#session one he still managed to nearly kill himself by shrinking on the edge

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

For all the complaining about Grian knowing what the wild cards are I do appreciate that so far it seems that he barely has an advantage

[ilonga]

new chapter of coppertop is out!

ao3

"The Clone Wars are over!" 

"For good."

* * * * *

The cheers are overwhelming. The Senate floor shakes with the strength of them, vibrating on its very foundations as Senators, Representatives, and aides shout and grin and laugh and cry. Palpatine, for his part, looks on from above, a cooly satisfied expression on his face. 

Anakin, for his part, grips the side of the Senate pod a little tighter instead of cheering. Or crying. This. . . this is everything he's hoped for. Isn't it?

He can't believe it. The war is over. The war is over.

He locks eyes with Padme, on the other side of the Senate. He can't tell how she's reacting.

"At long last," Palpatine continues, voice booming out through the building. The Senators quiet quickly. "Our years of hard work, of courage, of battles have come to fruition! Senators, representatives, citizens of the Republic, today we have reunited our great Galactic Republic. Today all of the people of our galaxy live under one flag. Today, everything is right with our galaxy."

"Of course," he continues, tone suddenly softer, "With this beautiful victory comes a new era, and all its necessary changes. It is with great humility and gratitude that I announce that from this moment forth, the office of the Chancellor relinquishes all emergency powers given during wartime. There is no need for them any longer. We are in an era of peace, prosperity, and. . . democracy."

He pauses and leans forward. "Let today be known as the first day of Galactic Reunification." The cheers, if possible, have returned even louder than before. "And may our children's children still celebrate it for years to come."

* * * * *

This time, it's Padme excusing herself from Bail and running at him full force. 

"Anakin," she says breathlessly, wrapping her arms around him and bringing him into a kiss. They pull apart, and words seem to fail her. They fail him, too.

They walk back to her apartment in silence, Padme smiling all the way with her arm in his. 

"It's over," she says finally, once they come to a stop in front of the door. "The war. . . the war is over."

"I can't believe it." he says honestly. Numbly. What does his life even look like without a war? Without constant deployments, a rapidly shrinking battalion, a damn near weekly electrocution session?

Huh. Wait. Do Jedi in peacetime. . . even have deadly encounters on the daily? What do they even do? Sit in the Temple? Negotiate trade deals? He tries to imagine it and finds that he can't. What does a Jedi's life look like if they're not fighting for it? What does the galaxy look like if it's not rapidly falling apart?

Padme looks up at him in confusion and he realizes he's frowning. "You're acting so strange," she says. "I thought this was what you wanted."

"It was—it is what I wanted." he rushes to say. "I'm just—surprised. That's all. It's all happening so fast."

"Should have happened faster if you ask me." she grumbles. "It's about damn time." 

He laughs as they enter, taking care not to hit his head on the doorframe. If he squints, he imagines he can see a difference between the apartment now that it's peacetime versus before.  A little brighter, he'd like to think. Cleaner. Happier. "It still feels too good to be true."

Padme rolls her eyes at him in a rare display of playfulness. "My husband, ever the pessimist." she says, ignoring Anakin's snort of protest. "It's been less than a day of peace, Anakin. We've been fighting the war for three years. Of course it feels strange."

"So," she continues pulling him towards the couch, where they collapse in a giddy heap, "how long do I have you for, this time?"

When do you need to rush back to the Temple through a side door, is what she's really asking, and he's already cataloguing—Ahsoka's not back from Mandalore, yet, and Obi-wan should be in his quarters, resting, if he knows what's good for him, but this—this is huge. The war is officially, finally, over for good. Maybe he should be at the Temple for this. Will the Council need him? Sure, his position on the Council is a joke at best and a political tug-of-war at worst, but maybe they'll need a report of the Chancellor's actions. 

He dismisses the thought with a sharp huff. If they want to know what the Chancellor said, they can just watch the broadcast from the official channels, like everyone else. No need to bring treason into it. 

The Council. . . the war is over. The war is over. Which means. . . his glance lands on Padme's hands, resting gently on her abdomen. 

"Maybe I should just get it over with today," he says, realisation dawning on him slowly.

"What?"

Anakin turns to look her in the eyes. "Leave the Order." He reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "The war is over. I can just—just go now. I'll tell the Council about us, turn in my saber, and then we can . . . I can just bring my stuff over." He doesn't even have all that much to carry—just a trinket or two, spare clothes, he doesn't even need the droid parts—He's giddy, all of a sudden. They've been talking about this, daydreaming about this, for years, and now the day is here and it's so much simpler than he could have ever imagined—Padme's due any day now— "We'll get you set up with a medcenter, and then we can go to Naboo, just like you wanted, and—"

"Anakin," Padme says, brow furrowed, "Anakin, slow down."

He stops. She doesn't sound nearly as excited at the prospect as he is. 

"You want to," she blinks rapidly, "leave the Jedi? Obi-wan? Ahsoka? Just like that?"

She sounds surprised. Why does she sound so surprised?

"You're due any day now. I don't want to leave them, of course I don't, but—we're going to be parents, Padme. A family. I've made my choice."

He half laughs. "It's not like we can keep it secret for much longer."

Padme bites her lip and looks down. "Anakin, you killed Dooku. You're half the reason this war is over. I hardly think they'll just—throw you away. Like you're nothing."

Anakin flinches at that. It's not like that, he wants to say. We knew what we were doing. We knew we were breaking the rules. "The rules—" he starts to speak.

"—are outdated." Padme cuts him off. "And we both know it."

"That doesn't mean they'll just throw them away for one person." In truth, he's not so sure how he feels about the Code and its rules. He's always felt. . . conflicted, for lack of a better word. But he's at peace with his decision to leave, to devote himself to Padme and their new family. Or. Well. He was. Now Padme's gone and dug up all his old insecurities again. 

"Fine." Padme finally says, albeit unhappily. "Fine, you go and tell them, and if they decide to kick you out, that's their prerogative, I suppose. But for goodness sakes', stop acting as if you want to get kicked out! You're a fine Jedi, Anakin. You can be both, you know. You don't need to—you don't need to martyr yourself for my sake."

"I'm not—that's not—" He cuts himself off, frustrated. "Fine."

"Good." She settles backwards, leaning against him again. Then— "Oh!" Padme says, hand flying to her abdomen. She turns, grinning, and grabs Anakin's hand—the flesh hand, that is—to press it against her belly. "Did you feel that? He kicked!"

"She," he banters back absentmindedly. Leia, he remembers them discussing a few days ago. Luke if it's a boy, Leia if it's a girl. He closes his eyes to try and sense the baby's presence, feeling a slight lurch under his palm.

It's. . . strange. Reaching for the force is strange. Like pushing aside a heavy curtain. He strains for a few seconds before finally—there. The presences are distant, far more distant than they should be, and he has a momentary lurch of panic but they're there, light and joyful and alive in a way—

Wait.

Presences?

"Padme," he says numbly, reaching again and—Yes. He's right. "There are two."

Padme pales rapidly. "What?"

"I—twins. There are two."

She gapes at him, blinking rapidly, then glances down at herself then back up again. "The med droid—oh, force, when I told it to keep it a surprise I didn't mean the number of babies!"

"We'll manage," he says, pushing past the shock. Two—two babies. Will they have Padme's eyes or his? Blond hair or dark? And two—sithspit, this makes the force-sensitivity question even more complicated than it already was. They'll have to adjust the nursery, for sure.

"I didn't—I didn't know." she says with a slightly bitter edge. "I should have known."

"Padme, you're the strongest person I know." Anakin says firmly. "And this is on the med droid, not you." 

"Really," she says wryly, changing tone. "Even Obi-wan? Yoda? Ahsoka? Your men?"

 "The strongest," he promises, biting back his grin. 

Padme takes a breath. "If it's two boys, I'd like the other after my father. But if it's two girls. . . what do you think of naming her Shmi?"

Oh.

"That's—wonderful." He blinks back sudden tears. "Thank you."

Padme pulls him into another kiss. Lighter, this time.

"You should probably go now." she says softly.

"Yeah," he says, swiping at his eyes with the palms of his hand. "Yeah, I will. Love you."

He hears her murmur it back as he turns to leave.

* * * * *

The Council Chamber is silent.

He'd waited for the end of the meeting to make his confession—a bit cowardly, he knows, but he's already rocked the boat enough as is. The meeting itself had been shorter than usual, with an air of relief permeating the room. They'd watched the broadcast from one of Master Ti's holos, once, twice, before Master Windu confirmed what they already knew—yes, it was completely genuine. Then, plans to demilitarise. Then—

He'd spoken up.

Now there's silence.

His comm beeps. He startles then determinedly ignores it, waiting for a reaction.

"To be completely honest," Obi-wan speaks first. "I can't exactly say I'm surprised." He looks around, making eye contact with the others. "Well, surely I can't be the only one."

To Anakin's surprise, there are a few light giggles. Master Ti is even smiling.

"Subtle, you have not been." Yoda agrees. "Subtle the Senator has not been, either."

"Like a pair of star speckled Alderaanian love wrens," Shaak Ti agrees.

He gapes.

To be fair, it was probably easy enough to guess that he'd harbored feelings for Padme—and maybe even that she felt the same for him. But for force's sake, they'd expected the marriage too? The children?

That's a bit. . . much. 

His comm beeps again.

"Should you wish to leave the Jedi Order," Mace says, looking as amused as the rest of them, "that is, of course, your decision. But—" He looks around and seems to find the agreement he's looking for. "I believe this discussion can be tabled for now. The war is over, after all. You have fulfilled the prophecy."

 Okay, this is definitely not what he was expecting. What had happened to "You will be expelled from the Jedi Order, Anakin,"? "Attachments are forbidden,"?

He's relieved. Incredibly relieved. But also. . . 

Unsatisfied.

And he remembers—he hasn't fulfilled the prophecy, actually. There's a Sith—a dark side user—in the Senate, leading the Senate, and he's just let him be. He hasn't even told the Council. And sure, nothing bad seems to have come of it—it's Chancellor Palpatine for force's sake, the man could hardly hurt a fly—but still.

He closes his eyes and tries to find some equilibrium.

But—

Something in the force is recoiling, echoing, empty and vacant and cold.

He frowns.

"Master Windu, are you. . . feeling alright?"

Master Windu glances up in confusion. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"The force feels. . . strange. Around you." He struggles to find more words to explain it and finds that he can't. It's just. . . an ache. A devastating ache. With a strange twist to it.

Master Windu frowns at him. "I don't feel it." He pauses. "Are you absolutely certain this. . . feeling of yours is centered around me?"

He closes his eyes. No, he realizes, it's not just Mace. This strange thread of—of wrongness echoes throughout the Chamber, curling around various Council members with an icy chill.

Reaching for the babies' force presence had also been strange, Anakin remembers, trying and failing to squash his panic. They'd felt—so far away. Or maybe it was he himself that felt removed. This is the second time that reaching for the force has felt off—what's happening to him? What the hell is going on?

His comm beeps yet again.

"Answer that, you may, young Skywalker." Master Yoda says from his seat. A few others hum in affirmation.

He switches it on.

"Anakin," comes Padme's panicked voice, strange and staticky through the receiver.

"Anakin, I think the babies are coming."

[damaless]

Instead Of Getting Hit, Don’t

Chapter Thirteen: Team Shouto

“There's someone I need to see again, too.” Yamada slings his bow across his back.

Shouto lets out the breath he’d been holding. “You’re— you want to come with us?”

“Indeed,” Yamada says, lifting his chin. “I’ve sat around wallowing for long enough. This looks to be as good a chance as any for me to actually do something about this miserable situation.”

Shouto looks towards the rest of the group.

Kyouka inclines her head. “Good different, then.”

Mina nods. “The more, the merrier!”

‘Merry’ isn’t a word Shouto would have used to describe Yamada based on their previous interactions, but his demeanor has completely shifted, now.

Maybe he’d only been subdued out of a sense of helplessness — resolving himself to take action seems to have energized him. The man Shouto had caught a glimpse of before, when he’d first mentioned Aizawa to him, has come out in full force.

“And you can conjure pools of acid?” he’s asking Mina, who gives a brief demonstration. He nods, and moves on, taking stock of them all.

He returns to Shouto. “You’ve got an impressive little group here,” he says. “Let’s see how they fare in battle! Lead the way, Shouto!”

***

Nemean Chariots can’t really grind an opponent into dust beneath their wheels when they’ve been rendered weightless. Half of the chariots hang in the air above their heads, giant, deadly wheels spinning ineffectively as Yamada picks them off one by one with his bow. All Ochako had needed to do was get close enough to touch each one. The other half have mostly been dissolved after running into Mina’s acid pools.

“I can’t believe you fought through all this alone,” Mezou says as they take a moment to breathe.

Shouto leans against a wall. “It’s not like I had any other choice.” He laughs mirthlessly. “It’s not anything impressive; I failed hundreds of times before I ever managed to face Endeavor at the surface.”

Mezou shakes his head. “You had a choice — you could have given up entirely. A lesser person would have. Or you could have come out of it hardened and cruel.”

Denki joins them, resting an elbow on Shouto’s shoulder. “Yeah, don’t sell yourself short. You’re an inspiration! It’s amazing that you weren’t an asshole to begin with, your dad being who he is.”

Denki jostles him, grinning pointedly until Shouto smiles, just slightly.

“That’s better,” he says, and walks off to insert himself into whatever Kyouka, Mina, and Hitoshi are conversing about.

“He’s right, you know,” Mezou says, quietly — it’s amazing that someone with such a large physical presence can be so soft-spoken. “None of us would be here if we didn’t believe in you, no matter how nonchalant about it some of them seemed back on Olympus.”

Shouto closes his eyes, sighing heavily. His time on Olympus is foggy; he’d been operating automatically, failing to process everything he’d been through, trying to come to terms with what he’d gained — what he’d lost. But regardless of how thoroughly he’d thrown himself into helping the others with their responsibilities, striving to fill an Izuku-shaped hole with new connections, new purpose — he can’t possibly deserve this much faith from them.

He opens his eyes. “We should keep moving.”

***

Shouto drops low and forms a wall out of the ground as Aoyama’s spear soars past him.

Ugh. Had it been too much to ask that their absence up until now had meant that they’d found something more productive to do than get in his way?

“Do we really need to do this?” Shouto calls. “What did Endeavor come up with this time? Now I’m a monster who needs to be kept out of the Underworld?”

“Monster?” Hitoshi whispers, crouched beside him.

Shouto shrugs. No time for a long-winded explanation of his father’s methods of roping in assistant jail keepers.

“Come out, you cowardly snake!” Aoyama’s voice seethes with animosity. “I see you’ve manipulated a few little godlings into aiding you!”

Is it really necessary to be so insulting? It’s not like Shouto’s ever done anything against him personally, other than killing him repeatedly — but Aoyama’s attitude had been around before all that, even.

Shouto frowns, looking around at his friends. Would they doubt his honesty at this point? Could they be led to believe that he had manipulated them?

“Hey, Shouto,” Hanta says, putting a hand on his arm. “You didn’t even ask us to come. We know you didn’t manipulate anybody.”

The rest nod their agreement, faces earnest — even Hitoshi and Kyouka.

“Even if you’d tried, we’re not idiots,” Hitoshi adds with a smirk.

Is he really that transparent? He twists his mouth. He hasn’t lied to any of them, no — but he has he done anything to deserve all this trust and loyalty?

Yamada steps forward. “Would you say that I am a gullible fool, Yuuga?”

Aoyama’s over-dramatic gasp is audible even from behind a barrier across the room. “Yamada Hizashi? What are you doing in the company of this contemptible scoundrel?”

“That is enough, Yuuga.” Iida’s voice rings out for the first time since their arrival. “Up until now, I have fulfilled my duty as a combatant at your side without voicing any of my doubts of Endeavor’s claims. But Shouto has fought with honor every single time, and here he stands with the clear support of Olympus. And Yamada Hizashi is championing his cause, as well.”

“What are you suggesting, Tenya?” Aoyama asks, incredulity raising the pitch of his voice at least an octave.

Their voices drop in volume, and Shouto peers around the edge of his barricade. Iida has pulled Aoyama to the side and is gesturing sharply towards their group.

Shouto nudges Kyouka. “Can you make out what they are saying?”

She nods, and closes her eyes. After a moment, she starts to speak. “The big one with the axe—”

“Iida Tenya,” Shouto provides.

“—is systematically debunking every claim your father has made against you. The shiny one—”

“Aoyama Yuuga.”

“—seems skeptical, but he’s listening.”

Shouto exhales slowly. Maybe this won’t come down to a fight after all. As a group, they would almost certainly be able to prevail against the two of them, but likely not without casualties. Iida’s axe is almost instantly lethal, and he’s fast. Aoyama’s spear can’t be ignored, either.

Kyouka opens her eyes and raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you really keep letting him go after you’d nearly defeated him, knowing that meant you’d have to face him again with his little friend?”

Shouto glances down and away. “He yielded. And it’s not like I ever actually wanted to fight him.” He’d always hoped that one day, Iida would stop wanting to fight him, too.

“You’re too good for your own good, Shouto,” Kyouka says, shaking her head. She pats his hand gently.

“Mm,” he replies, noncommittal. It’s hard to agree, knowing how badly he’d treated Izuku — inadvertently, but still. He’d taken years to make it to the surface after learning of his mother’s existence — additional years in which she’d continued to suffer, as a result of his inadequacy. And now, making everyone help him—

“They’re coming over here,” Kyouka whispers, interrupting his self-flagellation session.

Shouto tenses, readying himself to jump out from behind his wall. He grips his sword and calling his mother’s frost to his fingertips. If he can slow Iida down, maybe—

“We’ve decided to join you in your quest, Shouto,” Iida announces, and Shouto blinks.

They want to join him? Not just let him past without a fight?

He stands up, narrowing his eyes. “How do I know I can trust him?” He jerks his chin at Aoyama while maintaining eye contact with Iida.

Iida nudges Aoyama, who stumbles forward from the force of it.

Aoyama scuffs at the ground with his foot. “I apologize, Shouto. I was operating under some false conceptions about you, but still — it was excessive for me to make it so… personal.”

Ochako and Tsu come to stand at either side of him, arms folded. Aoyama’s eyes widen, and he shrinks under the intensity of their glares.

“We’ll keep an eye on him for you, Shouto,” Ochako says.

Tsu nods. “If he reaches for his spear without good reason, he’s done.”

Aoyama visibly swallows.

Shouto nods. “More the merrier,” he says, voice flat. He glances at Mina, and she grins.

She inserts herself between Iida and Aoyama, slapping them each on the back. “Welcome to team Shouto!”

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