU THIS VIDEO IS EVERYTHING 🥰🥰 i have seen pieces of it before i think (connor petting a shark 🥹) but the entire video start to finish is such a delight, 10/10 would recommend

[noivoom]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Sun and Moon Show (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Sun (Five Nights at Freddy's), Moon (Five Nights at Freddy's), Lunar (Sun and Moon Show), Earth (Sun and Moon Show), Servant Sun (Sun and Moon Show), Eclipse (Sun and Moon Show), Montgomery Gator (Five Nights at Freddy's), Lord Eclipse - Character Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Tags Are Hard, Anxiety, Trauma, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Lunar is a a gremlin, Therapy, No Beta We Die Like New Moon's Character Development, I'm so nervous guys, Sun Has Magic, Protective Moon (Five Nights At Freddy's), Brotherly Love, formatting on ao3 is a nightmare, Sun gets to be lowkey BAMF, as a treat, Implied/Referenced Abuse Summary:

Unable to resurrect his dying dimension, Lord Eclipse sets his sights on conquering another to rebuild his kingdom, sending his Servant Sun as a spy in the hopes that he can locate the Newton Star for the Lord to eventually swoop in and take over unchallenged. Eager to please his Lord the Servant accepts the task, working to gain the trust of the resident celestial family and give his Lord the information he needs. A nerve-wracking and difficult task, but anything for his Lord, right?

He’ll endure the terror of a new world. He’ll risk whatever cruelties they might inflict upon him. He’ll get to know them, their strengths and weaknesses, their… their hobbies, their lives. Talk to them about his issues. Play games with them. Become… part of their family.

He knows he shouldn’t get attached. He just can’t help it.

Lord Eclipse always did say he was too empathetic for his own good.

[kyannnite]

down once more ; god give me courage to show you… you are not alone

returning from yet another weeks-long tumblr absence with scraps from a wangxian phantom of the opera au… more to come later

[sesamestreep]

Crozier/Fitzjames, fake amnesia

from this list of reverse tropes for fic writers. i told @firstelevens I wasn’t sure I had it in me to write fic for these two and then I went and washed my hair and while I did that, this idea popped into my head fully formed and I was bound by honor to write it down. Also it’s the first thing my brain has wanted to write in like two months, so I took that as a good sign?? Anyway, here’s…something. Kind of a Parks and Rec AU?? but also not in any serious way? It’s like…what if these dudes from The Terror worked in local government or whatever… don’t worry about logistics, I mostly wanted to write Blanky and Crozier being best friends and also talk about sobriety feelings a bunch. AND THEN I DID. only fits the prompt if you squint super hard but, regardless, please enjoy… on ao3 because why not

“So, you feel ready to go back to work tomorrow?”

Francis removes his gaze with considerable effort from the perfect red orb that is the sun sinking steadily under the horizon line across the lake and shifts it reluctantly back to Tom, who’s sitting back in his chair with his booted foot propped up on a milk crate that he got from God knows where. The sight of the boot that encases the lower half of his left leg does push a wave of guilty bile up the back of his throat but he’s already been told that if he apologizes for causing Tom to have need of it one more time, he’ll be drowned in the aforementioned lake, so he resists. Tom knows Francis is sorry about what happened and he’s chosen to forgive him, even if Francis still thinks it’s a stupid choice, second only to him befriending Francis in the first place all those years ago. Francis doesn’t know where he himself would have ended up if that hadn’t happened, though, so it all comes out in the wash he supposes.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Francis says, tracing a hairline fracture in his coffee mug with his thumbnail just for something to do. “If I take any more time off, I’ll just never go back, so it’s now or never, really.”

“Attaboy,” Tom says before taking a long, thoughtful drink from his own mug. Out of solidarity, or maybe sensitivity, he hadn’t had anything to drink tonight either, despite Francis’s assurances that it wouldn’t bother him and might even be a good idea, just for him to get used to it. It’s not like he could reasonably expect to go the rest of his life without ever seeing alcohol again. He’d seen four different ads for light beer alone this afternoon while watching reruns of ‘Bones’ on the couch and imagining every possible way his first day back in the office after rehab could go wrong and that hadn’t sent him into a tailspin, so he’d probably survive watching his best friend drink in his presence. Still, Tom had chosen to just drink decaf coffee with him after dinner like the ancient relics they are, because he is, without a doubt, the best person Francis has ever known. “You talk to anybody about it? I mean, besides me…”

“What, you mean like a therapist? Of course. I’ve got, what, six of them now, for Christ’s sake!”

“No, I mean, from the office. Have you talked to anyone about coming back?”

“Well, John, obviously.”

“I suppose you’d have to, yeah,” Tom says, running a ponderous hand over his chin. “Anything interesting from that quarter?”

“Just about what you’d expect,” Francis says, trying to be generous. John had been kind enough to let him keep his job, after all, despite how bad things got in the end, but Francis’s issues with the man remain, even with his newfound sobriety. Francis had sent him a long, downright obsequious email apologizing for the damage he’d done with his drunken theatrics both over the years and in the very recent past and explained in detail all the ways he was going to do better in the future, while expressing gratitude for the unprecedented amount of grace everyone, but particularly John, had shown him during this stressful time. It was, in no uncertain terms, the most embarrassing thing Francis has ever had to do, and he has, in his life, proposed to the same woman three separate times with absolutely no success, so it’s not like he’s lacking in options for that top spot.

John is, thankfully, the sort of man who likes to breeze past unpleasantness wherever he can and is also, more importantly, a deeply entrenched bureaucrat who’d just as soon do no work as do even a little work and therefore could not be bothered to hire a replacement for Francis. In fact, if he had to guess, John was probably clever enough to frame it as some sort of protection against a discrimination lawsuit somewhere down the line, despite the fact that several things Francis did at the staff Christmas party right before hitting rock bottom were definitely fireable offenses. John’s unflappable dedication to the status quo has worked in Francis’s favor for once, and while he certainly doesn’t deserve the break, he’s going to take it where he can get it on the off chance it never happens again.

“And the staff? Your team, I mean.”

“I got coffee with a few of them individually, just to clear the air and apologize, so that if anyone wanted to take a swing at me, they could do it outside of work,” Francis says, scuffing his shoe against the porch.

“Well, that’s considerate of you. Any of them try it?”

“No. The cowards,” Francis scoffs, which makes Tom laugh. “Jopson and Edward both seemed like they might be sick at the prospect of anyone in charge actually deigning to apologize to them, which was…humbling, to say the least. Then I got an extremely nervous monologue from Harry about the history and relative efficacy of Alcoholics Anonymous, which I think was his way of saying we’re square. And Silna told me if I tried to meet up with her outside of work hours again, she’d block my number and quit without notice, so...”

“She’s got the right of it,” Tom says, with a crooked grin.

“Yeah, that was my favorite of the lot,” Francis replies. “We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow and we’ll get someone in from HR so everyone can talk about feelings, God help us, but I think it might be okay. Which I could not have predicted when all this started, but here we are.”

“I could have,” Tom says. “You’ve made plenty of mistakes, I grant you, but you’ve also done right by these people in a lot of ways. They’re not going to forget that in a hurry. They’re a loyal bunch.”

Francis nods, looking out over the water again. The pinks and golds of the sunset a few moments ago have already faded into purples and blues as night creeps in. The nocturnal chorus of frogs croaking and insects trilling is rising in the nearby woods. He’s already said his piece about how absurd it is that they’re sitting comfortably outside on the porch after dinner—with jackets on and a fire going, sure, but still—and it’s only the beginning of March. Tom doesn’t need to hear any more ranting about global warming right now; it’s no fair repayment of his generosity. What Francis really should do is head for home soon and let his friend have some peace and quiet. He could use some of that himself, but he somehow doubts that he’ll get much rest once he’s home for the evening. At least he can panic about tomorrow properly there, though, by himself.

“Speaking of throwing punches,” Tom says, carefully, after they’ve been quiet a moment, “have you spoken to James at all?”

Francis winces with what feels like his entire body. “I haven’t had the chance,” he says, as lightly as he can manage.

It isn’t precisely true. If he found the time to contact everyone else who’d been affected by his spectacular fall from grace during his leave of absence, he could have found the time to reach out to James too, but he hadn’t. The apology he owes James Fitzjames is too big for an email, which he’d, in a truly cowardly fashion, gotten away with for almost everyone else, and the presumption and humiliation of asking for any of his free time as he’d done with some of his subordinates was a bridge too far. Besides, if they’d met up at a coffee shop to talk things out, Francis has no doubt James would have ordered his drink with oat milk or stevia instead of sugar or mentioned a cleanse he was on and Francis would have rolled his eyes and said something awful and then he probably would have had to go to rehab all over again, which would have defeated the point. Francis has been told by outside observers—professionals in the field, for what it’s worth—that he’s making progress, but he’s even more sure that he’s still, at his core, a miserable old bastard. He’s just less miserable than he was before, by a small margin. Unfortunately, he’s not any less old, though. In fact, he’s older, but that’s beside the point.

“You’ll have to face him sooner or later,” Tom says, not quite gently but not as bullying as he could be either.

“I know,” Francis says, covering his face with his hands. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s entitled to an in-person apology, it’s James, surely.”

“After you punched him in front of everyone at the Christmas party and verbally berated him? Yeah, I think something more than a text message might be in order.”

“You accepted an apology text,” Francis says, scowling into his mug. “And I broke your leg. You needed surgery and everything. I don’t even think I broke James’s nose.”

“Only because your aim sucks when you’re wasted,” Tom replies, unbothered. “Gave him quite the shiner, though, if you want to compare wounds.”

Francis sighs. “I already said I’d talk to him. You have my word.”

“What am I? Your bloody father?”

“No, and I like you a great deal better for it.”

“Good, then what do I need your word for?”

“I was just trying to convey my sincerity.”

“I don’t doubt your sincerity, Francis. Never have. It’s everyone else you need to convince.”

“I don’t know what to say to James,” Francis says, into his hands. “I mean, with you at least, we’ve known each other for ages. We can bounce back from quite a lot, it turns out. James, he’s—I’ve never known how to talk to him in the first place. Now I’ve got to do it sober? I don’t know where to start.”

“How about, ‘James, I’m sorry for trying to knock your lights out with an audience present while I was drunk off my ass on the company dime’ to start?”

Francis closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, letting the shame wash over him like a wave and then, more importantly, letting it recede like waves do. He sighs loudly and shakes his head.

“You know, I’ve always regretted I wasn’t the sort of drunk who forgets what he does when he’s wasted. Feels like it might be easier, ultimately. Like, I could say, ‘oh, sorry for whatever I might have done to you, James. The trouble is I don’t remember any of it, but I’m sure it’s nothing I would have done sober, all the same.’”

“Feigning amnesia?” Tom barks, laughing and looking at him sideways. “What’s that? The thirteenth step?”

“Leave me alone,” Francis replies, waving him off but laughing himself despite his best efforts. “I’ve done a lot of owning up to things lately. Can’t I keep one petty grievance for myself?”

“You could probably get away with it, if you’d left it as a petty grievance rather than escalating to violence. And your resistance to dealing with James should tell you making amends there is your highest priority. Discomfort is a good thing here, a signal you’re heading in the right direction. If it were all easy, everyone would do it, you know.”

“That’s lovely, Tom. Will you be cross-stitching any of these aphorisms onto pillows to remind me to stay the course, or shall I just memorize them for when times get tough?”

“Fuck off, you dusty old prick,” Tom laughs. “Hey, what about this? ‘James, I’m ever so sorry for getting plastered and calling you out in front of everyone and then attempting to rearrange your pretty face with my fist! I do think some of the blame lies in you being so pretty and in me having some unresolved issues around my masculinity and my self-esteem, all of which you can blame on my waste of a father figure growing up, but in this case, I suppose I have to shoulder some of the responsibility for my actions myself. Forgive me?’”

“There’s no one else on earth who could get away with saying even half those things to me, you know,” Francis says, even as his blood doesn’t boil or even heat in the slightest hearing them. It rushes to his face instead, no doubt resulting in a fierce blush that the gathering darkness mercifully hides from view.

“I earned it the hard way, my friend,” Tom says, patting his boot.

“That you did,” Francis says, and rises from his seat. “I’d better be going, then. Much to do, after all: apologies to draft, laundry to fold, worst case scenarios to spin out.”

Tom gets up with effort, clunky and inelegant in his boot, but not so proud as to decline Francis’s hand when it’s offered. “I wasn’t trying to scare you off,” he says once he’s vertical.

“You didn’t. It’s like I said, I’ve a lot to do before the big day.”

Tom nods and, after a moment of deliberation, puts a hand on Francis’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, you know.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Francis replies, shifting away from the praise. “More of a bad man trying to be better.”

Tom gives him a long look at that and then shakes his head, smiling. “All that work on yourself and you still don’t get it,” he says, not unkindly. “What else do you think a good man is?”

Francis doesn’t know, but he spends the whole ride home and the rest of the night thinking about it all the same.

*

Francis’s plan of attack, such as it even exists, takes form more easily than he could have predicted. Once he starts thinking about how best to approach James at work and make amends on that front, he finds he knows a lot more about the man than he originally thought. A few years working together, however contentiously, has been enough to pick up on each other’s habits and quirks well enough that Francis can reasonably predict when he’ll be able to get a moment of James’s time without anyone else around. The fact that he can do this and yet never thought to do it before under any other circumstances is the cause of another wave of shame that passes less quickly than Francis would like.

Francis arrives at the City Planner’s office just before 8:30 in the morning with the certainty that he won’t run into John—the man has many flaws but his dedication to never showing up to work any earlier than he absolutely needs to is not one of them, in Francis’s opinion—but that he will, in all likelihood, find James already there and more than likely already working. He also arrives with the materials for a bribe, should that prove necessary.

He’s so worked up, going through everything he’s planning to say one last time in his mind before he actually sees James, that he doesn’t think to knock on the outer door, which is sitting half-open anyway, and just barges in instead. It’s not a great start, he realizes a second after it’s too late to do anything else, and it’s made even worse by the fact that James is there, as expected, and he’s only partially in his shirt, which is not so expected. Francis stops and gapes for a moment with all the grace of someone who’s been tased.

“God, sorry,” he says, and tries to step back, only to collide with the door jamb. “I should’ve—”

“Francis, it’s—good morning, I—this isn’t—I’m the—I’m sorry,” James says, managing to sound crisp and self-possessed even when he’s stammering his way through an apology. “I don’t normally…do this…in the office, I mean.”

“No, of course not,” Francis says, behaving like a teenager in a romantic comedy for some reason and averting his eyes, even though there’s nothing to see. James was in the process of buttoning his shirt when he came in, so it’s really the sight of his clavicle that’s made Francis so uncomfortable. Was he always this much of a ninny? Is that why he started drinking, to cover it up? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense now.

“I went for a run this morning and I neglected to pack a shirt with my work clothes, so I had to use the spare I keep in my desk for emergencies.”

The old Francis (of several weeks and easily a thousand group sessions ago) would have rolled his eyes at any number of things in that small explanation: running to work, keeping a spare shirt in one’s desk, referring to anything related to fashion as an ‘emergency’ and meaning it. Now, he nods thoughtfully and tries to think of it all as part and parcel of what he respects and admires about James: his dedication and planning, his ability to anticipate and address future challenges. The fact that he looks nice in blue. Whatever. It turns out it’s easier to do than he imagined it would be.

“I don’t think you have a habit of undressing in the office for fun, James,” Francis says, instead of any of those nice things. “Don’t worry.”

“Right,” James says, lightly, even as his shoulders remain tense. He does up the last few buttons and his clavicle disappears under the taut poplin fabric of his dress shirt. “Well, what can I do for you, Francis?”

Francis has heard—and, in turn, mocked—James on any number of occasions start conversations with a smooth, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’, which is not an expression Francis himself has been treated to in a long time and for good reason. He doesn’t know why he thinks of it now, except that he’d take even a sarcastic reference to the pleasure of his company (of which there is none and never has been for James in particular, he thinks) over the idea that James should do anything for him, at this point.

“You’re training, then?” Francis asks, skirting gracelessly around the question James actually posed. “For another one of the what-do-ya-call-em’s? Not a marathon. The thing you did last year…?”

“The Ironman,” James suggests, looking slightly pained. “It’s a triathlon.”

“Yeah, that sounds right. Another one of those?”

“God, no,” James replies, nose wrinkling slightly before he seems to catch himself doing it and intentionally blanks his expression. “I’m not likely to do another one of those. I already have my bragging rights, after all. Today’s run was just for health.”

“Oh, sure,” Francis says, tapping a fingertip nervously against the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. “I’m meant to be doing that now.”

“Running?” James asks, betraying some surprise, which is fair enough.

“Exercising. For my health. To keep me…”

“Fit?”

“Well, distracted,” Francis replies, with a shrug. “There seems to be some thought of it helping to keep me away from drink, though I’m not sure what the logic is there. But I’m meant to be thinking of something I’d enjoy, anyway.”

“Not running, then,” James says, brow crinkling like he’s giving the matter serious thought. James is a fixer by nature—and by profession, of course, being paid mostly to follow John around and make sure the grand promises that flow from his mouth actually happen somehow. He thrives with a problem to solve. If Francis were even marginally less stupid and less proud, he might have thought to come to James sooner. He’s nothing if not several very large problems wrapped in a trench coat. Or a wind breaker, in actuality. The point is, Francis could use all the fixing he can get his hands on.

“Not likely. Never enjoyed it, really. Hard on the ankles, I’ve found.”

“Yes, it can be quite stressful on the joints. You’ve got to take all sorts of precautions,” James says, in the tone he gets when he’s working his way up to a long treatise of some kind, but he stops abruptly and his face betrays that he’s seemingly caught himself. He clears his throat. “So, it’s not for everyone. I understand.”

“Yes, well, my sponsor was saying that I might try tennis or racquetball, but then I’d have to find a regular partner or group, and I’m not sure I have it in me.”

“There’s a club nearby, actually, and they could help you arrange—” James pauses and shakes his head, once again stopping himself from expounding on the different options available the way he normally would. It’s an uncharacteristic amount of restraint coming from James, who loves recommending things to other people almost as much as he loves the sound of his own voice. Francis sees some of his own handiwork in this new display of shame and feels the need to make amends even more keenly than before because of it. “Well, you can Google it, I imagine, and it would be faster than listening to me. It is, uh—it’s in Eagleton, however, so I suppose that won’t do.”

“No,” Francis replies, frowning. “Thanks all the same, though. I imagine I’ll end up doing water aerobics with the rest of the senior citizens at the community center and call it a day.”

“You’re not a—you’re barely fifty, Francis!”

“I’m fifty-two, actually.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I hope you have your affairs in order,” James gripes, as he messes with something entirely unnecessarily on his desk. Francis smiles at the strange comfort of annoying him, which should not be reassuring to him at all but he’s a messed up sort of fellow even on his best days. The smile grows when James clears his throat again and adds, like he can’t quite stop himself, “Swimming’s rather good for the joints, actually.”

“Swimming?” Francis asks.

“Yes, swimming. As in, laps…in a pool. Something else the community center offers, if you were interested. It’s solitary—meditative, even—and good exercise. In—that is, in case you were wondering.”

“If this is you trying to talk me into a triathlon, James—”

James sniffs, more performatively haughty than genuinely haughty, Francis suspects. “I’d never,” he says. “I was merely recommending an activity that you might enjoy more than water aerobics, and that might spare the elderly of our community from dealing your obvious personality disorder early in the morning, when those classes tend to be held.”

Francis, much to James’s surprise from the look on his face, laughs at that. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he says, while James continues to regard him like he’s wild animal exhibiting signs of rabies who’s suddenly appeared in his path, which is maybe a common occurrence in town, depending on who you ask. “Thank you.”

James nods, distracted. “Sure.”

“Well, I—I…listen, I didn’t come here to talk about exercise regimes, which I figure you could have guessed,” Francis says, in a rush, because anything less than a headlong dive into the subject they need to discuss will hurt much worse than just getting it over with, he suspects. “And I don’t want to presume anything about your life, but I also figure there’s a non-zero chance that you’re already familiar with the famous 12 step program, maybe just through cultural osmosis, and I don’t want to over explain any of it to you, but, well, there’s a pretty important part about identifying people you’ve wronged through your addiction and the resulting behavior and making direct amends to said try people and—”

“I’m familiar,” James interrupts, softly. “Not directly, of course, or, um, anything like that—I don’t want to detract—but—”

Francis waves him off. “No need to explain. I just—well, obviously, that list of people, for me, had to include you, because of what transpired between us at the end of last year and how I behaved. The things I said to you, then—how I’ve always spoken to you, really—and of course, I—God, I’m so sorry. It feels absurd to say out loud but I’m sorry for lashing out at you and hitting you, I should never have—”

“It’s fine, Francis,” James says, starchily. He’s got a nervous hand pressed to his ribcage, so intently that it’s almost shocking to look and see no actual knife sticking out from there, somehow. With that, it’s hard to believe the breeziness of his words. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”

“And I’m telling you it is,” Francis explains, as carefully as he can manage. “Maybe it isn’t for you, I don’t know, but it’s necessary for me. Do you—can you understand that?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” James says, after a deep breath. “Of course. Is there…more?”

“You tell me. Is there any other ways my drinking harmed you that I haven’t thought of?”

“No, I wasn’t—”

Francis holds up a hand to stop him. “That probably read as very sarcastic, given our…history, let’s say, but it was a genuine question. I think I’ve raked myself over the coals for every possible slight I can imagine but if there’s anything I did that I can address for you now, I’d have you tell me.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” James replies, shakily. “I only meant, I don’t really know what goes into all this. Is amends just an apology or is there more to it? I don’t need there to be, I was just curious. That’s all.”

“Well, you’re meant to endeavor to show you’ve changed your ways, I suppose. To indicate that you won’t be perpetuating the same harm in the future. Which, in this case, is tough, because…well, I mean, all I can give you is my word I won’t try to knock you out at work ever again.”

“Outside of work hours, however…” James muses, with a small, mirthless smile.

Francis winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. “I’ll never behave that way towards you again. On my honor, for whatever that’s worth.”

James folds his arms over his chest and looks down at the carpet, appearing like a sullen youth for a brief moment before he raises his gaze and becomes a grown man once more. Francis remembers when he’d shown up with John that first time, how he’d called James an infant to Tom when they finished their initial meeting with him about the town’s budget crisis all those years ago. Tom had laughed at him, wheezing ‘he’s a decade younger than us, if he’s anything, Francis. He’s our bloody peer now, and if you don’t see it, you’re cracked!’ Francis thought—still thinks—Tom is the one who’s cracked, in this case. James looked young, then; he looks young now, everywhere except the eyes, which contain a stormy sea’s worth of disappointment. Francis can be self-centered with the best of them but he knows he’s not the one who put that feeling there in the first place. He’s not that important. For the first time, however, he feels protective of the man in front of him because of it and takes it as his very solemn duty to never be the cause of his disappointment again, so long as it can be helped. All that and it’s not even 9 in the morning yet.

“It’s worth plenty,” James says, eventually, clearly just as uncomfortable with this much emotion so early in the day as Francis is and eager to be done with it. “Thank you, Francis.”

“Yes, well, I won’t take up any more of your time, I’ve been nuisance enough for one morning, but if there’s ever anything you want to discuss or clear up between us, my door’s always open. To you, that is. Well, to anyone, but just in case your particular welcome was unclear, I mean, you should—”

James sweeps a hand out wide in a graceful gesture like he’s literally clearing the air. “Understood,” he says, sincerely, “and appreciated.”

“Great,” Francis says, too cheerily and then winces again. “I mean, uh—right, I’ll just be going then.”

As he pivots back towards the door, the sloshing noise of the ice shifting in one of the cups he’d forgotten he was holding draws his attention. Christ, right. The whole point was—Francis really is starting to lose his mind. He contemplates just leaving anyway, like nothing’s amiss, but he’ll have to explain the two drinks to his team, absolutely none of whom will buy that the iced chai is for him. He’s gone on too many rants about how coffee shouldn’t be iced and tea only on certain occasions. He’s the type to drink hot, black coffee even on the most brutal summer days, though his sponsor did warn him that a lot of alcoholics do turn to sweets as a coping mechanism for replacing alcohol in their daily lives and not to be surprised if he found himself needing additional sweetener in his morning coffee as a result. Francis hadn’t credited it at the time, but he had found himself momentarily tempted at the coffee shop this morning by a sign advertising something called a ‘death by chocolate latte’ as the daily special before he’d gotten a hold of himself, so maybe there’s some truth to it. The point is, dragging this extra drink back to his office will be more humiliating than turning around and giving it to James like he originally planned, no matter how awkward it feels right now.

“Okay,” he says, turning back, “I promise this is the last thing and then I will let you get back to work. There’s, uh—it’s not a bribe, mind you, just an extension of the apology for what happened and for the fact that you’ll have to continue working with me for the foreseeable future and—you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t owe me that, I just thought—”

James looks at him, utterly perplexed, fingertips gently steepled on the top of the desk like he’d already been going back to whatever he was working on when Francis interrupted again. “What is it?” he asks, somehow still not betraying any annoyance at the interruption, hiding it well under an open tone of curiosity.

“The—this,” Francis finally spits out with considerable effort, holding the cup out towards James, rather than try to explain himself further. “It’s for you.”

“Oh,” James replies, with an expression like Francis is trying to hand him a live gerbil and not an upsettingly overpriced beverage like the ones he’s seen James drink on dozens of occasions. “I, uh—that’s really not necessary.”

“You must take it, James. Please. I said you’re not obligated to forgive me, I’m not trying to sway you, really. It just felt wrong to show up empty handed, after everything.”

“I understand, but, really—”

“You’re not on another one of your cleanses, are you? Giving up sugar or…calories before noon or something?” Francis ventures, imbuing his tone with more patience than he normally would, even though he still feels very little towards this thing in particular.

James is already so annoyingly healthy and brisk and handsome, it does take extraordinary amounts of patience to tolerate his talk of intermittent fasting and green juice with the goal of making himself even more annoyingly perfect. Surely, there’s got to be a limit to that sort of thing, but Francis doesn’t know; he’s on the opposite end of the spectrum it seems, having to re-learn the fundamentals of barely looking after himself in middle age without the aid of alcohol. It’s pretty grim, if he’s being honest. It really is no wonder that James has been so consistently earning the gold medal spot in the competitive sport of getting on Francis’s nerves, with that in mind.

His intentional gentleness does seem to pay off in this case, though, since James smiles at him in only mild embarrassment. “Uh, no, I’m not. I just—you’re not obliged to—”

“I know, but—listen, James, I already committed my penance by having to say the phrase ‘dirty chai’ with a straight face to a college student with a lip piercing at eight in the morning, okay? The damage is done. You might as well enjoy the spoils of my humiliation.”

James’s smile widens at that, looking for all the world like he can’t really stop himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that mental image might be worth more to me than the entirety of your apology.”

“No offense taken,” Francis says, finally succeeding in handing off the cup, slick with condensation by now, into James’s care. “I hope it will sustain you for a while yet.”

“Oh, it shall,” James says, placing the cup gingerly onto his desk.

“Right, well,” Francis replies, “that’s all, then. I’ll see you…later, I suppose.”

James nods. “We have a meeting set for Tuesday—tomorrow. It should be on your calendar. Thomas said he—”

“If Jopson says it’s there, it’s there.”

“Great,” James says, easily. “Until then.”

“Yes. ‘Til tomorrow.”

Mission completed, Francis turns once more towards the door and is only interrupted in leaving by the sound of James clearing his throat behind him. He pauses, and looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question when he meets James’s eye.

“It’s only—forgive me if this is the wrong thing to say, under the circumstances,” James offers, fidgeting with the edge of the notepad lying open on his desk, “but you do—that is, you look well, Francis.”

Francis doesn’t allow himself the liberty of moving even an inch, not to fiddle with his collar or brush back his hair or otherwise indicate he gives so much as one singular damn about his appearance. “Do I?” he asks, tone purposely vague, like James has just told him the weather forecast and it’s only interesting to him in theory, really.

“Yes, very well,” James says, putting his hand flat on the desk very deliberately, like it was giving him away before. At what, who knows, but he’s got it under control now. “This change, it suits you.”

“Well, thank you, I guess.”

James now looks at his computer screen, absently. The next words he says might be something he was reading off of there, if they were anything else. “You look good, is what I meant.”

“How—?” Francis pauses, feeling immense pressure to say this right, somehow. “Sorry, but how would that be the wrong thing to say?”

“I wouldn’t want you to think, well—” James interrupts himself by laughing, just a little and rather joylessly. “It’s not that you didn’t look good before.”

“Oh, right,” Francis says, even as those words continue to make no sense to him in that particular order coming from this particular person. “Wait, you’re saying—I did?”

James meets his eye again, finally, but only to give him the most impatient, long-suffering look in human history. “Is it too much to hope that one of the twelve steps involves learning to take a compliment?” he asks, sounding depleted by the effort. “Because it is one of your most exhausting qualities that you can’t do so without endless interrogation first.”

“And it’s got a lot of competition,” Francis replies, feeling himself smile and choosing to do nothing to stop it, “what with all my other exhausting qualities.”

“You’re really only proving my point here, you know.”

“Thank you, James,” Francis says, dutifully. “It’s very kind of you to say. Better?”

“Much,” James sighs. “You’re showing remarkable improvement already.”

Francis leaves him, then, because to stay any longer would just be exposing himself to further ridicule and he’d absolutely deserve it, what with the stupid smile he now can’t seem to get rid of.

[zeb-z]

minecraft-sinfonia family in the Star Wars au, because brain worms never sleep

Chayanne is hardly a toddler in the crèche when the Jedi temple falls and the Empire is born. Phil saves him, cares for him, raises him as his own on a homestead after meeting Missa, far from the core worlds. He grows up learning to farm, to cook, to find his own resources and how to make do with what you have. He has no idea where he’s from - his records were sealed in a holocron along with the other younglings his age, and who knows where that is now. Not that it matters all that much to him - his family are his parents who have raised him, and later his sister.

Tallulah is also force sensitive, but was never picked up by the Jedi. She knows where she’s from - an outer rim dustball of a planet where she had no one but the other street kids, where they all had to eat dirt. According to Wilbur, who picked her up and took her in, she had been crying in the rubble in an ally, where a building had managed to collapse sideways into, somehow entirely unscathed, the only survivor. Now that she’s older, and has an understanding of her powers, she can guess she had used the force in some sort of subconscious survival instinct. She spent a good year or two with her father, before she had been dropped off during a visit to her “abuelo Phil”, and never picked back up. It’s another year before she starts calling Phil her Pa instead.

For a year after the fall of the Jedi, Phil travels with Wilbur, and tries to take care of a very young Chayanne as best as he can. He tries to make it easy on Wil as he can, but he know it can’t be simple, traveling with an ex-Jedi on the run and a force sensitive toddler who makes all the noise a toddler does. Whatever guilt he has is buried under the knowledge that this is safest. Staying in the wind, between the stars, without making a name or life for himself, is necessary until the panic around the Jedi dies down.

Phil meets Missa shortly after he parts ways with Wilbur, on some forgettable, relatively mild planet on the edges of the mid rim, in a town full of farmers and workers. He’s clearly lost, and exhausted, and struggling to find something he can afford to feed the hungry child in his arms, and Missa may not have much but for this he has a few credits to spare, and well - he just can’t ignore that feeling, tugging in his gut and wrapping around his chest, that’s pulling him towards the two strangers. Kindness has him buying them a meal and offering his home to them for the night, and when Phil asks if they can stay for just a while, to figure out where to go next, he says yes before he even processes the question. A little foolish, maybe, given the state of the galaxy, but Phil would be lost without that kindness.

Phil makes himself useful helping around the farm, feeding the growzers and nerfs, pulling weeds, planting new crops, at least when Chayanne doesn’t demand attention. Missa works as he always does, keeps them all fed, and looks up all the articles he can find about childcare - and then double checks with a few parents when they drop into town for market, because surely Chayanne isnt old enough to be eating full carrots yet, his teeth are just so small - that’s when he realizes he’s far more open to Phil and Chayanne staying around than he thought he was. It isn’t much longer until Phil comes to a similar conclusion, during a dinner like any other night before, where Missa had taken care to cut Chayanne’s carrots and had made a pot of tea that was Phil’s favorite (one he got based on a hunch back in town a few days prior), and he realizes that he doesn’t want to lose this. That he wants to stay.

After he finds that Missa himself is also force sensitive, and he comes clean about who he actually is, their life continues on without the idea that this just a temporary set up. They get officially married just before Tallulah comes into the picture, which gives Phil an official new identity to the Empire, from a legal standpoint.

Chayanne and Tallulah both grow up learning Jedi techniques to balance their connection with the force. They learn early on the extent of their powers and how to meditate. The better trained you are, and the more you know of your own powers, the better you can master self control - that’s what their dads say, at least. While Phil had been anxious when Tallulah first arrived - wondering if them knowing their powers would make them all more obvious to those hunting for them - it’s cemented when Chayanne uses the force in the market, floating a fruit from a street vendor towards him when he couldn’t reach it himself. They were extremely lucky he wasn’t noticed. Chayanne, with enough core memories in the temple, where using the force and connecting wasn’t only second nature, but was encouraged all around him, would only struggle if they pretended anything different. Besides - as much as they have to keep themselves hidden and safe from the Empire, the force was something to celebrate. They were never taught that their gifts were anything but special - it wasn’t them that was wrong, but the Empire for hunting them.

After their home is raided, and the kids go with Phil to the rebellion, separated from Missa, is when they learn to fight. Chayanne is extremely disappointed he can’t actually train to learn how to wield his dads lightsaber. Tallulah leans less into physical training, and gets a better handle at using the force to interact with the world. She learns a technique to help plants grow just a little faster, and a little stronger, and likes to help around the gardens and greenhouses. It makes Phil a little sad, but only sometimes - she would have loved the Room of a Thousand Fountains, had this universe been kinder.

When Missa manages to find them again, worn and weary and somehow with Phil’s lightsaber still intact and all his limbs attached, he joins the rebels cause and fights with his family. Phil insists Missa keeps his lightsaber on him, pretending like it isn’t as big of a deal as it is, saying he’s grown used to fighting without it - but Missa knows better. A lightsaber is a Jedi’s life, their being connected to their crystal that gives it power, the weapon an extension of themselves. He understands the significance, of Phil’s life humming in his hands, protecting him above all else. There’s an immense amount of love, of trust, in the decision. It makes Phil a terrible Jedi - giving up his saber by choice, for a familial attachment he should never have made in the first place. But who gives a fuck - the temple has long been gone, the Jedi and all their believers dead with it, and Missa is here in front of him, alive, unlike the fucking Jedi council, the merry band of hypocrites. He’d like to keep it that way.

Chayanne still gets Phil to train him with the lightsaber, and it’s the coolest thing ever of all time.

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Hello everyone! Chapter 5 of the Dracula AU is out!! I'm very very nervous and excited for this chapter! Please enjoy and if you want to come talk to me about it, feel free! I would love to know everyone's thoughts ❤️❤️❤️