#technically there's more than one angle you could take and none of them would be wrong bc we just haven't seen much of him in canon

[coneyislandbabey]

my back is broad, but it's a-hurtin'. -> e. roundtree

WARNINGS: profanities, sexual tension lol

SYNOPSIS: The push and pull between you and Eddie Roundtree was never-ending. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, you always came back together. word count: 2,120

NOTES: this is part 2/8 of the beast of burden series. Part one can be found here!

Pittsburgh, 1969

“What do you think of her?” Warren asked. You, him, and Eddie were standing in a row against the bar of the nightclub you’d be playing a couple hours later. He was staring in the direction of the stage, where Billy stood messing around with the microphone, his new girlfriend, Camila, standing on the floor in front of him, angling her camera up to capture him in photos. 

“I like her,” you responded. She’d only been hanging around a week or two at that point, but she was kind even while being a little bossy. She had the kind of attitude a girl needed to have any kind of equal partnership with a guy like Billy Dunne, surely. 

“Yeah, but I don’t think she’ll last long,” Eddie said from your other side. That was a fair assessment. Billy had gone through quite the impressive string of girlfriends, just in the two years you’d been with the band. They stuck around for a few weeks, a month or two tops, and then they were gone, and Billy would start bringing around a new one.

“I don’t know,” you hum. “Seems like maybe it’s different this time.” You hoped it would be, at least. You really liked Camila, she got involved and tried to get to know the rest of you guys a lot more than any of the other girls Billy had brought around. She didn’t know much about the technical side of the music, but she made up for that in enthusiasm. Plus, it would be nice to have another girl around, in a more permanent sense. You’d known that rock music, and The Dunne Brothers band itself, were a real boys’ club, but man did it really fucking feel extra like a boys’ club sometimes. 

“I hope she stays. She got us that spot in the paper last week,” Warren said. That was true, too. Camila would come along to every gig and take photos the whole time, and then submit them to the local papers to try to get the band a little spot in the ink. It didn’t work, usually, but you all got lucky with the last one. It was more than surreal to see the shot of the five of you up on stage, rendered in newsprint black and white. 

Things were picking up, in a subtle way, sure, but a way none of you could ignore. You were booking more gigs, more people in the area were recognizing you. Hell, you were getting out of Pittsburgh fairly often, booking in Ocean City and Philly and Wilmington and a half dozen other places. It felt good. Really fucking good. It felt like you were proving your talent, your worth in this band, with every crowded and well-received show you performed. 

“Alright, sound check!” Billy called from the stage, gathering your attention. “We’re just gonna do one song and make sure everything is good.” 

You pushed off the bar and made your way to the stage, slinging your bass over your torso as you went. 

“Let’s do When the Sun Shines on You, yeah?” Billy asked, stepping up to the mic. You all started in on the song, and you immediately lost yourself in playing your bass. As usual, as the song progressed, you and Eddie seemed to drift nearer and nearer to each other on the stage. Your parts, musically, already played off of each other so often, so it only made sense to you that it was reflected physically. It was as if you and Eddie were playing to each other, or at each other, a frenetic conversation. During the more intense songs, you would drift so close that your hands almost bumped each other whilst playing, before you’d sweep around and head back to your side of the stage.

When the song was done and the sound was thoroughly checked, you sat your bass down and stretched your arms over your head. The guys vacated the stage quickly, but you came to sit on the edge, swinging your legs and looking out at the venue, where the employees were readying the space to open soon. Shortly after you sat down, Camila ambled over to you, her camera dangling from a strap around her neck and a sly smile on her face. 

“Hey, Camila,” you smiled, nodding at her. 

“Hey,” she said brightly. “So.” 

The way she drew out ‘so’ into three syllables was incredibly suggestive, and you only raised your eyebrow at her in question. She stepped closer, lowering her voice as if she was about to impart a secret. “What’s the deal with you and Eddie?”

For a moment, all you could do was blink at her. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “I think every stranger in this building could tell there’s something there. So, what is it? Are you guys a thing?”

You burst out into bright, sharp laughter, shaking your head. “God, no, Cami, it’s not like that at all. There’s nothing going on between me and Eddie.”

Camila weathered you with a stare, both unimpressed and unconvinced. “Right. Sure. I have never seen two people behave the way you do when there's ‘nothing going on’.”

You laughed again, deftly changing the subject to talk about her and Billy, hoping to god that your cheeks weren’t dark with blush. Were you that obvious with your crush on him? The thought was so mortifying that it made you want to die. For a while, you had managed to convince yourself that it was a minute, meaningless thing, your crush. That it had only come to be because he’d helped you learn those songs back in ‘67, helped you earn your spot in the band. You had assumed it would go away after a while, but it didn’t. All it did was grow into something more pathetic and embarrassing every time you saw him, because there was no way he was experiencing the same turmoil over your relationship, and more importantly, there was no way you could act on your feelings even if he was. 

Later, the whole group of you were hanging out in your garage, getting drunk off the cases of beers Warren bought immediately after you left the gig. You were curled up on the middle cushion of your ratty leather couch, feet tucked up underneath you and a beer nestled in your lap. Graham was on one side of you, fast asleep on the arm of the couch, his own empty beer bottle having fallen from his prone hand and rolled away. Eddie sat on the other side of you, one arm stretched on the back of the couch behind you, his thigh touching yours. Billy was drunkenly playing some old nursery song on Graham’s guitar, and Warren was loudly (and also drunkenly) cheering along with it. 

Camila, who was sitting on the rug next to Billy, caught your eye from across the room. She looked pointedly from you to Eddie and back to you, quirking an eyebrow in a silent question. You narrowed your eyes at her in return, imperceptibly shaking your head. She shot you a disbelieving look, but dropped it for the moment. 

“I’m starving,” Warren said suddenly, hand to his stomach. 

“Of course you’re starving, man, you’ve got the munchies,” Eddie laughed. 

“My stomach is eating itself,” he responded pitifully. 

You rolled your eyes at his antics, but you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face. “Alright, I hear you. I’ll go get you a snack.”

“I love you more than anyone else here,” Warren said emphatically as you stood, and you just laughed at him, ruffling his hair as you passed him. 

“I’ll help you carry stuff out,” Eddie announced, getting up to follow you across the yard and to the house. 

You walked up the back steps, before stopping abruptly at the door and peering inside to see if any lights were on. Not expecting your sudden stop, Eddie walked directly into you. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, but you couldn’t help but acutely notice how close to you he stayed. 

“Okay, my whole family is asleep in there,” you said, turning around to face him. You were standing so close that your face almost met his chest before you looked up. “That means we have to be absolutely silent on this mission.”

“Mission?” he asked, amused. 

“Yes. The very important mission of providing famine relief to the dying Warren Rojas,” you nodded solemnly. 

“If you want me to be quiet, you have to stop being funny.”

“I can’t help my charisma, you’ll just have to be strong, Eddie boy,” you responded, and he nodded seriously, doing his best to keep a straight face. In your drunken state, you fumbled with the knob of the door trying to get in, and cursed yourself for the noise. Your parents knew about the band by now, obviously, and being as you were an adult at this point, it was not like they could stop you from being in the band even if they wanted to. However, you weren’t exactly of age quite yet, and if they found you standing in the kitchen, drunk and with a boy they weren’t fond of at that, you’d have hell to pay.  

Finally, you managed the knob and swung the door open slowly. You turned to Eddie and pointed to the pantry, mouthing the word ‘chips’ to him. He nodded, tip-toeing his way over in exaggerated movements that made you want to fall to the floor with laughter. Instead, you turned your back to him and headed toward the fridge, intent on grabbing some of the water bottles that your parents kept on top of it. You were able to reach one, but the rest had been pushed further back by someone, and your fingertips could only brush the plastic, not grasp them. Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, and you turned to see Eddie watching you struggle. 

“Let me help,” he whispered, stepping forward and reaching above your head. His free hand went to your waist to balance himself as the other grabbed enough bottles for the group, passing them down to you one by one. You did your best to ignore his hand, to ignore the way it set every single nerve ending of yours on fire. When he was done grabbing water bottles, you turned around to go, but Eddie didn’t move. Moments passed, and the two of you stood there facing each other in the dark of the kitchen. Dimly, you were aware that Eddie’s hand was still on your waist. It would be so easy, you thought, to cross the mere inches between you and just kiss him the way you’d imagined doing dozens of times before. It would be so easy to just drop all of the water bottles on the floor and grasp his face instead, so easy to– 

But no. The only thing that could come out of you making a move on Eddie or him making a move on you would be teasing from the rest of the band, probably even them suspecting that the only reason Eddie suggested you for bassist way back when was because he had a thing for you, not because you were talented. But you were talented. That was why you got the spot in the band. It didn’t matter how true that was, though; the minute you became anything other than one of the guys here, your very integrity would be questioned. 

You stepped backward until your back was against the fridge, putting some space between the two of you. Eddie cleared his throat, the sound impossibly loud in the otherwise quiet room, and stepped back as well. This had been your dance for the last two years; get close, closer than close, tip-toe right up to the edge until all there was to do was take the leap or fall backwards. Every time, for one fleeting moment, you thought you’d finally decide to take the leap, but you never did. And neither did he. So, the dance continued. 

“Let’s get out of here before my parents wake up,” you said, and Eddie nodded, turning around to lead you back to the kitchen door. When you got back to the garage, the two of you distributed chips and water, before sitting back down on the couch. Eddie’s arm stretched back out along the back of the couch, your thighs touching. Just like you had been before. Just like nothing at all had changed. Because nothing had, had it? Nothing ever did. You couldn’t decide if that thought was a relief, or a thorn digging ever deeper under your skin.

tag list: @eonnyx @celestialstar111 @whataloadofmalarkey @sapphiclm

[starkstruck27]

My sixth fill for @harringrovesummerbingo!! I kinda cheated a little with this one, as they aren't technically 'walking', but I wanted to do something from a different perspective, so this is it. Prompt + Space: Walking hand in hand in public, A2 Title: Hold me Close and Hold me Fast Major Tags: None Rating: General Word Count: 1638 words Additional Tags: Photography, Closeted characters, Assumptions, Assumed relationship, Accidental voyeurism, But not in a dirty way, Secret relationship Summary: Jonathan and Nancy are working for the Hawkins Post during the summer of '84, and their latest assignment is to get pictures for the article about the new mall that opened up. While looking through their shots, though, Jonathan notices something interesting… Also on: Ao3

“Hey, Nance, c’mere a sec,” Jonathan said from across the darkroom, squinting at the freshly developed picture in his hand. It was one of many that he’d taken earlier that day at the new mall that’d just opened up, and they’d be running in the next issue of the Hawkins Post next to the article about said opening. Now they were just developing them, and then they’d pick the best few to print along with the article. But as he was looking through his shots, Jonathan noticed something he hadn’t at the time of taking the picture, and he had no idea what to do with it now, except get Nancy to take a look at it and confirm he wasn’t seeing things.

“What’s up?” She asked as she walked over, peering over his shoulder at the picture.

“Am I crazy or do you see that, too?” Jon asked, handing her the picture.

“See what, exactly?”

“That,” Jon said, pointing to the background of the picture. It was one of the ones he’d taken of the front entrance of the mall, slightly off to the left side to make the perspective seem more impressive. It was a great picture, probably one of the top contenders to go with the article, until he noticed the two people leaned up against the side of the building in the background of the shot.

“Okay, what about them?” Nancy asked as she studied the shot, trying to see what it was her boyfriend saw.

“They’re holding hands,” he said, as if there was something more to it.

“Okay? Lots of people hold hands, what’s your point?”

“Lots of people aren’t Steve and Billy Hargrove,” Jonathan said, pointing at the picture again and making Nancy look a little closer. “That is them, right?”

“I think so, but that doesn’t make sense. I know they’ve cooled down from wanting to kill each other on sight, but I don’t think they’re that friendly. Are you sure they’re holding hands?”

“Pretty sure. I mean, it’s a little blurry, but the angle certainly makes it look that way. And if they were just sharing a smoke, there’s no reason they’d need to be that close together. What else could it be?”

“I don’t know. Wow, I didn’t even know Steve swung that way, let alone that he’d go for someone like Billy,” Nancy said, lowering her voice a bit. 

“Neither did I, I never would’ve guessed,” Jon said, taking the picture back again. “So, what should we do with this, then?”

“Well, we obviously can’t run it with the story. I guess we should give it back to them.”

“Why don’t we just throw it away?”

“Because one, somebody could find it, and while I don’t think anyone would really notice and put two and two together, I don’t think we should risk it. You know word travels fast around here, and if Steve’s parents ever got wind of this, they’d probably ship him off to military school within a day. And who knows what Billy would do if anyone even dared to wonder about him. Besides, I don’t want to make assumptions, and I’d feel weird knowing something like this without them telling me themselves. It’d make things more awkward than they already are.”

“Yeah, but you remember how Steve reacted the last time I caught something I shouldn’t have on film, and I really like this camera. And I also happen to like my face, I would prefer not to have it rearranged if Billy flies off the handle.”

“Oh come on, Jon, Steve apologized for the last time, and at least this time it was an accident. He won’t go near your camera. And if you’re worried about Billy, you can hide behind me if you want. I’m sure he’d never hit a girl, it’ll be fine,” Nancy said, taking the picture and stuffing it in her purse. “Once we finish up here for the day, we’ll stop by Steve’s house and talk to him.”

The rest of the work day went by way too fast for Jonathan’s liking, he was not looking forward to confronting Steve with what he’d captured. Before he knew it, it was five o’clock, and he was gathering his things up to take home and punching out with Nancy hot on his heels. Unfortunately, it’d been her turn to drive today, so he couldn’t even pretend that he’d forgotten and taken her home, and he just had to wait as she steered her car towards Steve’s house.

The house was just as big and intimidating as he remembered it, just like the guy who lived inside. Jon had only been inside it once, at a party back in freshman year, before he realized how much he hated parties and being around large groups of people in general. But even with only one or two people inside, he was more afraid of it now then he had been then. Still, Nancy was determined to get this off her mind, so Jon didn’t argue as he followed her up to the big French doors and knocked.

“Oh, uh,” Steve said as he answered them, keeping the door open just enough that only he was visible, “Nance, Jonathan, what are you guys doing here? Is there something wrong with… y’know…?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Nancy said, smiling brightly, “May we come in?”

“Um, now’s not really a great time…” Steve said, avoiding eye contact as he scratched the back of his neck.

“It’ll only take a second, Steve. It’s important,” Nancy continued, nudging Jon, who nodded along while also avoiding Steve’s eyes. Nancy didn’t, though. She looked at Steve head on and gave him a face that he must’ve known meant that she meant business, because finally, with a quick glance behind him into his living room, he let them in. He closed the door behind them and then turned to lean against it, obviously not wanting them to go any further. 

“What is it?” He asked, getting a bit antsy as he started tapping his foot.

“We have something to show you,” Nancy said, opening her purse and making Jonathan break out into a cold sweat. Steve eyed both of them curiously as Nancy took out the picture, handing it to him and standing up straight as she said, “We took this picture earlier today at the mall, the Post is running an article about the grand opening and they wanted a visual element. But when we developed the film, we found something we didn’t know we’d captured and we wanted to do the right thing.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, glancing over the picture quickly. He didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“That’s you and Hargrove, isn’t it? You’re holding his hand,” Nancy said, pointing to the two in the background and Steve’s eyes went wide. He tried to say something but he was too panicked, and he kept looking back and forth between Nancy, Jon and the picture.

“L-look, Steve, I didn’t even know you were there when I took it! I only noticed later and Nancy said we should tell you but I was just gonna get rid of it, I swear!” Jon babbled, taking a tiny step behind Nancy as Steve finally closed his mouth and looked at them.

“He’s telling the truth, Steve,” Nancy said, “He just wanted to get rid of it, but I said we should tell you about it. I wouldn’t have felt right jumping to conclusions and especially not if I jumped to the right ones and then knew something you didn’t want me to know. So I made him come here with me to give you both the picture and the film, that way you know we aren’t trying to keep anything from you.”

“I-I, um,” Steve cleared his throat, “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, we just thought you should know,” Nancy said, smiling nicely as she stepped forward to hug him. “And just so you know, we won’t tell a soul. Make sure Hargrove gets the message too, alright?”

“I will,” Steve said, hugging her back and finally starting to calm down a little. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jon said, finally regaining some confidence as he shrugged. “Thanks for, y’know, not getting pissed.”

Steve gave a small shrug and an only half-strained smile at that remark as he showed them out, waving as he made sure they got in their car okay. Nancy smiled and waved back as they drove off, poking Jon lightly in the side as she stopped at a stop sign.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She teased, steering her car down the road.

“I guess not. I’m just glad Hargrove wasn’t there, he’d have probably beaten the shit outta me,” Jon said, shrugging again.

“Oh, he was definitely there,” Nancy said.

“What?”

“Yeah, you didn’t notice? Steve almost didn’t let us in, and he wouldn’t let us go past the foyer, there was obviously someone else there. And I saw his shoes by the door.”

“Shit, do you think he’ll come after us for this?”

“I doubt it. He has no reason to now that Steve has the pictures. Besides, you were worried about Steve, but he’s changed from the person he was two years ago. Maybe he’s helping Billy to change from the person he was when he first moved here,” Nancy shrugged.

“Maybe. I hope you’re right,” Jonathan said, shrugging as well.

“I am. I know Steve, and he wouldn’t date anyone who would hurt the people he cares about. And if Billy does end up coming after us, I’ll protect you,” Nancy grinned, taking Jonathan’s hand and squeezing it.

“I’m holding you to that,” he said, but he smiled and squeezed back.

[albatmobile]

The Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds Chapter 23

𓅪 After not hearing from Roy or Jason for five years, you suddenly find yourself taking in extra income as a babysitter for their child.

𓅪 Rated: E | 8.3k includes: smut ur welcome, Jason and Roy being whores, Bruce and Ollie appearance

fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist]

Chapter 23: Love Me Like You Used To | ao3 - wattpad

The three of you stay up practically all night, talking about whatever comes to mind while sleep continues to elude your minds.

The adrenaline has yet to wear off and you still feel like there’s so much to be said, yet the three of you continue to talk about the dumbest shit just like you had back in high school. 

You all take turns saying the most ridiculous, slap-happy influenced bullshit to see who will laugh the hardest, Jason being the hardest nut to crack, of course. Eventually, around five, you all tire out.

“You know,” Roy yawns, leaning his head on your shoulder, “Damian has that Cali king in our room.” 

“I remember.” You’d just been in there the other night. It’s not like the couch was exactly looking appetizing with your injury. “Your boyfriend is right here, Roy,” you chide lightly.

“It’s not like that, but it could be. Right, Jay?” 

Jason surprisingly smirks at you, leaving you to sputter. 

It’s unfair how easily they manage to make you blush, especially now, even when you’re tired and injured. As it is, every move you make leaves your body in agonizing, stabbing pain and your eyelids can hardly remain open.

“Stop teasing me,” it comes out as more of a weak demand than anything as sleep tugs at your heavy eyelids. 

You yawn, feeling Roy’s head bob against your shoulder before resting your head atop his.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Roy stirs and urges you into the room. You willingly oblige, allowing him to lead you to the mattress. 

Lian’s already passed out. Her little snores sputter out into the dark room and you try to minimize your movement to not wake her a whole hour earlier than she’d normally wake up. If she does end up waking up, you know none of you will be able to go to sleep for at least another hour. Your mind tiredly lists off Lian’s little quirks with a smile, knowing she’d want to be fed and entertained, meaning you’d be stuck on babysitting duty until Damian or Jon would get up.

The ache you feel in your body and eyelids is enough incentive to keep as still as possible.

You make quick work of changing into your PJs while Jason and Roy turn around to give you space. 

It’s quite funny, in your sleep-induced state, how they still try to grant you modesty when they’ve literally seen all there is to see. Nonetheless, you appreciate the gesture. Once you’ve changed, Roy slips into bed behind you while Jason lies across from you, his fingers tickling your scalp from over Lian’s sleeping form. 

You’d always been prone to falling asleep wherever. However, after these few days of bliss with them, your body rejects anything less than being snuggled between them. 

You’re awoken what seems like minutes later by Lian’s pleas from the other room for Jon to put on Superman. 

You blearily let yourself close the new gap between you and Jason. You sleepily hike your leg in between his and snuggle your head into the crook of his neck. He stirs slightly but ultimately begins tracing up and down your arm. 

Beside you, Roy’s still conked out, laying stomach down with his arm thrown over your waist. His haphazard snores are angled into your shoulder while his legs are eagle-spread across the mattress.  

Jason’s skin smells intimate, like sleep.

You crave more. 

You nuzzle his neck, feeling him smile in response. “Morning," you say as he shifts, allowing your thick thigh further in between his own muscular ones. “Mm,” you mumble dreamily. His fingers begin tickling underneath your, well, technically his, sleep shirt. 

“You sleep alright?” Jason’s morning voice is pure sin, rumbling all the way from the pooling heat in your lower region down to your toes. You nod, smiling when his eyes briefly slide close as he fights to keep whatever lingering dregs of sleep he can before gracing you with his emerald gaze a few moments later. “Tha’sgood, babe.”

“Yeah," your response is a breathy whisper against the roar of Roy’s deep slumber and Lian’s joyful screams in the living room. Man, could these Harper’s make some noise in the morning.

You shuffle closer, still feeling the weight of Roy’s arm around your waist as Jason’s left arm soon falls beside it, pulling you flush against his warm chest. Your head presses against his chest hair, looking up at his neck when you hear him yawn. 

Once he’s done, he moves his head backward a bit so that he can meet your gaze.

He seems more awake than before when he wishes you good morning and nearly kisses you before fully waking up, “Sorry.” Jason’s green eyes are wild as he searches your face for a response. 

You just smile tiredly in return and tug for his fingers around your waist to start tickling up your sides again. 

He finally relaxes again, smiling at your cute, early-morning behavior and easily gives in to your request. The shirt rises and with it, exposing your panties. Jason continues his ticklish sensations. Unbeknownst to him, his ministrations are causing other things to tickle at the same time.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.” 

“Oh?” he questions, blinking back at you slowly like he still thinks he might be in the midst of dreaming. His motions on your soft skin cease so swiftly you almost miss it before resuming like they’d never stopped in the first place.

You can’t help but bite your lip at the deep timber of Jason’s voice while you’re in such an intimate position like this. 

Your eyes flick back down to the safety of his chest, unable to face the intensity behind his slitted eyes. “Jay?” you start unsurely.

You hear him gulp, wondering just what kind of effect you’re having on him, all while trying to hide his obvious one on you.

Your nickname is a hushed response back. 

His rough fingers trail down, drawing his shirt on you down with it. He comes to a light stop right above the waistband of your thong with a hypnotizing barely-there pressure. You need more. You need the pads of his fingertips to go lower and lower until they… 

You unwittingly buck into the touch and gasp with embarrassment. He doesn’t allow you to drown in it for too long, however. The gentle pressure lifts as his fingers move to caress under your chin, motioning it upward. You give in easily, though the heat on your cheeks prevents you from looking at him again quite yet.

When you finally gain the courage to look at him, you can’t help the look of absolute wonder on your face as you explore his face for any sign of resistance. Yes, he’d already kissed you, but it’d been in the midst of all the recent stress and chaos. Who’s to say that this isn’t just another one-off event? 

“I don’t think,” you finally muster after a few seconds of studying his expression. ‘I don’t think I can hold back anymore,’is what you want to say, but your lips refuse to reveal your cards just yet. Your bottom lip trembles as an overwhelming surge of lust and anticipation after years of this chase takes hold of you. “I can’t think,” you whimper, hoping he’ll somehow understand this all means you really want his tongue in your mouth like, five years ago. Now, though… Now is the next best thing. “Please, no more teasing me.”

Jason’s eyes widen. 

His fingers trickle further up your jawline at a tantalizingly slow pace. The deliberate touch draws your face closer to his on the pillow with every catch of his callouses against your soft cheeks. 

Where Roy’s lips are chapped, his hands have always been surprisingly soft. Jason, on the other hand, Jason’s lips have always been smooth and supple, but his hands are rough and calloused.

“No more,” he agrees deeply. 

It’s your turn to look surprised. “Really?” you ask.

He leans down, lips brushing lightly against your forehead as his next words send you over the point of no return. “I promise,” he whispers. Jason places a gentle kiss where his lips have been resting before moving further down to kiss at the tip of your nose. “Anything you want, you can have, babe. Just say the words.”

Your one hand rests on his sculpted stomach while your other hand mimics his own and rests along his chiseled jawline. He’d always looked like one of those Greek statues in Damian’s art books, but his scars and iridescent jewel-toned eyes put him in an entirely different category. Jason’s beauty is truly that of a god, which no marble nor sculptor could ever do justice.

“I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, feeling relief with each word that pushes past the anticipation lodged in your throat. “Please,” you beg. “Please, don’t make me wait for you any longer, Jay. Please, I can’t…” you trail off at the same time he seems to snap.

Jason groans, finally ducking his head down to meet your lips and give you exactly what you’ve been aching for.

It’s at this exact moment that Roy snorts awake with a jolt, moving to drowsily spoon you like he had last night, just as your lips finally brush against Jason’s. 

Roy’s unexpected touch causes you to startle backward into his morning wood with a tiny yelp. Upon contact with his heavy, clothed member, you arch your back, blushing when you realize what you’ve just done.

He winces as if you’d hurt him, then wiggles back against you. “Oh, man, princess. I forgot you were here,” he yawns dramatically.

You’re still very much entangled with his boyfriend right in front of him, though he seems more interested in the situation than upset by it. 

“Gee, thanks, Roy.” 

“Just playing, baby,” he teases. Roy makes to spoon you but stops just short of fully pressing himself against your back. All the while, Jason’s slitted green eyes stare the two of you down with sleepy interest. “This okay?” Does he mean spooning you, or the fact his morning wood is now directly pressed up against your bare ass. 

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re all three dancing around the idea of fucking? Well, at least you’re dancing around the idea and have to remind yourself that they’re the ones who are dating, not you. 

Something does feel different in the air after last night, though. 

It’s as if the floodgates have finally opened and yet, even though you now feel like you can be completely open and vulnerable with them, you still don’t exactly know where you stand relationship-wise with them. Frankly, you’re too scared to ask. 

You bite at your lower lip when his dick twitches against you and can’t help but nod. Your answer escapes your lips in a gasp, “Yes.”

Jason’s eyes flick upward and you know he and Roy are doing that annoying ass eye-communication-thing they do so well before they’re both closing in on you. 

Your stomach flips as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Roy clears his throat. Your whole body goes tense, waiting for them to throw you out of the room, but it never comes. Instead, you’re met with his gruff, morning voice. It’s not fair the things it’s stirring inside yourself. 

“Do you want us?” His words alone are enough that you feel a rush of wetness seep onto your thighs. “Because we really want you, baby.”

They forcibly remain still on the mattress as they await your answer.

You can’t help but gulp around the excitement that it’s finally, finally happening.

Your hands grip the sheets as you grind back into Roy. At the same time, you tug Jason’s abs flush against your tits.

It’s not enough of an answer, apparently.

“We’re gonna need to hear that pretty voice, babe,” he sounds barely restrained as his words lewdly tickle against your ears.

“Loud and clear,” Roy adds as a hot whisper against the shell of your ear. “You can do that for us, can’t you?” Your breath hitches in your throat. “Or are you going to be a bad girl?”

Your legs tremble, wanting so badly to flip on your back and spread yourself for both of them right then and there, but you’ve been patient- so fucking patient. The least you can do is return the favor of all their teasing and blue balls for a few moments more.

“What if I don’t want to be bad?” you challenge. Your eyes slowly trail up Jason’s chiseled abdomen, lit up like a work of Michelangelo’s in the morning sun. “What if all I’ve been trying to do is be a good girl for the two of you.” 

You notice Jason’s eyes flicking up greedily to meet Roy’s and wonder if you’ve said something wrong.

You’re quickly assured that, no, you haven’t said anything wrong when Jason takes the lead and flips you on your side to pin you against the mattress. It happens so fast that you’re left staring up at him in brief confusion, then arousal as one of Jason’s thick thighs slots deliciously between your own.

“I like good girls,” Jason says your name with his heavy eyes boring into you like loaded guns, shooting fire all the way down to your aching wetness. “I like ‘em a lot,” the last part of his sentence is grumbled against your neck as he steadily makes his way toward your gasping mouth. 

It’s everything you’ve known you needed and so much more.

Your heart pours itself into the kiss, gliding against his plump lips like they’re your lifeline. 

A steady pouring of adrenaline leaves you nearly shaking after having waited so many fucking years for this kind of clarity. No, for this kind of relief. 

It’s finally yours for the taking and, boy, do you take.

The flood walls finally give way, bursting as both of them descend upon you, taking turns sucking your lips until they’re swollen up like a sex doll.

Roy’s still lying on his side as he caresses your cheek and leverages your head to get a deeper angle. His hand tantalizingly trickles up your thigh to rest at the small of your waist while he gives you exactly what you want. 

“You’re perfect, princess,” he gasps once Jason cups your cheek to move your lips back to his. This is how it continues until Roy finally has the courage to bare himself completely. “What?” he says, covering his dick when you and Jason break away to stare at the latest development.

“Roy,” you gasp, staring at him in shock, openly taking in his, well, everything for the first time since the showers. This time, his pink-tipped cock bounces up and down under your inspection. 

Jason looks down at you, then at Roy as if, for once, they’re the ones who are unable to read you.

“Like what you see?” He’s smirking like usual, but it lacks its usual charm. There’s no way he’s actually self-conscious right now, right? 

You gulp, realizing they’re way out of your league, yet they’re just as self-conscious as you’re feeling. 

“I always have.”

Roy smirks. “Have a thing for redheads, then?”

“Yeah,” you nod easily, “and their angsty boyfriends.” 

Jason lets out a sexy chuckle, while Roy looks downright devilish.

You’ve obviously quelled any remaining timidness as he slinks toward you, smirking like the cat who got the cream. Roy straddles your waist with his cock slipping ever so slightly through your slick folds before his slit rubs against your sensitive nub. You throw your head back at the contact with a pathetic moan that has Jason on your lips in an instant.

His strong hand slides up your neck, securing his hold around it into the kiss as Roy grinds against your twitching cunt. 

“Jay,” he moans when you grind up to meet his thrust. The tip of his cock catches on your entrance, nearly pushing in. You break away from the kiss with a shocked gasp, arching up off the mattress.

Jason rips your shirt off of you, literally rips it from your body. You and Roy stare at him in shock, but he just shrugs. “What?” he asks entirely too innocently.

The three of you all seem to realize at the same time that your tits are now fully exposed and waste no time descending upon them. Each of them taunts your nipples at a different pace, with different strokes, but at the same time. 

“Fuck,” you curse. You’re in dire need of relief, so your hand travels downward only to be stopped by Jason’s calloused hands. 

“I thought you said you were a good girl, babe,” Jason’s eyes sear into yours with a playful glint flashing across their emerald surface, “or did you tell daddy a lie?” His mouth hovers tantalizingly close to your erect bud while he awaits your answer. 

“I-” For the first time in your life, you’re rendered speechless as these two god-like men ravenously stare down at your naked body, eyeing you up like prey.

Roy smirks over at Jason, coming out slightly slurred as if he's already drunk on sex. “She’s speechless, Jay,” he teases you.

Your eyes narrow in an instant. “Shut it, Harper.” 

He may have his dick sliding against the wet folds of your cunt, but you aren’t so desperate as to let him talk shit.

His mouth obediently snaps shut at the same time Jason laughs. 

Your clit is desperate to be touched and you feel half delirious because of it. Roy seems to understand because he slithers down your stomach and positions himself between your legs, restraining them in his strong grip to prevent you from closing them.

“I’ll shut up and eat your pussy, princess. That works for me, too.”

“Good,” you say around a small smirk.

With this, you nod down at him, tangling his fiery locks in between your fingers to tug him close to where you so desperately need him. He groans as he mouths against your lips, barely flicking at your clit just to be a dick. It leaves you a panting mess, nonetheless, as his slow, deliberate laps at your cunt leave you wriggling against his boyfriend’s chest. 

Jason moves from the side of you, removing his boxers as he does so to trap your head between his deliciously scarred thighs. For the first time, you come face to face, well, face to dick with his eye-widening member. 

You can’t help but stare at what you’ve only ever imagined.

It’s thick, veiny and fucking perfect. You need it shoved down your throat, stat.

Your mouth unwittingly opens and he needs no further encouragement than to settle his hefty cock onto your willing tongue. When his length breaches against the back of your throat, you feel yourself nearly go cross-eyed. Without hesitation, you obediently swallow around it, feeling tears tinge in the corners of your eyes at the challenging stretch he presents.

At the same time, Roy knows exactly all the angles and pressure to use on you to make you a withering mess in mere seconds. You’ve never felt anything like it before and you’re seriously convinced you’re going to come before either of them even get the chance to fuck you. Carefully, his thick fingers add one after the other into your tight heat, plunging in and out as he stretches you obscenely. 

You take Jason’s dick like a champ, swallowing it all the way to the base with every demanding thrust he sends your way. You find yourself actually enjoying the pain as your mouth stretches and drools around his thick cock. It definitely helps that Roy’s making an absolute mess of your cunt. Every barrage of fast flicks and slow, flat licks from his skilled tongue leave you a gurgling mess against Jason’s thrusts.

It’s too much and Roy seems to know it with how sporadic your thrusts are against his slick-coated mouth. All of a sudden, the redhead smacks Jason on the ass, sending his cock all the way to the back of your throat.

You nearly scream at the obscene pressure, teary eyes never leaving Jason’s green ones all the while.

You mumble sadly around Jason’s member when Roy’s mouth removes itself from you with a loud slurp. His fingers gently follow soon after, leaving you feeling completely stretched and empty. Jason seems to understand what this means and moves to lie beside you with a wink.

“You ready for what’s next, babe?”

What’s next?

Your blown-out eyes nod dumbly, causing both of them to chuckle at your uncharacteristic quietness. 

Roy’s eyes impishly flash between your naked bodies like it’s Christmas morning. “How you wanna do this, Jay?” he questions giddily.

You watch as Jason’s dick twitches. “Just like how we always talked about, love,” he responds without hesitation.

Roy smirks and smacks lightly at your hip. You give him a confused look but rise to your knees nonetheless. 

“Follow my lead, princess.”

You watch as Roy spreads his legs across Jason’s upper thighs so their cocks bounce against each other. Roy motions for you to come closer and, when you do, his hand covers yours and drags it over to their leaking tips. 

You don’t need his help to know what’s next.

Timidly, you wrap your lithe fingers around the impressive girth of their combined erections and begin to beat them off together. You wonder if you’re even doing it right when Roy throws his head back and moans like an absolute whore, something you and Jason share an amused look at. The look only lasts for so long before you feel your face flush.

“You like that?” Jason questions darkly. you bite lightly at your lower lip, turning to face Jason’s lust-drunk eyes. “You get off on making Roy come undone like the slut he is?”

Roy groans appreciatively.

Meanwhile, Jason’s words spur your hands into a frantic pace that leaves both of them fucking desperately up into your fist for more delicious friction. As if it’s too much, Jason motions to Roy and Roy stops your hand mid-jerk.

Jason shifts so he’s half-propped up by the headboard, looking absolutely pleased with his arms tucked behind his head while Roy situates your dripping cunt over his cock. When you slowly sink down on his length, growing accustomed to the stretch as you do, Jason can hardly stop himself from bucking up into your tight heat. He probably would’ve left you sore had Roy’s sturdy hands not remained on either side of his hip bones to control him. 

You’re definitely grateful Roy had fingered you as thoroughly as he had earlier. It makes what’s happening now a hell of a lot more pleasurable. You take your time as the uncomfortableness soon turns to pleasure with help from their tantalizing touches as you slowly sink further down on Jason’s cock. 

They don’t seem to mind how long it’s taking at all. If anything, it seems like they’re grateful for the slowdown in pace, if only to last longer once you finally reach his base.

Once you grow accustomed to the intense feeling, you gently rest back on Roy’s freckled thighs, which are spread similarly to yours, across Jason’s thick thighs. You're definitely grateful Roy had been so thorough with his fingering earlier.

“Tell me,” Roy whispers your name against the shell of your ear from behind. Jason begins to thrust in and out of you, carefully watching your every minute reaction. “Did you fantasize about this?” he groans around a particular thrust. “Did you get off picturing me getting stuffed by me and Jay, baby? So full and so good for us just like this, princess?”

“YES!” you exclaim your admission. Roy’s hand snakes around to flick your clit cruelly as if pleased with your answer. “Fuck, yes. I did,” you breathe, feeling droll spilling from the corner of your mouth, but Jason easily wipes it with his thumb and a Cheshire grin. “You both know I did.”

It seems like you aren’t the only one who’s fantasized about this if their desperate, pleased reactions are anything to go by.

“Shit,” Roy groans as he lines himself up with your twitching hole. “You don’t know how many wet dreams I’ve had about this.”

“Enough to force us to get new sheets every year,” Jason supplies with an easy roll of his eyes. He moves his calloused hands to support some of your weight as Roy’s cock begins to rub against your slick slit.

“Jay,” Roy whines like the brat he is. “Fuck, I don’t think I’m going to fit." You feel more than see his head resting against the back of yours as he restrains himself from tearing straight into you. “Your pussy’s too tight for both of us, baby,” he groans sinfully.

You whimper at the sensation. The head of his cock hardly has enough room with Jason’s thick member already filling the majority of your cunt. 

“That’s so fucking hot,” you inadvertently admit in the heat of sex. As soon as the words escape, you move to cover it but Jason’s already there, removing your hands from your mouth. 

“We want to hear everything,” Jason’s dark, domineering tone drips around your name, thick like honey. “We want you to give us everything, babe. All of it.”

It’s enough to unleash a sputtered moan that you wish you could cover up but don’t. Jason seems to recognize this and coos lightly with simmering praise that leaves you dripping on Roy’s cock steadily slipping into your wet heat right alongside Jason’s.

“Fuck,” your curse is barely a breath as your head knocks back into Roy’s as he becomes fully situated inside of you. “I don’t wanna come yet.” You shake your head desperately while Jason drinks in your reaction with thirsty, verdant eyes. “Please,” you beg them, “I can’t come yet. Fuck!” 

You’re completely stuffed with both of their thick lengths pushing into every possible wall inside of you. You swear you could come right here and now with their overwhelming sensation, but once they start thrusting into you, you know you’re not going to last long.

Your desperate whines and whimpers fall on deaf ears as they continue their ruthless assault on your cunt. As it is, they’re barely leaving you time to breathe with each purposeful thrust they shudder into you.

Jason removes his hands to situate themselves behind his head, watching you ride him while Roy fucks into you from behind.

You don’t think you’ve managed to stop moaning for even a millisecond since Roy’s pink-tipped dick slipped inside your already-filled pussy. His head pathetically splayed across your shoulder, panting like he’s barely holding himself back from fully ravaging your pussy.

That won’t do.

“Harder, Roy.”

Jason groans at the same time Roy does. Both of them buck into you simultaneously, leaving you seeing stars.

You can’t even begin to attempt to cover your screams as they ring out across the expanse of the room. It feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced before and your body reacts openly because of it.

Roy’s hand remains rubbing at your clit, while the other snakes around your front to jiggle your tits. You find yourself entranced as they bounce up and down with each pump and your hips. You sputter when his fingers flick at your nipples and clench down around them as you stave off your orgasm for another moment longer, but it’s in vain.

You’re coming, falling backward into Roy’s sturdy chest as you release on their dicks. You’re shaking into Roy’s hold around you while Jason’s calloused hands soothingly run up and down your thick thighs. The redhead manages to steady you with a pleased chuckle as your arousal cools, then sparks and simmers again in the pit of your stomach. 

Regardless of your orgasm, Jason greedily continues to fuck into you.

Hell, he doesn’t even slow his thrusts as he continues to fuck into you with a dazed look settled across his half-lidded eyes. He bites his lip as he and Roy fuck your come into you with their own precome adding to the lewd syrup drizzling from your squelching hole with each thrust.

Jason seems lucid as he watches Roy fondle your abused tits, leaving you to writhe against him whorishly as he brings you close to the edge again. Jason himself doesn’t look too far off either, as his small gasps and grunts become more frequent and more desperate.

Roy’s breath fans across your neck in small puffs as he makes cruel work of your overly sensitive nub. 

You come again with a pained cry, arching your back with your eyes crossing as they milk every last drop of come from you. Roy fucks into you as Jason’s sinking out of you. This is how they continue until you’re stuffed with both of their come.

Both you and Roy fall forward, completely spent, onto Jason’s toned chest.  

Jason’s heaving beneath your weight when he finally speaks up, “Was it everything you imagined?”

You’re still catching your breath as you consider your answer. 

Your pussy aches pleasantly, you’re completely fucked out and the two men you’ve always loved are the reason for it all.

“Fuck yeah, Jay.”

Roy groans and you feel his dick twitch against your ass in interest. 

You end up going a few more rounds before you’re all entirely spent. You wash each other off in Damian’s rich-ass shower before joining Jon, Damian and Lian in the living room.

“I’ve never known either of you to sleep in so long,” Damian greets your group skeptically, though his stare stare is entirely pointed at you and Jason.

You shrug, blushing. 

“Babe’s still speechless, Jay,” Roy mutters through a smirk, freckled cheeks still lit up with the red heat of sex. One searing look from you, though and he concedes easily, throwing up his hands in faux-surrender. 

Words escape you and you have no interest in opening your mouth and babbling like an idiot, which will inevitably happen if you do.

Jon hangs out with you, Jason, Roy and Lian, even going so far as to offer to watch her with Damian so you guys can start on a plan. Eventually, it’s decided that Arsenal and Red Hood will search for your parents and leads into who all had been contracted but ultimately lost Deadshot’s trail. 

Meanwhile, you try to trace him but keep running into Belle Reve’s annoying ass firewall. Further digging brings up something called-

“Task Force X?” you question quietly to yourself, squinting your eyes at the screen as you try to make sense of the name. After a few more hours of research, you give up and pass along the information. Apparently, they can both make sense of the connection and this earns you the title of ‘their Oracle.’ 

Once you’re finished, Lian’s itching to get outside, so the three of you relieve Jon of his babysitting duties to take her to Gotham Botanical Gardens.

You can’t help but be reminded of the last time you were here with Jason and Roy after their kiss and subsequent weirdness. Coupled with this morning’s predicament, you couldn’t help but be amused by your current predicament all these years later.

Here you are, hours post-sex with them, yet you can’t help but feel like your insecure fifteen-year-old self around them. 

As if repeating five years ago when Jason and Roy had split off from each other to brood in silence all those years ago, you emulate them. Without even meaning to, you remain somewhat distant from the three of them, excluding yourself on account of your own self-doubt.

You’re still hesitant around them and you’re pretty sure they’re picking up on it because now they’re giving you even more space.

It’s a good sign that they aren’t currently arguing about you impeding upon their relationship. They seem fine, but you can’t be sure. 

They don’t mention anything to you, so you continue to walk on eggshells around your feelings for both of them.

You just hope they won’t notice.

Jason and Roy have Lian, all hand-in-hand, walking around the botanical gardens all hand while you trail anxiously behind them. You don’t even realize you’re wringing your hands until Roy’s freckled hand stops the movement.

Roy glances at you with a curious, raised brow. “You know, you can totally join in on this, princess. Just say the word,” he offers with a small smile. 

You wince at being caught.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you respond hesitantly. 

Roy chuckles, his light green eyes crinkling as he does so. Without another word, he nudges Jason who turns around to give you a look you’re starting to get familiar with. Upon seeing your conflicted expression, Jason bridges the gap and extends his free hand out to you.

You stare at it as if it’s going to hurt you and aren’t able to school your response before Jason can notice. His hand falters briefly before you grab it and lace your fingers in between his automatically.

You understand that, yes, they just had sex with you- you just don’t understand what it means, never mind where the three of you go from here. It’s not like they’re exactly screaming your relationship status from the rooftops.

Jason gently squeezes your hand before you can spiral too far into your doubts. Instead, he draws your attention to the butterflies that suddenly flock around you. 

Lian giggles at the sight of butterflies flitting about your hair, “You have a butterfly crown!”

“A true princess,” Roy says, moving beside you to hold your free hand while Lian takes off to skip around close by. “Definitely a different vibe from when me and Jay were arguing and shit here, don’t you think?”

You’re definitely in a better place in life now than you were back then, even with all this crazy shit going on.

Maybe the hesitancy is all in your head. Maybe there’s truly no reason for your insecurity. With both of their hands securely wrapped around yours, you allow yourself to believe it. Even if it’s only for today, you do believe it.

“Definitely,” you agree, squeezing both of their hands at the same time. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to smiling this hard.

Lian quickly becomes distracted by the ice cream stand a few yards off the main garden path.

You take up Lian-duty as you quickly follow behind her before she can get too far away. When you turn around, you’re met with a familiar face talking to Jason and Roy- Deadshot. 

You quickly steer Lian’s attention toward the ice cream man, which isn’t too difficult. The entire time, though, you can’t deny the pressing feeling of eyes on your back. After ordering and waiting a few minutes, you finally gain the courage to check behind you to find Deadshot gone.

You give Lian her ice cream cone, hoping it’ll be enough to keep her preoccupied enough while you and her dads reconvene. Just what the fuck did the mercenary want now?

Jason and Roy are deep in conversation as you and Lian approach. They only briefly stop to let you know he hasn’t been asked to renew the contract against you, meaning they’ve most likely dropped it.

“Probably realized it was more expensive to hire mercenaries than whatever payout they’d receive from you.” 

That’s too easy.

Nothing is ever easy with them.

“Or they’re waiting it out with someone else,” you surmise.

Roy seems confused, “Why would they keep trying to kill you?” 

“I think I’m their only failsafe,” you sigh. “I mean, all they’ve ever cared about is money and it’s the one thing they’ve never securely had.”

“Pieces of shit,” Jason curses. He turns and bangs his fist against the tree beside him like the true edgelord he is. Your group is quiet for a few beats as you take in the information. Finally, Jason speaks again, “They’re clearly in some sort of trouble to go to their last resort.” His brows knit together in concentration as he ponders the next move. “Maybe we could barter with them?” 

“They do just want money,” you offer as you think back to their cruel, cold nature. It’s all they’ve ever wanted, but it’s still something that seemed to elude them like a curse. 

This is apparently great news to Roy who grins.

“Well, then, sweetheart,” Roy says as he wraps his built arm around your shoulder, “we’re probably two good people to know.” He hesitates for a moment before correcting his former statement, Well, technically not us, but still close!” 

•••

That same day, you find yourself in a meeting at Wayne Industries with Bruce Wayne and Oliver Queen. The CEO suite is at the top of the building and requires the front desk assistant to insert a key in the elevator to reach the level. 

“Have you ever been to your dad’s work before?” you ask, looking up at Jason innocently. 

His eyes flicker down to yours briefly before focusing back on the climbing numbers on the screen. “No.”

Before you can question him further, the doors ding and slide open to reveal wall-to-floor windows overlooking all of Gotham. 

“Oh, no way!” you exclaim as you take in Bruce’s impressive office.

Oliver fiddles slightly with his mustache. “Queen Industries doesn’t really dedicate an entire floor to my office,” he clears his throat obnoxiously before stage whispering to you from behind his hand, “more like two floors, not bragging, though. We wouldn’t want Bats over there to get too jealous, now, would we?” He shoots a wink at Bruce’s unimpressed deadpan. “Anyway, nice to see ya again, little missy. Still a spitfire as ever, I presume?” He gives you a tiny noogie with his hand that you quickly slap away. Oliver hisses, withdrawing his touch immediately, “I’m gonna take that as a yes, then.”

You can’t help but laugh at his tenacity.

Though your past self would be flipping out that you’re standing right in front of Green Arrow, you’re more preoccupied with the danger at hand to feel anything other than anxiety. 

“Nice to see you again, too, Mr. Harper," you say, confused when the atmosphere in the room turns awkward. You quickly look around for an answer as to why. “What?”

“It’s called Queen Industries for a reason, kid.” Your brows furrow in confusion at Oliver’s explanation. “I’m just Roy’s adopted dad,” Oliver says, subconsciously running a hand through his hair. “Guess we never really got around to talking about changing your last name or not, did we, kid?” He shoots a sad smile Roy’s way, but the redhead’s gaze refuses to lift from the marble floor.

Jason steps in to get the conversation on track. “So, the money.”

Roy seems to breathe a sigh of relief at the shift in conversation.

Bruce, who’s remained largely unnoticed the entire time, now takes the center of the room, seeming to call the meeting to order. You were only ever used to seeing Bruce around the manor, never during his business hours.

His crisp suit complied with his slicked-back hair means Bruce is fully in character. Well, his other character.

Jason’s eyes are off toward the windows, but Roy stares Bruce down as he rehashes the situation to them. There’s no real malice behind his eyes, but the challenge is evident even to you. 

“We have two options: either A. we take them down,” Roy says. He makes to list off on his fingers, but Bruce’s unimpressed face briefly stops him.

“No killing,” Bruce interrupts.

Roy rolls his eyes before continuing on as if Bruce hadn’t just cut him off, “Or B. bribe them.”

“I don’t barter with terrorists,” Bruce says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

You turn to Jason, wondering how his wonderful plan is actually going to work if one of the main proponents is out within seconds of hearing your pitch. It’s obviously time to pivot, but you can’t help but feel a bit scorned at him for turning it all down so easily with, quite literally, your life on the line.

“So,” you drawl, looking up at the ceiling as if deep in thought, “if you don’t barter and you don’t kill, what exactly do you do? Because it seems to be a whole lot of nothing.” By now, you’re staring at Bruce again, trying to ignore how the rest of the room’s mouths are on the floor. 

Hey, it’s life or death. If someone’s going to stand the fuck up, it may as well be you. Seriously, talk about advocating for yourself.

Ollie’s previously upset face morphs into a wicked smile directed Bruce’s way that you can tell the other man is purposefully ignoring.

“Don’t forget you’re the one asking me for my help,” Bruce quirks an amused brow at you. “For my money, too, not to mention.” 

“And mine!” Ollie butts in with his finger held high in the air, demanding his presence also be recognized. “Which,” he nods toward Bruce’s daunting form, “unfortunately, I am also not keen on giving for the same reasons.”

“Alright, so, what exactly do you both,” you look pointedly at Ollie before turning back to Bruce, “recommend that I do, then?”

Bruce takes you in for a moment, almost like he’s proud of you, though surely, you’re reading too much into it. He stands up from his desk, coming around it slowly while his gruff voice rumbles out wisdom that could only come from his alter ego’s past experience. 

“If you give them the money,” Bruce stops and leans against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest as he does, “it will only prolong them for so long. Money is the easiest bargaining chip, but it’s always temporary.” His blue eyes bore into yours as he watches you attempt to put together the puzzle. “They’ll always come back searching for more until the inevitable happens.” He stops dramatically, pursing his lips a bit before continuing, “All this, of course, assuming that money truly is their endgame.” 

You stare at him like he just dropped a bomb. This information is coming from the world’s greatest detective, so you listen to every single word he’s saying earnestly. 

Here, you’re truly able to see where Bruce and Batman collide.

You tirelessly search your mind to try to think of other possible motives but quickly reach a wall.

Jason huffs frustratedly, but you stop him before he can speak.

“No, Bruce is right.” With everyone’s attention on you, you can’t allow yourself to crumble. “It has to go deeper,” you rest a pensive hand under your chin as you delve deeper, “but how do we find out more?”

Bruce stops leaning against his desk and moves back around it to face out the window. Ollie rolls his eyes at the dramatic action but still attempts to replicate a mysterious pose, much to your amusement. 

It’s completely quiet in Bruce’s soundproof CEO suite atop Wayne Tower, but you can practically hear everyone’s thoughts bouncing off the walls.

“I may be able to help you there,” Bruce says. He slightly turns his face from the window to meet yours. “I think I know a guy.”

All the men in the room bemoan his cheesy line, but internally, you’re fangirling hard.

“Oh, come on,” Ollie groans.

You watch as Bruce types something into his phone and, moments later, the elevator springs back open to reveal…

“Damian?” you rush forward to greet him, albeit with a questioning gaze.

He kisses you on your cheeks, muttering your name in greeting before stepping into view of the rest of the room. “You called, father?”

“Oh, this is just fantastic,” Jason mutters to Roy. Their arms are crossed defensively over their chests at the sight of Damian in a pressed, navy suit and slicked-back hair. He looked like a literal matryoshka of Bruce. “I thought this was a closed meeting, Bruce,” Jason hisses out his father’s name like a curse.

���You’re looking at Wayne Enterprise’s new director of the R&D department.” 

Holy shit.

“You’re leading Research and Development?” you ask, looking over at your friend incredulously. “That’s awesome!” He smiles at your praise and briefly looks at Bruce before his honied eyes land back on you. “I definitely want to see what you have hiding down there.”

“Someday soon,” Damian promises. “Until then, you’ll need a secured place to stay while I set about repairs on the penthouse. Shouldn’t be long, anyway.”

•••

“I just don’t see why we need to stay at the manor,” Roy huffs as he packs up whatever clothes he’d actually managed to unpack in the first place. “Even if it’s just for a night or two, we should’ve just robbed your dad and bounced.”

Jason sighs, coming to resituate Roy’s unfolded mess of a bag in a more orderly fashion.

“Do you even hear yourself, dumbass?” Jason chides him before snatching the boxers Roy was scrunching up out of his hands to refold and repack. “What kind of shitty plan would that be?” Roy wrinkles his freckled nose. “Not morally, jesus,” Jason states in exasperation. “I just mean, logically, what sense would that make?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roy mutters, flopping on the bed beside you. He’s apparently resigned to allow Jason to take over packing duties, though you think Jason probably prefers it that way, anyway. “Gettin’ soft on ol’ Batsy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

“Shut up,” Jason hisses with a glare that stops even you in your tracks.

“Scouts honor,” Roy continues to tease until Jason smacks him with the first article of clothing he can find in the unfolded pile on the floor, which just so happens to be one of your thongs. Your face flares red when Roy picks it up and inhales your scent with a pleased groan. He looks around at Jason and your aghast faces and challenges the two of you. “What?” You merely snort. “What?!” he asks again with more desperation, looking to Jason for support but finding none.

•••

You gleefully skip with Lian as you give her the rundown of the mansion. Though you haven’t really been here much since high school, you still know your way around the intricate mahogany walls of Wayne Manor. 

All the while, Jason and Roy busy themselves with toting around the luggage and Alfred had already become preoccupied with cooking dinner. This left you to show the bouncing kid around.

You take her to the library, where you’re affronted with memories of passion, confusion and a cacophony of hormones. Then to the gym, where you’d faced a nearly intolerable amount of pain and exertion to be able to protect Lian the way you do now.

You decide to mess around a bit with their sparring equipment while Lian distracts herself with the colorful resistance bands that are scattered near the door. You giggle at her little grunts of frustration as she teeters around with the bands on the floor.

While you’re deep in routine, you don’t even realize she’s wandered off until you hear her loud gasp.

You quickly turn around, only to find the room empty and panic. Though, how much trouble could a toddler really get into at Wayne Manor? Never mind, you think, as the thought alone only increases your panic.

“Lian?!” you call out, wandering the labyrinth of halls until you finally catch sight of her little pigtails. 

Lian manages to stumble into the only room you’ve been wanting to avoid.

Damian’s old art room.

It’s largely untouched, with white cloths covering the various easels. The furniture and the bookshelves seem relatively kept up without much dust littering their mahogany shelves. Only one painting remains uncovered and Lian quickly makes her way over to it. Your eyes follow her to her destination, locking onto the canvas.

There, across the room, is the familiar painting depicting your first visit to Wayne Manor. 

Upon closer inspection, a thick layer of dust has accumulated on the piece that you’d last seen drying, feeling sickening nostalgia stirring in the bottom of your stomach. It’s a bittersweet reminder of just how much has changed and, yet, how it’s all still the same.

“You look beautiful,” Lian says as she grabs the picture and holds it close to her face to inspect it. You can’t help but become mesmerized by the once-familiar strokes. “Did daddies make you?”

“No,” you answer, still distracted by the acrylic work, “Uncle Damian.”

You look so young, so innocent and naive of what was to come. Sometimes, you wish you could go back to that sweet ignorance only youth brings, but you wouldn’t trade where you are right for anything- even with all the new danger.

“Oh.” She puts a finger near her mouth like she’s thinking about the implications before it slides into her mouth and she begins to bite at it. “I want to paint, too.”

You can’t help but giggle at her adorableness, “We will soon, okay?”

“Okay, mommy,” she says, clearly appeased.

You place the canvas back with gentle care, giving it one last look over.

They find the two of you in the game room twenty minutes later, watching Ponyo. 

Lian’s sitting right up next to the screen to watch while you’re splayed across one of the couches. Roy easily comes, lifting you up and settling beneath your body with a pleased groan. Meanwhile, Jason scoops Lian up to snuggle on the other couch. She tries to protest and go back to her spot, but Jason chides her. 

“Sitting that close isn’t good for your neck, baby.”

“That’s shoot,” she pouts grumpily.

“Hey,” Roy’s chest vibrates below you, “no cursing.”

She gawks, “You said it wasn’t a curse!”

You try your best to hide your smile but find the whole thing too fucking cute to stop it from gracing your face.

Roy sighs, “We’re not doing this right now, Lian. Daddies are tired.” He elevates your legs that lie atop his onto the arm of the couch as if to prove his point.

She huffs, crossing her arms adorably under her chin with puffed-out cheeks, “One day, I will curse.”

A threat and a promise the three of you know she’ll keep.

Before Roy can retort, Alfred’s at the stairs announcing dinner. 

He looks at her as if to say she was saved by the bell, but Lian’s already proudly looking at Roy in Jason’s lap like she knows. It’s here you’re able to see her mother shining through and can’t help but smile. 

On Lian, it’s cute. On Cheshire… not so much.

“Feels just like old times, kinda,” Roy rubs a sheepish hand through his locks. He gathers Lian in his arms from Jason while the latter guides the three of you out of the room and down into the dining room. “This time though, like, complete.”

That basically sums it all up.

“Yeah,” you agree, “now, all we need is for Jason to throw a book at me.”

“Oh, come off it. You make me seem like a fucki’- freakin’,” he shoots an apologetic look Lian’s way. “I wasn’t that bad,” Jason tries again, refusing to concede. 

“Whatever you say,” you say with a wink thrown his way. You can’t help but revel when he blushes in response.

Just like old times.

•••

After dinner, Roy puts Lian to bed while you and Jason tinker around in the library into the late hours of the night. 

You’re researching on one of the couches with Jason stretched stomach-side-down across your lap on his own laptop. Your laptop rests on his chiseled back while you attempt to research the account your parents had created in your name.

Roy comes in and takes over for another couple of hours while Jason’s soft snores sound from beside you until he, too, conks out.

You feel yourself start to drift off when your screen suddenly blacks out.

You sigh, moving to search for the power cord and quickly giving up. Jason’s weight on you, coupled with Roy’s weight at your feet is enough to lull you off into dream world, too. You forget the laptop, figuring you can just charge it in the morning and go to shut it when you see a blue error screen blinking.

You wipe at your eyes, squinting as the blinking blue goes black again.

What the fuck?

You feel fully awake now as you straighten the laptop on Jason’s back to get a better view. Suddenly, the blue screen produces a place to type a password. 

The cursor innocently blinks in the box, patiently waiting for your response.

You look around the dark room as if you’ll somehow find the answer and aren’t surprised when you turn back around to the screen without it.

All the clues smash around in your panicked skull, trying to filter through each one with conviction.

Blood is thicker than water. 

Life insurance policy.

What started it all?

You blink.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard as you type your full name into the password bar. You hesitate briefly, wondering if you should wake anyone up before trying to crack the code. It’s possible you’ll only get one shot at a guess, but you know deep down there’s only one possible answer.

You hit enter with a hesitant twitch of your fingers. 

You watch as the password loads, then the screen goes black again.

Your breath hitches.

There, in the top left corner of your screen, is an address.

You watch as the cursor blinks, following along with each letter that’s typed. The next sentence forms: Give yourself up and no one else gets hurt. The cursor blinks an unknown logo before your entire laptop shuts down entirely.

You sit there, letting the moment wash over you. 

This is a chance to end everything without any casualties. Who are you to turn it down? Even earlier, when Bruce was coming up with a plan, it was obvious your chances of survival were meek. Why should anyone else suffer for something only you have the power to end?

It’s mercy and you take it.

You slip out into the cold of the night, closer and closer to the end.

You’re not scared but rather resolute with each step you take toward the end of your journey, knowing you’re making the best choice. You round another corner when you hear it- footsteps.

“There you are.” 

A/N: was it worth the wait??

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[optiwashere]

Also Shadowheart/Asheera, B9? I swear you did write something like this before but hey, new angles,

I have written something to this effect before, but like you said - new angles and all that. Plus, it's not like it's something that Shadowheart just "gets over" you know? Either way, thank you for requesting this one!

Let's end the prompt bash with my two favorite ladies 💜

---

B9. Convinced that their past makes them irredeemable, Character A struggles with Character B's affections (This technically takes place after Chapter 2 of one of my ongoing fics, Blades in the Night, but all you need for context is that it's post-canon)

Night fell on the Trade Way, stars in haphazard patterns that Shadowheart couldn't read for any constellations.

All she saw were dots of light in the sea of darkness. Seams in the black fabric of night, none of them strong enough to light the world. The moon was dim that night. All was dark save for the small fire she and Asheera built together.

Stargazing kept her mind from staring at the shadows of the trees around them. Yet another forest.

More trees. More hiding places for the Sharran assassins set on ruining what future Shadowheart thought she could have. Each of the shadows in those trees, distant enough that her darkvision couldn't reach them, could have been a shifting figure with a nocked arrow.

"Quiet tonight," whispered Asheera near her.

She was sitting next to Shadowheart by the fire. When she sat down, Shadowheart didn't know.

"I suppose it is. Not much reason for most to travel this way, I assume." Shadowheart glanced her way, then returned her gaze to the sky.

"I meant you."

"Oh."

The low hunting call of a nocturnal bird was the only sound on the road for a handful of breaths. Shadowheart couldn't keep her eyes off the stars.

All around them they were bathed in darkness, yet still they shone. Did the stars too, then, understand what it felt like to consider the darkness? Think it preferable? Did whichever god that hung them in the sky know the feel of its creator's blood on its hands as Shadowheart felt of her parents? Had that god ever heard its parents scream as it worked the interrogator's techniques on them in ignorant devotion to some other, greater god?

It must have. Its work showed in the sky. On some mornings, the sky bled red, and the clouds were stained the same way Shadowheart knew her hands were stained.

Tainted.

"Love, are you all right?" asked Asheera, her voice so soft that Shadowheart shivered at its softness. Her hand fell on Shadowheart's shoulder, thumb rubbing gently. "You've been quiet for hours."

"Have I?" Shadowheart turned to stare at the hand on her. When she tilted her head up to look at Asheera, her tusks glinted in the firelight. "If I said I was contemplating the night sky, would you laugh at me?"

"Depends on why. I have a feeling it's not exactly a humorous occasion."

Waiting a moment, Shadowheart sighed. She didn’t know how to word this. "When you see a star in the night's sky, what do you think of it?"

Asheera shifted her jaw, grinding her tusks against her lip as she thought. Her brows knitted together above the bridge of her nose. "I see a forge weld, like pieces of a breastplate stitched together. Each of those stars keeps the world from falling into total darkness. They're beautiful that way. Why, what do you see?"

"Naïve children that think they can fend off eternal darkness. Destined to die, fade away. Become nothing."

At once, Asheera sat closer, her arm shifting to hold Shadowheart at the waist. Her arm wrapped around Shadowheart and pulled her tight. She was warm. Warmer than the fire. Instinctively, Shadowheart rested her head on Asheera's shoulder. Despite the distance - perhaps because of the oath Asheera swore to protect her - Shadowheart swore she could hear the echo of her heartbeat.

She was so damn warm, and Shadowheart could only think of the darkness blanketing the light in the sky. How a star could be snuffed out in an instant, replaced instantly by shadows.

Shadowheart's breaths hitched. For a moment, she worried her thoughts mingled with Asheera's mind. But the tadpole was gone. Her thoughts were her own, completely free from unfortunate sharing or melding of emotions.

The warmth of Asheera's body enveloped her deeper as Asheera slid her palm down Shadowheart's arm. Close, covered in that palm. Fingers slipped between hers. Held tight.

"You have no reason to fear that," whispered Asheera. "You are not that darkness."

"I broke people for decades. Including my own parents."

"You didn't know—"

"And that absolves me? That's meant to stop me from remembering what I've done?" Shadowheart growled, lifting her head to meet Asheera's gaze. "And what would you know of such loss?"

The words tasted like poison, specifically the extract of carrion crawler innards that could paralyze and trigger violent spasms in its victim. Acrid like burnt flowers. Disgust welled at the bottom of her throat, and she meant to turn away from Asheera, but she could only stare into the deep, ruddy brown eyes that searched her face.

She expected Asheera to pull away.

Instead, she reaffirmed her grip on Shadowheart's hand.

Instead of pulling away, she smiled weakly.

Instead of leaving Shadowheart to wallow in that darkness, Asheera said, "It's not meant to do anything. It's a reminder. But I understand. I understand, though if you think I'm going to sit idly while you compare yourself to the empty night sky, you're more clueless than I expected."

"You think me clueless, then?"

"Let’s just say that I remember hearing the zealot that I met on a floating squid ship regurgitate Sharran dogma." Asheera lifted the corner of her mouth in a curved half-smile. "She was so very different from the smiling drunk that said she cared about refugees."

And somehow, Shadowheart smiled again. She nearly laughed too.

Rather than say a word and ruin what Asheera offered with open arms, Shadowheart nestled back into her embrace.

The two of them watched the stars until the fire became a glimmering, constant light that refused to die. Though they were wrapped in the dark for a moment, darkvision revealing the world in grayscale again, the stars still shone.

[needfantasticstories]

Whumpy WIP - Sky

AO3 link at bottom. Constructive criticism is welcome.

Summary:

Link (Sky) meets unexpected guests. (The intensity ramps up sharply here.)

TW: abduction, because it's what bro tries to do most of his game besides dueling.

Chapter 9: The Dorm

Dim lamps washed out the stained class colors of the Knight’s Academy hallway. Link walked past the stairs and into his room, mind heavy with anger and exhaustion.

He understood Zelda’s desire to fight alongside the knights. She grew up among them, they’d become family. She’d trained under captain Eagus too, and she could take on monsters with technical prowess even Fi would be forced to spout high statistics about, if she were around. No one doubted she could hold her own one-on-one.

But a battle against an unknown invading force? None of them had trained for that.

He wished he had the nerve to go after Zelda; to fly Crimson up despite the late hour and find Indigo. He could find a way to explain that she was a great fighter, that he’d be honored to defend Skyloft by her side, but did she not see what she meant to the rest of the people? How many of them would die for her? How often they’d come to her with concerns and disputes and she resolved them before even needing to involve Gaepora? How they freely shared with her their deepest fears and hopes as if that was easy and normal? How she loved them so easily? How she pushed them all to do, and become, better? Even the elders listened to her as much as she listened to them.

She was more than a knight; she represented their hope. Few in Skyloft knew her divine identity, but they hardly needed to. She radiated wisdom and strength and determination. She gave them courage, made them feel strong.

What would happen if Zelda fell in battle?

And who would meet the end of their blades in the days to come, anyway? What did this mysterious enemy want?

Demise and Ghirahim died, their remaining auras locked within three chests hidden across time and not even he was allowed by Zelda to know where. The demon hordes were dying out or rendered harmless, and not a single one of the tiny political factions in Skyloft had enough venom or strength to fight the entire archipelago.

“Those like you, and those like me…”

The memory rankled him. Lies from a demon, not to be trusted. He had to face this new reality, not dwell forever in the past. Who knew what other threats were out there, as hidden as the surface had once been. He tried to clear his head, to find the courage to look ahead.

Who, then, would be coming? The monsters up here were nearly extinct. And why had Fi asked him to turn her back to the Goddess blade, and raise Hylia back to the sky? How would that fix a break in time? And who would want to engulf such a small island chain in flames?

He opened his door and stepped into the soothing darkness. He could not wait to sleep. Having lived in this same room at the Knight’s Academy for nearly a decade, Link knew every inch of it, and didn’t waste time lighting lamps or feeling around for his chair. He knew every creaking board and bump in the rug by muscle memory.

He crossed to the far wall between his desk and his bed, and pulled off his tunic and chainmail and set them squarely on the chair’s back, the seat angled forty degrees from the table facing him. He draped the clothes and smoothed them out, ready to be cleaned tomorrow.

The senior-class knight initiates, like him and Pipit, had evacuation drills at dawn. He felt tired just thinking about it, plus he’d promised to help Groose with gathering materials using those rude little flying machines Gondo and Zelda loved so much, even if they were great at moving materials to the camps. Hopefully he’d get through the day without smashing one for insulting his pants…again. Perhaps he’d squeeze a meal or two in, though he always kept a glass of pumpkin stew in his pouch these days.

He slipped his boots off and set them aside. He’d have to polish them soon or Gaepora would chide him for not living up to the knights’ dress code. The surface had not been kind to them. But would he really notice with all the drills and preparations for the invasion underway? Could he put it off one more day? He was so tired.

A gleam of moonlight on something red and white glimmering near the door caught his eye. His mind flashed a panicked thought: Ghirahim?! Shivers ran up and down his spine.

Goddesses, I’m more tired than I thought. The demon was gone, sealed away. Skyloft had divine wards against demons too, thanks to Batreaux’s help fixing gaps in the wards–the same he’d used to get in to become human.

Link looked for what red and white glimmer he’d misinterpreted, and wondered if it was ever there in the first place, or simply nerves and exhaustion. A bell had rung not long ago, marking two hours past midnight. It’s just nerves. No sense fretting until the fight comes.

Still, the air felt different. It felt wrong: a darkness too thick, a quiet too watchful. He held his breath, listening.

He could hear Fletch breathing from under the screen separating their rooms. He took a slow step toward his lamp by the door. Then another, tense and watching every direction.

Nothing.

He sighed. He was being a coward.

He squared his shoulders and marched to the door.

A small chime cut the silence as he reached for the handle. A hand touched his shoulder.

He whipped back around to look, wishing for his blade.

Heavy, scaly claws grabbed his wrists and sliced into his biceps as they gripped his upper arms. They yanked his arms taut to either side, pinning him in place just inside the door.

As his mind raced to catch up, another pair of claws clamped around his throat and mouth. He wished he’d opened the door faster. He planted his bare feet and shoved, but they held firm as boulders, something huge flapping around them. Wings?

Crimson, something’s wrong! Find Zelda! He felt his sleeping bird’s mind stir. He repeated the thought.

The hand on his throat closed tighter. He couldn’t breathe! He struggled to twist away. Escape was so close! If he could just yell! He tried to bite the scaly claw holding his mouth, but it had his jaw clamped tight. He bucked and writhed, but they seemed to anticipate his moves, and held him firmly in place. They maneuvered to hold steady any time he gained the slightest ground, huge leather wings snapping as he fought the free himself.

Since when do lizalfos have wings? He thought, stars flashing in his vision. His lungs burned, aching to pull in air.

It doesn’t matter! He thought, trying to bring his fists together so he could add momentum to his elbows, Just get free, then worry about it! They wrenched his arms back apart, and his shoulders ached at the force. White filled the periphery of his vision. One hissed at him, and his body began to slump in their hold. He slumped.

He had to find a weakness, fast.

He tried to relax and keep what little air remained. The hand on his throat eased up, and he caught his breath, panting through his nose, as he studied the monsters. He strained to look at the blue lizard on his left.

A silver, horned helmet and beaded bracelets glinted in the light from the window. It wore a red silk waist wrap and matching scarf over its lengthy abdomen, like common Skyloft clothes in design, oddly sophisticated for a demon-lizard. It was as strong as a dark lizalfos, and its breath reeked of sulfur too. Enormous leather wings reached the ceiling, and flapped to help the beast counter Link’s renewed resistance as he tested it. Yellow eyes leered at him from the blue brows. He glared back, then slowly looked to the attacker on his right, the claw over his mouth giving just enough for him to do so, praying to Hylia for better luck.

This red lizard towered over Link. He strained to look up high enough to see its glowing yellow eyes. It snarled at him as he pulled his arm to test it; the long, scarred snout stretched in a horrifying grin with dagger-sized teeth. It was enjoying this.

Link felt dread in his stomach, threatening to weaken him as orange flames danced in the back of its throat. His wide stance faltered as adrenaline shook him, and it gripped his arm tighter. His wrist felt close to snapping.

Link drew on that rush of adrenaline and pulled explosively to avoid the burst of flame he feared would come any moment now, but it only strained his shoulder as the beast continued to leer. If it chose to, trapped and compromised like this, one breath could kill him.

Yet it did not.

Dark lizalfos, the ones he’d found in Skyloft Temple, could breathe paralyzing poison as well as flames. Link wondered if these beasts could do the same. No wonder he felt so weak.

They should have killed him by now. Did that mean they wanted him alive?

The lizard behind him squeezed his head tight in front and behind and faced him to the window.

Two more winged lizalfos had appeared inside. Moonlight illuminated the bombchu-like spiked helmet and multicolor feather necklace on a shorter gray one, and cast a terrifying shadow from the heavy fur cloak of a much taller one with full-body black tattoos. Four more peered in from outside, at least that he could see.

He had lost this fight before it began. The shadows in the room grew deeper.

A cold silk glove brushed lightly across his cheek.

No! It has to be another nightmare.

Link strained against them with strength he didn't know he had left.

It didn’t make a difference. With terrible timing, his stamina failed him again, and he slumped within the hands that now held him upright. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath through his nose while his throat seemed determined to close. He watched the familiar hand in dread as it finished brushing from below his eye and up to his temple.

This is some new version of the Silent Realm, a test of courage. This isn’t real. It’s a dream. Hylia is testing me.

“Hello, Skychild,” The demon laughed. He felt sick as the thumb ran softly across his cheek again.

Link closed his eyes. Wake up! Dear Hylia, let me wake up!

“I will make you deaf from the sound of your own screams” came the unwanted memory.

“Such poor manners. It’s unspeakably rude to keep visitors waiting for so long? But why the look of surprise, Skychild? Didn’t I make you a promise? I intend to keep it.”

The demon’s tongue slithered and whipped like a snake.

He shivered and kept his eyes closed. The piercing claws would not let him turn away, though he tried.

Crimson, get help! But stay away!

“I brought some friends from another time to meet you, Skychild. They are quite adept at fighting, having faced a hero such as yourself in another era. I’m rather thrilled at how lizalfos have evolved into a more glorious form: the aeralfos. More adept, more agile, more intelligent, and they work in teams! They’ve even adopted fashion! I’m rather taken with them. I expect Skyloft will see more and more of my friends in the coming days,”

The monsters around him laughed.

This was the enemy? This was what the knights of Skyloft would face?

Crimson’s thoughts came to him. Cant get out! Can’t get out!

“I suppose you have the right to be surprised to see me, Skychild. After all, those wards have kept us demons at bay for centuries. Only one with divine power can surpass them. Luckily, I have found just such an ally. What divine power that witch has! Portals through time, the kind I had to chase down for over a century, she can make with a flick of her scrawny little wrist! Oh, delicious power! The possibilities have been thrown wide open if I can but convince her to assist with Demise’s return! Well, one of his more competent incarnations, at least. I felt positively giddy as a bird in Spring when she accepted my services,” he smiled and carded his fingers through Link’s hair, “But that’s not what she truly wants,” he smiled.

“No, all that snobby, spoiled little bookworm wants, all she pines for like a wounded dog, are pathetic little heroes like you,” Ghirahim clicked his tongue, “Such a tragic waste of divine power,” The demon lord sighed.

Link held himself still, trying to understand but nothing was making sense. Who was he talking about? What witch? What heroes?

“So, the fates have united us again. Letting you scurry around proved disastrous last time; nothing but setback after setback! You thwarted my hard work at every turn with your pestering! And you had the audacity to defy my master. You took my victory and stole it at the last moment! You do not deserve to be alive, worm,” he glowered, “You and Hylia’s brat have intervened enough already! So clever, breaking up Demise’s soul and hiding away the sword,” he glowered, “But now… I did promise to punish you, didn’t I?”

Link’s heart felt like a stone in his chest, plummeting. This, he understood. This, he’d been anticipating it somewhere deep in his soul for months now. Would they kill him afterwards? Would they not bother to wait and do it here, in his room, where Zelda might be the first to find his body on this floor, cold and stiff? He thrashed at the thought.

Crimson sent waves of panic to him. Pain! Light! Escape!

Crimson! What’s wrong!? Get away!

Ghirahim gripped Link’s throat in steely fingers, and slowly squeezed. Link stayed still, measuring his breaths until the airway closed. He’d hold on as long as he could. He’d not give Ghirahim the satisfaction of seeing him panic.

Ghirahim smiled, and released his grip slowly.

“Sadly for Cia, I must destroy her preferred hero. But I need to keep her on my side. And if Cia wants a hero, then if she is loyal, she shall have one,” He stepped back, and looked to the aeralfos on his right, “Craw, is your name, is it? Good. Bind him.”

At this news, Link dropped his weight, hoping to break their grip with the sudden movement. They did not falter, and scaled hands forced his wrists together and bound them in coarse rope, then pinned his upper arms at his side and bound them to his chest as well. The green claw over his mouth pulled his jaw down hard, shoving rags into his mouth, then pulled a fabric tightly over the rags, and tied them in place at the back of his head.

The blue one lifted him like a child as the red, scarred monster grabbed his kicking feet and bound his bare ankles together. They carried him toward the window, claws digging into his thigh. Drawing blood.

As they passed his dresser, Link’s feet were just close enough to strike.

He kicked hard, shoving it against the wall. Craw stumbled a half step, but Link prayed it proved to be enough. Fledge lived on the other side. The boy had grown remarkably strong, but he was still terrified of bumps in the night. He might run to Groose, and maybe Groose would find help instead of diving in headfirst, and maybe, just maybe, they’d tell the knights. Too many “hopefully”s, but he had no other choice. If the invasion had begun early, they all needed to evacuate.

Ghirahim’s dagger sliced his arm as they set him down, and he yelped under the gag, his thoughts scattered. Another dagger was poised in the air, floating between his eyes.

“Behave, boy. Or I could send these aeralfos to butcher every last one of your dear Hylians in their sleep,” Ghirahim hissed and then snapped.

Link and the aeralfos reappeared in the cold grass outside his room in the midst of the other waiting aeralfos. They wore cloaks to disguise their monstrous forms. The aeralfos’ hot breath sent puffs of steam in the cold air.

“Quietly now. I want this to be a surprise. Take him to the Faron entrance, and be quick.”

The demon disappeared.

Crimson, is anyone coming? He felt nothing in reply. Crimson! Are you alright?

Craw hoisted him, claws digging into his shoulder and thigh again. Link shivered in the cold and looked back to his home.

Two aeralfos threw a lit torch into his room. He bucked and twisted in their grip again, and tried to yell, but to no avail. Hadn’t Ghirahim just said not to draw attention? But if someone could see it, perhaps they’d just helped him.

They ran through the gate and downhill toward the island’s edge.

They reached the edge of Skyloft. The gray aeralfos holding him spread his wings and, without ceremony or warning, the invaders jumped off the edge.

Link’s whole body stiffened and he grabbed at the monster for something to hold. He could only find a handful of beads that broke off. They were freefalling. No sense of lightness, freedom, or familiarity accompanied his fall now. No crimson loftwing would come. His body prickled with terrifying weightlessness. The screech of a loftwing pierced the night sky above him, and he searched for a sign of a bird or rider.

I struggle with most of this fic, but the whump parts are turning out well with all the inspiration around tumblr, so here's some more of my obsession with a particular villain. He's in 3 of my 4 WIPs as THE villain (among many). I also REALLY like aeralfos now.

I'll be editing this bad boy in the future, so constructive criticism is welcome. I can take it if you give me something nice to wash it down.

(This one eventually ties in with Blood and Blade)

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Shattered Identity

Chapter five: Pizza party at Vlad's! And gross horrors, lots of gross horrors.

Chapter one. Chapter two. Chapter three. Chapter four.

"Jeez, you two almost gave us a heart attack!" Tucker halfheartedly scolded the half-ghosts in the hallway as he texted Danny the message that the two broke off their fight on their own. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad things didn't get uglier than this, but next time, at the very least, yell for us if something happens instead of just turning the office into a haunted confetti storage room."

"Sorry Tucker, I didn't know you and Sam were here in the first place."

Danielle sheepishly twiddled her thumbs while her new little brother tapped on the bandages on his neck with an annoyed huff in response.

"Oh.. right, no vocal chords, my bad..." The geek winced. "Maybe we can get you an airhorn later."

"Or he could just scream without words." The technically older clone offered. "You two heard the ghost speak, right?"

"Huh, I always figured that ghost speak would sound... creepier and less like random animalistic noises?"

"♓︎♐︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ⬥︎♋︎■︎⧫︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ♍︎❒︎♏︎♏︎◻︎♓︎♏︎❒︎," [if you want it to sound creepier,] Jack cracked his neck at an unnatural angle, the sickening sound followed by the squelches of wet ripping noises reverberated through the mansion and the action left the bandaged head dangling limply, giving the impression it was only attached to his body through the bandages on his neck themselves... "♓︎ ♍︎♋︎■︎ ❍︎♋︎🙵♏︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ⬧︎□︎◆︎■︎♎︎ ♍︎❒︎♏︎♏︎◻︎♓︎♏︎❒︎..." [i can make it sound creepier...]

"Gah! Never do that again!" She shivered and punched the older halfa's arm, who let out a raspy chuckle as he reattached his head and opened the office door.

An uncomfortable silence fell as the destroyed state of the office was discovered, much worse than how the sparring spirits left it, large globs of bright magenta ectoplasm had grown(?) all over the office, globs that weren't just the messy aftermath of the brawl, they were writhing and squirming as if they were alive, some of them even had developing eyes and teeth..

"❄︎◆︎♍︎🙵♏︎❒︎, 💧︎♋︎❍︎, 🙵♏︎♏︎◻︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎❒︎ ♎︎♓︎⬧︎⧫︎♋︎■︎♍︎♏︎..!" [Tucker, Sam, keep your distance..!]

The two humans, while they didn't understand what the ghostly host said, understood the unknown nature of the threat at hand as well as his body language and backed away from the scene while the mansion's owner took a slow, hesitant step into the infested office, trying not to catch the attention of the strange creatures, their unfocused eyes instead drifting over the room itself as the bandaged ghost gingerly searched through the rubble looking for the most important items to salvage from it.

"...What are these things..?" Danielle's voice stayed small to not catch any unwanted attention from the unknown ghostlike entities as she followed him, her fist alight with a charging ectobeam as she kept an eye out for sudden movements from them.

"I_D-O-N-T_K-N-O-W" He spelled out on the recovered Ouija board "I-V-E_N-E-V-E-R_S-E-E-N_A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G_L-I-K-E_T-H-I-S_B-E-F-O-R-E"

Sure, from their perspective, 'Jack' not seeing anything like this was a given, he hadn't existed for very long, but Vlad had genuinely no idea how he had done this. A failed copying attempt that he didn't think through during the fight? Maybe a mishap with etco-barriers? ...Something else entirely..? All he really knew was that this was his ectoplasm everywhere and that it was alive.

Cheese curds! He should've known that he was biting off more than he can chew!

How was he supposed to handle this on his own?!

His powers were useless like this at best and detrimentally unstable at worst,

he couldn't get across how important this was to Danny without telling the truth,

but he can't tell Danny the truth!

Let alone Dani!

If they know that he's the real Vlad and he has all his memories but almost none of his powers,

they're going to take advantage of his weakened state and kick his butt!

and

at this rate all of Amity park is going to be enveloped in whatever this horrific ecto-gunk was before he even had a chance to carry out his plan-

and

Maddie is going to see it-

and

use it as a reason to make MORE of those horrible guns-

and

use them on the gunk as well as every single ghost in her sights-

and

she'd naturally set her sights on the ghost zone itself-

and

there wouldn't be a war between humans and ghosts,

and

except that it would be a genocide that he couldn't stop-

and

and

and

and

and-

Snapping out of the downward spiral of negative thoughts, Vlad felt the familiar lab coat being draped over his shoulders as well as two people touching him, one hugging him from behind (the person in question being small enough that people might mistake it for a piggyback ride), and the other who was awkwardly patting his shoulder.

Ugh, was he crying..?

Well, now he had another reason to keep his true identity secret from Danny and the others.

He would die of embarrassment if they knew that he wasn't a clone, still had his memories intact, and yet was still reduced to this weak, pathetic, over-emotional wreck, either they'd find it hilarious or worse, still pity him despite everything.

Part of him wanted to break off the hug to preserve the tatters of his pride and dignity while another part of him just wanted to stay like this a bit longer.

As humiliating as it was for him, it was also kinda nice to be held, to be reassured (albeit clumsily), to be comforted, to be loved.

"Uh, guys, hate to interrupt something but I just wanted to let you know Sam's ordering pizza, what flavors do you want?"

Both saved and damned by the pizza orders, the three halfas broke it off and Vlad put the lab coat on properly.

"Uh Pepperoni?" Danny shrugged.

"Also Pepperoni" Dani nodded.

"E-X-T-R-A_C-H-E-E-S-E_P-L-E-A-S-E"

"Got it" Tucker gave them a thumb's up and turned to head back to Sam before popping his head back in. "Will the cats try to attack the pizza guy?"

"NO_I" He fumbled with the planchette in an attempt to cover up the slip. "V-L-A-D_D-I-D-N-T_O-R-D-E-R_T-A-K-E_O-U-T_O-F-T-E-N_E-N-O-U-G-H_T-O_W-A-R-R-E-N-T_T-H-A-T_T-O_M-Y_K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E."

"Okay, thanks!"

The tech geek left for real this time, leaving the three to their own devices.

"So Danny, have you met my new little brother?" The physically youngest ghost gestured to the tallest.

"Jack? Yeah, he showed up at my house and named himself after my dad."

"You named yourself after someone you just met?" Dani snorted in amusement.

"T-H-E-R-E-S_W-O-R-S-E_N-A-M-E-S_T-O_G-I-V-E_Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F_A-N-D_B-E-S-I-D-E-S_H-E_S-E-E-M-E-D_P-R-E-T-T-Y_N-I-C-E" Vlad shrugged nonchalantly.

From the dishonest ghost's actual perspective, it was something done because he named himself after the first thing he saw (that being the giant oaf) and he stuck with it because in foresight, 'Vlad naming his son after him', would break Jack Fenton that much more during both the reveal of Vlad's death as well as the funeral, in which he and Maddie would either figure out on their own or he'd tell them in his speech that he never had the chance to meet his father before his untimely tragic fate. And Maddie would feel all the more guiltier when she finds out that her horrible gun has taken a human life, one that, while she didn't care very much for, was important as well as cherished by many...

"So how did you know how to find Danny's house so quickly? Or did he bring you there?"

"H-E_F-O-U-N-D_M-E_I-N-J-U-R-E-D_A-N-D_T-R-I-E-D_T-O_H-E-L-P" The bandaged spook explained, being honest yet vague. "A-N-D_I_C-A-M-E_B-A-C-K_I-N_T-H-E_M-O-R-N-I-N-G_T-O_P-R-O-P-E-R-L-Y_I-N-T-R-O-D-U-C-E_M-Y-S-E-L-F."

"Well that's my super-cool cousin for you!" she playfully punches her gene-donor's shoulder. "Always willing to help!"

"Heh, yeah..." Danny gave a nervous smile to his clone and a concerned to 'Jack'. "Hey, speaking of which, you and I need to talk about your... 'issue' in private."

"G-I-V-E_M-E_A_S-E-C-O-N-D_T-O_G-R-A-B_M-Y_T-R-A-N-S-L-A-T-O-R"

Danny nodded and waited as the lanky spirit visually followed the charger to the discarded aid and cleaned the non-living ectoplasm off of it before putting it on his neck and giving him a thumb's up which Danny gave back.

Following the fourteen-year-old out of Dani's presumed ear shot, the lab coat wearing specter nervously picked at his hand's bandages wondering what 'issue' Danny was talking about, his mind almost imminently racing towards him asking 'did you get your memories back?' or something similar.

"Okay, so, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you and Dani aren't fighting with each other anymore, but right now, we're playing with fire with this cover up. You might not remember, but she's been through a lot because of you- er, Vlad, I could not care less who else does and doesn't know the truth, but she needs to sooner rather than later."

Unbeknownst to the two of them, the clone was eavesdropping out of their sight. Her concern for her new little brother turning into intrigue.

"I know." he nodded somberly. "I plan on telling her everything after the funeral itself. I agree that she does need to know soon, but right now there's too many moving parts to keep track of and I don't know how she'll react to it."

Danny crossed his arms as he frowned at the taller halfa.

"Look, I might not know what I've done, but I get that I've done a lot before waking up and that there's no amount of verbal apologies that would undo all of it. However, this is for her safety too. Like it or not there's two problems that take top priority: Your mom's gun that will cause ghost zone genocide if nothing's done with it, and the power vacuum Vlad's death will inevitably cause. If you think that it causing genocide is just a hyperbole, think back on it, all it took was one hit to reduce a fully-grown, powerful halfa down to just a damaged core desperately clinging onto life, a core that would've shattered if left on its own, so tell me, what do you think would happen if you or her got hit with it?"

"...We'd instantly die..."

"Exactly, and your mom, a competent ghost hunter, knows how powerful that thing is and if it doesn't have any drawbacks from her end, she most likely wont stop using it until every ghost in her sights is dead, yes, even the good ones as well as the not as good but still likeable ones. As for the power vacuum, there are a handful of ghosts who know Dani's origin other than us, ghosts who would be more than happy to kill the only known heir to Vlad's estates while she's none the wiser. But if I handle the funeral *just* right, I could kill two birds with one stone, keep your mom from using the gun ever again and seal up the power vacuum. I know that she'll hate us-"

"Us? Where did you pull 'us' from?"

"Danny, she'll hate me for obvious reasons and hate you because you knew this big secret about me this entire time and never told her. But it'll be okay because she'll still be alive when she hates us, alive and safe. Which in a messy situation like this is the absolute best possible outcome."

"...Right..." Danny sighed.

"Hey," Vlad put his hand on the teen's shoulder reassuringly "she might hate me forever, but not you. Either someone she knows and trusts other than you will talk some sense into her or she'll cool off on her own and realize that you're not the bad guy in this. That in some cases, there isn't a bad guy when there's a bad situation and that sometimes, bad things just... happen and good or neutral guys are bad at handling it."

"Yeah... Thanks, I needed that..." he softly smiled.

Assuming that the conversation was wrapping up, Dani flew back to the office with new secret information to chew on for herself as well as keep hidden from her cousin and brother.

She already knew about Vlad's death and some things were self-explanatory, like the new gun being a big problem, but just how much did Jack Masters know? What dark secrets did the clone of Vlad hide that he shared with Danny and yet were so horrible that she'd never forgive him if she knew?

Was his original purpose not to tie up the loose ends Vlad's death left behind like he said but instead he was made with some of his gene donor's memories intact so that Vlad had pseudo-immortality only for Jack to betray his 'father' by living a different and new life?

Did he try to hunt down Danny and his parents just like how she originally tried to capture him?

Maybe even something worse..?

At the very least, they weren't worried about his malnourished frame meaning something bigger than it was, or Vlad's disease being fatal for Jack, or even the living ectoplasm he created was dangerous like she originally assumed the talk was about, and she could find some comfort in knowing that he valued her safety and well being over their bond as family. Her new brother might be shady, but he had a heart somewhere in those shadows.

"Oh hey guys! How was the talk?" She innocently greeted them as they approached the office.

"It went well."

"Yes, it was rather... informative." Jack picked at the bandages on his forearms while looking around the destroyed office for a distraction. Wait, where did the living ectoplasm go?! "Oh right! I can't believe I almost forgot the records!" He blurted out to keep the two from panicking as much as he was.

"...Records?" Danny raised an eyebrow at the pair.

"Yeah, fake marriage certificates, divorce paperwork, birth certificates, Social Security Numbers, school documents, passports, a not-fake-but-still-legally-questionable death certificate, maybe a fake death certificate for a woman who doesn't exist or two..." Jack listed off on his fingers "My job's more than writing the death certificate and will and calling it a day."

"Woah, woah woah! What do you need all that for?"

"Daniel, the days where someone can just pop into existence as the ages we are without any records of existing prior without drawing suspicion are long behind us. Sure, we could get away with not having them if we intend to live as a state-crossing nomads for a couple of weeks or months if we're lucky, go feral in the woods and let the public come to the conclusion that we were raised by animals while our bio parents abandoned us, or live in the ghost zone where there's a lot less organized existence trails, but we can't live like the average human person without this stuff, not in the long term in the human world. Sooner or later, the government is going to catch up to us and when that happens, we at least have something to shoo them away."

"Huh..."

"Wait, going feral in the woods is an option?" Dani asked her two-day-old physically older brother.

"Yeah, but it's not a good one. Trust me, I tried." Vlad waved off without further elaboration and shuffled the documents.

"Guys, pizza's here!"

Saved by the pizza yet again, the three changed back to their human forms and followed the geek back to the Mansion's foyer, where Sam was waiting for them along with several boxes of pizza and cans of soda were set down, almost enough to feed a frat party rather than a small group of teenagers who happened to have different diets. ...He had a strong feeling that they paid for all of this with one of his debit cards.

"Here you go." Tucker handed the bone-thin halfa five boxes. "I figured you could use it."

"Thanks..." Vlad stared at the boxes in his hands and gestured with his head. "...I'm just gonna, eat these in the other room..."

"No! No! You can stay, we won't judge!" Dani tugged on his sweater sleeve while giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but all of you get ONE question each, so use it wisely." He set the boxes down and sat on the floor next to them, crossing his legs while opening the top box

"What makes you think we're going to ask questions?" The goth raised an eyebrow "Everybody but Danny already saw your gross ecto-oozing fa-OH MY GOD!"

Everybody but Dani stared at the sight of Vlad's scarred, almost mangled-looking face in horror as the eldest teen just rolled his eyes at their terrified expressions, pocketed his face mask and munched on a slice of cheesy pizza while the others gawked at him like he was some sort of monster.

"...Does it hurt?" Dani was the first to break the awkward silence. "To eat, I mean..."

"Nope, I don't have any working nerves in my face." He lied nonchalantly between bites, not wanting them to know how much pain he was actually in. "Regardless of if its supposed to hurt or not, I can't feel a thing."

"..So if I punch you in the face, you wont feel it at all?" Sam was the next to ask.

"Yes, and you wasted your one question on that, so now you can't ask if you can test it." Vlad immaturely stuck his tongue out at her while she rolled her eyes out of annoyance and took a slice of her cheeseless mixed veggie pizza.

Tucker sat down near Jack and subtly studied his face while opening up the box of meat lover's pizza, if he was only going to get one question about this clone of Vlad's abnormal medical condition, he wanted to make it count.

From what he could tell, the marks on his face were less like acne scars like he assumed they should be (given that the clone probably had ecto-acne at one point, just like his gene donor with a chronic condition) and closer to... either really severe chemical burns or someone pouring boiling acid on his face. Closer, yet not identical to.

He couldn't tell how damaged the upper half of his face was due him having band-aids covering up some of the damage, but even then it was clear that the disfigurements around the clone's mouth were the most intense.

Whatever was used to scar his face ate off his lips and chunks of his cheeks, giving his left-side profile a ghoulish, too-toothy grin regardless of if its owner felt like smiling or not while the right side had a half-inch wide strip of flesh ending the 'smile' while also creating another hole in his face, and if he looked closely enough, he also seemed to be missing a part of his tongue in a way that made it look like there was a bite taken out of it...

"...Can I help you?" Jack asked without bothering to hide the irritation in his tone.

"O-oh uh... I just wanted to ask..." Darn it Tucker, think! You can't waste this question! "I couldn't help but notice that the lower half of your face seems more visibly damaged than the upper half, and that part of the inside of your mouth was partly eaten too, I don't mean to sound insulting but was that just random chance or was your... ...illness on the top half of your head focusing primarily on eating chunks of your brain instead of your face? Again, I don't mean this in an insulting way..."

Sam burst out laughing while Jack's expression went from annoyed to mildly intrigued, he opened his mouth to answer, paused, thought it over, and his mild intrigue turned to dawning horror...

"I... I might have to get back with you on that because I don't know either." Jack cleared his throat in an attempt to hide his nervous voice crack. "Oh Calzones, if he's right and I really am physically losing my mind... Oh Bread Sticks..." He muttered under his breath while holding his head between his hands. "...It explains so much, too much..."

Danny lightly tapped the older teen's shoulder. "Have you ever tried to eat by sticking food through the hole in your cheek?"

Vlad let go of his head and stared at him blankly, seemingly gone through the five stages of grief in five seconds and left so perplexed by Danny's question that it seemed his mind was catching up with the second halfa's words.

But you know what? He hadn't tried before, before, his time was too swamped with hospital trips and robberies to afford the hospital trips to mess around with the odd yet neutral characteristics of his condition. He should fix that while he could, for science.

His index finger idly traced part of the hole to make sure it wasn't bleeding while his other hand picked up and rolled up a slice of pizza, and he stuck the entire slice through the hole, chewed it for a bit and swallowed it.

"I have now, and the experience isn't different enough from eating normally to warrant switching to the hole."

Danny blinked at him, processing what he had just witnessed. "...Okay, I know you said one question but now I have to know; do you have two sets of jaws?!"

"I'll... Also have to look into that." He nervously smiled while screaming internally.

[mystery-fic-anon]

Lust and Love

Summary: Plum and Blue get to spend some intimate time together for the first time in a few weeks. Both of them are very excited about it. (PWP)

Warnings: None, this is just some sweet lovemaking

Thank you to @nugget4550 for beta reading.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44245171

Plum adjusted the strap of his lingerie, pulling it slightly to the side so it laid across his shoulder at a better angle. Pink had headed out almost an hour ago, and Plum was only expecting one guest. He had been waiting all week, and he couldn’t wait to see his secret bonefriend. During their sexting last night, Plum had promised Blue something delicious would be waiting for him when he arrived.

He grinned as he heard a knock on the door, adjusting his position one more time before calling out. While he could go open the door as he was, he knew his partner preferred to walk in and discover him like this more.

“Come in!” Plum yelled, stifling a snicker as he heard the door hinges squeal as it was pushed open.  “Hey, careful. You’re going to break that.”

Blue slammed the door shut behind him, and stopped as he reached the threshold of the living room. He started with wide eyes, his face flushing with magic. Plum just smiled, arching his back a bit so the tiny vest rode up and exposed more of his ribcage.

“I forgot what I was going to say.” Blue turned around, covering his face with one hand. After about a minute, he turned around and sheepishly grinned at Plum. “Uh… I still can’t remember. Sorry, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Ber.” Plum opened his arms, beckoning for Blue to come closer.

Blue crossed the room in a few strides, and hopped up on the couch in between Plum’s legs. The plastic sheet underneath Plum squeaked a bit as he settled into place, and Plum glanced down to make sure it hadn’t ridden up. He and Pink had set a few rules in the house quite a while ago, including that nowhere but the kitchen table was technically off-limits, but that you had to clean everything up. Plum was planning to get fucked so hard he couldn’t walk, let alone try to get magic stains out of the upholstery.

It was nice to have so many universes to explore, but there were a few drawbacks. Thanks to an abundance of Gyftmas parties—because of course, Blue was too kind to refuse a single invitation—they hadn’t gotten to hook up in almost two weeks. While Plum didn’t mind a little risk, Blue had made it clear he didn’t want to get caught with his pants down, and Plum could respect that. Still, he couldn’t help his own needs. His magic was already threatening to form just from feeling Blue’s body hovering over his.

“You’re so pretty.” Blue gently pressed his teeth against Plum’s forehead.

Plum hadn’t quite been expecting that reaction, but after a few seconds, he smiled. Blue was a sweetheart; that was one of the many things Plum loved about him. Plum grabbed Blue’s skull, pulling him back down for a proper kiss. Blue’s hands moved to Plum’s hips as they kissed, but he didn’t move anywhere too sensitive. He just held Plum, lightly rubbing circles over the bones with his thumbs.

To Plum’s embarrassment, it was still enough to make his magic take shape.

“Let me take care of you first please?” Blue asked, his eyelights shining as he looked pleadingly at Plum. “I just want to make you feel good right now.”

Of course, there was no way Plum would say no to that. In less than a minute, he was lying on his back on the sheet, with his underwear pushed just far enough to the side to expose the front of his pelvis. Blue knelt down on the floor in front of the couch, and Plum had given him a pillow to cushion his knees.

Blue held Plum’s hips down as he leaned in, letting Plum’s etco-dick brush against his face. He looked up at Plum, his eyelights flickering into little hearts.

“Please.” Plum put one hand on the back of Blue’s skull, shakily caressing it. He didn’t mind submitting to Blue, but he wished his partner wouldn’t tease him so much sometimes.

Blue giggled and finally opened his mouth, dragging his tongue over the underside of Plum’s dick. He licked Plum a few times, spreading a mix of Plum’s precum and his saliva all over the shaft. Plum dug his phalanges into the couch, but kept his hand on Blue’s skull light. He didn’t want to rush Blue, even if he felt like he was dying.

When they had first done this, Blue hadn’t really known how to give a blowjob. Plum had been with virgins before, and he didn’t mind giving Blue a hands-on demonstration. Stars, Plum had never expected Blue to get good at blowjobs this quickly.

Once he felt Plum’s dick was wet enough, Blue licked his teeth and opened his mouth. He swallowed about half of Plum’s shaft, curling his tongue to rub it against the head of Plum’s cock. Plum rocked his hips up, a thrill running through him as Blue pressed them down again. He was stronger than most people expected, and Plum loved being manhandled.

While Blue didn’t have proper lips, the way he curled his tongue to wrap around Plum’s dick, the hum of his magic, and the occasional gentle brush of teeth were more than enough stimulation for Plum. Blue moved one hand to Plum’s lower spine, stroking it at the same steady rhythm that he bobbed his head. He stared up at Plum, and the intimacy of his gaze made Plum’s soul thrum in his chest.

When Blue’s hand dipped from Plum’s lower spine down to his sacrum, Plum knew he was getting close quickly. One of the benefits of LT was stamina, so even if Plum came now, he would be able to keep going.

“I’m getting close Ber,” Plum warned, brushing his fingers against Blue’s skull.

Blue pulled back just far enough to speak, continuing to rub Plum’s sacrum. “Go ahead, I’ll swallow.”

In less than a minute, Plum was cumming. He moaned out Blue’s name, his vision going white. Blue was still holding him down, so all he could do was squirm and ride it out. Blue kept going, easing up on his sacrum and focusing more on his dick. When Plum was finally finished Blue pulled off, and Plum’s dick twitched weakly as Blue licked his teeth.

Plum beckoned him, and Blue happily stood up. Blue kissed Plum, and Plum happily opened his mouth. He could taste himself on Blue’s tongue, but that only made him more excited. He sucked on Blue’s tongue, feeling a bulge press against his thigh as Blue leaned in close.

“I think it’s my turn to taste you,” Plum purred, wrapping his legs around Blue’s waist and flipping them over. He loved submitting to Blue, but switching their roles around was even more fun. Judging by the way Blue’s skull flushed with magic, he agreed.

[write-lets-do-this]

All for the Game is a series that truly transformed my reading experience back in the summer of 2020 when I read it for the first time. I remember taking the trilogy with me on a week-long beach holiday with my parents and regretting not bringing any more books with me for how fast I tore through them. I managed to keep myself fairly occupied by my own fantasies of how the characters would have reacted had they materialised before me or happened to be playing on the beach as I walked past. I could go on forever about all the details that go into this series and the emotions that I felt upon reading that were captured just as vividly even on my second re-read, but I’ll keep this relatively short.

The second book, The Raven King, (not to be confused with the novel of the same name by Maggie Stiefvater) kicks up the gory side a lot. This is the point where I warn anyone who hasn’t read it yet, and might be planning to, to check the trigger warnings for some pretty upsetting content that appears in both this second book and the third one also with too much plot relevance to be easily skipped over. There’s some harsh language and questionable drug use from the first book too, but the latter two books are the most heavy-handed with the explicit depictions of some quite horrific events.

For a series that has been published independently, it holds up well in terms of its quality when compared to other popular staples in the YA genre. The fact that it has been independently published rather than through an agency somewhat serves to highlight and mirror the narrative of the PSU Foxes as they scrabble together a found family of sorts from a bunch of traumatised and troubled young adults. The rawness of the writing itself only highlights this, making it easy for any angsty YA reader to latch onto, which really isn’t a bad thing when it comes to this series. All for the Game truly does master the art of creating almost stupidly dramatic scenarios and making them feel relatable to anyone that’s ever experienced any feelings of anger or worthlessness.

This series is so close to my heart it’s rather difficult to write objectively, or with a particularly analytical mindset about it, but it really is done rather well. The pacing is kept throughout the series, climaxing towards the final instalment and allowing a fair (if very slightly excessive) conclusion to ensure the characters’ arcs have been fully tied up. None of the leaving-enough-knots-untied-to-potentially-squeeze-another-spinoff-out that seems to plague almost every form of media in the current age, it encapsulates the whole story of Neil Josten and the other Foxes within its several hundred pages.

Neil’s narration plays its own part, making him an excellent, and frequently hilarious, unreliable narrator. The way Sakavic uses this as a tool to convey Neil’s own opinions without overly clouding the reality of the events beyond the character’s perspective is a finely-balanced art. While he’s not always the most honest about his own feelings, Neil’s perceptiveness makes for a fascinating angle that really uplifts the whole story.

Overall

I’ve already told you how much I absolutely adore this series, for personal reasons probably a little more than technical writerly ones. But gosh does it pull on your heartstrings. If you have the nerve to tolerate the hefty trigger list All for the Game comes with, absolutely give it a read!

Rating: ★★★★★

-Olive Tree

[mellonwrites]

not very solid but posting this here for posterity. Pretend it has proper paragraph breaks, Tumblr sucks dick as a text editor.

Come, friend, and let me tell you a story of people from another world. You do not share any language or script with them, though perhaps you could contrive a pidgin together. None of them would recognize the names or faces of Julius Caesar or Genghis Khan, and I am sure you do not recognize the name of Bun Kuen. They do not share our coasts, let alone our borders, but I am sure that if they did the lot of you would fight over them. What you do share is your DNA, and while your histories do not match they most certainly do rhyme in more places than not. This tale takes place on the already-storied shores of Nedermeyer-Deckard. Where precisely the borders of "Nedermeyer-Deckard" lie is a debate that reverberates inside the walls of most buildings inside those borders, which I believe to be a satisfactory definition thereof. A more helpful definition is that it is the officially unofficial name given to the region associated with a specific nexus of rivers, streams, and canals that run just outside the antarctic circle of this planet across a very large continent I will translate as "Magna," at it is far and away the largest continent on this planet. It covers most of their antarctic circle[1] and stretches wider as it heads northwards towards the equator until around the northern ten degree parallel at which point most of it abruptly stops save for a long, narrow strip which continues north and east until around the northern seventy degree parallel and forty degrees east of where the strip begins. The name of the region itself comes from the historic feud of the two families who vied for financial control over the nexus over a period of nearly two hundred years. The feud ended about a century ago, along with the two dynasties, as rapidly advancing technology undermined the stability the waterways once offered. In the modern day Nedermeyer-Deckard is still a mercantile hub with a unique culture only achievable by the constant and turbulent flow of sailors, while also filled with the same shops and tourist attractions and fancy but misplaced hotels and restaurants as one will find in any other city. The one true remaining relic of the Nedermeyer-Deckard feuds, ironically, is Nedermeyer-Deckard Technological Institute. In the earlier days of the feud, some quarter of a millennium ago, the two families arranged a sign of peace through their newfound prosperity in the form of a jointly funded university. The peace did not last, evidently, but the school proved useful enough as a source of new administrative and technical talent for the both of them that they continued to fund it until their bitter end. "This is so fucking illegal." A young woman types away at a laptop, while her friend watches along with a stuffed animal in her hands. "Yeah it is." "You're going to go to jail." "No I'm not." The girl with the stuffed animal considers joking about turning her friend in to the authorities, but concludes that would likely result in a false warrant being put out for her arrest by the time she gets home.

[1] Its radius is greater than that of our own by about one thousand kilometers, by virtue of a smaller angle between this planet's axis of revolution and its orbital plane.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

I saw your prompt requests so can I... request no. 12 with GE / SE Saeran? It's hard for me to choose, so just pick what do you want, or it's okay if you want to write both😋

things you said when you thought I was asleep

SE Saeran x gender neutral reader | Words: 903 | prompt list

SE FLUFF SE FLUFF SE FLUFF

Something was oddly comforting about your sleeping figure in the grass.

He had sensed the Sun's warmth making you sleepy. Seen the slight droop of your eyelids and heard your occasional yawn as you softly twirled his fiery locks. Your gentle fingers had traced slow patterns between the freckles on his face as you had told him you were going to take a nap.

'Ok,' he'd said. You knew he would be there when you woke up.

He sat quietly. It somehow felt wrong to look down at you while you hadn't yet fallen asleep. Perhaps it was some internalised fear of being watched when he was most vulnerable; a feeling of dread that he may never wake up when he closed his eyes. He watched the clouds instead.

Saeran had a limited scope of the world but from all he'd experienced, it was hard not to believe that his suffering was all life had to offer, and he was far too tired to keep hoping and searching for anything more.

You, however, were a shining anomaly in what he'd accepted the world to be. One code he couldn't quite crack. (Oh, but you were so much more than that. You were a person. You brought change into his life that was frightening and beautiful. You were a Someone — not a something.) For a time, it had been frustrating, but now he found peace in the notion that you wouldn't easily unravel and shatter in his hands.

You were kind and honest. And always patient with him. You enquired but didn’t push. You could keep up with his sharp mouth but were never cruel. It was scary — being this attached to someone again (this fact alone had been a struggle to admit to himself). But you let him go at his own pace. Reminded him he had choices. With each fragment of the tumultuous storm that was revealed to you, you never saw him as any less of a person. When he spoke, you listened. You would thank him for trusting you. You would say you were proud of how far he’d come, even when he felt like it wasn’t much at all. You made him feel like slightly less of a monster with a Sidam touch who could only be burned by the light. You weren’t perfect but you were his.

Saeran picked a daisy from the ground in front of him. Spun the stem idly between his thumb and forefinger.

And he couldn't help it now: He took a peek in your direction. You looked comfortable (and rather breathtaking, in all honesty, with the sunlight bouncing off your features as your chest rose and fell slowly). Were you already asleep?

Tentatively, he reached towards you and tucked some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You didn’t stir; there was only the steady movement of your chest and the soft sound of your breathing.

He reached out to the little flowers around him one at a time, splitting the stems and weaving a chain of dainty blossoms with careful, skilled hands.

‘You’re so strange.’

The Sun moved slowly across the sky. A light breeze brought you gently from your slumber into a dreamy but comfortable, half-aware state. You felt too lethargic to move or speak, instead simply enjoying the warmth with your eyes closed.

Meanwhile, the young man sat cross-legged beside you, intently focused on the growing flower chain beginning to pool in his lap.

Saeran liked to feel in control of a situation. Your failure to comply with his expectations of people could be what made him uneasy at times and was likely the reason he felt reassured seeing you asleep peacefully on the ground. Still, he did not understand how you would continue to allow yourself to be so vulnerable around him, time and time again.

He began to think aloud as he worked. Old habits die hard, he figured.

‘I don’t know why you haven’t left yet…’

He stretched a bit to pluck another small flower that was just out of reach.

‘Everyone… Everyone who was this kind always hurt me or disappeared altogether.’ He frowned. He didn’t like to think about these things or recall these feelings. He didn’t want to entertain the idea that you would either leave or hurt him one day but it felt inevitable. He didn’t understand why you had stayed thus far. And yet he hoped you wouldn’t leave.

His task provided him an iota of distraction, at least. He connected the ends of the chain to form a loop roughly the circumference of your head.

‘But in the end, I’m no better than the ones that hurt me. You… are so warm and I… I wish I could be what you deserve. What you see in me.’

Saeran looked down at his hands and at the golden, imperfect halo he’d made for you.

Dandelions. Warm and yellow, with a few daisies in between.

Maybe… maybe it was okay to hope. Just a little.

You heard every word, fighting the urge to open your eyes wide and fling yourself into his arms and kiss the worries from his temples.

The clouds shifted and reformed. The grass rippled in the breeze. The Sun shone. And he, hesitant as he may be, loved you.

[clonerightsagenda]

Heya! I’ve worked circulation in my college library for about three years now, and am thinking of going for an mls or mlis—you seem to have a non-public facing job with time for podcasts and writing (which I would really appreciate), would u mind talking about what you specialized in at grad school? Or other advice (sorry for anon, don’t have a tumblr but remembered u from the homestuck rewrite). I’m an english makor and don’t have a lot of experience with texh, but would be willing to learn.

Hi! You remember me from my TLC days, huh? Welcome back.

First, I must admit I work an entirely public-facing job. I listen to podcasts while doing chores at home because otherwise I'd be forced to be alone with my thoughts. However, there are plenty of less-public facing jobs in LIS! Those could include:

Technical services - think cataloging, ILL, database/electronic resource management. If you're very detail oriented and love splitting hairs, cataloging may be for you. E-resource management is big right now, although it involves as much communicating with vendors as tech skills. (I spent two weeks trying to get ahold of ProQuest this semester...while trying to pay them, no less.) Depending on the posting, you may not need an MLIS for some of these positions.

Remote librarian - You'll see a lot of remote reference gigs, but these are often part time. A few are full time, though, so if you don't mind doing live chat or virtual help, that's a good option! I dream of being a FT remote librarian tbh. Most of the FT jobs I see are for special libraries - hospitals, legal firms, businesses - where most of your job would be managing company knowledge bases and providing information upon request.

Archives & museums - While these jobs still require work with the public, you'll often spend more time behind the scenes processing materials.

UX librarian or systems librarian - Much more tech focused. Think interfaces, web design, forcing all your different products to play nice with the link resolver, etc.

I didn't have a firm specialty in grad school - I took two courses in our archival concentration as it was getting established but graduated before the third one. I did angle toward academic over public librarianship and made sure to take a class on pedagogy. My overall tips regarding getting an MLIS are:

See if your job will pay for it. Sometimes they will! Grad school isn't cheap and librarians don't make loads so you don't want to take out loans if you don't have to. If you *do*, librarians qualify for the Public Service Loan Forgiveness program but that's a mess rn.

Keep a library job while taking classes if possible. Tbh I learned way more on the job than in class. Library school helps steep you in professional theory and values, but it doesn't always give you many hard skills.

Acquire hard skills if you can. Take classes that let you do practical projects. If there's *any* possibility you might take a job in academia or public librarianship where you'll be teaching classes, giving workshops, etc., I highly encourage you to take a pedagogy class. It's good to learn a bit about teaching and get over your jitters about presenting to a crowd.

Get comfortable with tech; no way around that one. If you're not having to master new tech to do your job you're going to be helping patrons figure out *their* technology. You don't have to be a whiz - I could never get the hang of programming and don't know much about command lines - but be ready to roll up your sleeves and try troubleshooting. Googling 'how do I do xyz' is, shockingly, not a universal skill and will get you far. I have become a master of weird workarounds because none of the tech at my college works.

When writing personal statements to get into a library school program, do not lead with how much you like to read. That's not what librarians do. Librarianship is a service profession - think helping people, solving problems, being flexible, etc. All key characteristics you should highlight in applications for programs and for jobs. Having past customer service experience will help you too.

If you can get an assistantship that will cover program costs while giving you experience, go for it. My assistantship was hands down the most informative part of my library school experience *and* I don't have student loans.

That's what comes to mind right away, but feel free to ask me follow up questions about anything you're curious about!

[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.

[vgilantee]

Hot, hot mess for an angel {Adrian Chase}

Chapter 1 - When the call comes.

adrian chase x reader

requested: n/a

words: 5.4k

a/n: and so begins the long overdue series rewrite! is anyone even still interested in reading peacemaker fics? oh well, everything i write is self-indulgent anyway

warnings: n/a

pronouns: [none used in this chapter but the reader is they/them]

series masterlist

Whenever people asked what your job was, you would always shrug and say “freelancer”. Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. You would travel from state to state, taking up work. It just happened that your job could also be described as “hitman-for-hire”. 

This was how you ended up on Waller’s radar. She never interfered with your work, but she had made it clear that you were very much being surveilled constantly, and it would be easy to stop you. Which resulted in you being on her payroll by technicality. Because you weren’t recruited from a supermax prison to be on Task Force X, you got to escape the installation of a mini bomb in your skull, but that didn’t mean that when you got a call and heard her cold voice on the other line that you had a choice in the matter. 

You had just arrived home from some late-night grocery shopping - your last gig was in a relatively small and charming city, and you had decided to stay when it was done - when your phone began vibrating in your back pocket. 

Waller.

Somehow, you never had the option to decline a call from her. Not that you ever would, just sometimes you wished you had the option, to be able to be left alone for another minute or two before being roped into some black ops shit. 

“Waller.” Your tone was tired as you greeted her. It had been a while since you had heard from her, but it really wasn’t long enough. “What is it this time?”

“I have someone coming by to pick you up for a mission. They’ll be there in an hour.” Her sentences were clipped short at the end, no patience for small talk. “Pack all your weapons, and your suit, it’s a big one.” The call had barely ended before you let out a groan. It wasn’t often Waller had you on missions with other people, especially not one she would refer to as ‘a big one’. 

You were well aware that what you did for a living was dangerous, and there were more than a few times that you had come close to getting killed. But when Amanda Waller called you, made sure to mention that you needed your armour and used such emotive language to describe something, you were aware that there was a high chance you wouldn’t be walking out of it.

Two duffle bags full of your armoured suit and the few guns in your collection lived in your wardrobe, ready for an emergency exit. You threw them on your bed as you grabbed out a backpack, and shoved it full of basic clothes - jeans, T-shirts, sweaters - just to get you by. You didn’t really have many nicer clothes anyway. 

Down beside your guns, you slid your various melee weapons and knives you had collected over your career, before moving quickly to collect the remainder of the weapons you had hidden around your small apartment. You took one last glance around the box that was your apartment one last time, mentally checking off all the hiding places you had gone through, before sitting by the door and tugging on your boots. 

Grabbing your phone, you swung the front door shut behind you, locking the door. Realistically you didn’t expect to return to that dingy apartment, and you weren’t at all broken up about it. There was nothing personal about it, no small touches like your favourite candle or a painting you really liked that made it yours. That wasn’t really your thing. But force of habit had you locking the door behind you, and checking it with a tug. 

The door to the apartment building had barely swung close behind you when a silver car pulled up and the window rolled down. Inside sat a blonde woman who looked like she would rather be anywhere else than sat to be your personal taxi. Her already angled face was made sharper by the shadows caused by the cold light of her phone. 

The sound of the door caught her attention and she looked up from her phone. 

“Silvereye?” The woman called out through the open window and you nodded, stepping forward and opening the door to the back seat to throw your bags in. You slid into the passenger seat and glanced over at your driver. 

“You can just call me [Y/N] or [Y/L/N] if you want. Silvereye is for jobs, but with Waller… I just go by my name.” Glancing over, you watched her nod. 

“Well, [Y/L/N], I’m Emilia Harcourt. Welcome to the team.” She sounded exhausted, her tone lightly sarcastic.

The rest of the drive was quiet, just the sounds of the road and the occasional car driving past. Harcourt turned the car radio on to a random station at a low volume, and you were happy to not have a conversation with her. The less you knew about her, the less you would have an opinion about her, which would make it safer for you and for her. So you stared out the side window as lights flicked past, refracted by the rain hitting the window and bouncing off small puddles along the road. 

The car pulled to a stop in a barely-lit carpark beside an unmarked van. You stepped out, hand resting on your hairline to block some of the rain from falling into your eyes, and were greeted by the back doors swinging open. Inside sat only two people; a bearded man turned to look at you from the front seat, and the man who had swung the doors open. 

You knew who Clemson Murn was, every mercenary, assassin and general hitman-for-hire knew who he was. You had heard rumours that he was working for the government, but it greatly surprised you to see him. 

“[Y/L/N]. Welcome to the team.” He stepped out, unbothered by the steady rain. “This is John Economos.” Murn gestured to him and Economos nodded. “I’m-”

“I know who you are, Murn.” You tried not to sound rude as you interrupted him, but you figured there wasn’t time to waste with unnecessary introductions. Murn pressed his lips together and gave a single stiff nod. There was a pause for a beat, Murn slightly thrown by your interruption and taking a moment to reorder his directions. 

“Right. Put your stuff in the van and pick a vehicle.”

You chose to stay in the car with Harcourt, Murn’s voice playing through the car from the phone sat on the dash. 

He explained that you were on your way to Evergreen in Charlton County, where you would pick up the freshly released Peacemaker to add him to the team, as well as meet up with another agent. Murn also explained to you what the mission exactly was. Project Butterfly. 

An alien species that looked like a mix between praying mantises and butterflies that could take over the body of a human. The host would die, killed by the insect that had crawled into their brain. 

Murn made it clear only the four of you knew the full details, and that Peacemaker would not be told anything at all. He would simply be the gun. Beside you, Emilia muttered something about a starfish, but you ignored her. 

After arriving at the motel, the four of you split off into separate rooms, with Murn telling you that in the morning, you would be getting Peacemaker, but to make sure you were rested. 

The room was small and as a result, very open-planned. The main room was the carpeted living and dining room, with a small tiled corner for a kitchen. There were two doors, one on the back wall that led to a shoebox bathroom, and the other along the right side to the bedroom. 

Your bags were dropped in front of the doors to the built-in wardrobe, and you fell back onto the bed, tugging your boots off to toss into the corner. You cringed as a boot hit one of the bags with a thud and a click, but you decided that would be tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, you were going to fall asleep and listen to the continued rain, ignoring the musty smell that came from the carpet and filled the motel room. 

Chris’s trailer was aggressively American; painted blue with red and white stripes. It was almost painfully bright. You didn’t need to read his file to know who his father was, so the intense patriotism shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did. 

“Fan out, don’t let him out of the trailer.” Murn tapped the side of the van once before he nodded to the right side of the trailer. “Harcourt, [Y/L/N], you both go that way. Adebayo, Economos and I will go to the front.”

You had met Leota that morning, and she seemed nice enough. It was clear she was new to anything black ops and task force, but that didn’t matter, she was brought on for a reason and you weren’t going to ask questions.

Copying Harcourt, you crouched down, gun raised, and made your way around to the back of the trailer. She moved further around than you, to the centre of the broken window on the back. 

She cocked her gun, gaining his attention.

“Stay where you are, Smith.” He turned to see Economos pointing his gun through the front window, then again to see you behind. Murn swung the front door open, who was closely followed by Adebayo with her own gun raised. 

Chris let out a string of muttered fucks before yelling out one final one. 

You explored Peacemaker’s trailer while Murn explained that he had only served a fraction of his sentence. Harcourt sat on his counter, the heels of her boots occasionally bumping against the surface. Economos rifled through his fridge, causing the jars within to clink together.

“What the fuck is he doing?” You turned around as the clinks stopped.

“I have low blood sugar, okay? So I’m dizzy.” Murn continued on, ignoring the minor distraction. Out the corner of your eye, you watched as John continued to look through the fridge, despite the slightly off smell that emanated. He turned around, a jar of olives in hand as Murn began to introduce you all, and put one in his mouth as his name was said.

“Hey dude, you’re eating four-year-old olives out of my fucking fridge.” John gagged but once again, Murn ignored the distraction. 

“This is [Y/N] [Y/L/N],” your posture straightened at the mention of your name, “a temporary addition to our team, and has experience in missions such as these.” You raised a hand to give him a two-finger wave, pretending like you hadn’t been flicking through - and judging - his extensive CD collection.

“And this is our new recruit, Leota Adebayo.” She shuffled nervously before she delved into a speech, directed at each of you. 

“Anything you need, I got you.” You raised your brows as she gestured to you, curious as to what the fuck she might have to say about you. “[Y/L/N], I know teams aren’t really your thing but I feel like we’re going to get along well and that you’ll have our backs when it comes down to it. And Mr. Murn, I have to say your outfits are really dapper.” You fought an amused snort, hiding behind your hand as you turned away, your eyes finding a stack of old comic books. It was kind of sweet how nervous she was, though. 

It had been a long time since you had felt nervous about anything regarding a mission, having started as a street-kid picking up jobs for mobs and gangs in Gotham so your mother could keep sending you and your younger brother to school. Though, even just growing up poor in Gotham would have been enough to steel your nerves. Or maybe it was just your personality that lent itself to your ability to kill.

“Project Starfish was a giant walking starfish.” What? 

You spun around on your heel, suddenly paying strong attention to the conversation, eyes wide as you looked at Emilia and John for help. Even though you were aware that there was a big mission in Corto Maltese, you didn’t know much beyond that. Classified job.

“So, what, am I fighting a Mothra now?” Peacemaker let out a nervous chuckle as Harcourt looked behind her at Economos and then you. “I am? I’m fighting a Mothra? What the fuck do I fight a Mothra with?” His eyes widened with panic and while Murn tried telling him that no, he wouldn’t be fighting a Mothra, all Chris was asking was if he could get a jetpack. 

“We need you to do contract work.” Chris nodded, looking away, almost disappointed that he would be killing people. 

“Kill people?”

“Bad people.” Harcourt hadn’t spoken up since commenting on Chris killing Rick Flag, but it seemed she was trying to reassure him this time. Peacemaker was known for only killing people to create what he had deemed as peace (hence the name), so it made sense that he would need reassuring him that the people he would be killing were bad and not just people that were potential- or non-threats to Waller.

“Whom we call Butterflies.” So, Murn wasn’t going to tell him the whole truth about the Butterflies. He let out an exhale, considering.

“What if I say no?”

“You’ll have to return to Belle Reve.”

“What’s to keep me from splittin’?”

“We still have that bomb in your head to track you with, and if that fails, we’ll blow you the hell up.” You were no stranger to killing, and you had definitely mocked or taunted a handful of people before you killed them. But something in the way Murn spoke to Smith was different, more detached than you were used to.

But the threat seemed enough. Chris sighed before giving a small nod. Murn shifted in his seat, inhaling. 

“We’ll meet for dinner tonight. Seven-thirty at- where is it?” He looked over at Adebayo who was shifting on her feet. Economos picked up his jacket and yours, passing you your jacket before you both moved to follow Harcourt out the door. 

“Fennel Fields on Manchester Road. And the mozzarella sticks are dope.” You ducked out of the door before John, barely catching Chris saying;

“Enjoy my food, Dye-Beard.” You rolled your eyes. This was going to be a long mission.

You sat, curled up in the armchair, as Economos complained about the clanging and Harcourt told Adebayo to move her things. Because you weren’t an agent, you didn’t have paperwork or a computer to set at a desk, only a couple of bags of weapons that you already had stashed in the supply closet just through the hallway behind the main room. Stashed was generous. You literally shoved the bags onto a shelf, only taking out your crossbow to restring it (the click you had heard the previous night, you had learned, was the string snapping and getting caught under the slide of one of your semi-auto pistols). It wasn’t a weapon you used often but it always paid to have it stringed and ready, just in case. 

You had kept a couple of guns and knives stashed around your motel room, but most of them were still in their bags on the shelf. Organising them would come later, for now; closet.

“I don’t know what you did to piss off Amanda Waller,” your eyes darted over to Harcourt to see if she was addressing you, “but she’s definitely fucking me and John with this gig. What agency did you get transferred from?”

“‘Fucking you’ how?” You raised your eyebrow as Adebayo dodged the question.

“We helped Task Force X during Project Starfish, and this is her way of getting back at us.” You wondered what they had done that Waller had deemed so bad. Knowing her, it was probably helping the team not commit war crimes of some description. Or maybe it was just them saying “no” to something like getting her a coffee. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” You could only snort. Waller had given people shit jobs - hell even had them killed - for less. 

“Hey, new girl’s an expert over here, John,”

“Oh yeah, Waller is so forgiving. It’s what she’s known for.” Adebayo glanced over at you and you put your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Well, she’s entitled to her opinion.”

“Thank you.”

“Her stupid fucking opinion.” John wandered over toward you then paused, holding out one finger to point behind where you sat. “Oh, sweet, we have a piano. That’s useful for black ops.” You leaned behind you and lazily hit the keys you could reach, letting the off-tune notes strangle out. The noise made John wince and Harcourt let out an amused breath. “This is the worst HQ of all time.”

“You’ve clearly never been holed up in Gotham. Once had to be in an abandoned apartment for like… two days. Reeked of old blood and vomit.” John gagged. “This is definitely pretty shit though.” 

“That’s disgusting.” You shrugged as he muttered his disdain. “You guys hear that, right? It’s not just me?” He pointed at a pipe, chin tilting as it let out another dull clang. 

“We hear what?”

“Hm? What?” You swung your legs over the arm of the chair, leaning back on your elbows against the opposite arm. 

“The fuckin’ pi- oh.” Economos pointed at you, then at Harcourt. “Nice Gaslighting.” You smiled up at him, as he rolled his eyes. 

“Aww, sorry, John.” You tapped his leg with your foot, exaggerating a pout.

“I’m not.” Harcourt’s chair creaked as she turned and your head fell back to look at her. She turned back and you finally stood up. 

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you guys to set up your damp desks. I think it’s time to explore this shithole.” John stepped out of the way as your legs swung around so you could stand. “I’ll try find some tools or something to fix the pipe too.” 

You wandered through the back rooms of the abandoned video store. The place had gone under, but it seemed like everyone had dropped what they were doing and ran out. Furniture and paperwork still roughly in the place deemed their home by whoever had left it behind. 

Luckily, that meant that as you opened another supply closet in one of the farthest back rooms, you found a rusted toolbox. The blue paint was chipped and the hinge creaked as you opened the lid, and inside sat a handful of screwdrivers, a roll of duct tape, and an adjustable wrench. Not necessarily the proper tools to fix the banging pipe, you thought as you spun the wrench in one hand, but it should do. 

“-he’s going to cooperate? Being back with his father, he may… ya know.” Leota gestured her hands, trying to avoid saying that maybe Chris would become like his father now that he was back with him. 

“Everything in his file says that he’s not like his father other than the killing thing, so there shouldn’t be any issues.” John glanced at her over the top of his laptop with a shrug. 

Climbing onto a chair you dragged over to the wall by the clanging pipe, you poked around with your pointer finger to see if you could figure out what was wrong. 

“From his attitude in his trailer, he doesn’t seem like he’d be like his dad, so don’t worry about that too much.” You reassured her, picking up on what John had clearly missed in her question. “Seems more like… I don’t know. No motives other than ‘break law, get killed’.” Adebayo just hummed.

“So, what about you [Y/N]? How’d the great but never caught Silvereye get roped in by Waller?” You glanced over your shoulder to see Harcourt leaning back on her elbows on the desk, head tilted. Turning back to the pipe, you adjusted the wrench to fit the loose bolt head. 

“You’re Silvereye? I thought you were just another ARGUS agent.” Blinking in surprise, you turned to Leota before shrugging. “I was expecting some… huge mob guy with a metal eye or something. I don’t know, but the eye is something that everyone agrees on. You’re… well you seem pretty normal.” The image of you with rippling muscles and a fake eye made you laugh. 

“That’s what’s spreading around Gotham? Holy shit that’s hilarious.” With a big pull that required most of your body weight, the bolt finally moved. “I definitely would have been caught if I looked like that. But nope. No fake eye.” You adjusted your hold on the wrench and tugged again. “Waller contacted me and said that either I take contracts with her, no questions asked, or she gets me hauled to Arkham. And I don’t want to be in that looney bin.” You shivered slightly at the idea of being roomed next to the Joker and having to hear that laugh. Not that you’d really be stuck in Arkham long with its break-out track record…

“So she’s hired a hitman?” John’s chair let out a creak as he leaned back. “That feels less than legal.”

“I mean technically? It’s more like what she’s done with Task Force X, but without the bomb, because I haven’t been, ya know, arrested.” It was an unspoken promise by Waller that if you didn’t voluntarily cooperate, she would enlist you either way, just in one you had a bit more free will.

With a final pull, you leaned away from the pipe and paused, before grinning as it stopped banging. 

A collective groan was let out as a pipe further into the video store started to bang.

You poked around in your bowl of gnocchi before finding the right piece to pop in your mouth, listening as Economos complained about the pigeons that shat all over his couch after he left his balcony door open. 

You had to lean around Emelia to see John as he spoke, comfortably sat to her right and on the end of the booth. 

“Are you kidding me?” Your eyes flicked to her before you followed her line of sight. And it wasn’t hard to see what she was talking about, not when it wore a bright red shirt and a mirror for a helmet. 

“Oh fuck me.” Your eyes rolled as you dropped your fork into the bowl. Leota and Murn both turned in their seats as John let out a laugh.

“Did this dipshit really show up in full cosplay mode?” Smith looked into the restaurant as he walked toward the front door, and you couldn’t help but stare at his car. Painted with the same overtly American stripes as his trailer. 

“This is the guy Waller’s giving us?” Out the corner of your eye, you saw Emilia point at Murn with her fork. “I told you she’s fucking us.” Murn rolled his eyes then waved his hand in a lazy dismissal.

“Holy shit,” you saw a movement in the back window of his car before directing your eyes to Leota, “you see that right?”

“Is that an eagle in his back seat?”

“She’s fucking us.” It was almost strange to hear Murn admit it, almost in defeat. But really, Peacemaker was a strange and intense man (not that it was something he had control over, his father was a large factor to his whole… everything) and this mission was going to be exhausting having to handle him. Leota slowly turned back - keeping an eye on the eagle as she did - at the same time the front door chimed. Rolling your eyes, you put another piece of gnocchi in your mouth.

“Oh, I’m with them. Can I just grab a menu, please?” People around the restaurant turn to stare at him as Smith told Leota to scooch over so he could sit opposite you. 

“What’s with the costume? Like… why?” Peacemaker scoffed at you, laughing. 

“Costume? This is a uniform.” His dismissive and ‘mightier-than-thou’ attitude was starting to piss you off. “And why? Because it’s brand new and needs stretching, make it more comfortable before I go on a mission.”

“Maybe I’m stupid, but why would you want to wear that on a mission.” 

“Exactly!” You gestured at him with your fork. “Bright red shirt? White pants? Not exactly ‘lurking in the shadows’.” You grew up in Gotham, you knew that vengeance wore black.

(Vengeance also happened to have a primary-coloured sidekick but that was beside the point). 

“People see this uniform, it strikes fear in their hearts.” Peacemaker mumbled his reply into the menu, clearly resigning to the fact that none of you were taking him seriously. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale.

“What people? The other people at the Village People tryouts?” Emilia’s tone lilted up with amusement and John laughed, shaking his head

“Come on, Smith. Show us your YMCA.” In front of you, you did a low-effort version of the movements with your hands as you said the letters and Economos laughed, dropping his head. 

“Why is there a bald eagle in your car?” Murn hadn’t turned back to face the table, instead, his arm was over the back of the booth and he leaned against the dividing wall. 

“That’s Eagly.” Smith shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Yeah, you might kill the guy at the end of this mission. “You guys ordered without me?”

“‘Eagly’ is your pet eagle?” John’s tone dripped with disbelief and amusement. 

“Yeah.” Peacemaker looked up at him, with a snide tone

“Is your dog named Doggy?” You let out a small snort and quickly covered your mouth to hide the sound, Adebayo glancing at you with a laugh. 

“Alright.” But his word was covered by John’s laugh

“Do you have a daughter named Daughtery?” Economos giggled at his joke, which turned into a laugh as Harcourt joined in. Your hand stayed over your mouth to muffle your laughs, eyes shut and nose scrunched. 

“Jealous of a guy’s pet eagle much?” You took a breath to recover from your laughs, looking at Smith as you blindly stabbed at your gnocchi.

“Dude you have to admit that it’s a stupid fucking name.” Finally, your fork landed in a piece and you gestured at him with it. “ Creativity zero.” Popping the gnocchi into your mouth, Harcourt laughed, shaking her head. 

The group fell into a moment of silence, a moment that you found more than welcomed. Until;

“Hey, sweet-cheeks!” 

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Your fork fell into your bowl as your head fell into your hands. You heard the waitress stop beside you, pen scratching as Smith ordered. Like you, the rest of your table was silent, and you raised your head to see everyone staring at him. 

“Thank you.” The waitress walked away and Smith looked very proud of himself as he muttered, “‘’good choice’” repeating the customer-service compliment on his food choice. He turned his attention back to the table, finally noticing you all staring. He huffed, half-smirking. 

“Zoodles are zucchini noodles.” He explained slowly like you were a group of children. As if your looks were of confusion over his vegan noodle choice, and not the gross slang. 

“‘Sweet cheeks’?” Leota was the first to break the silence, turning to properly look at Smith beside her. “Seriously dude?” 

“She had cherubic cheeks.” His voice pitched up in defence, eyes widened slightly. “It's a compliment.” 

"’Sweet cheeks’ is your butt.” John pitched in, and Chris’s head all but whipped toward him. 

“No, it's not.” You couldn’t tell if he was defensive because he really thought he was right, or was in denial about being wrong. 

“It one-hundred percent is.” Much like he had to John, Smith turned to you quickly and you showed your hands in mock surrender. He opened his mouth, likely to continue to defend himself, but was cut off by Leota. 

“It's like calling somebody, I don't know, ‘sugar tits’." Murn’s head fell back in annoyance, and Harcourt brought a hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching it. 

“That's totally inappropriate.” As Smith took a breath in, you quietly hoped that would be the end of it, but once again you were proven wrong in your hopes that Smith would know when to shut his mouth. “Her tits are way too big to be sugar tits. Sugar tits are, like, smaller, perkier tits.” Smith made a grabbing motion with his hands, turning his attention to your side of the table. He went to open his mouth and you sent him a steely glare, jaw clenching and your grip on your fork tightening, causing his eyes to quickly flick to Emilia - who had made the mistake of closing her eyes and couldn’t discourage him from what came out of his mouth next. “Like... yours. Uh, technically, I think you may have sugar tits, too but somehow that also feels inappropriate.”

“All right, Peacemaker. That's enough.” Murn sounded tired, but you were all more than glad for him to stop Smith’s train of thought. “ You don't have to be happy with this detail, but you do have to treat your fellow soldiers with respect.”

“Oh yeah? Heard plenty of stories about how you treat people with respect, Murn. Plenty.” It was moments like that, when Smth spoke with such judgement in his tone, where you could piece together what his moral standings around killing were. Almost every killer had rules they put in place for themself - you were of course no exception - but it’s rare that one would be so much up their own ass about it. 

“Why is that busboy staring at you?” Harcourt leaned back into her seat to look past you, and everyone turned to follow her line of sight.

Two booths away, leaning on the table, stood the busboy, a dopey smile on his face and his head tilted. You watched as he shifted his weight to one hand, then gave a small finger-wiggle wave mostly directed at Smith. 

“I think… that's my friend Gut Chase's younger brother.” The busboy dropped his hand but kept staring at Smith. “He has mental issues.” He half whispered the latter, though the volume was nowhere near low enough. Your brows scrunched together in disbelief as the guy raised both his fists in the air with a giggle. 

You kept staring as the waitress moved back over to the table and placed the bowls of greens in front of Smith. Murn passed him a manilla folder, but you kept your eyes on the strange busboy. There was something about the way his curls fought to poke out from underneath his uniform hat, and the old-fashioned wirey glasses. He spun on his heel and walked away with a bounce before disappearing through a door. 

The sound of a plate being stabbed drew your attention back to the table. 

“-You’re gonna get dressing on it.” Smith scowled and slammed his fork down next to his plate. 

“Dressing is easier to get off this helmet than a human lip. That's a fսckin' fact.” Despite his protests, Smith all but pouted took off his helmet and slammed it down on the table in front of his food while mumbling under his breath. He picks his fork up with a fist and stabs at his food, shovelling it into his mouth. 

“Dude, you eat like a fucking toddler.” You tilted your head and scrunched up his nose as you watched him. 

“You look like a fuckin’ toddler.” Peacemaker mumbled through a mouthful of leaves. 

“So… I look young? Wow, what a zinger, you really got me there.” You monotonously drawled out as you rolled your eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “I’m just saying, you were clearly never taught how to hold a fork. Or eat like a normal fucking person.”

“Guess I didn’t have the perfect life you did growing up.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Murn slammed his fork down, effectively shutting both you and Smith up.

“Enough. Both of you. Stop acting like children.” You barely raised your finger to point at Smith but Murn glared at you. “I don’t have the patience, and we don’t have the time for you to be bickering right now. If you have to have petty arguments just… wait until I don’t have to listen to it.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence - though Murn did scold Smith for using the job folder as a placemat - until finally you were all finished and dismissed back to the motel for the night.

reblogs and kind words are appreciated!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for blood, language, brief nudity. Later chapters will be M Warnings: Nah fam Summary: Local vampire finds out she can't kill soft human (because they're soulmates, baby), human becomes insufferable bastard, oops they fuck later. Soulmate AU where if one person gets injured, their soulmate feels the same amount of pain and receives a scar in the relevant area.

1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

It’s not that you had expected to survive this- being locked in the dungeon of Castle Dimitrescu, waiting for the day you’re picked to be someone’s meal. Oh no, you had given up on surviving long ago, it was just that… well, you had hoped that someone with a softer touch would do you in. But here you were, too exhausted to cry, hanging naked in front of none other than Cassandra Dimitrescu. Her eyes were trailing you up and down, examining every inch of your skin, every flaw, every unique trait. It was like she was making a mental map of which parts of you would taste best. Goddamn, you wanted to spit in her face, or scream, or say something, anything that might make her feel even an ounce of what you had felt for weeks.

But you know that she’s already planning to kill you, and to make it painful. Why give her any more reason? Why dare her to find a worse way to end your life? There was no good answer, so you stayed still, just watched her move. Maybe if you looked bored enough she’d make it quick, just stab a knife in you and drink you up like a capri sun. Or, maybe, if you kept a straight face, she would admire your courage. Oh, how you longed for people to think of you kindly now, in your last moments, when dying clean and pretty was no longer an option.

Pulling a blade from some hidden sheathe, Cassandra approaches you with a wicked grin. There’s still blood on her lips from her last victim. Had they not sated her? Or had she been like this for some time? When she inevitably drank from you, how long would your blood remain on her lips? You weren’t sure that you wanted to know. In your mind, you picture her cleaning up as soon as she was done with you. It does not make you feel any better. Neither does the way she traces a finger across your chest, left to right, practicing for the incision to follow. She pauses to lick her lips, making direct eye contact as she does.

What happens next passes by so quickly that you don’t process any of it until the whole ordeal is over. The blade’s tip digs into your chest, just below your collarbone, before dragging along half the width of your torso. It hurts like hell, but you manage to keep your misery to yourself. But your pain is soon replaced with confusion; Cassandra screams, loud enough to echo throughout the basement, doubling over herself. In an instant her knife has clattered to the floor, forgotten. Instinct takes over your brain, the default programing kicking in, and you say something that fills you with instant regret.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a bit quiet, and raw, worn out from lack of hydration. But it is enough, evidently, for Cassandra to hear. She’s rising back up and glaring at you, one hand clutching her chest. Something in her expression tells you that she thinks you’re mocking her. While that wasn’t technically the case, there was a part of you that found joy in this, watching your captor get a taste of their own medicine. The question left in your mind was why she was in pain. “I’ll take that as a no,” you said, again left with regret at your choices.

Now her hand is swiping at your face, nails cutting you open. Once more she hisses in pain, now clutching her head, shaking a little as she does. When she meets your gaze, you see that she’s more confused than anything. More than that, you see the marks on her face, knowing instantly that they match your own. Oh hell no, you thought, grimacing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Cassandra growled through clenched teeth. Bouncing back and forth on her heels, she seems tense, unsure of how to process what’s happening. You feel the same way, desperately wanting to pretend that this doesn’t mean you’re her soulmate. Maybe the universe had just messed up, crossing some wires, or decided to pull a prank on the two of you. Either way it was better than the alternative. Eager to think about something else, you start considering your options. The first that comes to mind is ridiculous. Stupid, really. But would it amuse you? Absolutely.

“Not gonna lie, I feel better about the idea of you killing me now. Feel free to make it painful, darlin’, I won’t mind,” you snarked, lips curling up into a smirk. Oh boy was it satisfying to watch Cassandra’s response. One of her hands raises to smack you, only for her to freeze before releasing a torrent of swears. Hurting you meant hurting herself. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little aching? Haven’t you ever imagined what it’s like to be on the other side of things? Under the blade yourself, blood soaking your skin, eyes too dry for even a single tear? Poor thing,” you purred, tone as teasing as it could get. Apparently it’s aggravating enough for Cassandra to fight through the pain, as she slams her fist into your stomach, leaving both of you gasping for breath. “This is fun-” you pause to cough out a few drops of blood- “really, really fun. Hey, if you kill me, how bad do you think you’ll feel?”

Before Cassandra can react, either to speak or hurt you worse, the sound of approaching footsteps draws her attention. From where you hang you can’t see much, too many cells and hanging bodies blocking your vision. But your “soulmate” seemed to know who was coming. Her face scrunches up a little, and she adjusts her robes, trying to cover the mark on her chest. Had you not still been coughing, you would have sarcastically asked her how she intended to hide her face.

“What the hell is going on, Cassandra?” An unfamiliar voice asked. The footsteps grew louder, and faster, until the new figure stood in the same cell as you. Not even bothering to spare you a glance, she approaches Cassandra, reaching to examine her face. “Did a prisoner manage to get you? I’ve told you a thousand times-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, sis,” Cassandra snapped, pushing away her sister’s hand. Both of them are visibly tense, and for a moment they stand still, staring each other down. Then the sister (who you assume to be Bela, from things you’ve overheard recently) shifts her focus to you. Something tells you that she has no intentions of being gentle.

“Did you do this, you rotten little thing?” Bela questioned, glaring at you hard enough to send a shiver down your spine. But that doesn’t stop you from trying to have some more fun.

“Oh, of course I did! I rattled my chains real good, scared the shit out of her, made her fall on her own knife a few times. You know, like that one musical?” You must look insane as you speak, grin wide but face dripping with blood. If it unnerves Bela, she hides it well, though you doubt it does. As soon as you’re done poking fun she’s pulling out her sickle. Still grinning, you make eye contact with Cassandra, who realizes what’s happening a second too late. Then the two of you cry out in unison, as the blade carves into your shoulder. Instantly Bela pulls back, stunned, turning to her sister with genuine concern. “I might have lied. Rest assured though, it was for comedic purposes.”

The next thing you know the two sisters are shuffling away from you, Cassandra begrudgingly being dragged along by Bela. Though the younger of the two had been adamant about not receiving help, she now had little choice in the matter, skin searing from your blood bond. Even you are starting to breathe harder than you’d like.

“Was it something I said?” You barked, barely able to manage a fit of giggles between your coughing. Bela shoots you a glare over her shoulder, but quickly returns her attention to her sister. They talk, quickly, soft enough that you can only make out a few words here and there. It’s hard to make meaning from it, especially considering their vastly different tones. Cassandra is pure anger, gestures fast and wide, while Bela is oddly solemn, even regretful. When you finally catch a couple full sentences, things start to make a little more sense, though you wish they didn’t.

“We can kill them painlessly, in their sleep. That way you won’t have to suffer,” Bela whispered. She’s doing her best to comfort her sister, despite the tension in the room, gently patting her on the back. Briefly, you make eye contact with her. In that moment she looks equal parts executor and unwilling jury. But she looks away quickly, even shifting her angle to prevent it from happening again.

“No, fuck that, fuck this, I’m… I’m not killing them. Nobody is,” Cassandra growled, daring to emphasize her point by pushing Bela away. Now it’s her turn to look at you, brows furrowed, eyes betraying something more than just anger. Somehow it’s a million times worse than when she first came in. You strain yourself trying to look away, cursing the chains keeping you in place, resorting to closing your eyes and pretending none of this was real. “I don’t care what you think, Bela. They’re already my ‘meal’, might as well get what enjoyment out of this that I can.”

Again, footsteps echo through the basement. Tension locks your muscles in place, and your eyes are still clamped shut, to the point that you don’t realize your chains are being undone until you’ve hit the ground. Cursing under your breath, you finally open your eyes again. There’s blood on the floor, only some of it yours, and you’re suddenly aching for a bath. More than that, though, you’re praying for something to cover yourself with. Certainly Cassandra didn’t need to see everything, now that you weren’t a piece of meat for her to enjoy? As if reading your mind, the middle Dimitrescu daughter flings open a nearby cabinet, messily searching for something. Eventually she gives a hum of approval, then tosses a blanket in your direction.

“Put it on, dipshit, then follow me,” she snapped, already walking away. For a moment you’re tempted to stay there, sitting still, waiting to see how long it would take for her to notice. But one look from Bela sends the thought back to whatever crevice of your mind it crawled out of. So you’re moving, hastily, awkwardly wrapped in a somewhat itchy blanket. Other prisoners eye you as you pass, some shouting curses or even spitting at you. At first Cassandra takes no notice, or simply doesn’t care, but eventually the noise seems to irritate her. Turning back, she takes her sickle in hand and slams the handle into the bars of a cell. It’s loud, making you flinch, but gets everyone’s attention. “Next one to make a peep gets the blood eagle!”

“Is that, like, a sex thing?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. Laughter rings out around you from the few prisoners capable of it. Cassandra is seething again, looking about ready to kill you. Then she’s shifting into swarm mode, spreading out wide, insects barreling through half the occupied cells. A few cries escape the prisoners, as the flies take bites out of them, cutting a perfect balance between pain and (a lack of) lethality. They’d be suffering for days to come, every movement making their wounds ache. “Not a sex thing, got it,” you muttered to yourself, just as Cassandra reforms in front of you. This time she grabs the blanket you’re wrapped in, using it to tug you forward, sending you towards the exit.

“Shut up for five minutes and I might let you put on actual clothes,” she growled, keeping one hand on your back to guide you. The offer is the closest thing to kindness you’ve seen from her, and you have half a mind to do what she says. Would you actually manage to keep quiet for that long? Well, you were certainly looking forward to finding out...

[hotliljewishgirl]

Post-Jangle Ball Ramblings

I saw JB in Philly last night and it left me genuinely speechless. It was my first time ever seeing them live after ten years of obsessing over their content from afar, and it was everything I could have asked for or dreamed of. I HIGHLY encourage anyone who’s on the fence to get tickets. You won’t regret it.

Starkid means so much to me. I cannot begin to list all the ways they’ve helped me and changed me, and last night represented the fulfillment of a dream I’ve had since I was nine years old. I won’t get too corny here, mostly because nothing I could say would do justice to how much I love these artists and this community, but I wanted to say – thank you to everyone who made the past ten years of being a Starkid fan so special.

Bear with me here, because I have a lot of Feelings. Be aware this post does contain spoilers for Jangle Ball. Without further ado, my thoughts:

We been knew, but everyone is SO talented and seeing them perform was a magical, life-changing, incredible, unforgettable experience.

Also everyone looked ridiculously good and I am not ok. The variation in outfits was hilarious though. I’m not sure what they were told to wear, but it ranged from Lauren in a very sexy sheer top to Jamie in a festive red dress to Dylan just chilling in flannel. None of them looked like they were going to the same event and I loved it.

Janaya’s Stutter was iconic and I want to listen to it on repeat. Lauren’s background dancing was equally amazing despite the fact it induced a severe state of gay panic.

I wish we got more Show Stopping Number from Joey and James. I wasn’t sure anyone other than R*bert would be able to pull off that song and I’ve never been happier to be wrong. I actually think either of them would make a great Hidgens if Nick doesn’t want to take on the role.

Dylan blew me away. I knew he talented but tbh he completely stole the show in the first act with the Twisted numbers. Not only does he have an incredible voice, but his stage presence is ridiculous (and I made eye contact with him briefly. My life is complete. Now I can finally lay down and die.)

I loved the Status Quo parody and I was so glad to see JOEY perform it again (no shade to Alex and Mariah but they just can’t compare to the OG). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – if they pulled a Taylor Swift and re-recorded all their old cast albums I would literally give them all my money. I love the old songs and it was so special to see them performed.

Queen B…I think I briefly blacked out. I honestly don’t listen to that song much because I’m not really one for rap, but I might start now. Lauren killed it. My favorite thing about her as a performer is how versatile she is. Not every one can pull off a number like that, but she did it effortlessly. I was equal parts terrified and aroused, which is exactly what that song should do. Shout out to Brian and James dancing backup. The dancing in this show truly blew me away. I was not expecting that many choreographed numbers given how little they rehearsed, and I’m so glad (and impressed) that they managed to do it. It just brought the energy up and was so fun to watch.

A lil nitpick: I get that Cup of Roasted Coffee, Stutter, Show Stopping Number, and the Wiggly Jingle are technically villain songs but they don’t really give that energy? And Deck the Halls, We Got Work to Do, Climate Change, and Status Quo are straight up not villain songs. I liked the whole “ the villain is capitalism” angle but tbh when I heard they were performing villain songs I was expecting like…Wagon on Fire. Rogues Medley. Kick It Up a Notch. The classic Starkid villain songs, you know? I LOVED the set list as it was and I wouldn’t trade it for anything but I think there was a tiny flaw in marketing. And now I’ll get off my soapbox.

I try to keep my Richpez shipping off this blog but holy shit, I need to freak out for a minute. In person or through a screen, their love, pride, affection for each other is palpable. They way Lauren looks at Joey while he’s performing, the casual touches, the way he kept trying to make her break on stage…it brought tears to my eyes. And that’s not even touching on Priceless. Seeing them dancing together and holding each other like that in front of hundreds of people broke me. I’m so happy for them, not only that they have each other but also that they feel comfortable sharing it with us. The same goes for Breredith (the kiss in Final Ghost was both completely unnecessary and a fantastic addition)

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the band. The music was on point. I don’t know if they wrote new arrangements for the tour, but I did notice it was very “beat-heavy” (is that a thing??) which made it very fun and easy to dance along – perfect for a concert. Also, AJ’s number was fucking incredible and I’m so glad I got to see him sing. It literally gave me AVPSY flashbacks. He’s only gotten more talented since then. I wish we could see him in more Starkid shows. Lastly, I will never stop thanking Clark for writing VHSCC. It’s a energetic, touching, unique take on a familiar story and by far my favorite adaptation of CC. I want him to write more music for Starkid shows.

Thanks for reading my stream of consciousness if you’ve gotten this far. I’m going to post another one for act two (because otherwise this post is going to be way too long).

[thimbil]

Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.