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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

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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.

577 notes · View notes

makeste · 4 years ago

Note

Are there any headcanons that you would like to share? About anything you want.

anon in the absence of specific guidelines I have managed to make this post pretty much entirely about Bakugou. I apologize if you really wanted to know all of my headcanons about Kouda or something lol. but all joking aside he really is the character I think about the most and so probably like 80% of my headcanons are about him, including close to 100% of the headcanons I actually have a solid enough grip on to put into words. anyway here goes.

he does not know how to tie a tie. he was a rowdy little free range knee-scraping grass-staining run-don’t-walk child whose parents only ever managed to wrestle him into formal attire a handful of times for special occasions when he was younger, and then he went to a middle school that used gakuran-style uniforms so he never learned then, either. his dad offered to teach him when U.A. rolled around, but he was all, “fuck off dad, I know how to tie a stupid tie,” because by that time he had grown into a cocky little brat confident in his own skill and naive as to the reality checks of the world, and he genuinely believed with the conviction that only a fifteen-year-old can muster that when the time came he would just magically know how to do it. on the first day of school he got as far as draping the loose tie over his neck and holding one end in each hand before staring at the mirror and abruptly realizing the hole he’d dug himself into. and so rather than admit defeat, he just straight up decided not to wear it. which became a permanent life choice once he got to school and saw how badly Deku’s tie was tied and realized there was no way he could ever risk that kind of humiliation.

in a similar vein, I know there’s a popular fanon that because of his parents’ influence Katsuki has a good sense of fashion, but my own personal headcanon is that this could not be further from the truth lol. it’s not that he has a terrible sense of style, mind you; it’s just that he doesn’t care about it at all. he’s a nerdy jock who spends all his free time studying and lifting weights. this kid literally only wears one color, and that color just so happens to be the easiest possible color to coordinate. he owns like three pairs of shoes max. he wears his pants three sizes up and they drag so much that the hems are all frayed from him constantly stepping on them (literally canon, and one of my favorite details from chapter 218). he just doesn’t give a fuck, so long as the clothes are comfortable and don’t look stupid. he has about a million things he’s more concerned about than what he or anyone else is wearing. in fact I’m 90% sure that his mom still buys most of his clothes, and about 70% convinced he does not even know what size he is.

he’s good at household chores (because he’s good at everything), but hates doing them. aside from cooking, which he enjoys, he will bitch and whine nonstop if forced to do tedious-yet-necessary things like washing dishes and folding laundry. that said, he is a perfectionist, and he also has a lot of experience because his mom made him do chores all the time during the seven trillion times he was grounded while growing up (that’s his estimate, btw, so it may be slightly exaggerated. he was not an easy kid to raise. when your kid’s fuse is about a millimeter long and he has a tendency to literally blow up whenever he throws a fit, you end up with a lot of objects in your house that have been replaced at some point), so if you do actually manage to get him to do the chore, rest assured that chore is getting fucking DONE.

when he was very little he watched an Avengers Endgame-style All Might film where a bunch of bad guys attacked earth and various assorted heroes tried and failed to stop them. then at the climax of the film, All Might showed up and said “I am here”, and everyone got super pumped up and excited because they knew the heroes were going to win with All Might on their side. this scene remains Katsuki’s favorite scene in anything. not the fight -- just the moment where All Might shows up and grins and the audience knows right there and then that he’s going to win. this is the feeling that inspired his dream. he wants to be the one who shows up and everyone is like, “we’re good now; Katsuki is here.”

when he was six or seven he got into a big fight with an older boy over that scene because he said it was fake and that there was no way All Might could have beaten those guys in real life. Katsuki insisted he definitely would have because All Might never loses. the other boy replied that everyone loses sometimes. Katsuki kicked his ass and got suspended for a week.

ten years later, Katsuki watched All Might battle All for One at Kamino and realized two things. one, that the other boy was right and that anyone can lose. and two, that he, the one who had so proudly defended All Might back then, was going to end up being the reason why he finally lost.

for a long time afterwards, he couldn’t bring himself to watch that movie again.

when he and Izuku were three years old their moms sent them out on a first errand (google Hajimete no Otsukai if you’re unfamiliar with this tradition, I promise you it is the cutest fucking thing you’ll ever see) to buy ingredients for katsudon. Izuku was full of bouncy childish enthusiasm and could rattle off the full shopping list of ingredients front to back, but when the moment finally came his confidence wilted as soon as their parents were out of sight. Katsuki also had a moment of panic when they first rounded the corner and he couldn’t see his house anymore, but rallied once Izuku burst into tears and he realized that he had to be the one to take charge. he proceeded to morph into an absurdly over-the-top caricature of his own mother for the duration of the errand, to the point where in addition to telling Izuku to stop crying he also ordered him to stand up straight and tuck in his shirt. the two of them went on to complete the errand flawlessly and their moms were PROUD AS FUCK and took a billion pictures. Izuku and Katsuki have only a few scattered memories of this milestone in the present day but it’s enough to send both of them absolutely reeling with embarrassment whenever they’re reminded of it.

he and his mom don’t often get along but sometimes they’ll bond over roasting a mutual target. they have watched many a trashy reality TV show together for this purpose. Masaru lives for these moments but never comments on them lest he spoil the rare moments of peace.

Katsuki is perfectly capable of using keigo (i.e. normal polite Japanese with no rude language/cursing), otherwise he would not be one of the top students in his ivy-league high school. code-switching is a thing guys! anyways his teachers are aware of this, because all of his essays and homework assignments are written normally. he merely chooses to go about his daily business acting like a wannabe yakuza stereotype because that’s just his personality, and he’s not about to start censoring himself and acting like some weird little goody two shoes robot person just to please people he mostly doesn’t give two shits about. but if you put a gun to his head and told him you’d pull the trigger if he said “fuck”, he would probably be all right; he’d just have to concentrate.

when he was little he went through a phase of collecting cicada shells and leaving them EVERYWHERE -- in the bathroom sink, on his mom’s pillow, you name it. Mitsuki often tells people this is when she started getting gray hairs. one time she opened a box of cereal and there was one in there and a little bit of her soul died that day.

he generally doesn’t care who calls him Kacchan. it doesn’t particularly bother him and it never occurred to him to pretend like it did just for appearance’s sake. also secretly for some reason the thought of Deku ever calling him anything else really bothers him. he’s not sure what it would mean if that ever happened, or what he would do.

all of his workouts are designed to strengthen his arms and back and shoulders because those are the parts of his body that take the most abuse from his quirk. other than that he avoids building up excess muscle anywhere else because the more weight he puts on the harder it is to fly around. for this reason he is never going to end up being a big bulky guy like All Might. one day Deku is going to surpass him in muscle, but he doesn’t care because he’ll still be a match for him in firepower and speed.

he’s one of those kids who will not so much as take a sip of alcohol until he’s twenty-five. partly because he’s experienced enough concussions that he doesn’t particularly want to give hangovers a try, and partly because he’s a control freak and honestly afraid of getting drunk and making an idiot of himself somehow. the rowdier members of class A try virtually every trick in their wheelhouse and then some to try and persuade him over the years, but not even the reverse psychology “aw, don’t worry, it’s okay if you’re... scared :)” thing works, because that’s only actually effective when he secretly wants to do the thing.

then one day he just wakes up and is all “you know what, I’m gonna try it”, and for the next few days his google history is basically just “how many drinks does it take to get drunk” and “how to avoid getting drunk” and “how to prevent hangovers.” somehow word gets out through the grapevine (he probably told Todoroki, who is the one person in class A you’d think wouldn’t be a big ol’ gossip but in fact IS) that Bakugou is finally going to get his drink on that weekend, and pretty much EVERYONE shows up at the izakaya that Friday night excited as FUCK.

Katsuki proceeds to drink a grand total of two beers over the span of several hours, and drinks like five glasses of water in between, and literally nothing happens to him at all except that Kaminari almost fights him out of frustration. the rest of class A never fully gets over their disappointment.

he actually knows like 90% of class 1-A’s names by this point. there are still a few people he doesn’t and will never know, though. twenty years from now Aoyama will still be “that weird fucking french kid” in his mind.

he had no idea who Eri was until the Christmas party. sometimes he’d hear the other kids talking about someone named Eri, and from context clues he somehow ended up thinking it was one of Aizawa’s cats. when Eri came to the party he had a brief moment of curiosity wondering if she was Sensei’s niece or something, and then he heard someone say her name and he was all “THAT’S ERI?!” and his entire worldview was briefly shaken up.

he pulled Kirishima aside to ask him and Kirishima basically gave him Eri’s whole entire life story which was way more than he actually wanted to know. he’s now kind of terrified of ever being in the same room as her for fear of having to interact with her because he’s pretty sure he’d do or say the wrong thing. most of the time being intimidating is something he strives for and puts a lot of effort into, including when he’s around kids (who are basically just smaller, sloppier adults in his mind), but he doesn’t want to be the guy who scared an abused kid, so he basically just hopes the others will have enough common sense not to ever go “oh hey you know who should totally interact with each other?? Eri and Bakugou!”

that being said, if circumstances ever arose which forced Katsuki to protect Eri, the two of them would totally bond and they would have a really sweet relationship in which Eri looked up to him just like she looks up to Deku and Mirio and the rest, and where Katsuki was constantly trying to be on his best behavior around her, like genuinely, sincerely trying, and kind of failing at it a lot but still being sweet in a gruff sort of restrained-disaster way.

...and after sitting there for a while trying to think of more I couldn’t come up with any so I guess that’s it! basically most of my headcanons are about how secretly boring Katsuki is. honestly if it weren’t for him having the vocabulary of a 52-year-old sailor whose foot was caught in a bear trap, he and Iida would probably be best friends.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha headcanons #don't think there're any spoilers here except for the detail about his pants in 219 lol #sorry if I have spoiled anyone for that #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks #long post #oh whoops it was actually 218 my bad just edited #wait a second the christmas party is spoilers isn't it lol whoops #bnha spoilers #there we go

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beardofkamenev · 4 years ago

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When Adults Attack! (Teenagers)

(Sorry to everyone for dragging this up again, but some people are chronically incapable of letting drama die down.)

The last time I posted about this was 18 February. It’s now late-March. Despite repeatedly claiming to be “over it”, a self-proclaimed “respected history blogger” has been screaming into the void for over a month now. She seems to be under the unfortunate impression that she’s completely innocent of wrongdoing, all the criticism is unprovoked, she has been targeted by “white bigots”, and that she’s somehow the real victim here. So now I have to explain why that’s bullshit. Unlike her and her two friends, I don’t make extreme but vague accusations with zero evidence. I don’t make empty threats about “exposing” people.

The short story? She involved her own self in a situation that had nothing to do with her, downplayed her friends’ racism towards others, incited her followers to harass a teenager, repeatedly lied to her followers about the multiple POC who criticised her friends being “white”, and has continued to inflame the issue while trying to downplay her role in doing so. The long story? Well, I’ll let the receipts do the talking.

That’s Olivia’s first post at the start of February, days before I or anyone else had even said anything. “My anonymous Jewish friend said!” should have been a red flag to anyone capable of reading anything longer than 280 characters. I’ve already explained why Haley (lucreciadeleon/turtlemoons plus her 92849374 alt accounts) is full of shit and so have plenty of others (here, here, and here, to name a few).

Olivia claims that, as a Romani woman, she’s not obliged to engage with content that offends her. Fine. So why is a black teenager obliged to engage with Haley’s deranged anons? Why are her hate anons are so worthy of a response that not responding is an act of ANTISEMITISM that warrants Olivia telling everyone what an antisemite this teenager is for not responding? FYI, NO ONE is obligated to respond to anon hate, especially from people they’ve already blocked. And considering Haley admitted not once, not twice, but three times to breaking Tumblr’s TOS to circumvent a mutual block and send those anons (including how she did it), people are especially not obligated to engage with her.

I made my first posts exposing Taylor (lucreziaborgia/elizabethblount) and Haley’s lies and backtracking on 6 and 7 February. This was before I acknowledged Olivia’s role in inflaming the situation. In fact, I didn’t even know about her tweets until 8 February. Yet, here she is on 6 FEBRUARY already bitching about my posts to her Twitter followers. She has some nerve acting like I victimised her, just because I posted the screenshots of her bitching about me. And bragging about ‘gaslighting’? The word that multiple people have separately described what her two friends subjected them to? Classy.

I can’t “stalk” her public Twitter any more than she can “stalk” my public blog. What an exceptionally stupid claim to make, considering her tweets kept getting recommended to my mutuals whether they liked it or not. Have some integrity and own the shit you say, rather than backtracking, deleting your posts, and pretending that you didn’t say the things we saw you say. If you want to talk shit about others in public, be ready to answer for it in public.

I also wonder how this started over Henry VII. I specifically wonder how this discussion between myself and May (richmond-rex) triggered Taylor’s totally unprovoked racist comments about how we and Nathen Amin “simp for a dead white man”, and we should “simp for someone who actually advocated for the rights of others” instead. The implication being that Tudor history is only for white people like Taylor, and that only her fave is worthy of discussion (“AnNe BoLeYn WaS oThErEd BeCaUsE sHe WaS tAn.” Good grief).

When multiple POC called bootleg Regina George out for it, not only did she say she couldn’t possibly be racist because Haley approved of her racism, but also tried to argue that Nathen Amin deserved it because it was inappropriate for a British man to joke about Brexit. She then claimed we called her “anti-Welsh” (another fucking lie) to make it seem like a bunch of cRaZy blacks and browns were attacking poor, innocent white her (with Olivia coming to the rescue, of course). And as if that wasn’t enough, Haley then sent these bad faith hate anons calling Nathen Amin’s tweet ANTISEMITIC, for no other reason than to retroactively justify Taylor’s racist comments (though I didn’t see Haley getting offended when she was hate-scrolling through his blog before Taylor was called out).

That was the “antisemitic shit” Haley “privately messaged about” that Olivia thinks deserves a response. In case it's not clear: defending racism makes you complicit in racism. Being Jewish is NOT a get-out-of-racism-free card, and Haley trying to use it as one is absolutely dishonest, especially when NO ONE even knew she was Jewish until she finally admitted in February she was the anonymous ‘Jewish friend’ who sent those batshit anons. Other Jewish people also called Haley out on it, yet Haley and Olivia have conveniently ignored that little fact since it contradicts their narrative.

You think it’s over? Nope. Taylor then slunk into May’s dm’s with a half-arsed apology, where she admitted that the only reason she made those racist comments about Nathen Amin was because we “attacked Gareth Russell first” (“BeCaUsE AnNe FaNs CiTe HiS wOrk”) and she “just wanted to educate us about not lionising Henry VII” (even though anyone with eyeballs can read our discussion see she’s full of shit). At the same time, she and Haley were messaging other history bloggers, telling them that everyone who called them out were antisemites (including an openly Jewish mutual of ours) in an attempt to alienate them from the community. And this was just in JANUARY.

“I can’t be racist! My Jewish friend agrees with my racism!” That steaming load of backtracking horseshit is unfortunately the kind of nonsense Olivia has chosen to defend. FOR WEEKS Taylor ignored May’s messages, explaining why she — a black woman — found Taylor’s comments offensive. Did Taylor listen? Nope. In fact, she only replied in February: after she already started posting about how ignoring Haley’s hate anons was “antisemitism”. How convenient. Taylor might be a fucking idiot but we’re not. She only replied to May because she was afraid we’d use her own words against her. Clearly she never learnt a damn thing because here she is on 6 February backtracking on her apology. “Actually, I did NOTHING wrong! Also, you’re all antisemites for saying I did because my Jewish friend agrees with me!” And what made Taylor feel as though she had permission to start deflecting her vile behaviour onto others in order to get the heat off her? Olivia’s post about ‘their Jewish friend’ Haley: the one that followed Olivia’s “private discussion” with “her two friends”. Taylor is a racist hypocrite who hides behind the few minority friends she has to justify her racism, and attacks every other minority who disagrees with her. It’s no coincidence that the majority of the history bloggers who have a problem with Taylor and Haley’s nasty behaviour happen to be POC.

Despite Olivia admitting that she knew nothing about that situation other than what those two told her, she still took it upon herself to misconstrue and downplay to all her followers the extent of her friends’ racism, lies, and general nastiness (here she is on 9 MARCH). For her, our problems with racism are little more than “stupid drama”, “Henry VII drama”, “Gareth Russell drama”, “overreacting to a joke”, and “petty disagreements over dead people” because her friends are the perpetrators. Yet she demands everyone sympathise with her never-ending dramas and projects her behaviour onto others, despite the fact that she’s shown absolutely no understanding for why so many people have problems with her friends and has consistently defended the perpetrators. She’s entitled to be upset at whatever she wants to be upset at, but she is not entitled to tell her followers that we can’t be upset about racism directed at us, especially when that situation NEVER EVEN INVOLVED HER.

I agree. It’s disturbing that three grown women in their mid to late 20s have a vendetta against an 18 year old. Olivia acknowledged that her posts were reckless and that she would have acted differently if she just sat down and thought for one fucking second. But rather than correct the record on the same platform she made those accusations, she doubled down and took off to Twitter, saying that her anger entitled her to act that way. All with zero acknowledgement of the fact that the teenager SHE falsely accused and repeatedly mocked for her age was still being harassed by HER followers as a direct result of HER posts.

She might love the ‘clout’ that comes with a large following, but she evidently doesn’t care about the responsibility that comes with it. In Taylor and Haley’s case, it’s little more than a means to intimidate others into silence. Olivia might be a “respected history blogger” or a “good historian”, but that definitely doesn’t make her a good person. Far from it, if her behaviour is anything to go by.

This was on 9 February, 3 days after my first post. Bitching about me was all fun and games until the receipts came out, huh?

There’s nothing “insane” about keeping receipts, especially when Taylor and Haley are notorious for lying out of their arses and fake-apologising to people in the dm’s, only to continue mocking them on Twitter afterwards. You know what is insane though? Searching ‘romani’ on our blogs in a pathetic attempt to dig up dirt that doesn’t even exist (yeah, stat trackers exist). Do you know what else is insane? Haley spamming people with passive aggressive anons and sending anon hate to people who’ve already blocked her. She also “stalked” our WOTR group chat, though she’ll never admit to it, despite accidentally posting the dated receipts proving it. Oops!

It’s no secret that Taylor and Haley are cowards (as all bullies are), so it was no surprise when they eventually involved Olivia in their month-old vendetta against a teenager. They wanted to school a black girl on racism and Congolese genocide apologism, so they needed to get a “respectable history blogger” on their side. And Olivia happily obliged, kicking up such a fuss on their behalf that the teenager just offered to end it (despite the fact that Olivia vagued her first). Yet still Olivia continued, publicly mocking her age and calling her an “antisemite” long after the discussion was over (here she is on 24 February still carrying on). Either a teenager is old enough to be publicly shamed for being an “antisemite” and “antiromani bigot”, or she’s too young to be taken seriously. But at 25, Olivia is certainly old enough to know better than to participate in this kind of vile, petty, wannabe Mean Girl behaviour.

Olivia is not black. Taylor is not black. Haley is not black. So for the record, if you are not black, it is not your place to tell BLACK PEOPLE whether they can take issue with apologism for BLACK GENOCIDE. Multiple black history bloggers have already explained why they had a problem with Gareth Russell’s comments about the Congolese genocide (including the teen in question), yet that was less important to Olivia than not being able to call him a sexist weirdo because he’s gay. Olivia cannot speak on all minority issues — especially black and brown issues — and it is arrogant of her to assume that she can, especially since her understanding of the Gareth Russell issue came purely from “what she discussed with her two friends” by her own admission.

What a take. Here’s the “anti-Romani” post that I supposedly made. Precisely ZERO of my posts were about Olivia and not once did I even name her directly. So her claims that I mounted some kind of “vicious attack” against her is, uh, bullshit. Criticising her and her friends for their nasty, dishonest, and irresponsible behaviour isn’t “anti-Romani” just because she’s Romani. It’s no more “anti-Romani” than her erratic attempts to “expose” me are anti-Asian just because I’m Asian. It’s not any more “anti-Romani” just because the UK government has passed anti-Romani laws, any more than her telling deranged lies about me for over a month is an anti-Asian hate crime simply because there’s been an increase in anti-Asian hate crimes. I’m not British. I’m not from the UK. I have no control over whatever dumb, racist crap her government does. So she can fuck off and continue fucking off if she wants to make me personally responsible for that. The backlash she received had nothing to do with her identity and everything to do with how she purposely incited harassment against a teenager, defended her friends’ racism, and spread demonstrable lies to her followers. The “viciousness” of the backlash she received is directly proportionate to the viciousness of her own baseless attacks against others. She can claim to be more mature than an 18 year old all she wants, but do you know what the actual mature thing to do would have been? To not promote her friends’ lies and nonsense, especially when the other people they tried to involve had the sense to stay out of it.

Olivia, Taylor and Haley are fully-grown adults, but take no responsibility for their actions. Yet, they expect teenagers to have total control over not only their own emotions, but also the emotions and actions of others. Olivia thinks that a teen should be personally responsible for the behaviour of fully-grown adults, yet she’s close friends with Taylor — a racist, xenophobic bully who screenshots Tumblr people’s posts to mock them on Twitter (here and here from December), called Poles who’ve lost relatives in the Holocaust “genocidal loving freaks”, accused an openly Ashkenazi Jewish blogger of “internalised antisemitism” just for criticising her (a white gentile), said that people who like Mary I “resent their own siblings”, co-opted our struggles under Spanish imperialism just so she could bully ‘Spaniards’ (despite her being American and therefore equally responsible for genocide, by her flawed logic), and said that the black teen who called out her racism “really deserved to be bullied” and “needed to be policed”. Olivia is also close friends with Haley, who has a history of attacking people over posts that have nothing to do with her, publicly admitted to circumventing blocks in order to send hate anons, and likened me — a Filipino immigrant — to DONALD TRUMP and a neo-Nazi conspiracy theorist just because I posted the receipts exposing her lies, harassment of others, and projection.

Most of the people who have spoken out against these three didn’t even know each other until last month. Some of ‘us’ have actually blocked each other. Yet all of us agree that their behaviour towards others has been absolutely unacceptable. How is it that so many unrelated people from different corners of the ‘fandom’ have exactly the same problems with exactly the same people? If Olivia want us to take personal responsibility for “our friends’” behaviour, then she should first take responsibility for hers.

This is on 26 February, over a week after I last posted. As anyone with eyeballs can see, I called her British once. Not “repeatedly”. ONCE. So she can fuck off again with that bullshit. And why did I point that out? Because Olivia, a British citizen, made pejorative comments about “white Eastern Europeans!!!” just because she thinks some Polish people committed the heinous crime of... screenshotting her tweets. They didn’t even do it, and even if they did, how is that even relevant? Everyone knows that one specific Polish person lives rent free in Taylor’s head, so clearly Olivia just took Taylor’s word for it that it must have been The Poles who were “stalking” her. Maybe don’t take paranoid liars at face value next time?

Shameless, ignorant, tone deaf nonsense. Olivia constantly demands that people treat her and her identity with the utmost respect, yet here she was on 9 February already disrespecting the identities of others just so she can score some petty ‘oppression points’ against them. Why even bring their nationalities up? And why call them “white Eastern Europeans” instead of Polish since she knows they’re Polish? Is it because acknowledging that they are Polish would mean acknowledging that she doesn’t actually have a monopoly on a claim to discrimination or Holocaust trauma? Could it be that dismissing them as just some “white Eastern Europeans” was just another way for her to add credence to her own “pathetic lies” about the situation? There’s a word for that behaviour, and it starts with pro- and ends with -jection.

Let me reiterate: it is IGNORANT of her to use their identity against them, especially when hate-crimes against Polish immigrants have increased in her home country, and especially when the specific people she insulted lost close relatives (including Jewish relatives) in the Holocaust. It’s not “repeatedly mocking her identity” to point out her hypocrisy. Her being Romani is not an excuse for casual xenophobia. She might be able to hide her identity in the UK (though she shouldn’t have to), but Polish immigrants do not have the privilege of passing as first-language white British. I cannot pass as non-Asian. The black girl she and her friends tried to bully off Tumblr cannot pass as non-black. Olivia weaponising people’s identity against them just because she thinks they saw her public tweets is ignorant, petty, and completely uncalled for. She should be absolutely ashamed for using that pathetic argument, but based on her most recent farrago of nonsense, she probably won’t be.

Here’s her on 7 MARCH. And of course Taylor was the first to like it lol. Olivia may have deluded herself into believing she was just an innocent bystander, but unfortunately, enough people saw her admitting to inserting herself into the situation at the behest of her two friends. With every post before and since, her accusations have gotten wilder and wilder, falser and falser, and more and more irrelevant because she knows full well that none of her followers will bother fact-checking her. That’s the beauty of vagueing people. It’s how Taylor and Haley have been able to get away with pulling the wool over peoples’ eyes for so long. Too bad repetition, projection, and self-righteous outrage doesn’t equate to the truth because those are all those three have.

“SOMEONE NEEDS TO EXPOSE THE WHOLE DAMN LOT OF THEM! BUT IT WON’T BE ME!”

No one has said anything since 18 February, yet here’s Olivia publicly inciting her followers again. She’s “done talking about it”, yet she’s the only one continuing the drama. She is being ‘persecuted’, yet she mobilises her followers to go after others. She needs to be defended against critics, yet she also can’t resist bragging about big her Tumblr following is, how “piddly” our notes are compared to hers, how she got over 30 followers to report my posts (they’re still up lol), and how many people she can get to dig through our blogs to find anything to “expose” us. Olivia, I’m sorry that you require constant validation from strangers on the internet, but not everyone has the same priorities as you. Some of us just come here to have fun, but having shitstarters in the community is decidedly un-fun.

All my posts were directed at Taylor and Haley, but since Olivia insists on making this revolve around her, let me clarify: she is a hypocrite and a professional victim. Words have meaning, and those words are the most accurate words to describe her behaviour. It has fuck all to do with her identity. She and Haley are professional victims because they act as if their minority statuses exempt them from basic rules of online courtesy and entitle them to run their mouths about others with no consequence. And Olivia is a hypocrite because she demands the respect and understanding that she has repeatedly refused to show to others. She made ignorant, xenophobic comments against Polish people because she falsely assumed they screenshot her public posts bitching about others. She pretends that the many POC who have spoken out against her are just some “white” hive-mind because admitting that we’re not white will discredit the victimhood narrative she’s been peddling to her followers. And she arrogantly presumes to be ‘our’ voice in the community, all while mobilising her following to intimidate and silence the minorities who take issue with her and her friends’ vile behaviour.

It’s extremely telling that in every one of her unlettered rants, Olivia made the conscious choice to conflate us with “white gentiles”, “white antisemites”, and “white Eastern Europeans”. Why? Because in order to “name and shame” us, she’d have to admit to her followers that the majority of the people criticising her aren’t actually “white”, but are in fact black, brown, and Jewish. Having repeatedly demanded that her followers defend her, her reputation and credibility now depends upon people continuing to see her as the oppressed victim of “bigoted whites”. Unfortunately for her and her friends, the truth will always come out. That’s what receipts are for, no matter what they claim.

The history community didn’t side with “a white gentile woman”. We sided with a black teenager who Olivia and her friends repeatedly mocked for her age, publicly and privately spread false accusations against, and incited their followers to harass with their never-ending posts. We sided against white racists like Taylor, and her white-passing enablers like Olivia and Haley. Since being called out for racism by a black girl discredited them, they had to discredit her. And unlike the others Taylor and Haley tried to involve, Olivia was their willing accomplice. If she has now been “alienated by half the history fandom”, it is because of her own behaviour and rightly so.

The ideal course of action would be for Olivia to finally take some responsibility for her actions, publicly apologise for her role in inflaming this drama, and move on like the rest of us have tried to do. But unfortunately, she may be too far gone in her own pathological need for online validation to ever admit wrongdoing without some serious introspection. So perhaps, Olivia, if anything else, you should just take your own advice and, once and for all, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

#here's my fucking rent #seeing as i've lived in your head for a whole month #dumb and dumber #disk horse for ts #long post

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muertawrites · 4 years ago

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Two Halves - Chapter Three (Zuko x Reader)

Part Two

Word Count: 2,450

Author’s Note: Something very important to note about this series is that in it Zuko has very long hair. I’m talking like feudal era Japan hair (use this post from @frogydraws for reference. It is *chef’s kiss* gorgeous). Also, I feel like I’m missing people who asked to be on the tag list - if you asked but don’t see your name, PLEASE direct message me so I can fix that! Other than that I don’t have much else to say about this chapter. It’s mostly exposition but who doesn’t love some good plot speculation?

~ Muerta

Everyone gathers in a sitting room in Zuko’s personal wing of the palace, clustered in groups or pairs in an attempt to create some sense of comfort after the night’s discord. Katara, Aang, and Sokka gather in the center of the room - their typical formation, still very much a reflex due to years of working as a team. You sit with Iroh and Toph to one side of the room, Iroh sharing a chaise with you and Toph seated on the floor beside you, one hand laid protectively over the top of your foot. Zuko stands at the room’s fireplace, passing a ball of flame between his hands; you watch him closely, already innately drawn to him as your partner, noting that while the others (mainly Katara, Aang, and Sokka) discuss the evening’s events, attempting to formulate a plan for whatever should come next, he remains silent, secluded deep within his own thoughts. He looks every part the leader you’re now married to, in a way you hoped you’d only see much later in your relationship.

“It had to be someone within the palace,” Sokka states. “The gates were too heavily guarded for anyone to get in from the outside.”

“But how could they commit a murder without being seen?” Aang wonders. “There were too many people around for something like that to go unnoticed.”

“That’s just the thing,” Katara counters. “There were enough people to create a big enough distraction that nobody saw until whoever did it wanted us to.”

“And we’re absolutely positive it was that specific guy who was the target?” Sokka proposes. “It wasn’t just a random attack to make a statement against the whole government?”

“No,” Zuko chimes in. “They meant to kill him. When I proposed making someone from outside the Fire Nation queen, he was the only one in favor of the idea. He convinced the rest of the board to support me.”

“Do you think maybe they wanted to make a statement against just you, then?” Aang asks.

“It wasn’t just a statement,” you tell him, speaking for the first time since entering the room. Everyone turns their heads towards you; the only one who doesn’t show any surprise is Zuko. “It was a threat, meant for both of us.”

“And probably on behalf of Ozai or Azula,” Toph adds.

“Do you think he’d really still have followers within the palace?” Katara questions. “Everyone who served him was imprisoned after the war.”

“It’s possible,” Zuko responds. “My father radicalized more people than we could possibly know of. I expected his resistance at some point.”

“If Ozai intended to stage any resistance, he would have done it much more gruesomely,” Iroh interjects. “He wouldn’t have wasted time with threats. He would have killed one or both of you, if not everyone in attendance tonight.”

“But who else could hold that much of a grudge against not only the Fire Nation, but the alliance with an outsider?” Sokka asks.

“It could be someone from the Water Tribe,” you suggest. Your words are deadpanned and grim. “It’s very possible they see this as another form of colonization.”

“Nobody else from either tribe is here, though,” Katara says. “It’s just me and Sokka.”

“I don’t think they’d be here officially if they planned to kill someone,” Aang reasons. “If it was someone from the Water Tribe, they’re probably in disguise.”

“They couldn’t have been,” Sokka replies. “They’d have to have been inside the palace, and nobody got in without official documentation.”

“Our concern right now should not be the manhunt,” Iroh speaks up in his firm, tepid way. “It should be the safety of our loved ones; our lord and lady especially.”

“He’s right,” Toph agrees. She stands, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I think she should stay with me tonight. I have the best chance of seeing someone and stopping them before they can do any harm.”

“She’s staying with me,” Zuko quips.

The entire room falls into a heavy silence, the air itself seeming to drop to the floor. Everyone stares at Zuko in shock, yourself included.

“We’re married,” he explains. “It’s our responsibility to look after each other. She’ll stay with me in my chambers.”

Five sets of eyes shift to focus on you. You meet Zuko’s gaze, the steely determination within them only serving to remind you of the bond you now share. You nod, keeping your eyes locked with his as you speak.

“It’s okay,” you affirm. “I’ll stay with him.”

After a few more minutes of deliberation, everyone parts ways for the night - Sokka is sent with Katara and Aang to provide them extra defense, and Toph goes with you and Zuko, moved to the guest chamber just outside his sleeping quarters so she can monitor any movement that happens during the night.

You follow Zuko into his rooms, arms linked together in a mutual nervous embrace. His chambers are divided into three spaces; two rooms connected by a sitting room and a large, covered porch. Zuko leads you down a short hall off the right side of the sitting room, opening a set of doors to reveal an ornate bedroom - your things rest at the foot of the four poster bed, your sleeping clothes already laid out on the mattress.

“This used to be a sunroom,” Zuko tells you. “But I had it converted into a bedroom. I figured it would be weird sleeping together, but also weird keeping you in your own wing across the palace, so… this seemed like a good way to be close to each other without making it too awkward.”

You squeeze his arm in a gentle, appreciative hug, turning to look up at him.

“Thank you,” you say. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Zuko nods, laying one of his hands over where yours rests on his bicep.

“Let’s get changed,” he murmurs. “I’ll call for some tea and we can try to have a normal night.”

He leaves you, and you draw the curtains of the room’s sweeping windows so you can dress in peace; one side overlooks a garden courtyard, while the other gives a view of the ocean beyond the palace’s farthest wall. The sights are stunning, but the suspense you feel building in the pit of your stomach makes it hard to enjoy them in full.

Your hands shake as you undress, letting the layers of your wedding robes drop to the floor and leave you naked at the foot of the bed. You stare down at your night dress, the pristine white fabric glaring virginally up at you. You warily slide yourself into it, then cross the room to the vanity that’s been set to the left of the bed.

You can hardly control the shiver of your fingers as they work the beads out of your hair, taking the freed locks behind your head into the single braid you typically sleep in. You stare at yourself in the mirror, clutching the totems Katara gave you to your chest; your eyes are wide, your cheeks sunken, your knuckles white. A small voice, somewhere in the far reaches of your mind where the sound can hardly carry, tells you to have faith in your new husband; he’s treated you with nothing but kindness since even before the moment you set foot on his soil, and has showed nothing but the utmost respect for you - he wouldn’t be the man your family loved and trusted with your life if he shifted his behavior in such a sudden, drastic way by forcing you into his bed.

Despite these cries of reason, all you can hear is the voice of the beautician who prepared you for tonight - she hovers behind you in the mirror, her face contorted into a heinous, scowling grin as she cackles with laughter. She reminds you of the children you’re meant to bear, her nails digging into your shoulders as she goes on to tell you that, as the Firelord’s wife, he’s entitled to all the pleasure your body can give him, and will take it at any cost.

Your terror turns the man who’s been so endlessly sweet to you into a monster.

Through the bedroom doors, you hear a servant enter with a tray of tea, followed by Zuko’s gentle voice thanking them. You swallow, taking the strands of beads in your hands and twining them together, forming a necklace which you place over your head and tuck into the front of your night dress. After a few deep, quivering breaths, you stand, making your way out to the shared sitting room.

Zuko sits on the side of the room closest to his bedroom, head turned towards the now lit fireplace and eyes lost within its glow, his gaze distant and glazed with worry; he snaps back to the present when he notices you enter, giving you a faint, slightly defeated smile. His military uniform has been replaced with a simple set of pajamas and a robe, his long hair free from its knot, now hanging loosely about his shoulders and down his chest; he’s even more handsome this way, his features contoured by the darkness of the room and the light of the fire. You feel a rush of lightheadedness as you lower yourself across from him, nervously returning his smile.

“Uncle took the liberty of preparing our tea,” Zuko greets you. His voice is soft and welcoming, tinged with a mirth that feels almost ironic given the circumstances. “He didn’t want to subject you to my awful cooking skills so early in the marriage.”

You huff amusedly, sharing a genuine smile with him as he serves you. You sip the scalding liquid slowly, letting it ease down your throat and warm you from the inside out; it relaxes you, the shaking in your limbs disappearing.

“I’m glad we have him,” you say. “I don’t think we’d know what to do with ourselves otherwise.”

Zuko chuckles, his grin causing a manic tremble to erupt in your chest.

“He’s definitely the romantic one in the family,” he agrees. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you since he met you. I think if he were forty years younger, he’d have married you before I could.”

You giggle, a timid blush coloring your cheeks.

“I never thought I’d be so popular among Fire Nation men,” you tease.

Zuko smiles, wistfully and exhaustedly, letting out a soft breath of laughter; you can tell the nights events anchor his thoughts.

“I’m sorry tonight ended the way it did,” he tells you. “I wanted your arrival to be a source of happiness for our people. Maybe I was too hopeful.”

You sigh heavily, running a finger along the brim of your teacup as he meets your eyes; you can tell he blames himself for what happened.

“A hundred years of hatred doesn’t end in a decade,” you console him. “It isn’t just here, either - many people in the Water Tribe feel just as divisive as people do here.”

You cautiously reach forward and take his hand, letting your thumb stroke over his knuckles. His fingers tighten around your palm, and you can feel every callous and scar that marks his alabaster skin.

“We have to stand together,” you say. “We have to show the world that we can overcome the past; that things are different now, for the better.”

Zuko nods, raising the back of your hand to his lips and pressing a light, tender kiss to the knuckle of your forefinger. He smiles faintly, letting his mouth linger on the bone for a long moment before placing your hand back where it was on his knee, still twined with his.

“I really did make the right choice in a queen,” he muses. Heat spreads across your skin, your lips curling up slightly at his endearing remark.

“It’s late,” Zuko says after a beat, letting his fingers slip away from yours. “We should both get some rest.”

He stands, leaning over you and placing a docile hand at the back of your head. Your heart leaps from your chest and into your throat, your fingers curling to grip the skirt of your night dress as anxiety rushes to your head. You deny every instinct you have that tells you to fend him off. If this is when he chooses to take you, you have no choice but to go willingly - you can’t form any rifts in a relationship that’s already somewhat fragile, especially when doing so would mean driving a wedge through the center of an already divided country.

Zuko lowers himself and rests his lips to your forehead, etching the phantom of a kiss just below your hairline; he parts almost as soon as he arrives, leaving you dazed and flustered in his wake.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs, offering his arm to help you to your feet. You accept it, feeling much smaller beside him than you did only hours before. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You each return to your respective bedrooms, your legs floating towards your bed of their own accord and dropping you backward onto the mattress. You stare up at the sheer, billowing canopy hung from the ceiling as the shivering in your limbs returns, your body completely unable to accommodate with what your mind can barely seem to process.

He didn’t force himself onto you. He didn’t violate the comfort between you simply for the sake of tradition and lineage. The extreme relief you feel is overwhelming, so much so that you think you might throw up or faint.

You fall asleep to the sound of the ocean beyond the palace walls, the danger that looms within them doing little to deter the peace that washes over you as you drift into a pleasant dream.

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jessicalynnhepner · 3 years ago

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What Every Parent Needs to Know About Child Sex Trafficking

For most police officers, this scene is a familiar one—a young kid gets mixed up with the wrong person and finds him or herself on the wrong side of the law. In virtually every case, this would be the end of the story. The young girl would get a slap on the wrist and be released into her parents’ custody where they could, presumably, set her straight. And, at this point in our story, Officer Scott was prepared to do just that—to trust the overwhelming testimony of prior experience and process this girl out so that he could get on with his shift. But, something was different this time… Discerning the SignsAs Officer Scott sits down to file his paperwork, he’s reminded of last Tuesday’s roll call. His Sergeant, having recently attended a training seminar on human trafficking, used that day to teach his officers how to identify potential trafficking situations. All of a sudden, alarm bells start going off in Scott’s mind: The Fear — Sure, a kid’s going to be afraid of the consequences. But, this girl seems to fear for her physical safety. She’s acting like there’s something worse waiting for her than an angry mom and dad at home. The Stolen Merchandise – Why did she need a Red Bull and a pack of condoms? Scott recalled that traffickers use starvation to control their victims. Usually, their only choice is to steal the bare necessities. The Boyfriend – Per the owner’s description, this guy was at least 10 years older than she. What were they doing there together in the first place? A New ApproachWith these things in mind, Scott calmly invites the young lady out of holding and brings her to a quieter part of the station, away from prying eyes and menacing glances. She looks cold, so Scott hands her a sweatshirt. As he does, he notices a small tattoo of a crown with the name ‘Hugo’ scrawled beneath it—likely a brand to show who ‘she belongs to.’ They start to chat. This time, he speaks less like a cop and more like a friend. Clearly, she hasn’t had anything to eat for quite a while. Moments later, a female officer appears with a bag from McDonald’s. The three make their way to a private lounge. As they talk, the girl lets her guard down. Scott listens as she describes her broken home life, struggles with friends at school, and her constant search for belonging. All the while, her phone continues to buzz. “Your boyfriend?” “Yes. He just wants to make sure I’m ok.” He really is a great guy, she explains. He’s been there for her when her parents weren’t. He shows her the affection and attention she needs. She feels protected. He loves her……only, sometimes he makes her do things—things she would ordinarily never do. TrustHaving earned at least a glimmer of trust, Scott asks if she would slide her phone over. Reluctantly, she does, and he begins to scroll through the text messages. Wisely, Scott checks his emotions before he begins to read. It doesn’t take him long to realize these are not the supportive words of a loving boyfriend. No, they’re the verbal assaults of a degenerate thug bent on belittling her into submission. Scott does his best to hide his disgust as he reads about threatened consequences for ‘missed quotas.’ Horrified, he sees insults that no human being should ever have to endure, capped off by threats against her little sister for talking to the cops. Officer Scott thanks the young woman for her trust and politely excuses himself to make a call. He can read the writing on the wall: this girl is clearly a victim of trafficking. She needs someone with much more experience than him to help regain her freedom. He picks up the phone, dials his Sergeant, and together, they get to work. What Made the Difference?This story, though generalized in some ways, is rooted in the accounts we hear from police officers every day. The first part of the story is common enough. But, what about the second when, in Scott’s eyes, the girl goes from ‘shoplifter’ to ‘trafficking victim’? Not so much. So, how do we get from A to B? How do we help police officers learn

to look at each ‘punk kid’ as a potential victim, to ask deeper questions, and find the real story lies beneath the surface? Just as in Officer Scott’s story, that turning point comes when an officer recognizes the signs, trusts his or her gut, and decides to unravel that thread. It all starts with that one officer—a soldier on the front lines of the underground battle to set captives free. This can only happen when officials at every level of law enforcement learn to detect the signs and receive the tools they need to bring trafficking victims out of the cruel darkness and into the liberating light of day. National Human Trafficking Law Enforcement Training ProgramAt ERASE, one of the most impactful things we do is train police departments so that they produce more officers like the one in this story. It’s our mission to educate officers to detect the warning signs, identify potential victims, and safely lead them to freedom. Your donations make this possible. Source Child Sex Trafficking-Not My Child Mom shakes her head and Dad raises his voice. Their 16-year old daughter storms up the stairs. As the bedroom door slams, she collapses on the bed with phone in hand. She’s ready to vent her frustrations one status update at a time. With every angst-laden tap of the keyboard, she lays bare her soul: “Nobody here gets me.” “No one understands!” “I feel unloved.” 📷An hour later, a boy from the next town over reaches out. She doesn’t know him, but they’ve got a few mutual friends, so it’s probably no big deal. He’s cute and thoughtful. And, he seems to understand what she’s going through better than anyone else. For the next two weeks, they exchange messages every day. He’s sweet, a digital shoulder to cry on when nobody else seems to care. They decide to meet up in person, so she borrows Dad’s car “to meet some friends at the mall.” That night, Daddy’s little girl doesn’t come home for dinner and Mom sits up all night. The next morning, they call the police. An officer searches her computer and finds evidence of the girl’s new relationship. Turns out, the boy she thought she knew didn’t exist. And, just like that, she’s gone.Reality check about child sex trafficking At ERASE, we hear heartbreaking tales like this all too frequently. Stories from average families dealing with everyday stresses when out of nowhere, their child is lured right out from under them. Whenever we tell these stories, the most common response goes something like this: “Child trafficking is something that happens to those types of kids out there. We live in a great community and our neighbors are good people who look out for one another. Something like that could never happen to one of my children.” This is the kind of response that makes us cringe. If only parents knew what we know, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore this real and pervasive threat. Sadly, that very ignorance is what traffickers count on most when looking for children to target. The danger is far more imminent than most parents recognize. If we’re going to protect our children, we need to be clear on the real threats child traffickers impose. Traffickers are Smart, Motivated, and Tech-SavvyA dark and horrific market has grown up around the purchase and sale of human beings. Researchers estimated that, in 2007, Atlanta’s underground sex economy alone brought in $290 million. Even in a far less “saturated” market, sex trafficking in San Diego enables a pimp to pull in over $11,000 per week. Fast forward 10 years and there’s no reason to think that number hasn’t grown. Innocent children aren’t given a pass here. Instead, the most vulnerable among us are routinely bought and sold like property—many of them up to 15 times a day. With business booming, traffickers are working harder than ever to keep up with demand. Leaving no stone unturned, they use social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, to research, target, and groom children for sexual exploitation. In fact, 77% of sex trafficking victims

report having been initially approached online. Just as a skilled marketer uses sophisticated keyword searches to identify his audience, traffickers monitor social media for anything at all that would suggest an easy target:Children with social media profiles open to public viewing Teenagers posting introspective status updates about feelings of insecurity Boys and girls who are venting about arguments with their parents Like a lion crouched in his thicket, a predator will scan through lines of text looking for vulnerable children to drag off into the tall grass. How many of those lines will have come from one of your children? Yes, your child can be a victim of sex traffickingThe children that traffickers rip from their happy homes aren’t pretend characters on television or disembodied faces from the evening news. They’re our kids, the ones we work hard to raise and the ones we hope to see grow up happy and healthy. They’re the kids we teach to be smart, to mind their surroundings, and never talk to strangers. And yet, we give them free reign to explore every dark corner of the internet via their cell phone. We must do betterLittle more than half of parents closely monitor their children’s online activity. So, when a stranger asks to connect on Snapchat, it’s nearly an even shot that no one will be looking over that kid’s shoulder. You can count on a child trafficker to take that bet. Do you know which platforms your children are using or who they connect with online? Do they have any secret accounts and how would you find out if they did? If someone asked to meet in person, would they do it? Can you be sure? These questions may seem intrusive and even overbearing. However, considering the reality of child trafficking in the United States, we have to ask these questions. Every day, thousands of children disappear into slavery. We’d like to hope our kids could never be victims but the facts simply don’t allow us that option. Understanding the facts of child trafficking is the first and most important step in prevention. There is HopeGood people around the world are standing up and fighting back against this great moral evil. You don’t have to live in constant fear for your children. The story we shared at the beginning of this post doesn’t have to be your story. And with some common sense and the will to step intentionally into your kids’ digital lives, you can protect them from becoming a victim of sex trafficking. The question is: will you? At ERASE, we want to educate parents on how best to protect their children from online predators. Please take a look at our tips and best practices pages to see how you can teach your children to be safe online.Juvenile Delinquent or Victim of Human Trafficking? Blog Story of a Human Trafficking Victim It’s midnight. Officer Scott pulls his patrol car into the lot of a small, 24-hour convenience store. As he approaches, he peers through the decal-laden glass door to see a middle-aged man struggling to restrain an agitated 16-year old girl. The store owner had caught this young woman and her boyfriend stuffing items into a small handbag. Her companion—a ‘white man in his late 20’s’—had bolted out the door without so much as a backward glance. The last thing on Officer Scott’s mind was “human trafficking victim”. Scott had seen this before. Some young teenager, looking for thrills, decides to pocket a few items from the local bodega and gets grabbed by the watchful owner. As he escorts the girl to his police car, Scott’s treated to an earful. She can’t stop going on about what a jerk he is, how he had violated her rights, and how much trouble she’d be in if he didn’t let her go right away. “Just wait until I call your parents,” he thinks. 📷 The Same Routine When they arrive at the station, Scott walks this young woman to his desk. She can hear the snide remarks of a few men handcuffed to chairs nearby. As they leer conspicuously at her, she shrinks further into herself. Scott starts in on his typical line of questioning: name,

age, address, and so on. The entire time, her phone buzzes with one text message after another. She begs Scott to let her reply, but he refuses. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to your parents later.” “I’m not worried about them,” she snaps back. “They don’t give a crap about me, anyway. They’re too busy arguing to even notice I’m around.” Not sure what to make of that outburst, Scott begins to sort through the items she had attempted to steal: a sleeve of Hostess Cup Cakes, a Red Bull, and a box of condoms. “Must be one heck of a boyfriend to leave you there like that, huh?” “You wouldn’t understand. He loves me. He takes care of me.” Angry and frustrated by this girl’s bad attitude and ignorance about that poor excuse for a boyfriend, Officer Scott escorts her to a holding cell and prepares to process her out.Is This the End of the Story?

https://whateveryparentshouldknowaboutcps.blogspot.com/2020/08/what-every-parent-needs-to-know-about.html

#Child Sex Trafficking

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nochuwrites · 5 years ago

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redamancy

oneshot

pairing: jungkook/reader

genre: !bestfriends in high school au, fluffy, mayb angst, mayb,

word count: 9538

a/n: haha so this might look familiar but it is bc i posted this sometime last year but as a chapter series! however i felt really uncomfortable about the chapter sizes so i decided to condense it into a oneshot! also this is still one of my first fics so feedback is greatly appreciated ! also would love to make mutuals with people !

—SYNOPSIS: Faking a relationship with Jungkook was not going to be a breeze as you thought it would be. Especially when some feelings still linger.

The first time you met Jungkook was in your freshman year. You never noticed the boy in your class but you did know a few things about him from your friends. You knew that Jungkook had a gathered quite a lot of attention around the school due to his ethereal looks and to the school, he was known as the golden boy since he was known for his many skills. Whether it was dancing or sports, Jungkook would completely go above and beyond to prove that he was the best. His competitiveness and talent gathered attention from many of the girls at your school. Despite Jungkook’s popularity, many of your friends claimed that he was generally a shy kid and did not approach many people.

But this was before you talked to him.

When you met him, it was during a game of Kahoot in your computer science class. You had never noticed him being in your class since most of the time, you had your eyes trained on your laptop coding. That day had been a different day however. That day, there was a substitute teacher and most of the class time was free time. Using this time wisely, you set up a Kahoot game about Minecraft and waited for tablemates to join the game. The thing that made the game entertaining was that none of the people in your group played Minecraft so they all chose the Kahoot topic as a joke. You angled your laptop towards the edge of the desk so that the rest of them could see the screen.

What you didn’t notice was that Jungkook could see the laptop screen from a table across and decided to crash the Kahoot game. After a couple of minutes, a bundle of immature usernames were displayed across the computer screen. There was an extra player logged on the screen but no one in your group noticed or cared enough to mention it. Not until after a couple of rounds. After the fourth round or so, you noticed that one player had completely dominated the rest and scored correctly on all the questions so far. Specifically, that player’s name was “thelegend27,” which earned a couple of laughs from the others at your table. “Ok, which one of you lied about not knowing anything about Minecraft?” You finally asked. Your friends denied of being the player and said that they did not know who it was. So you continued the game. By the end of the game, you make it your mission to catch whoever it was that joined your Kahoot game. And as expected, the player with the username “thelegend27,” wins the game. Immediately, you look up from your screen seeing if you could catch your culprit. The moment your eyes leave your screen, you are very surprised that they are met with Jungkook’s brown eyes. His eyes were crinkled from laughing but as soon as he noticed your eyes on his, his demeanor immediately switched. He stifled a cough and his eyes traveled back on his screen playing out his usual cold demeanor.

Target spotted.

During lunchtime, you get your lunch at the cafeteria and look around for tables to sit at. Surprisingly, you find Jungkook sitting by himself at a table. You walk to his table and decide to greet him with the first thing that came to your mind.

“Hey ‘thelegend27’,” you say as you approach Jungkook and he immediately looks up with his eyes wide. You plop down in the seat in front of him and gently place your lunch in front of him.

“So you know quite a lot about Minecraft, huh?” You continue and this earns you a small chuckle from Jungkook.

“Yeah, yeah I do. What? You got a problem with that?” He replies while trying to hold back a laugh.

“No,” you shake your head, “I’m just surprised..is all. I mean who would’ve guessed Jeon Jungkook, the golden boy, star athlete of the school, is actually a complete Minecraft dweeb.”

Jungkook laughs in response your reply and the sound immediately lifts your mood. “The last time I played Minecraft was in middle school. I just happen to have a good memory of the game,``he clarifies.

“Alright, sure…” You look at him skeptically and the two of you continue to have an argument about whether Minecraft is for nine year old boys or not. Lunchtime comes to an end and you excuse yourself to go dispose of what's left of your lunch. “Well, I will see you tomorrow.” You stand up from the table as you exit the cafeteria to head to your next period. Leaving the cafeteria, you glance back at Jungkook and he sends you a friendly wave.

Afterwards, Jungkook is the first to approach you and show you a funny meme on his phone. The two of you talk for a long time and it leads to him inviting you to his home for a game of Overwatch, to prove that he’s a real gamer of course. Your friendship with the boy skyrocketed and you two became so close that it became a rare sight to see you or Jungkook walking around in halls without each other. Shortly after, rumors began to spread about you and Jungkook being a thing. Obviously, you both denied it. You had to admit that in the first few days, you had conjured up a tiny crush on him but soon these feelings became dismissed as you wanted to maintain your friendship with him. As expected, you both remained unchanged by these rumors and cleared up the misunderstanding to anyone who mentioned it.

But that was before the proposition.

“I need your help with something,” he said one day during lunch, “There’s this girl I like...and I need your help to get her.” You had agreed to the proposition. It was the right thing to do. This was your best friend after all and it would not cause too much trouble...right?

It was on a typical Friday night when you were laying in Jungkook’s bed while he played games on his computer. While his eyes were completely trained on the screen, your eyes were focused on him. From his smooth brown hair (which you would love to put your hands through), to his broad shoulders that you could see through his white t-shirt, to his veiny hands, and his muscular thighs. Since when did Jungkook become so…attractive?

When Jungkook had asked you to help him get together with his crush, you had imagined you would be helping his create a poster to ask her out or something simple like that. But instead, he had told you to fake a relationship with him to make her jealous. The whole idea seemed absurd at first.

“Come on, Y/N,” he constantly pleaded, “We’re best friends so it would be believable. It would totally work out.”

After his countless requests and convincing, you gave in and skeptically agreed to the plan.

So here you were laying in his bed thinking about how the past few days had changed you. You noticed how your heart rate immediately spike up the first time he locked hands with you but when you looked up, his eyes were somewhere else. Specifically, on the girl he talked to you about. You tried ignoring the jealousy rising up your throat every time he talked about her as if she was the sun. Or the urge to interrupt Jungkook and the girl whenever they had a conversation. You didn’t know when exactly these feelings began to occur because from the beginning of the fake relationship, you ignored the odd emotions in your chest whenever Jungkook initiated something that was a little more than friendly. As you laid there on the bed in your own deep thoughts, you mind wandered off to the girl and why Jungkook liked her so much. Her name was Rose. It was no surprise you felt insecure next to her. She was well liked at her school and her natural beauty was no joke. You had met her a few times and she was so friendly and nice. No wonder Jungkook liked her. There it is again, that nasty, green, jealousy feeling. You were so deep in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice Jungkook pausing his game to ask you a question.

“Y/N,” he said, “Hello. Earth to Y/N,” he waved his hand to get your attention. “Hmm?” You focused your attention back on him. He had his face close to yours. Curiosity written all over his features. The sunlight from his window outside had been angled perfectly at the side of his face and just when you thought you couldn’t fall deeper for Jungkook, you did. You thought about his lips and how badly you wanted them on yours.

“You look upset. What’s on your mind?” He questioned. I think I might have feelings for you. You wanted to say. But you never would. Why? Because it would ruin your friendship. Everything would become awkward and you cared too much about Jungkook to let him go.

“Nothing at all,” you finally answered, “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

“Oh,” He said blankly.

You stand up from the bed and grab your bag. “Umm..I think I’m going to go home to get some rest,” You said. Jungkook makes a pouty face in response. “No, you can’t leave. I’m going to die of boredom without you.” “Don’t worry Jungkook. Just call Taehyung over. I’m sure he has nothing to do either.”

With that, you leave his house re-thinking about your friendship with him and whether you should tell him how you really feel or just let it be.

“I think it’s just physical attraction, to be honest,” Taehyung said as he passed the game controller over to you to grab a snack.

“Really?” You questioned, “But Tae, I told you. I used to have a crush on him. I don’t know maybe it’s coming back or something.”

Taehyung opened up the bag of chips and you reached over to grab a chip. “Look, I understand that at this age, these changes you may be going through your body are very confusing but—”

“Tae!” You yelled as you threw a chip at him to indicate that he was getting off topic.

“Okay, okay. I’m just kidding,” he admitted while resuming to the game on the TV screen, “But to be honest, you should talk to him about it and see how he feels.”

You sighed in defeat knowing that he was right and that you lacked the courage to confront your problems. You grabbed the bag of chips sitting on Taehyung’s lap and continued eating the chips vigorously.

But instead of letting you mope in peace, the world decided to be cruel and throw your problems in right in your face. Just as Taehyung’s screen flashed the words, ‘You were eliminated by EdgeLord69,’ there was a knock on your door. You stood up to go open the door while Taehyung remained busy with his game.

Standing at your doorstep was Jungkook, dressed in a simple T-shirt and ripped jeans but he still managed to look so good. His face glowed with his signature bunny smile that you’ve always loved.

You froze for a moment, not expecting his present but you managed to stutter out a couple words, “H-hi Jungkook. What are you- what are you doing here?”

“Oh, just stopping by. You haven’t really texted me much lately and I’m just worried, that’s all,” he responded. It’s true that these past few days you have been ignoring him and responding with only short answers. You felt a bit guilty for cutting him off like this but remembered that you needed your space for a bit.

His eyes wandered around for a bit until they landed on Taehyung, seated on your living room floor holding a console in his hands, his smile disappeared for a moment and was replaced with another expression that you couldn’t quite read. It was like a forced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh. So Taehyung’s here already,” he said walking in and taking a seat on the beanbag chair, it became a habit of his to just come over and sit on that chair after countless hours spent at your house whenever your parents were out of town.

“Hey Jungkook,” Taehyung said when he finally noticed Jungkook’s presence in the room. “Hey man,” Jungkook replied back, “So were you guys just playing Overwatch?” He questioned. “Yeah,” Taehyung replied nonchalantly. “Why didn’t you guys invite me?” Jungkook finally asked the question he’d been wondering since he got here.

Your eyes widened as you glared at Taehyung, hoping that he won’t say or hint anything that could possibly reveal your secret. “We were just about to invite you over before you came,” he said while keeping his eyes trained on the screen. The room was packed with awkward silence except for the chaotic sounds coming from Taehyung’s game. You decided to end the silence by asking Jungkook if he wanted anything to drink. To which, he responded with a ‘no, thank you’ so you returned to your old spot on the floor next to Taehyung.

As Taehyung finished the first round of the game, he handed the controller to you, expecting you to pick up from where he left. “I’m gonna use your restroom, Y/N. I think the gatorade and nachos I had for lunch are starting to act up,” Taehyung said, clutching his stomach. “Ew! Gross!” You laughed as you shooed him off towards the hallway. Behind you, you heard Jungkook chuckle at Taehyung’s straightforwardness.

You fingers moved around the buttons on the controller as you tried to choose which character to play for the upcoming round. “Hey, did I do something wrong?” Jungkook finally spoke up. You turned around in shock as you were confused as to why he thought this was his fault. “It’s just..it feels like you’ve been ignoring me lately and I don’t know if it’s something I did or sai—” “Jungkook,” you stopped his rambling, “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay. I just..I needed some space and I accidentally ended up neglecting you in the process so I’m really sorry about that,” you apologized sincerely. Jungkook’s eyes filled with relief to know that you weren’t mad at him or anything.

You stayed there for quite some time staring into Jungkook’s eyes while he did the same. ‘This is your chance,’ your mind said. You wanted to take a risk. To lean in a bit and finally kiss those soft lips of him but before you could even move an inch, Taehyung’s voice boomed from the corner of the room as he yelled, “Y/N, the game’s starting!” You snapped your neck back towards the screen to see that your team was already trying to defend the point without you.

After that, the three of you continue talking about various things like Taylor Swift’s new look to the new hero added to Overwatch.

“I’m just saying he reminds me of the guy from the Old Spice commercials,” Jungkook says.

“I think he is supposed to remind you of the guy from those commercials. Smart advertising,” Taehyung replies.

The three of you laugh recalling some of the ridiculous old spice commercials that you have seen when Taehyung suddenly brings up the topic of prom.

“So who do you plan on going with Jungkook?” Taehyung noticed how Jungkook’s eyes flickered over to you for a bit but then back to Taehyung as he answered, “Uhhh...I don’t know. I’m thinking of asking Rose out. What about you guys?”

“Wait, how are you going to ask her out if you’re ‘dating’ Y/N?”

“Oh,” Jungkook looked at you again for a moment, “I’ll just tell her we broke up over the weekend or something.”

Your eyes wandered to the ground and you started to play with the drawstrings on your shorts. “You guys never answered my question though. Do you guys already have dates for prom?” Jungkook asked, curiously.

“I’m not even sure if I’m even going. I have no one to go out with,” Taehyung answered. “Oh, come on. Dude, almost every girl in the school wants to go with you. You’re just being like this because Irene rejected you,” you replied.

“What about you, Y/N?” Taehyung asked, “You thinking of asking anyone?” You sighed knowing that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to go with but there was no way Rose would reject him.

“Uhh..no..there’s no one in particular,” you answered back, “I think I’ll just go with Somi or something since she said she didn’t have a date either.”

“Hey, you could just go with me since I have no one either,” Taehyung suggested.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said in response since there was nothing wrong with two friends going together.

However, Jungkook didn’t seem to like the idea. Jungkook frowned at the suggestion and argued, “What if people think you guys are dating or something?”

“Who cares what other people think? There’s nothing wrong with going with a guy friend,” you argued back. Jungkook nods as he realizes that he shouldn’t complain about who you want to go to prom with because that’s not his business.

“Well, I think I’m gonna go. I should probably go study for tomorrow’s Psych quiz,” Jungkook said and stood up as if he was in a hurry. “Oh..” you said disappointed that he wasn’t going to stay longer, “Bye Jungkook, and good luck on the quiz!” He waves at both you and Taehyung as he opens the door to head out.

Taehyung waited until Jungkook until was long gone before turning to you, “Ok, I was wrong, Y/N. He is really into you! You’re just too blind to see the way he looks at you.” You roll your eyes at Taehyung’s comment because he could be just getting your hopes up. “Whatever, doesn’t explain why he’s asking Rose to prom instead so..” you said as you focused your attention back on the game and ignored Taehyung’s rambling about Jungkook.

To your surprise, Jungkook never ends up asking Rose out to prom. There’s no word going around about Rose and Jungkook going together to prom and Jungkook keeps his distance ever since that day with Taehyung. He still talks to you regularly but is nowhere to be seen when Taehyung comes in the picture.

As prom gets closer and closer, your friend Somi ends up getting a date and you are left to go with Taehyung, your date in case you can’t find anyone else you want to go with.

“Should we be matching?” Taehyung asked through the phone while the two of you are preparing for prom.

“Ew, no. I think that’s what couples do.”

“Oh, well then…I think we’re all prepared. I’m just going to wear a pair of jeans and a shirt then.”

“Tae,” you warned him, “We don’t wanna look like a couple of hobos either. C’mon be serious.”

“Fine. But I just think that we should be a little bit coordinated so I need to know what you’re going to be wearing,” he responded.

“Ugh… I don’t know yet. I wanna choose a black dress but I also don’t wanna look like I’m going to someone’s funeral.” Taehyung chuckled at your comment.

“What about red?” He suggested, “It also happens to be Jungkook’s favorite color.” Knowing the pervert Taehyung was, you could already imagine him doing his usual lenny face through the phone.

“Oooh..red seems nice,” you said, “But I’m wearing it because I think it would look good. Not because it’s Jungkook’s favorite color. Just wanted to make that clear.”

“Well then, it’s set. We’re going with red,” Taehyung agreed, “But don’t worry, I won’t overdo it. I’ll just wear a funky tie and a regular suit.”

“Okay, good,” you said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow at school, okay?”

“Aight, bye,” Taehyung said and the phone beeps twice signaling that the call ended.

You return to your depressed state as you sigh and fall back onto the bed. Why was it so hard to read Jungkook? If he doesn’t like you in the way you want him to then why doesn’t he ask Rose to prom like you expected he would?

It was prom day and Taehyung arrived at your house in his mom’s small compact car like you expected. You were glad that he didn’t go overboard and listened to your advice about not getting limousine because that would have been too much.

Taehyung opens the door to walk out in a black suit and a maroon red tie around neck. You noticed he had a plastic container in his hand and as walked towards you. He pulled up the container in his hand to reveal a small ring pop in it.

“I thought since we were just going as friends, I didn’t need to buy you an actual corset so I put this together last minute,” he explained.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” you joked, “And by the way, it’s called a corsage not a corset, you uncultured swine.”

The both of you posed a couple times for your parents before getting in the car and saying goodbye to the both of them.

When you arrived at prom, every nervous thought about Jungkook and what you were going to do when you saw him was thrown out the window when you saw the snack bar. Almost every one of your favorite desserts were displayed out on the table in bite size servings and you quickly rushed to it to get dibs on fanciest looking one.

While you and Taehyung were busy smuggling the snacks from the table, Jungkook walked over to make his presence known. Your eyes widened when you spot him staring while Taehyung was shoving as much chocolate strawberries into his hand pockets as he could and you were trying to fit as much candy as you could in your bra.

“Oh..uhh..what’s up Kook?” You awkwardly greeted him as you adjusted your dress. “I’m not even gonna ask,” he said with a traumatized look on his face.

“So uhh…how’s Rose?” Taehyung asked.

“Oh, she didn’t want to go to the dance with me,” Jungkook replied awkwardly while scratching his neck, then glancing at you.

The three of you shifted around awkwardly until Taehyung decided to cut the silence by declaring that he was going to try to talk to Irene. “Good luck!” Both you and Jungkook exclaimed.

“So…do you want me to get you something to drink?” Jungkook pointed at the barrel filled with berry juice.

“No, it’s okay. I think I’ve had enough and earlier Yoongi tried to offer me some booze that he managed to sneak in,” you said and Jungkook chuckles.

The air is once again silent except for the sounds of other students yelling and mainstream songs playing over the speakers around the gym. After a couple of moments, Jungkook suggested to ditch. “You wanna just go get some ramen and hang out?”

You were surprised at his suggestion since he wanted to ditch prom to get some ramen. But as you look around at the bland scene around you, you decided that getting some ramen with Jungkook sounded much more entertaining. You nodded your head at him and he gave you his signature bunny smile in return.

“Should I get us the chicken cup noodle or the beef?”

“Chicken,” you replied to Jungkook while contemplating between the Sour Patch Kids or the Haribo gummy bears.

He grabs both of the chicken cup noodles and asks, “Don’t you think it’s a little too late for candy?”

“Jungkook, my dear, there is no curfew for candy.” You take both of the packages and march towards the cash register, “And it’s barely 10:32, you nerd.”

Everything about Jungkook had always captivated you. As you are seated in the front of the window of a ramen store, you are left amazed at the way Jungkook basically inhales the ramen in his bowl.

“Holy shit, were you that hungry?” You questioned him. He looks up at you mid-chew and nods furiously, his mouth stuffed with ramen. Cute, you thought. Jungkook then picked up some of the ramen in his bowl. He stuck it in front of your face, some of the soup from the noodle dripping onto the table.

“What?” You raised your eyebrow at him.

“Try it. It’s good.”

Is he serious? You think as you start to lean closer to the noodles, opening your mouth. You take the noodles into your mouth. Hmm..he wasn’t lying..it is pretty good. You raise your eyebrows and give him an approving look. “See? I told you it was good,” he replied.

“So how do you think Taehyung’s doing with Irene?” Jungkook asked.

You laughed as you imagine the thought of Taehyung flirting with his crush, “Probably embarrassing himself but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Irene’s a nice girl and they share the same type of humour.”

“You know, I always thought you would end up with Taehyung,” Jungkook said while looking down at his ramen.

You tilt your head in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you and Tae seem really close,” Jungkook said, still not looking up from his bowl.

“We’re close too, Jungkook,” You rebuked.

“Well, do you..do you like Taehyung?”

“Of course I do! Why else would I be friends with him?”

“No, you know what I mean,” He explained.

Your eyes widened and you threw your head back in a fit of laughter. “O-Oh my god. Jungkook, dude. Look, Taehyung’s great and all but no. Not my type, I guess.”

“So what is your type?”

You. “I don’t know, a guy who’s nice? Can cook?” You faked a laugh.

“Wow Y/N, that’s it? Those are some pretty low standards,” Jungkook jokes.

“Okay that’s not only it,” You retaliated. “I’d like a guy who’s tall.”

“Of course you would. That’s so cliche,” He mumbled with his mouth stuffed with noodles.

“Oh my god Jungkook I’m not done,” You say giggling, “I want him to have the same sense of humor as me which is pretty rare to find. Remember that guy that stopped talking to me after I kept mentioning that boneless pizza thing?”

Jungkook laughed remembering that unfortunate incident.

“Anyways that was a long time ago, expired meme now, but...I want a guy who’s willing to go to a place like this with me and consider it a date. Like if you can’t handle me at 1am convenience store date then you don’t deserve me at a 5 star restaurant in the fancy part of town.”

Jungkook chuckled at your statement and asked, “Then does this count as a date?”

Your eyes grew wide once again and your cheeks turned into tomatoes, “I-I-I don’t know...I mean if you want it to be.”

In return, Jungkook gives you the brightest smile and offers you his hand.

“Jungkoooook..where the hell are we even going?”

“You’ll see, it’s a surprise,” Jungkook reassures you.

“I’m slightly terrified.”

Jungkook rests his hand on your thigh as if it’s the most normal thing ever, “Relax, okay? Just trust me, you’re going to love this. This will be a real date.”

“Okay,” You sink back into your seat, too flustered from the unexpected skinship and flirting to argue any further. You look at Jungkook while he has his eyes trained on the road. Your ramen date had escalated to a late night drive in Jungkook’s car after you told Jungkook that you wanted to do something random, spontaneous.

You had no idea where he was taking you. But you felt happy, at peace, and that was the effect that Jungkook had over you. He was a light in your life and he had always been for a while. You hoped that by the end of this “date,” as he called it, things would change between the two of you, for the better. That he simply wasn’t just messing with you and that his intentions were genuine.

“We’re here.” You’re stirred awake when you see Jungkook’s brown orbs staring into yours intensely. “Oh..umm..where are we?”

“It was my favorite place when I was a child,” he said.

You became aware that Jungkook’s favorite place as a child was a beach which became intensely beautiful at night as the moon shone onto the glimmering sea and the waves crashed onto the shore continuously. Nothing could be heard except for those sounds of nature and Jungkook turning the engine of the car off. He stepped out of the car door and soon appeared by yours, opening it and asking you to come out. As Jungkook ran towards the sea, he began stripping his clothing, loosening the tie and taking off his shoes. He turned back to you and raised one of his eyebrows, a teasing look on his face. “You gonna join or what?” By now, he was shirtless and you finally had a chance to see the result of all those hours this muscle pig put in at the gym.

“Alright, I’ll join but turn around first.” Quickly, you took off your uncomfortable heels and stripped down to your underwear, leaving your expensive dress by your shoes. “I’ll deal with the sand later,” you thought.

“Are you done?” Jungkook asked, reminding you of his presence and how odd and risky this whole situation was. “No, don’t look until we’re in the water,” you ordered. “Alright then,” Jungkook chuckled, walking towards where the water met the sand and soon emerging into it until only his shoulders could be seen above the water.

When you finally reached him in the water as well, you hooked onto his shoulders, not knowing where the boldness came from, “You can turn around now.”

He swiveled around in the ocean water to finally meet you face to face. In the moonlight, Jungkook looked as ethereal as ever. Knowing that this was one of Jungkook’s secluded and sacred spots during his childhood made this moment so much more intimate.

He trusted you and shared a piece of him with you today. In that moment, it felt like Jungkook was closer to you than ever before. His eyes fervently staring into yours with a tender and soft quality in them. His arms which you now noticed were wrapped around your waist, pulling you tighter into his embrace and shielding you against the coldness. His erratic breathes, showing you that this was not only affecting y—

“Can I kiss you?” Ohmygod did Jeon Jungkook, my best friend who I’ve been in love with for almost all of high school really say that? Your lack of response prompted a look of shame and regret on Jungkook’s face until you came to your senses and nodded eagerly at his request. Instantly, his face lit up and he leaned in.

The rest of the night became a blur. You felt like you were living on cloud nine as you kissed him back passionately in the water and after a couple of minutes, you took it to the car, where the session continued. With tongue. And you grinding on his lap. Your hands tangled in his ebony locks and his groping you all over.

When Jungkook drove back you back to your home, you remember him humming to songs on the radio with his hand caressing your thigh. Except this time, you didn’t feel flustered at the contact. You thought that something had changed. That it might have.

Across from you in the small cozy cafe, Taehyung takes a sip of his carbonated drink, intently listening to your recalling of prom night. “Wait so he left? Without a note or anything?” He questioned.

“Yes, when I woke up he was gone and I-I’m starting to think that the reason, he did all of that, you know, kiss me and everything, was because I was a rebound for Rose after she rejected him.”

Last night, after Jungkook had dropped you off at home, he also came in with you since your parents were away on a business trip. It didn’t lead to anymore as the both of you were too drained from the day to initiate anything. You remember him tucking you into your bed and then you, asking him to stay by patting the other side of the bed. In the dark room you can see him avoiding your gaze, mulling over the idea of staying with you. Finally, he gave in and climbed over to the side of you. After he was settled into the bed, he tried to keep his distance from you. His attempts were futile as a couple moments after, you rolled over to his side to hug his torso like a teddy bear. He gave in again. He wrapped his arms around your waist and the two of you fell asleep like that. In the morning, he was gone.

“I don’t think Jungkook is using you as a rebound,” Taehyung said, taking another sip of his drink, “Jungkook.. He’s not like that.”

You took a sip of your latte as well, taking the fact that Taehyung had known Jungkook for quite some time as well into consideration. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. He still left without a word or any kind of note.

“You need to talk to him,Y/N,” Taehyung continued, “You need to confront him because I’m sure he has his reasons...Also I still can’t believe you guys didn’t do anything more PG-13.”

“Tae!” You yelled at him. “Anyways,” you looked down, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we talk about something else? Anything else? Like I don’t know, how’s umm..your drink?” You asked.

“It’s alright,” he replied. You feel guilty for inviting Taehyung out to coffee since you now remembered that he has never liked coffee.

“Hey, there’s this party at Jennie’s this weekend! I think you should come. Get your mind off of things. I know you’ve been working on homework for weeks now and I think you should allow yourself to indulge,” he interrupted your wallowing. You eyed him skeptically. To most, it seemed like an innocent offer, just a friend encouraging the other to get out there more. But you knew Taehyung too well. And there was a mischievous glint in his eye. “Come on, Y/N,” he nagged. You budged, deciding that you deserve a break and that whatever shenanigans Taehyung was storming in his busy brain, you would take it head on.

“Alright I’ll go,” you said, “But I’ll head home right now to work on assignments to make up for that time.” You grabbed your canvas bag and threw on your coat. “You fuckin’ nerd,” Taehyung mocked you.

As you finally stepped out of the door and left the site, Taehyung reached for his phone from his pocket and pulled up Jungkook’s contact.

You check your phone constantly. The illuminating light tormenting you as days have passed and you’ve received no word from the boy with the dark brown hair and doe eyes. It’s not like you haven’t thought of messaging him and initiating a discussion yourself. You’ve spent hours opening and closing your chat with him, playing out scenarios in your head and weighing the good and bad in facing him.

But every time your finger hovered over the small “send” button, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t risk it. Your heart would break if Jungkook told you to disregard that night. Or that it was a mistake.

You concentrate your energy on preparing for Jennie’s party. You decided you would look your best. It isn’t easy to be invited to these events and you were lucky your friend Taehyung was such a social butterfly to give you an opportunity like this. You throw on a velvet black dress with straps that hugged onto your body tight and a pair of long earrings that accentuated that 90s look. After your face was dolled up, you checked your phone again for any messages. No messages.

As soon as you entered the house, you were met with the sight of a drunken teenager preparing to ride down the stairs on his front. “Dude, get down from there. What the hell are you doing?” His friends scolded him. You didn’t stay to see the end result as you made your way to Taehyung who was mingling with others in the living room that had been become a hub for horny teenagers.

“Hey! Taehyung!” You forced yourself to walk through the space where teenagers were touching each other and shoving tongues down each others’ throats. You looked at them in disgust as if you and Jungkook hadn’t had the same moment a couple of days ago.

“Y/N! You came!” He shouts through the loud party music. “Jennie, this is Y/N. I invited her.” You smile and shake hands with Jennie. You both know each other from school but have never talked, only having Taehyung as a mutual friend. “Nice to meet you. I really like your dress,” she complimented. “Oh thank you!” “Hold up, I’m gonna go reprimand that lunatic sliding down my staircase but I’ll talk to you guys later,” she said looking towards the drunken teenager that you spotted when you first walked through the door. “Oh yeah I was going to say something about that..” you murmured as she left. “So..” Taehyung said awkwardly once she was gone. There was that mischievous glint in his eye again. “Tae..” you squinted at him. “IalsoinvitedJungkooktotheparty.” You gasped at him. “Becauseya’llneedtotalk,” he rushed the words. But before you could cuss him out for meddling in your affairs, the man bolted. Fucking coward.

After sauntering around the house for a while exploring rooms and catching up with classmates, you decided to go upstairs to freshen up and fix your makeup in the bathroom. Thankfully, the staircase surfing guy has been dealt with and the space is occupied by bored teenagers glued to their phones instead.

“Hi.. umm excuse me? I’m looking for the bathroom,” you asked one of the people passing by in the hallway. He pointed lazily at the right end of the hallway which narrowed it down to...four rooms. “Umm..alright,” you said, not believing that he deserves a “thank you” for his unhelpfulness. Your feet ached in your heels as you made your trek to the end of the hallway, stepping on party decor and trash thrown on the carpeting while wondering how Jennie was ever going to clean this mess.

The first room was silent. You gripped the doorknob and twisted it, disappointed to find out that it was locked. If this is the bathroom, then what if someone is using it already?, you thought. You knock on the door and moments later, the door is opened by the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen in your life. He had the most perfect face ratio and the plumples lip—

“Do you need something?”

“Umm..this isn’t the bathroom..ha..ha..” you laugh embarrassingly but before you could ask him where it actually was, the beautiful man rolled his eyes and then you were met with the slam of the door. “Geez.”

The second door was slightly open. The creak in the door allowed you to see that it was not the bathroom and that it was dimly lit inside. You were about to move onto the next room when a certain strawberry blonde head of hair caught your eye. Rose? You knew it wasn’t right but you were curious. Was Rose with somebody else? Was that why Kook was rejected?

You moved to the left of the door, peeking through that small creak to see the other side of the conversation. However, the sight shot a pain through your heart as you realized that in the tenebrous room, situated on the bed was no one other than Jeon Jungkook. You clasped a hand over your mouth as you held back the urge to gasp. He sat close to her on the king bed, listening intently to whatever she was saying you couldn’t make out. The sight confirmed your speculations. That night didn’t mean the same to Jungkook as it had meant to you. You moved onto the third room, not wanting to look at the pair any further to want to know what they were discussing.

After freshening up in the bathroom, you strode to Jennie’s kitchen where the majority of kids were opening her parents’ cupboard and taking the most expensive alcoholic drink they could find, not that Jennie would care. She could always get away with it.

Shots after shots, you downed them hoping that it would wash away that ache that grew in your chest from seeing Jungkook and Rose together. You began feeling drowsy but a little bold. In the living room, you can hear an obnoxious and familiar tune. You looked to see a scrawny, young man holding the mic. Every few intervals, he monotonously spoke “Tequila” into the mic. What was this ass doing? That is literally the worst choice for karaoke—is he- is he just fucking with everyone? Driven on by the alcohol in your system and your irritance, you marched your way over, ready to call this motherfucker out for commiting a karaoke crime, not realizing how petty you were being. However, when you were footsteps away from the gentleman, who was still oblivious to your presence and still dully singing Tequila by The Champs, a hand halted you and pulled you back. “Woah, slow down there Y/N. Why do you look like your about to murder that guy?”

You turned around to tell the voice off in irritance until you recognized him.

“Hobiiiiii.”

“Hey, Y/N. You didn’t answer my question,” he grinned at you.

“I ‘aven’t seeen ya in so long,” you hiccuped.

“Jesus, Y/N, how much did you drink?” He asked as you latched onto his arm like a koala. He smelled real nice.

“Ju-jus’ enough.”

“Y/N, what are you doing?” A third voice cut in.

“Wahh,” you turned towards the voice that you recognized so easily, “Googieee I missed you s’mush.” You run over and hugged Jungkook tightly. Drunken you had forgotten your recent interactions with the man, or rather lack of interaction.

Jungkook glared at Hoseok suspiciously as he took in your intoxicated and vulnerable state.

Hoseok raised his eyebrows and put his hands up.

“You need to get home Y/N. You are so drunk right now,” Jungkook put his attention back on you when you began to play with the hem of his shirt. “Okayyyyyy,” you whined.

You held onto Jungkook’s shoulders tightly as he carried you to the front of your house on his back. “Where are your keys?”

“It’s somewhe-where” Hiccup “Unde the doorstepp,” you managed to say.

“That’s so unsafe, Y/N,” Jungkook said worriedly. He gently lets you down from his back as he raises the cliche “Laugh Love Live” doormat to find a key the size of his thumb.

“Well Jungkookie boi, myy middle namee is.. dangerr,” you retaliated smugly.

“Drunk you is a mess ohmygod,” he said as he unlocked the door.

You sat on your parents’ grey couch as Jungkook slipped off your heels one by one. “Can you keep still?” He asks after you legs kept dangling. “Sorryyyy Kook.”

“It’s okay,” he said as he lifted you up from the couch into his arms and he carried you into your room, “I’ll find you some clothes and we’ll get you in bed.”

“Koo, you’re s’good to me.”

“Anything for my favorite girl.” Your heart skipped a beat.

After brushing your teeth, you plopped down on the soft bed while he searched for clothes in your drawer. “You still have my hoodie from the last time I stayed over,” Jungkook whispered, grabbing the black piece of clothing and strolling towards you. He placed it in your hands and turned around as you began unclothing. “Kooooook, you can turn aroun,” you said, unlike that night at the beach, “It’s not the firs’ timee you’ve seen this.”

Still, Jungkook stubbornly stayed facing his back to you. A couple moments. “Kookie ‘m done.” He turned around and you can see how he was blushing from your comments earlier. He takes in the sight of you tipsy and adorned in his favorite hoodie. Cute.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” says flicking the light switch off and walking out.

“Nooooooooo, Kook stay wit me pleaaase,” you whined, “Please don’t leave.”

“Y/N—”

“C’mon Googie,” you patted the other side of the bed, “It-It’ll help me sleep.”

Jungkook hesitated. “Alright,” he strode to the other side of the bed, mirroring the events of that night.

He sighed when you quickly rolled over and threw yourself into his body, embracing him securely in your short arms. “I really really really really like you Kookie... Kook. Kookster... Ratkook…like you a lot.” Jungkook stiffened under your touch. ‘She’s drunk. It doesn’t mean anything,’ he reminded himself.

“Don’t say stuff like that, Y/N.”

“Whyy not?”

“Shhhh...go to sleep. We’ll see if you still like me in the morning.”

You settle for this compromise and hope that this time, he does stay.

Your eyes stung as they desperately tried to get used to the sunlight spilling in from the windows. You were burning up under the blanket and you felt heated up in the baggy hoodie that you were adorned in. Your head was throbbing and you couldn’t remember why you were wearing it .. until you did. It hit you all at once. Party. Jungkook. Bedroom. Drunk. Home. And suddenly, it felt cold. So cold on the other side of the bed when you realized that Jungkook wasn’t there. Not like he promised.

Clang! You heard a loud drop from outside the bedroom. Is there someone else in your home? You decided to act quick. You grabbed the closest weapon you could find near your queen bed: a fan, and hoped for the best as you tip-toed towards the door. As you approached the living room and were slowly coming into view with the kitchen, you heard sizzling noises. Is someone cooking? You soon found out that that someone was no one other Jeon Jungkook. Wearing your Hello Kitty apron. Caught like a deer in the headlights making .. pancakes?

“Oh hey..” he said while grasping the pan in his left hand, eyes wide.

“Jeon.. are you making pancakes?”

“I wanted to surprise you in bed.”

“That is .. very sweet,” you replied. And very domestic.

At the thought of that, it became too much. Jungkook’s messy hair in the morning was something that you’d never you’d find so cute on your best friend. Thinking about how domestic this situation was and how likely that it was just a short term thing made your headache worse and you needed to sit down. “I’m going to my room,” you stated abruptly, “And then we can talk over pancakes.”

“Ummm.. okay,” Jungkook obeyed. And you dragged your feet into your room.

Outside in the kitchen, Jungkook gulped as he recalled your demeanor and words. What did you mean about that talk? He placed the pancake gently on your plate and poured more batter into the pan to make more. Is the talk about our relationship? He thought. He let his thoughts wander and he slowly became paranoid.

Did she find out about the talk I had with Rose?

Does she know how I feel about her?

Shit. Jungkook was so afraid to have that talk with you. In an attempt to calm his nerves, he focused on making the perfect pancakes for you. He placed strawberry slices in a perfect circle around the pancake and a square of melted butter in the center, for the aesthetics. If he couldn’t win your heart over, he could at least impress you with his culinary skills.

After quickly shutting the door, you finally exhaled when you were alone in the room. You also realized that maybe you were blowing it out of proportion. Your feelings about Jungkook should not have been bothering you this much. You let it affect your relationship and it was the last thing that you wanted to do. Jungkook’s friendship meant so much more to you than some recent crush you’ve been harboring on him.

You flicked on the bathroom lights and grabbed your toothbrush. You were going to freshen up before you were going out there to have that talk. You didn’t know exactly what you were going to say to him. Maybe you would tell him about your feelings and hope that it doesn’t drive him away. Maybe you dismiss what you said and nonchalantly go outside to devour some breakfast. No, you needed to get out whatever you needed to get out now. You were going to tell him how you feel and try to salvage the friendship as best as you can.

After brushing your teeth and getting rid of your morning breath as quickly as you could, you walked out of that door and slowly creeped out onto the hallway for the second time that morning. You found Jungkook finishing up on the pancakes. Still adorned in that ridiculous Hello Kitty apron, he was sprinkling powdered sugar on the pancakes and humming to Bad Guy by Billie Eilish. Sheeesh, why does he have to be so cute.

“Hey.. Jeon,” You called him sheepishly.

He looked up from what he was doing, “Oh Y/N, I finished the pancakes, do you wanna sit down?”

You nodded and he was quickly pulling out the chair at the dinner table to seat you. Not only is he cute but he’s sweet, you were so screwed.

It’s not like Kook wasn’t sweet before. He’s always been sweet. From the day you met him until now. Even after making through the torture of high school, the man you met in the beginning still remains the same. You remembered that time you had lost the cap to your water bottle and he chugged his entire water bottle on the spot so that you could have his cap. It was a small gesture but it was still selfless and it showed you what type of friend Jungkook as. You remembered when Jungkook would stay a bit later after school events to help clean up the trash that his classmates left. He was always such a polite and sweet boy. You couldn’t believe that it took you this long and a fake relationship to really see and appreciate these qualities he possessed.

“Y/N? Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Jungkook called and you snapped out of your daze, “You haven’t touched your pancakes yet? Is everything alright?”

“Huh? Oh no, everything’s fine,” You covered your tracks. You stabbed your fork at the edge of the pancake and began eating. The pancakes were fluffy and tasted perfectly sweet with the powdered sugar. It was a nice touch.

“So.. are they good?” Jungkook asked while raising his eyebrows jokingly, trying to ease up the tension between you two.

“Really good, Jeon. I didn’t know you could cook like this,” You said and resumed gobbling up your breakfast.

There was a pregnant silence before you finally spoke.

“Can we talk about last night?”

“Uhh sure.. What do you remember from last night?”

“Not that much. I was really drunk. I just remember getting drunk and calling out some idiot with a terrible choice for karaoke,” you lied.

“Oh so you don’t remember me bringing you home?”

“Nope, could you remind me again?” You lied again hoping you could take the cowardly route. If Jungkook doesn’t mention what you said to him last night then that meant it didn’t hold any significance to him. It would be a clean slate for you.

“Oh.. umm.. You ran into Hoseok at the party while you were really drunk and then I came to get you. And uhh.. I took you back to your apartment. You were, shitfaced, by the way. Like super drunk. You were drooling on my shoulder, slurring your words. You couldn’t even find your own roo—”

“Okay, I get it, Jeon,” you stopped him.

“Yeah.. so anyways, I just took you to your bed and tucked you in.”

“That’s it?

“You also asked me to stay and sleep there beside you,” he continued.

You nodded while eyeing him, a tiny part of you wanting him to say the next part.

“Youalsotoldmethatyoulikedme,” he rushed out the words.

“Huh?” You acted oblivious.

“Uhh.. You uhh t-told me that you like me .. a lot,” he blushed red as a tomato as he talked, “But I mean.. You were drunk right? So it couldn’t mean anything, right? I mean you probably didn’t even recognize m—”

“I meant it,” you managed to utter out those three words despite your nervous heartbeat telling you otherwise. After processing your words, you didn’t believe Jungkook could turn redder.

“Wh-what?”

You took a deep breath in.

“Look, drunken words are just sober thoughts right? I .. didn’t mean to catch feelings. I know this isn’t what you wanted when I agreed to fake that relationship with you and I know you and Rose are probably a thing now. I guess it’s good that our plan worked like you wanted. Or not really.. Not for me really,” you rambled, “I saw you guys at the party so I’m really happy for you and Rose but I think I’m going to have to take a brea—”

“Hold on, hold on, what? You said that me and Rose were a thing?”

You nodded your head slowly at him as if this was obvious.

“Where did you get that crazy idea?” He asked incredulously.

“I.. uhh saw you at the party,” you answered hesitantly.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he desperately tried to remember what moment you were referring to.

“Did you mean when I was talking to her privately?” He emphasized privately and it hurt more than it should have. “Yes, I didn’t mean to see. I was just looking for the bathroom and I stumbled into that same room that you guys were talking.”

You and Jungkook sat in silence as Jungkook was trying to find the right words.

“Rose confessed to me,” he said bluntly.

“Wow.. That’s good for you Kook. But seriously, I get it. I don’t really need to know what comes after that. I told you how I felt—”

“But I didn’t get to tell you how I feel.”

You narrowed your eyes in confusion, “What do you mean by that?”

“I rejected Rose,” he took a deep breath, “Y/N.. I like you a lot.”

This time you were even more shocked.

“You better not be playing around with me.. That would not be a cool best friend prank and I don’t care if this is revenge for those times I airdropped embarrassing videos of you to Taehyung.”

“No, Y/N I’m serious. I’m not fucking around I swear. I’ve liked you forever.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’m a coward. C’mon you know me, Y/N.”

“And what was all that fake dating because you ‘liked’ Rose?”

“I felt.. it was time I initiated something. I just..was too afraid to tell you about my actual feelings so I thought maybe I could..uhh.. ease into it and maybe convince you to fall for me in the meantime?”

You snorted, “Well it worked, you clown.”

“Yeah no shit Sherlock, you got it bad for me.”

“Do not get cocky on me. I will walk out that door,” you threatened.

“Yes ma'am,” he tried to hold back his laughter, “So uhh .. what do we do now?”

“Guess we’re dating now..” you smiled as you tried to resume to your breakfast nonchalantly before, “Do you wanna make out after we finish our breakfast? Because I’ve got all these repressed feelings dying to get out.”

You’ve never seen Jeon gobble down his food faster.

526 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

Walk Me Home - Ch 5

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3777

Author’s Note: Eternal thanks to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. Decided to give Wednesday posting a try and also get a chapter up a little earlier to make up for lack of posting. Be prepared to brush your teeth after this one. The fluff morphed into cotton candy when I wasn’t looking. Also, be prepared, the next chapter is short, but...intense? Yes. Let’s say intense.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 5

Kimber drifts gradually back to consciousness, feeling warmer and safer than she has in decades. She draws in a deep breath, stretching luxuriously, and then stilling suddenly. This bed is not her bed. This blanket is not her blanket. She has a brief moment of panic before she opens her eyes to find Dean’s face inches from hers, smooth and relaxed with sleep.

She’d only been able to let him go last night long enough for him to grab his own quick shower and change into sleep clothes. Then, in wordless agreement, they’d settled under the covers of her bed. They’d woven limbs together, pressed close without a word of discussion or thought of awkwardness.

Just as she was falling asleep, she felt his cheek press against the top of her head, and he’d murmured a single question. She nodded her consent, and his lips met her forehead, just as soft and warm as she remembered. Then sleep asserted its claim.

Kimber lies still in Dean’s arms now, afraid to move and wake him. She’s never seen him this peaceful and relaxed, even back before life took more of a toll on him. With his guard down, she can finally see all the fine lines etched by a hard life spread over his features, adding depth and detail to his face.

In the early morning light filtering through the threadbare curtains, she can just make out a sparse sprinkling of gray in his hair, and she smiles. Time may be catching up with Dean Winchester, but he is definitely not worse for wear.

She shifts a little, freeing a hand, and he grumbles in his sleep, his arms tightening for a second before relaxing again. She strokes his hair back gently, combing her nails lightly across his scalp, and he shivers against her.

She’s never seen him this vulnerable, this soft, even when they were younger. She has to strangle down the urge to trace his facial features with her fingertips. Whatever this is between them is strained by absence and misunderstanding but has somehow managed to survive the years. Touching him so intimately without his knowledge or consent…

No, she thinks. I want to ask him, I want him to hear him say yes. I want him to ask me to touch him.

Instead, she snuggles closer, closing her eyes and resting her face on his chest again, basking in the safety and warmth of his embrace for as long as she can. She is mortified when, five minutes later, her stomach lets out a growl so loud that it actually rouses Dean from his sleep. His arms tense as he stretches and frowns, eyebrows lowering with concern.

“You hungry or just really happy to see me?” he rumbles, his eyes closing again. She giggles, embarrassment abated. Then she becomes acutely aware of the rat’s nest that is her hair and what tastes like a truly horrific case of morning breath. She disentagles herself from his legs and rolls from his grasp, smiling to herself at his muttered protests. Snatching her previous day’s clothes, Kimber slips into the bathroom to perform whatever damage control she can manage under the circumstances.

Thirty minutes later finds them at the diner across the parking lot, downing coffee with mutual, silent appreciation. Dean’s brother Sam is expected imminently, and Kimber has no classes or office hours today, so they are mostly ready to begin the investigation.

“We need to sweep your office and house for hex bags,” Dean says, between sips of his second cup of coffee. “Your house will take a while, so why don’t we start with your office to get it out of the way?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kimber agrees, frowning. “I’ll know if anything is missing, out of place, or new. Maybe you and Sam could check out the spots of the other accidents?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, then his eyes focus on something over her shoulder, and he nods a greeting. She turns to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit headed in their direction. It takes her longer than she’s proud to admit to reconcile this giant stranger with the slumped, defeated boy she last saw in the backseat of the Winchester’s car.

“Sam?”

His smile is warm, if a little hesitant, and she stands. They fumble between a hug and a handshake, finally settling on the former before seating themselves. A waitress drops off another mug for Sam, along with coffee refills all around, and they waste no time filling Sam in on the little they know and what they have planned.

“Actually, Sam,” Dean adds, glancing askance at the egg white omelette the waitress places in front of his brother, “I was thinking you could interview the victims at the hospital, see if they noticed anyone out of the ordinary or had contact with anyone that sounds like our stalker.”

Sam nods, his mouth full, and turns questioning eyes on Kimber. She closes her eyes, pushing as much distraction from her mind as possible.

“He was...on the shorter side. I’d say I probably have an inch or so on him. Younger than me, but I don’t know by how much. I’m really bad at judging age, I’m sorry. Unshaven but not a full beard, kind of rough-looking. Really pale. He never looked me in the eyes, so I didn’t see his eye color. Dark, shaggy hair.”

She shrugs, spreading her hands in apology. “I don’t remember much else. Dark blue windbreaker? It’s been a few weeks, and I didn’t think I’d have to point him out in a line-up or anything.”

Sam shakes his head quickly, swallowing. “No, Kimber, it’s fine. That’s more to go on than we usually have. I’ll talk to the victims, see if anyone stands out in their minds. You two have a solid plan. I’ll give you a call after I visit the hospital, see what I can find out.”

He hesitates, his eyebrows knitted together. “Kimber, I know you’re under a lot of strain, but could you go over the incidents one more time so I have the basics before I go talk to them? I wouldn’t ask, but I need to know what to expect.”

She can’t repress the shudder than runs through her stomach, but she shakes it off and rolls her shoulders. This is just an information exchange. She can handle that. She may need a drink or two afterwards, but she can get through it one more time.

Sam listens attentively, his forehead wrinkled, mouth set in a thin-lipped frown as she recounts the series of accidents plaguing her department. He exchanges some sort of troubled, wordless communication with Dean before glancing down at his folded hands. After considering for a long moment, he speaks, his words measured and careful.

“It definitely sounds like someone has a grudge against your department, at least, if not you specifically. All the victims are friends or work closely with you. We don’t know if any of the other victims got a doll like yours. That’s something for my list. You sure you can’t think of any reason, anything at all, that might make someone target all of you?”

She shoves down her mounting frustration, feeling impotent and slow. If she could think of anything at all helpful, she would have shared it by now.

“I really can’t, I’m sorry. I just don’t interact with that many people outside of the department, and we all get along fine, as far as I know. No special treatment, no recent honors anyone could be jealous of. I checked in with my hunter contacts that I’d helped out with witch cases in the last few years, even a few non-witch cases that were still open, and I got nowhere with that. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Sam sighs, nodding before finishing the last of his coffee. “Figured it was worth asking. Okay, I’m heading out. Dean, I’ll give you a call in a few hours.”

Dean nods to Sam, and the younger Winchester excuses himself, crossing the crowded restaurant with a few long strides before disappearing out the door.

Kimber turns back to Dean, her eyes wide with shock she’s barely managed to suppress until just now. He frowns, taking in her expression, looks down to inspect his shirt, then back up, his face comically confused.

“What? Do I have food on my face?”

“What did you feed him after you left town?!” Kimber keeps her volume low but can’t keep the wonder from her voice. “Growth hormones? Steroids? Jesus, he’s over a foot taller than the last time I saw you both, and he was already thirteen then!”

Dean barks out a loud, sharp laugh that earns him a reproving glance from a passing waitress. He bites his lip, covering his mouth with his hand, only partially successful at smothering his snort. She can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed at her outburst, but still…

“No, just lots of fast food. Good, healthy, all-American diet. Almost had to get a full-time job, just keepin’ him fed and clothed. Kid grew out of shoes and jeans like nothin’ I’ve ever seen.”

There’s no mistaking the fondness in Dean’s voice, almost more paternal than brotherly. And the off-hand comment about keeping Sam clothed and fed...Kimber’s heart twinges, but she carefully keeps her face as relaxed and amused as she can.

“Ready to go?” she asks. He nods and stands, lifting the check from the table to take up to the register. He offers her a hand, an inviting smile curling one corner of his mouth, and she does her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach as her fingers slide into his.

…

“I promised Sam I’d go to opening night,” Dean said, something like an apology in his voice. “He’s only working tech, but he’s really excited. It’s been a while since we’ve stayed anywhere long enough that he could get involved like this.”

Kimber squeezed his fingers, pulling her coat closed with her other hand. The temperature had dropped over the last few days, and the evening was brisk as they walked hand-in-hand to the high school.

“Dean, are you kidding? You’re taking me to a play, dinner, and meeting your family all at once. Three birds with one date!” She skipped a little, swinging his hand with hers, flashing him her most exaggerated grin as she let her eyes go wide and kooky. He snorted, glancing away to hide his smile.

He stopped suddenly, tugging gently until she stepped closer, her expression relaxing. His knuckles slid gently down her cheekbone and under her jaw, lifting her chin. He kissed her, a sweet, chaste brush of his lips over hers that sent her pulse dancing. Her cheeks warmed under his attention, and he pressed his lips a fraction more firmly against hers before straightening.

His eyes sparkled in the light from the streetlamp overhead. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

She popped up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, marveling at her own bravery as her hands clasped the sides of his face, locking him in place. Before he could recover, she grabbed his hand, tugging him into a run down the sidewalk, and they arrived at the school, breathless and laughing.

The performance of Oklahoma! was pretty standard for high school. Simple dance sequences, fair to decent singing (for the most part), and about forty minutes longer than Kimber preferred. They waited afterwards for Sam to make his way from the lighting board, and he shyly offered his hand to Kimber, who accepted, smiling and squeezing his fingers just a little.

The three of them arrived at the diner, relieved to see most families were celebrating at the more expensive restaurants across town. Sam looked over the menu, his eyes as hungry as the growl that escaped his stomach. Kimber didn’t miss the sad look he shot Dean before closing the menu and setting it down.

When he ordered an ice water and peanut butter sandwich, Kimber’s heart cracked.

“Sam, it’s my treat tonight. You did a great job; Mrs. Hasker never lets eighth graders work the soundboard, so go nuts. Order whatever you want. It’s your night.”

Sam, eyes wide with hope, glanced at Dean, who looked torn between shame and relief. Dean cleared his throat, shot a grateful smile at Kimber, then nodded at Sam.

“You did good, kid. Go for it.”

Sam’s face brightened, and Kimber couldn’t help but mirror his expression as he ordered a strawberry milkshake, double cheeseburger, and cheese fries. Kimber discreetly jabbed Dean in his ribs, and he side-glared at her, suppressing what was very definitely not a manly squeak of surprise.

“You, too, big brother,” she said, her eyes narrowing pointedly. His lips thinned, his expression pinched. She knew she was hitting a nerve for him; it was fine to accept dinner invitations at home, and fine for her to treat his little brother, but paying for him on a date was an entirely different matter. He visibly wrestled with the simple decision, frustration and pride warring with want.

She softened her expression, placing her hand over his clenched fist. “Please?” She mouthed. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Sam, who was happily chatting with the smiling waitress about the performance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Dean’s face.

“Double-bacon cheeseburger, and chili fries, please.”

Dinner with the Winchester boys was a delight that Kimber never forgot. Though Dean teased his younger brother mercilessly, liberally sprinkling descriptors like “geek” and “nerd” in his comments, she saw the way his eyes would linger on Sam as the younger boy inhaled his meal between answering questions about his classes and the performance.

“Are you going to take AP classes, Sam?” Kimber asked. He seemed so keen and motivated, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t want to.

“I want to, but we move so much, I don’t think I could keep up with the curriculum,” he admitted, his expression falling.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Kimber lowered her voice conspiratorially. Sam leaned a little closer, intrigued, and she smiled at his eagerness. It was like looking at a mirror of herself just a few years ago.

“Most AP classes follow the same guidelines across the country, almost week by week. Mr. Schaeffer is the AP coordinator at our school, and he’s pretty cool for a teacher. If you talk to him, explain your situation, I’ll bet he could get you copies of most of the AP curriculum, maybe even some spare textbooks, so you could keep up with it as you guys move around.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean shrugged, affecting disinterest as he leaned back to drape an arm around Kimber’s shoulder.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean drawled, “but Kimber’s the top of our class, so she’s probably got some idea what she’s talking about.” He let out an exaggerated huff of air as Kimber’s elbow connected with his side, doubling over as he pretended to fall out of the booth.

Sam peppered Kimber and Dean with questions about their classes for the rest of the night and didn’t even have to be convinced to have an extra large slice of celebratory pie to finish the meal off.

The three of them stayed late enough at the diner that Kimber was obliged to call her parents on the pay phone in the corner to assure them that she had not, in fact, been kidnapped and left in a ditch on the side of the road. The temperature had dropped considerably, so when Kimber’s mother offered to give all three of them a ride home, Kimber accepted without thinking.

“My mom will be here in about ten minutes,” she announced as she slid back into the booth. “She’s going to give you two a lift back to the motel on our way home.”

Dean’s expression fell sharply, and Kimber’s heart sank.

“You didn’t-”

“Thanks!” Sam said, unintentionally speaking over Dean. “It got so cold out all of a sudden. Say, do you think I should talk to Mr. Schaeffer tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better,” she said, shrugging on her coat. Sam nodded, slurping down the last of his drink and loping off to the bathroom. She glanced over at Dean, who was sitting stone-faced, a muscle twinging above his jaw.

“I didn’t mean to...I mean, I should have asked, Dean. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes closed, his jaw clenching as his lips pinched tight. Kimber waited, feeling the sting of tears prick at the back of her eyes. She’d crossed some unspoken line between them, and she didn’t know what to do to fix the moment. It had been such a good night, up til then.

“I...I’m not mad...at you,” Dean finally ground out. “Just...just gimme a second.”

He scrubbed his face with both hands, then glanced back towards the bathroom before speaking. He kept his eyes on the table-top, his hands clenching and unclenching on the cheap formica.

“I’m not...used to accepting hand-outs. I can take care of Sam, Kimber, I don’t need...you didn’t...you didn’t have to.”

She opened her mouth, fully ready to defend herself, but he held up a hand.

“I know. I know what you’re going to say. I get that it’s not a hand-out. I know you don’t...I know you aren’t lookin’ down at us. I’m not used to…”

He cleared his throat, then reached out to her, his eyes still firmly on the table-top. When he spoke, his voice was low and thick, his words measured.

“I promise, I’m not mad at you. Can we leave it at that for now?” He turned pleading eyes in her direction, his hand palm-up on the table. Her fingers were in his before she realized she’d moved. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded and allowed herself to be pulled up from the booth.

Sam came barreling back from the restroom then, saving them from further awkward conversation, and they bundled up against the chill. By the time Kimber’s mother arrived, Dean had relaxed enough to greet Mrs. Harper pleasantly, and when they reached the motel, he leaned up to kiss Kimber’s cheek before climbing out of the backseat with Sam in tow.

The next day at school, Dean was a little distracted, almost distant. He walked her home that afternoon in almost complete silence. They were a block from her house when she couldn’t take the tension anymore. She stopped short, biting her lip as tears stung her eyes. To her shame, her throat started to clench, choking any attempt at words.

Dean looked back at her, concern and confusion clear on his face at her sudden stop.

She swiped the heel of her hand across her cheeks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry about last night,” she managed, less coherently than she would have liked. “I didn’t mean to...I didn’t...I’m sorry I ruined the evening.”

Dean was in front of her in an instant, thumbs wiping the tears from her face, lips pressed fiercely against her forehead.

“No, sweetheart.” His tone was rough and resolute. “I told you I’m not mad at you. Last night was...Last night was wonderful. I haven't seen Sam that happy in a long time. It’s been a rough few months. Sam and Dad have started fighting. Dad expects a lot from him, but not the usual good grades kind of ‘a lot.’ And when Dad pushes, Sam pushes back, and I…”

He dropped his forehead to hers, and Kimber pulled in a shaking breath.

“I didn’t want to drag you into our mess. You are perfect, and Sam and I both had a great time last night. Thank you. For dinner. For making Sam so happy. For everything.” He pulled back a few inches, catching her gaze. “Please don’t apologize again.”

She nodded, unable to answer aloud. He searched her eyes until he was satisfied, then nodded.

“ ‘M gonna kiss you now, so Imma need you to hold back on the tears for a minute. People will think I’m a terrible kisser if you cry through the whole thing.”

She laughed, and he caught her off guard, pressing his lips to hers before deepening the kiss. His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head until he found an angle to please them both. His tongue swept, feather-light, across her lower lip, and she melted.

They came back to Earth a few moments later, jolted from their universe by enthusiastic honking and shouting from a passing car full of guys from one of their classes. Kimber hid her blazing face against Dean’s neck as he nodded, grinning and waving at the other boys.

Instead of pulling away, Kimber linked her arms around his neck, shivering against a biting breeze that swept past. Dean’s arms constricted, pulling her close enough that she felt his heartbeat against her chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean whispered, his words nearly lost in the breeze. Then he pulled away, linked his fingers through hers, and walked her home. He kissed her once more on her doorstep, holding her face between his warm, calloused palms, eyes closed.

He rested his forehead against hers briefly before stepping back. He tried to deliver that smooth, carefree grin from their first study session and failed miserably.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said. Then he turned, flipping up the collar of his jacket, and stuffed his hands into his pockets as he headed down the walkway. She watched him go, wanting nothing more than to run after him. The set of his shoulders, the tense bend of his neck, told her to hold her ground, though.

Something else was eating at Dean, and she knew him well enough to know that needling him wouldn’t get him to open up. He needed space and understanding, and she would just have to sit on her frustration. He asked for so very little, the least she could do was give him some time to work through whatever was going on. She just hoped it wouldn’t take too much time for him to open up. She hated seeing him so distant and miserable.

When Dean finally turned up that evening, he was thirty minutes late for dinner. His father glowered at the pair of them from the driver’s seat of a sleek, black muscle car, while Sam slumped, miserable, in the back. Kimber realized with cold, painful clarity that they had, in fact, no time left at all.

…

Chapter 6

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rpbetter · 3 years ago

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Today I learned a popular vent blog is repressing submissions about the drama with the now defunct resource blog. They probably have a relationship to the resource blog admin, or they are the admin. I know two people who sent submissions that were not published, but new submissions they made after were. The admin is silent after inquiries about it. They are ignoring everyone who tries to talk about it. It is so hard to find a place in the rpc that is transparent right now, a place that does not censor people who need to get things off their chest. Of all places that should keep their bias in check. It should not be a vent blog. That is one of the last places people go when they can not confide in their rp partners, or people in real life. Sometimes just having a vent post published can be everything. It is more silencing than people think.

Okay, I do know what you're talking about. I've said in the past that I specifically look around the RPC to gauge a rounder set of experiences, problems, etc. That blog is such a place that I have visited in the past to do so, and I have both noticed and been told what you're telling me now. I will admit, because I do believe in honesty here as a part of transparency one should strive to uphold off of their RP and personal blogs, that I have held exactly these suspicions since the blog choose to "handle" recent events the way they did. That is why I was paying attention to the disparity in both original submissions published and the responses to them.

What I have seen is a little uncomfortable feeling. It isn't just The Topic itself, it's also anything relating too closely to that mun's repeatedly expressed positions on things as well. Well, you know, a frightening number of people do feel the same way, do engage in those behaviors, so I am willing to believe that I am merely seeing shit where it doesn't exist. I am, after all, just a person, doing what people do, being fallible. I'm not acting on any information that anyone else out there isn't privy to, I also want t be clear about that. It's the opposite of my interest to withhold information, make it up, or inflame the situation.

Like everyone else in the RPC right now, it's incredibly difficult to not be suspicious. So many really ugly things were revealed and transpired, it was like every three hours there was something horrifying and new going on. And the way that it was left off, with the meme blog mun and with that vent blog just served to chafe those feelings for many.

So, again, while I am not trying to give this all a spritzer of gasoline, and neither am I acting on any knowledge none of you have, I've had suspicions since the time that vent blog decided that it was fully appropriate to refuse action for what went on that there was a bit of a personal connection going on. When your blog has established that it will mass-block people for far less, but suddenly, over this, it's a useless effort not going to help anyone? I'm sorry, that's suspicious to me. If nothing else, it was incredibly shitty to tell muns who were targetted because of interactions on their blog to just get over it and be adults when the adult thing is to approach the mods (hello, it does stand for moderator) with concerns, and this is a serious concern.

One that has done exactly as you say - effectively shut down venting and communication on that blog. I love that the direction is constantly to take things to the comments lmao gee, I wonder why no one is willing to openly comment anymore? Total mystery! Could it be that even you feel you can handle potential harassment, you don't want to endanger anyone else who might not be able to? Possibly.

Venting has a negative connotation here anyway, that doesn't help. Months before this all happened, I was seeing an increasing number of people equating such blogs to burnbooks, or at best, "childish echo chambers."

However, venting on one's own blog is not alright either. We're not supposed to have a visible problem with anyone or anything they're doing, ever. It's supposed to work out every time like this: you approach the person(s) causing you this problem and discuss it maturely with them in private, the issue is resolved, and everyone goes off into the sunset crapping rainbows. Double ones, even.

The problem is...it doesn't work out like that very often. That isn't to say it shouldn't be your first action, it should. Sometimes, especially if you've been both lucky and extremely careful about your writing partners, you'll be wonderfully surprised and it'll be a great conversation that helps both muns. So much of the time though, it instigates a fight because everyone is automatically defensive as hell, or one or both muns are so afraid of that happening that they'll refuse to have a meaningful confrontation (confrontation is not always negative, we need to stop viewing it that way). One or both say whatever is necessary to smooth over the problem, while they change nothing at all, making the feelings of anger so much worse.

And maybe, this problem isn't that big of a deal, one needs to work themselves up into addressing it, or they've cause to actually fear the other mun's response to them.

So, they have three options, and none of them is alright with the RPC:

vent to a friend - this is unacceptable because it is always seen as talking shit behind another mun's back, bringing drama to others, and trying to force people to take sides, no matter how much none of these may be the case and hold a lot of variables depending on the type of venting and the relationship of the muns involved

vent/vague on the dash - not always the same thing, not always occurring at the same time, and not always invalid either, but always viewed as incredibly malicious and wrong. Even if the result was either getting the friend who wouldn't stop refusing to engage to have a meaningful conversation with you or finding a new partner because someone else has been experiencing it too, you know you're not going to do this to each other, and a mutual you've been ignoring is now a valued partner

vent on a vent blog - seen as even worse than venting on one's blog in some corners because it's a more open to visit place, it's just stirring up drama and fights, this makes everyone feel vagued about and suspicions and accusations of being mentioned/mentioning someone run wild. Everyone wants a drama-free dash, no one wants to allow anyone a better place to do it

Venting is important. I think it is necessary to maintaining a less explosive environment. It's called "venting" for a reason!

Maybe it is the most ridiculous complaint in history, but those things do build. And build. And build. Until they blow up all over in someone's face, it might even be someone totally innocent who happened to be in the right place at the wrong time with exactly the worst coincidental words spoken to you. These places allow for people to get it out without hurting anyone's feelings or starting a massive argument when it wasn't even anything that serious. They offer, or used to, different perspectives that let muns feel seen while helping them to decide whether they are just blowing things out of proportion, misunderstanding/potentially unaware of another aspect, or even in a worse situation than they were allowing themselves to be aware of with a harmful relationship.

It goes beyond just venting when there are conversations going on about the topics! Sometimes, people just need to feel like they're not so isolated. Sometimes, they legitimately lack the tools and perspectives to approach a problem more directly or successfully. And yes, sometimes, they even need to see that this is kind of shitty of them and they should reevaluate.

Vent blogs are difficult to manage.

We all have biases, and when it comes to more personal situations we can recognize or see ourselves within, that is never more likely to become a point of extra difficulty to keep in check. This is actually why I left that vent blog the first time around, there was way too much bias being expressed with a mod taking it upon themselves to opine on submissions, fight with people about them, and refuse to post them while vaguing about them. Among other, increasingly perturbing behaviors I had no desire to keep seeing daily on my dash.

When you decide to create or accept a position moderating such a blog, you have to know that you will be thus challenged. Someone is going to vent about someone you'll recognize, a situation you feel passionately about, or say something in a vent that upsets you. You have got to remain visibly impartial. Go on and vent about it yourself to friends, write a post on your personal, do whatever the hell you need to in order to not be visibly biased and acting upon that bias.

I see blogs like this, as well as other places of moderation, often becoming incensed and offering the angry justification that "mods are people." Yes, I should hope you are! No one is saying you must be an impossibly perfect person without opinions, biases, or mistakes. We are holding you to a higher standard of you deal with these things out in the open where you hold this position, yes. That's literally what your job is, my friends. Go off about it, feel your feelings, even cultivate a block list from that blog! But you don't show it, you don't ever make people feel worse when the point of your blog is to allow them a voice.

The only time you need to give a personal opinion is when it is requested or you need to express that a submission was declined/comment had to be moderated due to you exercising your judgment that it violated the rules.

This is supposed to be a safe place for muns to anonymously let it out of their systems and discuss these topics. Not a place where they'll feel exposed, judged by the mods themselves, and denied a voice because of a mod's biases being exercised.

And I'm extremely sorry that people are being made to feel this way, all over again in some cases, because someone cannot handle the position they took up. I'm sorry for the whole community who has lost an important outlet. I wish that I could recommend another place for people to go that might provide a better experience, but as yet, I do not. Hopefully, that'll be changing in the near-enough future, but for right now...all of the vent blogs I was familiar with have long since closed down.

If anyone has any currently running vent blog suggestions, I'd love to know about them and share them! Please, they do have to be legitimate vent blogs. I'm not going to recommend here that might be too close to actually being burnbook-like, deals in publishing URLs, and so on. If you want to engage with that, it's absolutely your choice, but it's not something I want to give certified approval to on this blog, and I hope you understand why. If they're legitimately anonymous, safer places serving as vent blogs, let me know so I can check them out for a few days and publish your ask!

It wasn't my intention with this blog, though I did offer that a couple of times just to get people talking about problems important to them in the past, but if you want to vent here, I'll do my best to publish them (unless you request otherwise) in a relatively timely fashion.

I'm just not a proper vent blog, and people should be aware of that! I do offer opinions on those matters. It's more in line with the point of this blog to do so - I want to be able to give some point of assistance in publishing them. I cannot promise, therefore, to be impartial, but I can promise to not judge you or ignore what you send because I don't agree, am tired of it, etc.

I'd just ask that, once again, everyone realize that sending hateful messages to me isn't going to result in me being nice to you in return. If you've a complaint to lodge, lodge it respectfully if you desire to be treated that way yourself. This blog will publish anon hate, that doesn't mean I'm going to be nice when you send it. Anything else, however, I will genuinely try to offer you the opportunity to be seen and heard, some advice, experiences I might have had with a similar issue, and to approach it fairly.

Sorry that everyone is going through a hard time, that it just doesn't seem to stop, and probably will not for some time now. Thank you for sending this, I hope it made you feel a little better! That has been, and will continue to be, my objective in publishing asks relating to this matter - I just want everyone to feel like they have some agency and respect somewhere, that they're being seen, and that they have the support of others in the community.

#answered #anonymous #vent blogs #tumblr rpc #drama cw

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imtrynnawriteshit · 5 years ago

Text

Jacob Frye x Female!Reader (1? Maybe? It’s a surprise for everyone involved)

Hullo!!! Guess who it is??

Me, a lil shit

This was fueled by an intense yearning for all things Victorian (I've been gazing longingly at what WikiVictorian posts on twitter for a couple of weeks now) coupled with an obsession with Mr. Frye

Contains Victorian slang, that I’ve probably butchered beyond recognition

Again, I do wanna continue this, but if I’m back to being a bastard, I might not rip

Pls lemme know if it's too cringe. If it is, I will bury myself in sand, never to surface

Words: 1768

Warnings: One (1) fuck (2 now, I suppose oof), might end up sounding a lil pretentious or sucky or both :(

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed (Syndicate)

Characters: Jacob Frye, You!!

Relationships: So far, Jacob Frye x Reader

The morning greeted you with news of your mother’s death.

Murder, they said it was, her throat slit open with an unnerving amount of precision. No eyewitnesses, even though it took place where she was completely surrounded by her guards. What good were they when they obviously couldn’t do their fucking jobs very well?

Pearl was deserving of a lot of things, but a lonely death wasn’t one of them.

Seated in your carriage, you idly wondered if the house would feel any emptier than it usually did, what with her always off somewhere, attending to business. You didn’t want to dwell on your uncle’s - no, Mr. Starrick’s words. Obviously they weren’t of consolation (not like you needed or wanted them to be, anyway); he wasn’t the kind to care for others, especially when they weren’t what he would consider family, you knew that. No, everything was about his wretched Order as always. The very Order that got the only familial figure to ever care for you killed.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you glanced out the window, hoping to lose yourself in the sights and sounds of the city around you, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of someone’s boot heading towards the top of the carriage, which jostled. Once. Twice.

You barely had enough time to blink, let alone register what was happening as you watched your driver fall (or was he thrown?) to the ground before the carriage sped away, much faster than before, crashing into lampposts and fences. It went on like this for what felt like ages, only coming to a (rather abrupt) halt once you were far enough away from where you’d been, making you lurch forward. One of your hands flew to your chest, the other gripping the seat in the time that you took a few deep breaths to try and get your racing heart back under control, even as you heard a dull thud, and heavy footsteps making their way towards you. The carriage door was flung open, and a man slid into the seat opposite you before shutting it with a resounding click.

While he made himself at home, you took the time to examine him, his general (and rather fetching, in your opinion) appearance and apparent nonchalant attitude (even to approaching an obviously unaccompanied and unwed woman, you thought amusedly, lips twitching into a barely detectable smirk) telling you all you needed to know. The gauntlet worn proud on his arm didn’t hurt either.

This was your mother’s killer. The assassin, Jacob Frye. Was he here to kill you now?

If death was to indeed come by his blade, you didn’t think you’d mind his being the last face you ever saw.

“Miss Attaway, I presume.” It wasn’t a question, but you still inclined your head slightly in acknowledgement. “And what were you up to this early in the day? Not taking the time to grieve before you step into mummy’s shoes?” His tone remained conversational, but you could see the accusation, the distrust in his eyes, in the way his body was ever so slightly tensed, poised to strike at the slightest hint of danger. This time, you let yourself smile.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Mr. Frye”, schooling your expression, you leaned forward slightly, matching the intensity of his gaze with your own while your hand stealthily crept towards the pistol you knew was tucked under the cushions, “your dealings had to do with Pearl, not me. Leave me out of whatever this is.”

That got a reaction out of him. Setting his mouth in a hard line, he copied you, elbows coming to rest on his knees, arms pointed casually in your direction, but you knew what it was: a warning. Your fingers curled around the gun the moment it came into your grasp, but you knew not to pull it out yet. You had to time it right.

Though, you supposed you were flattered to have managed to warrant such caution from a man clearly far more menacing than you were.

“Y'see, it is my business. You may be a proper bit of frock, but considering your…relations, it’s not a stretch to assume that the next time we meet may very well end with my blade buried in you.”

You only angled yourself further towards him, chin resting on your free hand as you tilted your head to the side, half-lidded eyes tracing his features, delighting in the way his own followed your movements closely.

“Is that a promise, Mr. Frye?”

Your words were but a whisper, spoken through lips curved in a salacious smile. Rather reluctantly, an answering grin spread across his face, and it took all you had to not swoon at the sight. It certainly wouldn’t do you very well to have him think you’d go off in an aromatic faint every time a man so much as smiled at you.

“None of your cheek and back answers now, this is a serious conversation. One that has no need of a pistol, I should think”, he motioned to where you’d been practically strangling the poor weapon just out of sight.

Straightening, you huffed and let your hands fall into your lap, “alright, fine, what exactly would you like to know? Or did you just abduct me to reprimand me for not mourning an adequate amount of time?”

He sat back again, arms crossed, a self satisfied look on his face, “We’ll get back to that later if you’d like, but for now”, his voice dropped an octave or two, and you felt it rumble through your chest, almost making your breath hitch, “what are Starrick’s plans for you?”

“If that’s your way of asking if I’m joining the Templars, then no, I’m not. He’s allowed me that much, at least. I will, however, be taking over ownership of Attaway Transport.”

He furrowed his brow, “you’re taking over the business? You don’t look like an Albertine.”

Though he probably didn’t mean them to, his words almost made you burst your stay lace. “I’ll have you know I’m more than capable of it! After all, I was the one taking care of the accounts back when Pearl was still- well-”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. And you’ll be working under Starrick, then?”

Attractive as he may have been, you didn’t think you liked the way he dismissed your (righteous) indignation.

“Certainly looks that way”, you narrowed your eyes at him, “if I want to keep the business, I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Otherwise I lose the deed.”

That piqued his interest. “You don’t want to work for him?”

“Of course not! He’s a right bastard.”

“And also your uncle.”

You rolled your eyes, “in name only. And with Pearl’s death, he’s not even that anymore. Said so himself, in as many words.”

“Hang on”, he frowned, “are you not related by blood? To him and Pearl?”

You scoffed incredulously, raising an eyebrow, “I thought assassins tended to research their targets thoroughly. It appears I was mistaken”, at his scowl, you hurriedly continued, “but no, I’m not. Pearl took me in when I was younger.”

“So you have no obligations to Starrick?”

“None”, you exhaled sharply, suddenly exhausted. This was not how you expected your day to go at all. Clearing your throat, you pressed on, “are we done here? Or was there something else you wanted?”

He seemed to think for a minute or two, before coming to a decision.

“Work with us.”

You were stunned, to say the least. It must’ve been apparent, because he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“What did you say?”

“Look, you’ll be running the only transport business in the city as of now, and I imagine you’d find yourself in close quarters with Starrick often enough. You could gather information, provide us with funds we - or others - might need, help liberate the people of London!” He spread his arms wide as he stared at you, likely eagerly awaiting your acceptance.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, sir?” Did he honestly expect you to agree? “The only person this partnership helps is you. I’m going to be the one sticking my neck out for you. And you have nothing to offer me in return. Any such agreement has to be mutually beneficial. And no”, you cut him off before he could get a word in, “your protection doesn’t count. It’s not exactly something I need.”

“But-”

“Mr. Frye”, you sighed, “you seem like a good man, and ordinarily I’d at least consider it, but it’s been a trying day, and-”, you paused as you saw the briefest glimpse of dismay cross his face, before it was gone. It made you uneasy, an incessant bob in your throat to see that, though you weren’t sure why. Still, you supposed you could be just a bit kinder. “Tell you what, if you do realise you have something you could bargain with, we can discuss terms. But only if I think it’s worth the trouble.”

He considered your words for a moment, before nodding, holding his hand out to you.

“We’re in agreement, then?”

“We are”, he affirmed, and you reached out to shake his hand.

“Wonderful. I’ll expect to see you soon enough. But for now”, you gestured vaguely in the direction you’d come from, “would you be so kind as to fetch me a driver? I’d walk, but I’m afraid I don’t know where we are. I might lose my way”, you smiled innocently up at him.

“I could always drive you, there’s no need for all that.”

“Forgive me, but any more of your driving and I might just find myself losing my breakfast”, you ignored his sputtering at your remark, “besides, there will be eyes on my home at all times now. Starrick doesn’t trust me yet, so he’s going to make absolutely certain I’m not…fraternising. I can’t be seen with you or anyone affiliated with you and your sister. So no Rooks either.”

He nodded, looking quite resigned, and opened the carriage door, “very well, ma'am, I shall fetch you your driver. Though, I do hope I don’t have to make an appointment for when I drop by to seal the deal?”

You bit your lip as a mischievous smirk flitted across your lips.

“I’d usually prefer a calling card, but I suppose you could always commandeer my carriage again. Only next time”, he turned to look at you, amusement glinting in his eyes, “try not to wreck London as you do so, please.”

Slang used:

Proper bit of frock - a pretty and clever well-dressed girl

(She’ll) go off in an aromatic faint - said of a fantastical woman, meaning that her delicate nerves will surely be the death of her

Back answers - sharp retorts, quick-tongued replies, without any concession to the laws of etiquette

Albertine - an adroit, calculating, business-like mistress

Burst (her) stay lace - A sudden bust-heaving feminine indignation, which might even literally, and certainly does figuratively, bring about this catastrophe.

Calling card - small cards used for social purposes; also called visiting cards

#Jacob Frye x reader #Jacob Frye #assassin's creed x reader #assassin's creed imagines #assassin's creed syndicate #mine

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minijenn · 4 years ago

Text

Universe Falls, Chapter 80, Part 3

Alsdkajsldkajdlasd I’m dying, Dimensions is done, I’m dead, I’m Dead MiniJen, my opus is complete and I’m Suffering from feels, enjoy this massive fucking painfest that you are NOT ready for enjoy (read it on ao3 or ff.net pls for formatting purposes)

Previous: https://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/623372505375277056/universe-falls-chapter-80-part-2

***

Chapter 80, Part 3: Dimensions

EW YLLVLT XUUR, VG OACC IWEOVU SD QGKU WZCT'H PQNG WG VRJPK CAIMTL PPX BUDL'U LTJF QF WG YAXX RWE PGTE CSI BUDL CRR 9 LMA BSWPES XTM QRGT

The very moment they fell into the Nightmare Realm, Stepper knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d been here before. His brief, yet awful time there had been, like most of his memories it seemed, completely locked away from the forefront of his mind. But now, upon getting so much as a single glimpse of the endlessly shifting spacescape that echoed with an unintelligible void of constant noise, it was as though a handful of sparse, somewhat distant recollections filled him as to what happened to him here. Here… in the place where Bill Cipher had cracked his gem, stolen his shield journal, and stripped him of any sense of who he was truly supposed to be.

As for his gem, it was still pounding substantial pain through his body with every passing moment. He couldn’t suppress an agonized cry as he was tossed forward by the force of the portal closing up behind him, Mabel clinging tightly to one of his lower hands as they were essentially thrown through the weightless expanse around them. Neither of them had any time to gather their bearings, however, as they were both stopped almost immediately upon abruptly crashing into the group that had entered the portal just before them.

Ford, Stan, and the Gems all reacted in apt alarm, spinning around with their weapons drawn to confront who they initially believed was Bill himself. Only to find the very pair they had been dead set on keeping out of this horrid place to begin with.

“Stepper!? Mabel!?” Pearl gasped in obvious shock. “W-what are you kids doing here?! We told you to stay home!”

“W-we couldn’t…” Stepper huffed as he moved one of his shaking lower arms to cover up his damaged gem, even though that did little to stem the searing pain originating from it. “We… I-I had to come… I-I have to get my journal back…”

“Yeah, and I’m with Stepper,” Mabel brazenly agreed, tightening her steadying grip on his hand. “No matter what.”

Despite the resounding ache still reverberating throughout his body, Stepper managed to glance down at Mabel to offer her a genuine smile of gratitude, one that she readily returned. An affirmation of their shared resolve to get back what the fusion had lost, even despite the danger they both knew they might face in doing so.

“N-no, you shouldn’t be here,” Lapis countered anxiously. “We need to get both of you back now.”

“We can’t,” Ford noted with an exasperated sigh. “The machine is set on a timer back in our dimension; it won’t reopen another wormhole home until about 24 hours in our time.”

“24 hours?” Stan asked incredulously. “You mean we’re stuck in this oversaturated wacko world for a whole day?”

“A day in our time, Stanley,” Ford corrected, annoyed. “Time moves differently here, remember?”

“Uh, so are we able to send these two home or nah?” Amethyst asked, pointing a thumb over at Stepper and Mabel.

“At this point, it doesn’t seem as though we really can…” Pearl mused with a worried frown.

“G-good, because we wouldn’t go back anyway!” Mabel proclaimed with an air of defiance in her tone. “Right, Stepper?”

Stepper could only nod weakly, his vision blurring as his gemstone unleashed yet another wave of unbearable anguish upon him. The stone flashed brightly, a strangled cry escaping him as he failed to keep himself upright, ultimately prompting Garnet to rush forward to catch him before he could fall into the empty space ahead of him.

“There’s no time for arguing,” the Gem leader said staunchly as she kept a close, protective hold on Stepper’s trembling body. “They’re here now, which means we have to do our best to protect them. And to get his journal back as quickly as possible.”

A beat of fretful silence passed at this as everyone spared a concerned glance Stepper’s way, his condition seeming to worsen more with each passing second. The color of his gem was a dull, almost gray kind of pink, even as it flashed with a bright, warning white light almost constantly. His skin was pale between the pink cracks torn across it, his eyes tightly shut against the chilling pain pounding through his veins. Pain that the others knew there was only one way to stop, or at least, a way they hoped would stop it.

“Did I hear someone was looking for a journal?” An all-too-familiar voice suddenly boomed across the Nightmare Realm, catching the entire group starkly off guard from the very first word. Several of them gripped their weapons tightly, tensely glancing around the surrounding void for any sign of the dream demon they’d come here to confront. Only to find that Bill himself was hovering high above them, far out of anyone’s immediate reach. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” he remarked casually as he reclined coolly in the air. “I recently got my hands on a real page-turner that I might be willing to lend out… for the right price.”

The reaction to Bill’s unexpected, yet largely informal arrival was sharp and immediate on all sides. The Gems lashed out first, Pearl and Amethyst pushing themselves through the gravity-free air with their respective weapons drawn to land a starting attack against the dream demon. Before either of them could even get close, however, Bill swiftly disappeared, only to rematerialize seconds later not too far away from the group still positioned down below.

“Hey, now! How about we-” Bill protested, only for Ford and Lapis to lash out simultaneously, the former with one of the several blasters he’d brought along and the latter with a series of successive waves of water. Even though Bill evaded these attacks just as easily, Garnet, who had just handed off Stepper’s safekeeping to Stan and Mabel, was next, rushing at him furiously with both of her gauntlets ready to land a devastating strike. Yet even so, Bill easily rebuffed her, sending her flying back toward the other Gems with a mere wave of his hand before he came to calmly hover above the disgruntled group of visitors to his realm.

“Yeesh, have any of you ever heard of manners before?” he asked with a harsh scoff, his hands on his edges. “You don’t just barge into someone’s house and start throwing hands without a single, solitary hello, do you?”

“We do if it’s your house, chump!” Amethyst yelled, tossing her whip out as Pearl swiftly tossed her forward in another bold offensive. However, Bill managed to catch the end of her whip, carelessly flinging it behind him to send the purple Gem flying before deflecting the spear Pearl had sent his way in retaliation.

“Boy, you all sure are riled up,” Bill noted with faux innocence. “I wonder what’s got you all so upset that you’d go through all the trouble of coming here to see me personally…?”

“You know exactly why we’re here, Bill!” Ford shouted, his blaster still trained on the dream demon.

“Return Stepper’s shield journal now,” Garnet demanded briskly, both of her gauntleted hands clenched in tight, unyielding fists. “Or else we’ll make you.”

“Ha! Make me?” Bill laughed mockingly, sizing himself down to a much smaller scale as he circled the group mirthfully. “Do any of you really think you stand a chance against me here, on my home turf? C’mon, get real. All you need to do is take one look at your ragtag little group of LOSERS and you’ll see why this whole thing is a very bad idea…” At this, Bill focused on the Gems, all three of whom had their weapons raised on a defensive guard as they eyed their old foe with mutual distrust and disdain. “First we’ve got the Crystal Chumps, who always THINK they save the day, but when they think they do they always find a way… to mess everything UP!” Easily provoked by such a cruel remark, the trio reacted aggressively, swinging their respective weapons in the hopes of landing so much as a single hit on the malicious dream demon, though as usual, he slipped away before they could get the chance. “And Sixer, it’s a no brainer why you’re here,” Bill remarked rather teasingly as he appeared just in front of Ford. The author wasted no time in firing a blast at him, though the dream demon disappeared before it could even come close to touching him. “I always figured you’d come crawling back here sooner or later. Still got some… unfinished business with me, don’t ya?”

“I certainly do,” Ford remarked immediately, offering the dream demon a relentless glare. “And this time, I’m not about to let you get away with-”

“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, vengeance, blah, blah, I ruined your life, blah, blah, blah,” Bill mocked callously, only serving to aggravate the author even more. “You’re really starting to sound like a broken record at this point, Fordsy. Speaking of broken… Water Wings! Nice to finally meet ya face to face! Especially since I’ve heard so much about you from poor little Pine Tree.” Bill’s tone was cheery and bright as he glided over to Lapis, who had no qualms about launching another heavy wave of water at him right off the bat.

“You!” she shouted, furious as she continued trying to pin him down, only for Bill to steer clear of each of her onslaughts. “You’re the one who hurt Dipper and Steven, you… you monster!”

At this, the blue Gem unleashed just about all of her raw fury upon the dream demon, calling upon her aquatic wings to supply her with plenty of water to send a specifically-targeted tidal wave his way. But as usual, even this incredibly powerful attack did little to daunt Bill, who simply dispelled the water completely with a quick, flaming barrier.

“Monster? Aw, Water Wings, you’re too kind!” Bill quipped brightly, all but ignoring the intense glare Lapis was offering him as he turned his attention to Stan instead. “And wow! Looks like we’re meeting in the flesh for the first time too, Fez! Not that you’re a total stranger, I did go on a casual little romp through your mind a while back. Good times, good times.”

“You… what?” Stan asked, completely lost before he shook his head of this apparent distraction, raising his brass knuckles in preparation for a fight instead. “Whatever, who cares? You heard Shades: give the kids their magic book back and then get lost, freakshow!”

“Ohoho! So quick to the point! That’s what I like about you, Fez,” Bill remarked as nonchalant as ever. “You don’t waste all your time on tears like some people do.” He pointed back to Ford and the Gems, all of whom were on the verge of trying to land another hit on him, though they all ultimately took pause, realizing just how futile that would be. “But while we’re on the topic of useless crybabies…” In an instant, Bill disappeared, only to show up right alongside Mabel, who was in the midst of desperately trying to keep Stepper conscious, an effort that seemed to be all but futile as the fusion struggled to keep himself awake, much less aware of what was going on around him. “Hiya, Shooting Star! How’s Pine Bud doing? Looks like he’s realizing life’s not all it’s CRACKED up to be without his pretty little journal, huh?” Bill joked, catching Mabel off guard completely. For her part, she reacted quickly, throwing herself between the demon and Stepper, determined to protect him from sustaining any further harm.

“S-stay away from him!” Mabel shouted as brazenly as she could manage, the others all rushing over to offer her some much needed support at a frightening moment like this.

“Aw, it’s cute how you always try to act like you actually care about Rose Tree when you and I both know you DON’T, Shooting Star,” Bill accused with a twisted chuckle. “None of you do, you pretty much proved that by letting him come back here. But boy, am I glad you did…”

Without any warning, Bill vanished once more, but this time, he didn’t seem to reappear, at least not in anyone’s immediate field of view. Because instead, he showed up right behind them, or rather, behind Stepper, not saying a single word until he had the listless fusion right where he wanted him. “After all, I know you’re all just DYING to see how this whole thing is going to end!”

The entire group spun around in an instant, freezing up in mutual shock at what had happened far too quick for any of them to even try to stop. Bill had returned to his towering size as he floated over all of them, but by far more alarming than that was what, or rather who he was tightly gripping in his massive hand. Stepper lay largely limp against the secure, unrelenting grip Bill had him in, his gem reverberating with pain that he’d largely gotten much too used to by this point. Pain that didn’t seem like it would ever really go away, no matter how much he desperately wished it would.

“S-Stepper!” Mabel cried, trying to rush forward to get to him even as Stan pulled her back just in time.

“Release him immediately!” Pearl shouted fiercely, her spear aimed directly at the dream demon.

“Haven’t you already hurt them enough?!” Lapis added, just as desperate to keep any further harm from coming to the now-captured fusion.

“Hurt him? Now what makes you think I’d do that?” Bill asked almost flippantly as he eyed Stepper almost cordially. “Rose Tree and I reached an understanding last time he was here; it was a pretty fair trade, all things considered. I let him leave with his life, and in exchange, he gave me THIS!”

The shield journal flashed into existence, hovering lightly over the dream demon’s free outstretched hand and haloed in an unsettling golden glow all the while. The moment it appeared, Stepper weakly managed to glance over at it, a ripple of immediate desperation rippling through him at the mere sight of it alone. He could sense it, he could practically feel that book was what he’d been missing, what he’d been longing to get back for what seemed like his entire life, or at least what little he could remember of it. The missing piece of himself that he knew would finally tell him who he was truly meant to be, the key that would finally unlock the mysteries that were Steven and Dipper inside his mind.

A tight gasp of pain escaped Stepper as he tried reaching for it, his upper arms fortunately free from the heavy grip Bill had around his midsection. As soon as the dream demon noticed him struggling for it, however, he was quick to pull them both even further apart than they already were, widening the gap of distance between them that, as far as Stepper was concerned, felt far too great. “Whoops! Sorry, Pine Bud, but I can’t let you go running off with this and all the precious memories tucked away in it,” Bill remarked, ignoring Stepper’s continued attempts to wriggle out of his hold. “Mostly ‘cause I wanna show you this really neat trick I came up with first! See, I thought reading up on every teeny tiny juicy little tidbit about each of your halves would be a blast; so many embarrassing, hilarious moments to pour over, all your doubts and insecurities and fears laid completely out in an open book. But see, after awhile, just reading about it all started to get sort of… boring. Turns out you were right before, Rose Tree; I already did know everything that’s in your journal. So… I figured instead of reading it, maybe I should just have a little fun with it instead…?”

Neither Stepper nor any of the others knew what Bill meant by this, until he happened to flip the shield journal open and, in a moment so quick no one could even think to try and stop it, he swiftly ripped several successive pages clear out of the book entirely. A shared gasp of horror from the group below was overtaken entirely by a sharp, intense scream of agony from Stepper, a scream that only grew louder and more anguished as Bill suddenly ignited the torn pages in his usual blue fire. For the fusion, it was an unbearable kind of pain, almost as though something had been ripped out of his very soul along with those pages, whatever that something was burnt to an unsalvageable crisp just the same. All memories he’d yet to uncover, yet to reclaim; and now, it was uncertain if he’d ever get the chance to reclaim them, even if he somehow managed to get his journal back at all.

“Who could have guessed a magical fusion-formed journal would make such good kindling?” Bill quipped, only to narrowly pull the journal away just in time to avoid the spear Pearl had finally thrown at him.

“How dare you do something like this to him, you… you despicable, awful, wretched-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bird Brain, keep on squawking,” Bill rolled his eye. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“W-what happens to Stepper when you tear pages out of his journal like that?” Mabel dared to ask, clinging tightly, tearfully onto Stan’s leg. “Why does it hurt him?”

“Great question, Shooting Star!” Bill exclaimed, pulling another random page out of the shield journal, eliciting yet another anguished cry out of Stepper in the process. “See, at the moment, this book is all that’s left of who Pine Tree and Rosebud are since their empty headed fusion here clearly has no idea. So, whenever one of those pages has a little… accident,” With this, Bill swiftly burned that page completely out of existence, much to Stepper’s and everyone else’s distraught alarm. “That’s like a piece of one of them is being erased clean out of existence. Isn’t that one swell of a discovery? One that poor Pine Bud didn’t have a clue about, otherwise he might’ve thought twice about just forking it over like he did!”

“T-that’s because you tricked him!” Mabel protested with a newfound wave of fury as she pushed herself forward. “You tricked him and lied to him and didn’t give him a choice because you cracked his gem and left him with no other way out! W-why…?” she asked, choking on a tight, yet absolutely livid sob as she glared up at the dream demon hatefully. “Why would you do this to them?! What have they ever done to you?!”

Bill took pause at this, his eye narrowing specifically at Mabel so he could return her scowl much more icily. “I’ll tell you what they did, Shooting Star,” he began, his tone cold and dripping with malice. “They’ve gotten in my way one too many times. And unlike you and your dumb family and even dumber friends, I make it my mission to get rid of anyone who tries to stop me! Which is EXACTLY what I’m gonna do to every trace that’s left of Rosebud and Pine Tree, leaving THIS,” he shook Stepper violently at this, exacerbating just how sore the already battered fusion was even more. “Behind as nothing more than a dull, empty shell of who they used to be!” Despite the fact that Bill was growing red with obvious fury, he strangely cooled down quite quickly to resume his former casual tone. “Unless… one of you has something you’d be willing to trade in exchange for his journal that’s worth even MORE…?”

Bill’s sights settled directly on Ford at this, and in that moment, the author had no doubts in his mind about exactly what the dream demon’s endgame was with this entire scheme. An endgame that he wasn’t about to let him achieve, both for the sake of the boys and for the sake of the very universe as a whole. “O-oh?” Ford asked tensely, lowering his blaster just the slightest bit. “A-and what might that something be…?”

“I’m pretty sure you already know, Sixer…” Bill countered just as knowingly.

Ford did his best not to falter at this, especially as he realized Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were all offering him the same sort of scrutiny Bill was. At the same time, Mabel, Lapis, and Stan, as out of the loop as they were, all looked to the author in complete confusion, none of them having the faintest idea about the momentous trade Bill was basically forcing Ford to make.

“Well, Ford?” Stan asked his brother harshly, expectantly. “Give this creep what he wants so he’ll give the boys their book back and we can get the heck out of here and finally put an end to this whole disaster.”

Ford hesitated, not wanting to reveal anything too direct about the rift, even though it was exceedingly clear that was what Bill was after. “I-I… can’t,” he said tightly, shifting a wary glance toward the dream demon. “I didn’t bring it.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Bill scowled, clearly disgruntled. “Why am I not surprised? Anything to keep it as far away from me as possible, huh, Sixer? Well, that’s A-OK! I’ll get my hands on it sooner or later, and until then, maybe I’ll just keep taking pages out of Rose Tree’s book instead!”

With this, Bill let out a cruel, sadistic laugh as he prepared to yank yet another handful of pages out of the shield journal, which was clearly starting to run low on them by all accounts. And while everyone else continued adamantly throwing their weapons at him in the hopes of somehow prying the journal from his grasp, Mabel found herself distracted by something else instead. Stepper had his sights set directly on her, pain still wracking his expression, yet there was a hint of hardened resolve there too, particularly as he subtly pointed down at the grappling hook in her hands. Mabel frowned in confusion, unsure of what he wanted her to do until he silently nodded over to his shield journal, forcing himself to remain quiet even as Bill carelessly ripped another page out of it. Finally, he pointed back at himself, his intention made clear, a plan that Mabel understood and was more than ready to carry out, especially if there was a chance, however small, that it could put an end to this madness once and for all.

She made sure to take aim carefully, making sure Bill was thoroughly distracted with brashly taunting the others before she even thought about firing. And when she did, everything seemed to happen all at once, in a moment that passed both far too fast and nowhere near fast enough.

Mabel’s aim struck true, her grappling hook latching onto the edge of the shield journal from its spot hanging above Bill’s hand. As she yanked her hook back hard, Stepper used every ounce of his waning strength to push his lower arms against Bill’s other hand, catching him off guard enough to finally break his steady grip on him. From the moment he was free, Stepper wasted no time, lunging for his now-freed journal, anxious, fearful, desperate to get his hands on it, to reclaim what was rightfully his. He strangely felt nothing the moment it fell into his grasp, but even so, he gripped it tightly the moment he did, refusing to let it be stolen from him again. Unfortunately for him, however, Bill wasn’t about to let him get away with it so easily either.

“ROSE TREE!” he snapped, furious as he lashed out, latching onto the book’s back cover with a forceful hold. Even so, Stepper didn’t dare release the journal, even as Bill began pulling both him and the book back up toward him. A burst of raw, righteous anger flooded the fusion at this, over just how much damage this demented demon had done to him, just how much he’d taken from him, just how much he’d lost from it all. Which was why he had absolutely no qualms about lashing out as Bill yanked him upward, throwing his languished body up hard to land a direct, brutal kick right in the center of the demon’s singular eye. Bill reeled back in immediate pain from this, but still his hold on the journal didn’t give, and neither did Stepper’s as he was thrown back. Under that severe amount of stress on both sides, it wasn’t long before the journal, even as magical as it was, ended up giving way entirely.

And in a sickening, sudden second, the shield journal was brutally ripped apart, clean down the spine, right through its center.

An electrifying jolt of energy rushed through every single one of Stepper’s senses at this, his mind empty and his breathing completely stilled as he found himself falling away from Bill. From the other half of his shield journal, now torn entirely apart. The chaotic cries of alarm from everyone around him were practically deafened as he tightly hugged onto the half he still had, his gemstone completely engulfed in white as that glow began to spread across the rest of his form. And as he continued to fall through the empty void of the Nightmare Realm, a single, stark memory rang through his mind, through his heart, as clear as a bell. A memory of only half of who he used to be.

“S-Steven…” he gasped, just shy of falling apart completely.

The others were all stunned into silence as they watched Stepper split, the very sight of Steven and Dipper finally separated once more enough to shock them all. Both boys floated unconsciously near each other, their forced unfusing taking a heavy toll on them physically. Even so, the Gems wasted no time in rushing forward to catch them, Garnet being the first to retrieve their listless forms and pull them as far away from Bill as possible. Ford made sure to put even more distance between them as he fired a momentous blast at the already quite distracted dream demon, sending him flying with an enraged scream across the vast scape of the Nightmare Realm. Right along with the other half of the shield journal he still somehow possessed.

In the brief moments of tentative peace that followed, no one wasted any time in checking on both of the boys to ensure that they hadn’t sustained any long-term damage. Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl were all closely gathered around Steven, the Gem leader holding him close as they all reeled from just how miraculous it was that they’d managed to get him back at all. Especially since just a few short hours ago they’d been wondering, fearing that they never truly would.

“Steven!” Pearl shouted frantically, tightly gripping one of the young Gem’s hands. “Steven, can you hear me!?”

“Yo! Check out his gem!” Amethyst exclaimed with a bright, newfound smile. “It’s totally fixed!”

Sure enough, Steven’s gemstone was in pristine a state as ever, not a single hint of the formal brutal crack torn across it remaining it. His skin was also clear of its remnant pink scars, and his breathing was steady, even if his eyes were still closed as his body tried to recover from what it had just been through. “He’s whole again,” Garnet smiled, tears streaming down her cheeks as her visor disappeared. “That means Rose’s fountain did work on his gem, but its magic was delayed until his mind was healed. And now… it is.”

“S-so… will he-” Pearl was cut off as Steven began to stir in Garnet’s arms, letting out a soft, tired groan as his eyes slowly opened.

“G-guys…?” he muttered, his vision largely bleary as he looked between the trio.

“Steven!” all three of the Gems exclaimed in immense, tearful relief.

“Are you ok, dude?” Amethyst asked, extending out a hand so both her and Pearl could help him properly sit up. “Do you, like… remember who you are again?”

Steven nodded slowly, still largely leaning against Garnet for support. “Yeah… I… I think so?” he replied, confused by the question.

“Tell us your name, just to be sure,” Garnet said, her tone steady as her visor reappeared.

“Uh… Steven Universe?” he answered, still trying to make sense of their concern.

“A-and who were you just a moment ago?” Pearl pressed, fearing his short term memories might be lost.

Steven paused for a long moment at this, trying his best to focus his scattered thoughts on what had happened and how they’d gotten here, to a place he recognized all too well: the Nightmare Realm. The very same place where Bill had cracked his gem and taken their journal and started a chain of events he couldn’t remember clearly, at least not on his own. “I-I was fused…” he said, a hand pressed against his aching head. “I was fused into Stepper with-”

“Dipper!” Mabel’s distraught cry echoed starkly through the air, startling Steven and the Gems in the process. They all turned to see the frantic scene beside them, where Mabel clung tightly onto her still-listless brother with Stan and Ford and Lapis all staying very close by his side. “I-I don’t understand!” Mabel shook her head, lightly shaking Dipper by the shoulders again, only for his head to dully loll forward instead. “What’s wrong with him!? Why isn’t he waking up?!”

“S-Steven’s fine!” Lapis tightly agreed, briefly sparing the alarmed young Gem a somewhat relieved glance. “So Dipper should be too, r-right?!”

The other Gems all gasped, Steven joining their wide-eyed stares of shock as they all gathered around Dipper as well. The young Gem’s heart sank with worry when he saw him, still completely out of it and unmoving, though that was probably the least concerning thing about his condition. His skin was frighteningly pale, and somehow still marred with the faint pink cracks that had been torn across Stepper’s. And to make matters even worse, his entire body was remarkably cold still, and he barely even seemed to be breathing, barely even seemed to be alive at all.

“He should be, but…” Ford trailed off, entirely unsure of what to make of his nephew’s comatose condition.

“C’mon, kid, you can’t quit on us after all this!” Stan urged, taking over where Mabel had left off in trying to physically rouse Dipper into waking up. Tears were clearly starting to well up in the conman’s eyes, tears that Mabel already had in hers and were just starting to find a place in Ford’s. The same mutual dread rising up in all three of them over a thought far too horrific for any of them to bear; the thought that Dipper might already be too far gone for them to save.

They were all caught off guard, however, as Steven suddenly reached forward, his hand sparkling with telltale healing saliva as he gently placed his palm against Dipper’s cheek. His magic shimmered just as much as it usually did as it settled on his skin, and yet it did absolutely nothing to clear away the cracks covering it, much less awaken him. Steven drew his hand back, his eyes wide with emerging fear as he tried and failed to understand what might have gone wrong, why Dipper wasn’t recovering when he already had, what had led to this awful moment in the first place.

“D-Dipper…” he whimpered, silently pleading with him to open his eyes, to move, to say something, to show any sign of life, however small. “I-I can’t… y-you have to-”

“Well, well, well, isn’t this an interesting turn of events…?”

The entire group jolted in genuine fear as they all turned to see Bill hovering over them once more, fully recovered from the previous attacks launched against him. The Gems were all immediately on high alert, with Ford joining them in forming a defensive line to keep Bill away from all three of the immensely vulnerable kids. Yet even so, the dream demon largely ignored them to keep his focus set on Steven and Dipper instead. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Rosebud!” he greeted the young Gem with a faux friendly wave. “It’s a shame Pine Tree didn’t seem to make the trip back with you. I wonder why that could be…? Something’s missing here, I know it is, but what…? Let me think… Oh! I know!”

With a simple snap of his fingers, the other half of Stepper’s shield journal appeared hovering above Bill’s hand, still somehow intact despite how violently torn apart from its other half it had been. Steven in particular gasped in awe when he saw it, a sudden flood of memories striking him all at once, though as scattered and faded as they were, far too few of them came together cohesively.

“I-is that…?” he tried to ask, unable to even finish the question before Bill blithely answered it.

“Sure is! Its Pine Tree’s half of your fusion’s journal!” he exclaimed, tossing the book up into the air casually.

“B-but… how?” Pearl asked, incredulously. “Steven and Dipper aren’t fused anymore, how can their journal still exist without Stepper?”

“I’ll tell ya how,” Bill began in clearly rising anger as he continued glaring down at the boys. “SOMEBODY had to mess up the windup to a perfect pitch, the ideal deal. You and Pine Tree just couldn’t just let yourselves die nice and peacefully, huh, Rosebud? You twerps ALWAYS refuse to die! Even when I had you cracked and on the ropes, even when you were both on the verge of being wiped out of existence forever, neither of you EVER know when to quit! Well, FINE! If I can’t get rid of both of you, then at least I can have the pleasure of watching ONE of your miserable lives burn out ONCE AND FOR ALL!”

“N-no…” Steven gasped, not even needing to think twice about what Bill was planning. Panic surged up in him as he threw himself forward, summoning a shield and tossing it in a last-ditch attempt at trying to stop this, and knowing he couldn’t stop it all the while. “NO!”

His shield accomplished nothing. None of the others even saw it coming. And it happened so quickly that there was nothing any of them could have done about it if they had.

In an instant, a mere, momentary second, the other half of the shield journal, Dipper’s half, went completely up in flames.

“No!” Mabel screamed, hugging Dipper tightly as she watched Bill burn every trace left of who he was. Along with every trace that might have saved him.

For his part, Dipper remained completely still and silent, the only shift being the cracks in his skin finally fading, his body maintaining its deathlike pallor as all his memories were reduced to nothing more than mere ashes in a matter of seconds. Everyone else’s reactions were immediate, grief and outrage overtaking them all as they lashed out, each of them, from the Gems, to Stan and Ford, to Lapis, rushing forward to launch a full-scale attack against the dreams demon out of sheer fury alone. Acting on the same mournful, maddening impulse, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl swiftly came together to form Alexandrite, her towering form scaling up to roughly the same size as Bill’s current shape. She threw her first punch just as Bill was finishing discarding the ashes of the journal, letting them scatter aimlessly across the Nightmare Realm before he got to work deflecting the fusion’s assault. At the same time, Lapis flew high, creating watery platforms to give both Stan and Ford a boost as they threw themselves at the demon with mutually furious shouts, any and all regard for their own safety forgotten in light of what they’d just lost. Surprisingly, Bill had no taunting quips to tease them with as this chaotic brawl unfolded, largely since he was beside himself with gleeful, sadistic laughter over the devastation and despair he’d just caused, and over the innocent life he’d just effectively put to an early, empty end.

As this chaotic brawl unfurled, Mabel continued to cling onto Dipper, awash in perhaps the worst grief she’d ever felt in her life as she poured it out in an endless round of loud, agonized sobs. Between those sobs, she kept whispering heartbroken pleas to her lost brother, begging him to somehow come back to her, to not leave her behind, to stay with her… even though he was already so clearly gone.

At the same time, Steven also lingered close by the twins, completely shellshocked as he stared down at Dipper and nothing else. His own tears were completely silent as they streamed down his cheeks, his mind numb and racing all at the same time. He almost made another attempt at healing Dipper, until he realized it wouldn’t do any good, it wouldn’t be enough to bring him back. Nothing would… save for the very half of the shield journal that now was no more.

Steven only barely managed to glance up to see Bill land a heavy blow on Alexandrite, enough to split the livid fusion up and send all three of the Gems flying back. Another swift, violent blast did the same to Stan, Ford, and Lapis, though fortunately the blue Gem managed to erect an aquatic shield to keep any of them from getting badly hurt. By now, it was apparent that Bill’s jovial tune had shifted into annoyance with the ongoing onslaught, and he had a plan in mind to put a succinct stop to it. A plan that was particularly cruel even in the aftermath of what he’d just done.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Bill disappeared, without making a single remark in edgewise and leaving them all to land their attacks on the now empty space he’d just occupied. As lost to their mutual despair as they were, neither Steven or Mabel noticed him pop up behind them, at least until he suddenly reached right past them both to abruptly grip Dipper by the front of his shirt. The pair screamed, startled and scared as Bill harshly yanked his prone form away from them, pulling his body far out of their reach before either of them could so much as think to try and stop him.

“Dipper!” Mabel cried, desperate to see her brother, whatever was actually left of him now, finally be safe and out of the dream demon’s malicious range.

“Put him down, Bill!” Ford shouted, absolutely livid despite the tears still brimming in his eyes.

“Nah, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll hang onto Pine Tree for a bit,” Bill remarked, holding Dipper by the back of his vest as he hung loose and limp from his hand. “After all, it’s not like he’ll be waking up anytime soon, so why don’t save you the trouble of figuring out what to do with his cold, empty husk here? After all, I’ve been wanting to take one of my favorite puppets for another go, for old time’s sake.”

A harsh, shared gasp escaped Steven and Mabel alike at this, a whole host of incredibly unpleasant memories filling them both as they realized exactly what Bill intended to do. Mabel reacted first, acting in impulse and panic alone as she lifted her grappling hook with shaking hands, hoping it could somehow manage to pull her brother’s body away from him. Yet before she could even hope to fire it, before any of the others could even try to stop him either, Bill swiftly did the unthinkable. And, with essentially nothing to stop him and no deal needed to grant him access, he easily slipped into Dipper’s lifeless, seemingly empty body, callously taking it over to use as his own again, just as he had once before.

Suddenly “Dipper” moved, and yet everyone instantly knew it wasn’t him. Because when his eyes opened, they were merely thin black slits against a garish, glowing yellow, every bit as eerily unnatural as the wide, demented, leering grin that split across his face as he beamed down at the horrified group below him. “Ah, now isn’t this nostalgic!” Bill smirked as he looked over his stolen form. “Pine Tree’s every bit as stringy and pathetic as I remember him being. Would’ve thought that him learning how to swing that dinky sword of his around would have gotten him at least a few more muscles, but ah well. Once a wimp, always a wimp, I guess.”

As shocked and distraught by this horrendous turn of events as everyone was, no one really knew what to say or do outside of the silent, shaken tears they were all shedding over the downright sadistic way Bill had found to twist the knife even further into each of their hearts. Mabel practically fell apart at the mere sight of her possessed brother’s body, knowing that if Dipper was actually aware of anything that was happening, he’d hate what Bill was doing to him, just as he hated it so much before. Lapis was the first to actually try to do something about it, however, flying fast to get up to Bill’s level with an infuriated shout. She had a massive, downright deadly swath of water at the ready to attack him, an immediate threat that the dream demon made not a single move to try and block or evade as he simply smiled at the blue Gem, his hands held behind his back as he addressed her evenly.

“Whatcha gonna do with all that, Water Wings?” he asked coyly as Lapis’ bombardment was brought to a grinding halt mere inches away from his puppet’s face. “Drown me? That’d be fun! I didn’t get to have a taste of that action the last time I took Pine Tree’s body for a ride; stabbing and broken bones, sure, but no drowning! Can you believe it? What’s the fun of playing with a puppet if you don’t get to watch it go limp face-down in a puddle of wa-”

“STOP IT!” Lapis shouted, sobbing heavily as her aquatic attack fell apart completely. “Just STOP it and get out of him and leave him alone! Just…” her wings faltered as she covered her face, unable to bear so much as even looking at “Dipper” like this. “J-just leave him alone… please…”

“Sorry! No can do, Water Wings!” Bill said simply as he allowed himself to drift back away from the blue Gem. “Like I said, I’m hanging onto Pine Tree for a bit. But… I might be willing to let him go early in exchange for a certain little… trinket…”

The dream demon’s stolen smile widened, his golden sights landing on Ford once again. The author wavered under Bill’s--under his nephew’s--focused stare, and even moreso under the tearful, tense glances the Gems all sent his way. Once again, he’d found himself at an impossible crossroads, in a deadly trap that Bill had so carefully set for them all that had no way out; or at least, no way out that would result in all of them leaving with their lives. “I-I already told you…” Ford said as steadily as he could possibly manage. “I don’t have it.”

“Then get it,” Bill deadpanned, his smile turning into an irritated scowl. “I have all the time in the world to wait for another random rift back to your dimension to open up for you to go grab it. And now,” his icy smirk returned as he perched a patient hand under his puppet’s chin. “So does Pine Tree.”

Ford shuddered, the weight of this disastrous situation falling upon him all at once. He knew well what was at stake here, a fact that Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all knew just as well as he did as they all looked to him expectantly. Bill had them all exactly where he wanted them, he had perfectly plotted this entire sinister scheme out right from the beginning and was set to see it through all the way to the end. And in the end, he’d given them all a terrible ultimatum: to risk the rift and the very fate of their world itself… or never even have so much as a chance at saving Dipper’s life, however small that chance might be now. A choice that none of them even began to know how to make.

It was a weighty choice Steven was well aware of too, even if several of the others present weren’t. His eyes were wide as he looked over at Ford and the Gems, inferring that his guardians had somehow found out about the rift too, even if he didn’t know how. Even so, he remembered well just how the author had warned him and Dipper about the rift’s power, about how devastating it could be if Bill ever got his hands on it. And he had no doubt that was exactly what the dream demon was playing at now as he forced them to essentially pick between someone they all cared so much about and the very world they all shared. It was an awful proposition, one that had no real right answer in any regard. One life or many. Both equally as precious, and both equally at risk of annihilation.

There has to be another way… Steven’s thoughts echoed in his grief-stricken mind, his heart aching as he looked back to Dipper, or “Bipper”, as Mabel had called him once before. There had to be something, anything he could do to stop this, to save Dipper, to save the world. And, as he happened to lift his shirt up a bit to take a peek at the stone on his stomach, he instantly came up with a way to do exactly that.

“So, Sixer?” Bill asked casually, clearly assured of his victory. “What’ll it be?”

Ford shook his head, his mouth dry and his heart racing as his mind frantically searched for a solution he simply didn’t have, not this time, not to something like this. “I… I don’t-”

“Wait!” Steven’s sudden call startled just about everyone, even catching Bill off guard as he glided forward. “W-wait! Stop, I-I…”

“What is it now, Rosebud?” Bill scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see the grown-ups are bartering here?”

“I think I know something you’d like even more than what Mr. Ford can give you,” Steven said quickly, sternly as he stared the dream demon down.

“Oh yeah?” Bill perked up in sudden, knowing interest, his gaze already drifting toward the young Gem’s stomach. “And what might that ‘something’ be…?”

“...This,” Steven lifted his shirt up, revealing his newly-healed Gem glistening upon it.

“Steven, no!” the Gems all shouted in frightened unison. However, Steven himself was the one to stop them from approaching him by erecting a large, pink bubble around himself and Bill alone.

“S-Steven?” Mabel whispered, her tearful eyes wide with fear as she looked to him in apt alarm.

“Kid, what are you doing?!” Stan asked just as incredulously.

For his part, Steven offered none of them any answers, even as a few of them began beating against his bubble in a fervent, desperate attempt at trying to stop the young Gem’s risky plan. “You do want it, right?” Steven asked Bill, his tone and his manner alike unwavering.

“You know I do, Rosebud,” Bill grinned cordially. “But are you sure you wanna give something that valuable up for poor little Pine Tree here? That’s basically like--wait, no it is trading a priceless gemstone in for a comatose corpse. Doesn’t really seem all that fair when you think about it.”

“It is fair,” Steven insisted firmly. “T-to me. I want him back. I… I need him back.”

“Really? After all the terrible things he said to you?” Bill asked with a small, amused chuckle. “I don’t get you, Rosebud. You always put your neck out for people who don’t care about you.”

“That’s not true!” Steven protested resiliently. “Dipper does care about me! I know he does...” He placed a gentle hand against his heart, remembering the very moment that Dipper had proven just how much he did care. The moment he’d vowed to stay with him, even with a practically fatal crack torn clear across their gem. Even when they were both falling apart at the seems. He’d stayed, he’d cared, he’d refused to let go of him, to hold on to him, no matter what the cost.

Which was exactly why Steven knew it was his turn to return the favor. To refuse to let go of him, to hang onto whatever was left of Dipper, in the hopes that it could somehow save him after all.

“Whatever you say, Rosebud,” Bill rolled his eyes dryly. “But fine. Who am I to turn down a good bargain, especially since you’ve made such a generous offer? Besides, I’m sure it’s bound to lift at least a little guilt off your shoulders seeing as how you were basically the one who got Pine Tree into this whole mess by asking him to fuse with you in the first place…”

“Y-yeah…” Steven’s confidence finally faltered at this, remorse welling up in his expression as he admitted the truth to this awful fact. That if he’d never asked, never begged Dipper to form Stepper with him in the first place, then at least he might have found a way to spare his life instead of gravely endangering him, his memories, and everything else in the process. “I know…”

“Oh well, no use in crying over a chopped Pine Tree!” Bill quipped enthusiastically as he extended a hand out to Steven in offering. “So what do you say, Rosebud? Your gem in exchange for his empty shell. Do we have ourselves a deal?”

Steven hesitated, for just a moment as he looked to hand Bill was presenting him with, somehow covered in the dream demon’s telltale blue flames that never seemed to actually burn. At the same time, he could hear the others just outside of his bubble, still pounding against its surface with everything they had in the hopes of keeping this terrible transaction from taking place.

“Steven, please!” Lapis cried, lashing out against his bubble with successive water whips. “Don’t do this!”

“Yeah, man! Don’t listen to him!” Amethyst added just as desperately as she punched the side of the bubble brutally.

“You can’t trust him, you know that, Steven!” Ford practically pleaded as he floated alongside Pearl, who strangely said nothing amidst her tears, both of her hands tightly pressed against her mouth as she shook her head fearfully.

“Steven,” Garnet spoke up, her tone tight and rigid to the point that it was practically shaking. “We’ll find another way to help Dipper. Do NOT give Bill your gem.”

Steven finally glanced back at the group at this, wanting to tell them he had to, that there was no other option, that it was either his gem, the world, or Dipper. And that really, between those three things, only two of them actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. But he stopped when he caught sight of Mabel, her face nearly pressed against his bubble, her eyes shining with mournful tears as she wept softly, her attention fully focused on him instead of her possessed brother this time around.

“S-Steven… please…” she begged him in a tiny, frail whisper, so soft he only barely managed to hear it at all. “I-I… I can’t lose you both…”

He stilled at this, a small, terse breath escaping him as he realized exactly what he was about to do here. Exactly what he was about to give up and exactly what that might cost him. True, he didn’t know what would become of him if his gem was taken from him, but given just how agonizing it had been for him when that gem was cracked, he had a hunch that its absence would likely do him far more harm than good. And even more than that, he still had no idea what Bill planned to do with it when he did get his hands on it, much less why he even wanted it to begin with. Indeed, what he was about to do was an incredible, potentially deadly risk, and Steven knew that, he was prepared for that outcome, no matter what.

And yet he still couldn’t shake that same resounding thought from before:

There has to be another way.

There had to be another way… and as another sudden memory dawned on Steven, the very memory of what had nearly torn his friendship with Dipper apart in the first place at the start of this entire disaster, he knew he’d found that way. He could only hope it’d be enough to keep them both alive in the end. To make sure that Mabel wouldn’t have to go home without them.

“Yes,” he said unflinchingly as he turned back to Bil. “It’s a deal.”

The shared cry of alarm that rose up from the others was lost on Steven as he reached forward, ready to do whatever he could to set things right and knowing well what might happen if he couldn’t. Yet even so he stayed the course, remaining calm and steady as he took Bill’s outstretched hand and shook it squarely.

The moment he did, he shut his eyes tightly, digging deep inside himself for a power he knew he had access to, a power he’d never really tried to use intentionally before now. For a split second, he silently pleaded with his gem for it to work before Bill could catch on, and miraculously enough, his gem seemed to hear and heed him just fine. Because in an instant, a connection was made, one that he could feel overtaking both him and Bill alike as their hands remained intertwined, even as he turned their deal completely on its head.

As he began to embark upon his other way entirely.

When Steven opened his eyes again a second later, the swirling colors of the Nightmare Realm were gone, replaced with a dense, dark, colorless forest. Each of its trees were dead and decaying, their lofty branches stripped of every single leaf as they creaked amidst the dull, dry breeze sweeping through them. By all accounts, this forest was lifeless and empty, just about the last thing Steven had hoped to see in what he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to be Dipper’s mindscape. But even so, the fact that his mindscape still existed at all was a reassuring sign in and of itself. A sign that pointed to the possibility that maybe he wasn’t as far gone as Bill had claimed after all.

“WHAT IN THE--ROSEBUD!” Speaking of the dream demon, his outraged shout echoed through the entire mindscape, rumbling through the trees as Steven spun around to face him. Here, he was back in his usual triangular form, his momentous size scaled down considerably as he glared at the young Gem relentlessly. “What did you DO?!”

Steven flinched but quickly regained his nerve, knowing that he couldn’t back down now that he’d already managed to make it this far. “I-I-”

“SHUT UP!” Bill snapped, his form flashing red in raw fury. “I know what you did! What, did you really think dragging us both into Pine Tree’s empty head here would change anything? Cause it WON’T! You still owe me one gem, Rosebud, so PAY UP!”

“H-hold on,” Steven advised as calmly as he could. “Just… hold on a minute. I-I… I want to make another deal with you.”

“Ha! You really think I’d be dumb enough to let you pull the wool over my eyes TWICE in a row?” Bill scoffed harshly. “Forget it, kid! You ain’t getting squat outta me!”

“B-but you’ll like this deal even more than the other one,” Steven pressed, earnestly and anxiously. “Just hear me out. I-I know Dipper’s still in here somewhere; I can… I can feel it,” he lied, knowing that he couldn’t, at least not clearly. Still, that wasn’t something Bill needed to know about, especially not at a moment like this. “Give me a chance to find him. If I do, if I can bring him back somehow, then you don’t get my gem; and you have to get out of his body and never, ever possess it again.”

“Yeah, alright, whatever, Rosebud,” Bill deadpanned, hardly phased by these terms. “What’s in it for me when you fail? Which you will, by the way, just saying.”

“I-If I can’t find him…” Steven took in a deep breath, knowing he was about to put everything on the line with this lofty contract. And yet if he succeeded, if he really did somehow save Dipper after all, then it would all be worth it. “Then not only can you have my gem. Y-you… you can destroy my memories too, all of them, just like you did with his.”

“Ohohohoh! I like the sound of that!” Bill exclaimed brightly as he circled the young Gem. “I get the rock I’ve been after AND I get to kill two pesky twerps with one stone, while inevitably breaking the hearts and spirits of all your friends and loved ones in the process! Great thinking, Rosebud! I’m in!”

Steven watched as Bill’s outstretched hand lit up in blue fire once more, in offering of another deal he couldn’t quite see the outcome to. Yet as afraid as he admittedly was, he knew he couldn’t let that fear stop him now, not when he knew who was counting on him. He also knew exactly what the cost would be if he did fail, a high penalty that could ultimately snuff out both his and Dipper’s lives in one fell swoop. Yet despite that cost, if there was still a chance, still hope that he could succeed, that they’d both come back alive and well, then that hope alone would be more than enough.

And so, Steven found himself reaching out to shake Bill’s hand once more.

“Great! Then you better get looking, kid!” Bill exclaimed cheerfully as their handshake came to an end. “Oh, by the way, Rosebud, you should know that this whole thing is basically a fool’s errand since there’s just about NOTHING left of Pine Tree’s consciousness for you to find. So good luck! You’ll need it.”

With that, Bill disappeared in a bright flash, no doubt going to wait in the wings and watch to see what might happen next. Steven seized up in sudden anxiety the moment he was left alone, realizing that he had essentially no leads to speak of when it came to finding Dipper. The woods surrounding him were lonely and dark, without a single trace of anyone else around amidst the inky shadows between the trees. Even so, he pressed forward through them, unsure of exactly where he was going as he began a search that both his and Dipper’s very lives depended on. “Uh… Dipper?!” he called, his own voice echoing back at him through the trees. “A-are you in here? Oh, wait, of course, you’re in here, this is your head, but uh… c-could you maybe come out? I… really need to find you… please…”

Steven trailed off with a small, sad sigh, stopping in the middle of another empty clearing to look around. Once again, a familiar bout of fear filled his mind, though that fear wasn’t for his own potentially grim fate in any way. Instead, it was for the possibility that Bill was right, that there really was no trace left of Dipper to be found, even inside his own mind. Guilt welled up inside of the young Gem’s heart viciously as that thought permeated his mind, the same sort of guilt that had prompted him into essentially gambling his very own life to save Dipper’s. Because if he couldn’t actually find a way to bring him back to himself, then at the very least he deserved to share the same kind of demise. After how he’d put them both in such a horrible position to begin with, it was only fair.

He was prepared to continue his search when suddenly, a sparse speck of light peeking through the nearby trees caught his attention. As dark as this forest as a whole was, it was a surprising sight to see, which was why Steven curiously, cautiously approached it, only to find that it was something akin to a tiny firefly hovering just a bit above the ground. Even from a distance, Steven could feel a sense of comforting warmth emanating from its glow, and he couldn’t help but smile hopefully as he slowly reached out to gently cup it in his hands.

“D-Dipper?” he whispered wonderingly. “Is that you…?”

It wasn’t, of course, but Steven soon discovered what this light actually was as his hands carefully touched it. Because in the blink of an eye, the dark forest disappeared, replaced with a sun-drenched, grassy hill as a familiar scene played out before him.

“I’m Steven, by the way. You’ve already met Lion, of course. And this is my friend, Connie.”

“Nice to meet you! Even if it was by accident.”

“I’m Dipper and the girl losing herself inside your, uh… lion’s mane is my sister, Mabel.”

Upon this simple greeting, the boys exchanged another brief, yet kindly smile, the first of many they’d share as their close-knit friendship only grew from there.

And just like that, it was over. Steven gasped as he found himself back in the shadowy wood, silence echoing around him on all sides once more. He stared at the flickering light before him in amazement as he realized what it was: a memory. A memory of the very day they’d first met back at the beginning of the summer, to be exact. A bright, joyful recollection that filled the young Gem’s heart with hope as another newfound thought struck him. Dipper’s memories weren’t gone after all; sparks of them still remained, however small and dwindling those sparks might be. All Steven had to do was reignite those sparks into a flame bright enough to bring Dipper back, to help him remember who he really was.

And fortunately, he happened to find yet another spark of memory floating just a few feet away. He rushed to it, reaching for it eagerly to find both of them embracing on a mountain in the aftermath of a battle that had never happened. After both of them had figured out how to be strong in the real way together.

“Dipper! I’m so glad you’re ok! I was starting to think something happened in there!”

“I’m fine, Steven. Well… physically, at least…”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t do it. You were right; turns out the Multi-Bear didn’t deserve it at all. I beat him and everything, but when it came down to killing him… it didn’t feel right… I guess this really does make me a wimp, huh?”

“Are you kidding? Not at all! I think deciding not to go through with it makes you even braver than if you actually had done it!”

Steven smiled, remembering well how proud he’d been of Dipper at that moment. That pride turned to relief as he received yet another recollection just a bit down the forest’s unformed path. A memory that came from the aftermath of a battle they’d only narrowly managed to win, one of the first few of many decisive victories they’d see over the summer.

“Well… I’m not gonna lie. Pretty much everything hurts. In fact, I’m pretty sure I probably have a concussion and might need stitches in a few places. But I’m sure it’s nothing Steven and his, uh, healing spit can’t fix, right?”

“Of course, Dipper! I’d be more than happy to heal you up!”

“Ok, ow! Like I said, everything still hurts, Steven! You haven’t healed me yet!”

“Oh, sorry!”

He’d always heal him, anytime he might need it. Even now, when he needed healing most inside his own mind. The next memory he found was a moment he deeply treasured,, a moment of true, earnest understanding between them both, the moment he believed they had gone from mere friends to best friends.

“It’s like we said… we’re really different. And… maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Steven, holing myself away from everyone just to research stuff and forcing myself to spend all my time alone for it… really isn’t a good thing… If there’s one thing fusing with you taught me, it’s that.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. I mean, being fused and essentially sharing a mind and body was really weird and uncomfortable and overwhelming, but… I think I finally understand what Garnet meant when she told Maven that fusion turns you into something greater than yourself…”

“I-it really does… It’s like you can feel everything that you’re feeling and everything that the other person is feeling. And when both of you are feeling good, its… it’s incredible. It feels like there’s nothing in the world that could bring you down from that. And…. that’s what I wanted for us, I guess…”

And then… once what had been damaged between them was finally repaired, that’s exactly what both of them got.

“Well… I do know of a certain fusion who might be able to do an even better job of lending them an extra hand, or two, or four…”

“Oh, Dipper! Do you really mean it?!”

“I do. But only if we’re both on the same page about it this time.”

“Right. Well, I guess we better—whoa!”

Then they danced, they fused, the harmony between their hearts flowing freely, openly, just as it was really meant to. Just how fusion was supposed to be.

Tears filled Steven’s eyes as he let the warmth of that memory fall over him, cherishing their fusion, cherishing their friendship and all that it meant to him. The sweetness of that memory stood in stark contrast, however to the next, one that had happened in a moment of uncertain desperation. A moment when something important had been taken, and neither of them knew if they’d actually have a chance at getting it back.

“Steven, wait. I-I don’t know if I’ll ever get this chance again if… if something goes wrong out there, so… I just wanted to let you know that I’m so sorry… This whole mess is my fault, and I should have been the only one to suffer the consequences of that stupid deal! But then you got dragged into all of this, even though you had no parts in it at all! Bill’s been making you absolutely miserable all day just because you’re trying to protect me, which is something you shouldn’t even have to worry about in the first place!”

“Why not? Dipper, you’re one of my best friends, of course, I’d want to keep you safe! I wish none of this had ever happened just as much as you do, but I’m glad I was at least there to know about it the moment it happened instead of not knowing how much trouble you’re in at all! And don’t worry; now we have Connie and Mabel to help us! With all of us working together, we’ll have you back in your body in no time, I promise.”

“R-right… Well then… good luck. I’m sure we’ll all be needing it…”

He’d kept his promise to Dipper once. And as far as Steven was concerned, he was determined to do it again now that the stakes were higher than ever before. And, even if he couldn’t actually save himself in the end, at least he hoped he’d find a way to save Dipper. At least he hoped to finally set everything that had gone wrong between them right before it was too late.

He was in tears in the next memory, awash in guilt that felt all too similar to what he felt now. Guilt over the realization of just how much he’d hurt him, just how much he hated hurting him whenever he did.

“Dipper, I-I’m so sorry! I finally understand why you were so upset with me and Mabel about what happened yesterday! It’s because we didn’t trust you! B-because I didn’t trust you, a-and that’s why I almost erased your memories back when we were dealing with the society! I thought you couldn’t handle it all but I was wrong! I was only thinking about how bad I felt then, about how scared I was yesterday that I didn’t even t-think about how… about… about anything else! You’re right… I-I… I’m selfish… Just like my mom was…”

“Y-you guys didn’t… I was just… I… I was wrong. About Stan, about the portal, about… well, just about everything. In fact, when it comes to the big things this summer, there’s probably about only a handful of times when I’ve actually been right. And I guess I was just so tired of being wrong about everything all the time that I wanted to blame it on someone other than myself so… maybe I sort of just… pinned it all on you two. Which is something else that’s wrong, when you think about it, because you guys totally don’t deserve that. You did what you thought was right. And… in the end, it turned out for the best. I mean, it brought Great Uncle Ford back to where he belongs, it led to us finding the Gems’ memories—for better or worse—it gave us the answers to so many of the questions we had this summer. So… I’m sorry for holding it all against you guys. What happened yesterday… it changed pretty much everything. But the one thing that it shouldn’t change because of any of it is us.”

They’d found a way to fix what had been broken between them then. But it hadn’t mattered in the end, it didn’t matter now, because Steven knew he’d thoughtlessly, carelessly torn open that rift between them again, with a mistake that had been so foolish and selfish. A plan that had he had only really come up with to ease his own worries and woes instead of Dipper’s, he realized. No wonder he’d said he was just like Bill… he was right in so many different ways.

Yet in so many others, he wasn’t.

Because another memory showed them fusing again, no words exchanged between them as they danced, literally lighter than air, their smiles warm and mutual as that cherished harmony flowed between them again. They laughed lightly, their hearts easy and free together, until they reached the point that those two separate hearts joined to become one. As their bodies and minds came together, as the line blurred between them until there was no space, no separation left at all.

Until Steven and Dipper became Stepper.

Then they were Stepper again, a frightened fusion lost in a horrendous, hateful place they had no chance of escaping. Their gem was cracked, their mind damaged, their lives both in grave danger. Yet even despite all that, they held onto each other, onto their bond, for everything it was worth. And what it was worth to both of them was something far more than mere words could have ever expressed.

“I don’t want to break away from you. Our friendship means so much to me. You mean so much to me!”

“Y-you… stayed with me… s-so I’m staying with you…”

“Steven…”

Steven gasped, his eyes wide with alarm as he was pulled out of this most recent memory. Suddenly, he could sense something behind him, a break in the massive, seemingly endless forest as another wide clearing opened up within it. The sparks of memory had led him here, to the forest’s largest, most distinct feature: a large, lofty tree, one that surprisingly bore signs of life in the sparse, yet fading leaves hanging limp from its branches. Several of those branches curved inward, converging on each other to create a small enclosure toward the top of the tree. And, floating unconsciously within the center of that enclosure, was none other than Dipper himself.

Steven froze at the mere sight of him, a sharp, stunned gasp escaping him as he kept his focus on that spot in the tree high above him. Just as he’d been before, Dipper was completely out of it, his eyes closed and his expression listless as he hovered in what almost seemed to be a peaceful sleep. He looked faint, his colors dull and faded as silence echoed in the area all around him. At least until Steven made an attempt at breaking through to him from far below.

“Dipper! Can you hea-”

“Ah, ah, ah, Rosebud!” Bill chastised as he suddenly appeared out of thin air right beside Steven. “You wouldn’t wanna wake Pine Tree up, now would you?”

“Y-yes, I would!” Steven retorted brazenly. “I found Dipper, which means you have to keep up your end of the deal. Now get out of his mind and leave us alone!”

“Now, now, Rosebud, if I remember correctly, the terms YOU laid out were that you had to find a way to bring him back,” Bill pointed out, glancing up at Dipper. “And as far as I can tell, Pine Tree’s still completely out of commission. Which means your gem and your memories are still on the line.”

“Y-yeah, but-”

“In fact, you know what? Why don’t we speed this along a little…?” Steven flinched as a bright blue flame ignited over Bill’s palm, one that was large and devastating as it flickered with a thirst for destruction. “I’ve got places to be, space rocks to cash in, so let’s clear the slate, permanently!”

“No!” Steven shouted, leaping high off the ground at the very same time Bill launched his deadly flame toward Dipper. The young Gem floated as fast as he possibly could, essentially racing the dream demon’s sadistic fire and twisted ambitions all at once, all in the hopes that he could stop them both. In the desperate need to finally save Dipper, even if he couldn’t save himself.

The flame was gaining, his own heart pounding as he summoned a shield to jump off of as a springboard to gain some extra speed. Somewhere far behind him, he could hear Bill’s demented laughter echoing through the woods, his flames drawing nearer and nearer to Dipper’s unmoving, unknowing form. Steven cried as that flame passed him, knowing that he wasn’t going to make it in time, that he was already too late to stop this, knowing that he couldn’t be too late to stop this, that he had to save him, he had to bring him back, he had to, he was going to-

And he did.

Somehow, with speed Steven didn’t even know he possessed, he soared through the air toward the top of the tree, his gem flashing as it provided him the strength he lacked to succeed. He cut the fire off just in time, reaching their shared target just before it could. And as soon as he did, he formed a sturdy, steady bubble around them both as he crashed into Dipper, throwing his arms around him and locking him in a tight, tearful embrace. As the flames slammed into it and abruptly burnt out on contact, Steven still hung onto Dipper for dear life, leaning his head against his shoulder as he offered him a solemn message, one that, while soft in its delivery, managed to speak volumes all the same.

All it took were three simple words Steven whispered gently into Dipper’s ear. Three simple words that were more than enough to get Dipper to finally, finally open his eyes.

“NO!” Bill practically screamed in raw, intense fury as he watched his devious plans unfurl all around him. The once-dead mindscape began to bloom back to life, lush green needles sprouting on the pine trees dotted across it, its black sky dawning with newfound sunshine as the memories that had been ripped out of it were restored. Amidst this swift restoration, Bill found himself being ripped out of the mindscape instead, bound by the very deal he had agreed to, especially as an all-new blinding, purifying light began to spill across the forest. “ROSEBUD! PINE TREE!” the dream demon shouted hotly, unable to do a single thing as he was forced out of the mindscape that was in the midst of being harmoniously joined to another.

“ROSE TREE!”

Everyone took in a shocked, startled gasp as something suddenly shifted, a stark change taking place amidst what they’d been anxiously watching for what felt like ages now. During that time, both Steven and Bill had remained completely still, their eyes shut and the young Gem’s bubble still erected to keep each of them out so they wouldn’t interfere. None of them knew what to make of it, and they were even more at a loss for words as Steven suddenly pulled Dipper’s supposedly possessed body forward into an unexpected hug. The very moment he did, Bill was abruptly tossed out of Dipper’s body entirely, flung far across the Nightmare Realm with an intense amount of force and an infuriated shriek. At the same time, a telltale warm glow surrounded Steven and Dipper, the bubble around them dissipating as that light overtook them both and brought them both together again.

And brought Stepper back together again.

He opened his eyes with a small, startled gasp, confusion filling his mind first and foremost as he looked around his inexplicable surroundings. “W-what… where…?” he trailed off, glancing down at all four of his hands, his bewilderment only increasing as he looked himself over. “Wait… when did we fuse--” He cut himself off with a sudden sob, one of his upper hands covering his mouth as his lower arms held onto each other tightly. “Y-you… you’re back…” He smiled warmly, joyful tears streaming down his cheek, even if half of him didn’t understand where those tears were coming from. “Back? Back from where?”

“H-he’s back?” Mabel suddenly spoke up, tears brimming in her eyes as she floated forward a bit, the others all hanging back as they stared at Stepper in apt awe.

“He’s back!” Stepper nodded happily, though that happiness soon shifted right back into a puzzled frown. “Mabel? What’s going o-”

Once again, he was interrupted as Mabel threw herself at him, hugging his midsection tightly as his lower arms readily returned it. The others were all quick to join her, each of them engulfing the fusion in a unified, delighted embrace. As overwhelmed with relief as they all were, none of them had a single word to say, only soft, contented smiles and silent, satisfied tears over the realization that somehow, some way, Dipper and Steven were both back, their memories mutually restored. Finally, their boys were safe; finally, they were whole.

“O-ok, not that this isn’t really sweet and everything, but I’m confused,” Stepper said with a small, uncertain chuckle as everyone finally released him, though the hug his own upper arms had locked him in still remained. “What’s going on?”

“PINE BUD!”

As this absolutely outraged shout rattled the entire Nightmare Realm, Stepper jolted, a rush of stark realization striking him, even as Stan, Ford, and the Gems all rushed to take up a protective stance in front of the fusion. But as soon as he spotted Bill rushing across the shifting spacescape toward them, all of his questions were abruptly, immediately answered.

“Oh… I remember now…” he scowled, all four of his hands curling up into tight fists as he glared up at the towering dream demon firmly.

“Out of my way, chumps!” Bill seethed, wasting no time with any of the others as he swiftly shoved all of them aside to get to Stepper. “YOU…” he growled, his form a bright, blood crimson as he offered the fusion a look of absolute hatred. “Do you have ANY idea what you’ve just done!? You cost me a gem, you cost me your dimension-”

“And you cost us our memories,” Stepper countered sternly, not showing a single sign of fear against the dream demon, not this time. Not after everything he’d done. “You almost cost us our lives. I’d say this makes us more than even.”

“NOT EVEN CLOSE!” Bill shouted, his hands aglow in blazing blue flames. “I was ready, I was THERE, set to wipe both of you miserable twerps from out of existence once and for all, and then you just had to go and turn the tables and CHEAT to get your way!”

“Oh, I cheated?” Stepper asked with an incredulous scoff. “I cheated?! Did you just forget about how you pinned us down and cracked our gem!? Or how you LIED to us, how you gave us no other choice but to give you our journal, our memories, our identities?!” The fusion was absolutely livid by this point, to the point that even Bill seemed surprised by just how intense and outraged his tone and expression alike were as his anger flowed out of him freely. Anger for just how much torment this monster had put both of his halves, his family and friends, everything and everyone he cared about through as a whole. “All you do, all you’ve EVER done, is cheat and lie to get what you want, all because you can’t get enough of tearing innocent lives apart just because you think it’s funny. News flash, Bill: it’s NOT funny and it NEVER has been! And that’s why I’m DONE watching you use, and manipulate and hurt me and the people I love! It’s over, Bill,” Stepper finished firmly, Mabel, Stan, Ford, and all of the Gems regrouping by his side so they could all face the dream demon together. “We’re not letting you get away with it this time.”

Bill surprisingly said nothing as the group before him pulled their weapons back out, their resolve renewed now that they were all truly back together again. By all accounts, the dream demon seemed caught off guard by such a united, unflinching resistance against him, but even so, he wasn’t about to back down that easily, especially when he still had the home advantage on his side. “Oh, you wanna bet…?” he hissed darkly, launching his first round of fireballs at the group. Lapis quickly deflected them with a powerful burst of water as Garnet and Pearl rushed forward amidst the resounding steam, both of them hitting Bill at just the right angles in attacks he hadn’t been ready for. As he was distracted, Stan and Amethyst teamed up as the conman tossed the purple Gem at the dream demon, her whip spinning around her all the while as Ford kept up his own line of steady offense with his powerful blaster. Stepper himself was more than ready to join the fray, yet just before he could try to summon his shield journal, a sudden hand taking his stopped him.

“Hey,” Mabel said, looking up at him with a soft, hopeful smile. “Got room for one more in there?”

“Always,” Stepper laughed warmly, not hesitating to sweep her up into a wide, lighthearted spin, one that was more than enough to bring Mabel into the fusion.

Dipevebel let out a steadying, contented sigh as the light faded from their form, though their focus was quick to shift back to the battle raging before them. “Ready? Ready,” they grinned, the now-replenished shield journal appearing about one of their hands while Maven’s grappling shield materialized in one of their others. “Let’s do this.”

And with that, they rushed ahead to join the fray, using their third arm to end a shield flying at Bill point-blank just as another one of Pearl’s spears struck him. The dream demon reeled back with an aggravated shout, but he was quick to retaliate by shooting a widespread laser blast that the others made sure to block or evade the best they could. Garnet and Stan both rushed in with the intent of landing a simultaneous pair of punches, though Bill easily avoided their blows by disappearing out of the crowd persistently attacking him. He wasn’t able to get too much distance before Dipevebel’s grappling shield struck him clean in the eye, knocking him back a bit until Amethyst held him back by latching her whip around one of his arms. Bill wasted no time in setting fire to that whip, forcing the purple Gem to release her hold on it, though while he was distracted, he failed to notice the blast that was coming at him from behind until it struck him squarely in the back. Ford grinned as he poised his blaster for another round, though by then Lapis had taken over, bombarding Bill with a heavy dulgue of water while the others all continued their steadfast assault.

“I can’t believe it!” Ford exclaimed with an incredulous laugh as he regrouped with Dipevebel for a brief moment. “We’ve got him on the ropes. If only I’d brought my quantum destabilizer, then we’d have a sure-fire way to finish him off for good.”

“Well… there’s gotta be some other way to really defeat him… right?” Dipevebel asked with newfound curiosity.

“...I suppose,” Ford noted as he readjusted his blaster. “But I’m hard-pressed to think of one at the moment. For now, just fending him off until our portal home reopens will have to do.”

With that, the author took off to rejoin the fray, leaving the fusion behind to think on what he’d just said. While they certainly seemed to be doing an adequate job at holding Bill off by working together, a part of Dipevebel couldn’t help but feel as though that wasn’t good enough. Not as long as they had the opportunity, however small, to finally put an end to Bill’s chaotic ambitions once and for all.

Amidst the heavy, unified resistance he was facing on all sides, it wasn’t long before Bill turned from mere aggravation over such resistance to outright outrage. While he hadn’t been pulling his punches before, as intensely provoked as he was, the dream demon’s attacks steadily became more violent and vicious. He lashed out at the Gems first, clearly with the intent of poofing them, if not something even worse, based on the intense, wide-reaching blast he launched their way, one that they were only narrowly saved from thanks to the large shield Dipevebel cast over them just in time. Even so, Bill wasn’t anywhere close to finished yet as he unleashed another powerful burst of flaming energy at the entire group, and while it fortunately didn’t substantially harm any of them, it did manage to knock them all back to give the dream demon some space to recover and gear up his next onslaught.

From the force of this attack, Dipevebel suddenly split, though only partially. As she reoriented herself, Mabel was admittedly confused as she realized Dipper and Steven had somehow remained together, almost as if they had thrown her out of their fusion intentionally, though she highly doubted that was the case. Even so, Stepper remained steady, still upholding his shield journal as the others all prepared themselves for whatever Bill might have in store for them next.

“ENOUGH!” Bill shouted, clearly furious in tone and form. “You’re all way more trouble than you’re worth for a bunch of dumb old space rocks and useless humans! I’ve got MUCH better things to do with my time than take you chumps down a peg.”

“Oh, sorry, Bill,” Stepper taunted with a brazen scowl. “We didn’t mean to inconvenience you even though you’ve more than inconvenienced all of us by now!”

“Can it, Pine Bud!” Bill snapped, not hesitating to launch another fireball the fusion’s way, one that he easily deflected with a timely bubble. “You know what? I’m sick of looking at all of your stupid faces. I think it’s time to do what I SHOULD have done a LONG time ago and take care of you chumps FOR GOOD!”

Strangely, Bill didn’t make a single move to attack the group immediately. Instead, he brought both of his hands up high above his tip, his eye going completely blank, pupil-less and white to match the practically blinding glow forming over his raised hands. A glow that only seemed to be growing stronger and more powerful with each passing second as the dream demon continued to build it up. “W-what’s he doing?” Pearl asked in apt alarm.

“No idea,” Amethyst said tensely. “But I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

“It looks like we won’t have to,” Ford smiled, relieved, as he spotted a spark of sudden energy appearing afar in the distance behind them. “Look!”

That spark soon split into a portal, none other than the very one that would lead them back to their home dimension. On the other side of it, Peridot anxiously waited, still maintaining the machine that had created it, though it was clear from her frantic tinkering that it would only remain open for so long.

“It’s time to go!” Garnet shouted, leading the way to leap through the spacescape back toward the portal. Seeing as how they’d certainly gotten what they came here for, no one protested this plan of action as they all began an urgent race to the portal, hoping to get out of Bill’s destructive range as soon as possible. Yet strangely, for his part, Bill didn’t seem to notice their escape at all, instead completely focused on feeding power into his next attack, whatever that mysterious attack might actually be.

However, in light of his lack of focus on them, one among the group suddenly stopped short, something that wasn’t lost on Mabel as the hand that had been clinging onto hers suddenly fell away. “S-Stepper, what are you doing?!” she exclaimed, noticing that not only had Stepper stopped heading for the portal; he’d strangely turned his attention back to Bill instead. “C’mon! We gotta get out of here!”

Stepper largely ignored Mabel’s futile attempts at pulling him along by one of his lower arms. Instead, he remained focused on Bill, focused on the opportunity right ahead of him, a chance he knew he wouldn’t get like this again anytime soon. It would be so easy to run full speed toward the portal just as the others all currently were, so easy to go home and put this mess behind both of his halves. And yet…

There would still be the inevitable risk of Bill returning, the risk of the dimensional tears the rift was causing giving way to someone else falling into his nightmarish home just as he had. And of course, the risk that Bill could get his hands on the rift and use it to unleash destruction and devastation untold upon the world. No one was safe as long as the dream demon still lurked somewhere; not Stepper, not either of his halves, not Mabel, not the Gems, not Stan and Ford, no one on Earth was free from his twisted, relentless treachery. Even as confined to the Nightmare Realm as he currently was, he was still free to spread his lies and deception to anyone who would listen, still free to subtly, quietly ruin the lives of innocent people by taking away what they loved most. Bill was a monster, no question or doubt about it. A monster who, Stepper knew, Stepper remembered had put him through so much suffering, so much unnecessary pain just for his own demented amusement. A monster who had ripped away every shred of who he really was, who had burned half of his very identity out of mere sadistic pleasure alone. A monster who had left so much ruin and anguish in his wake for the endless string of atrocities he’d committed, both past and present. Atrocities that, for the sake of himself and his friends and family, at least one half of Stepper refused to let continue any longer.

Even if that meant he might not make it back in the process.

“Mabel…” he finally spoke, glancing back at her with the faintest ghost of a bittersweet smile. “I-I… I’m sorry…”

Mabel didn’t get a chance to say a single word before Stepper bolted forward, jumping off a shield he’d summoned to give him some extra speed as he rushed back in Bill’s direction. “Stepper!” Mabel shouted, her distraught cry catching everyone else’s attention as they drew close to the portal.

“What the heck is he doing?!” Stan exclaimed, completely baffled. “Have they both gone nuts?! We’re trying to get AWAY from the psychotic, bloodthirsty triangle, not run right back to him!”

“He’s going after Bill…” Ford said with a gasp of terrified realization. “The portal could close up again at any minute; we’ve got to stop him before it does!”

“On it!” Lapis said, calling upon her wings to give chase after the fusion.

At the same time, Stepper continued speeding toward Bill, who was still completely captivated in charging up his own power. The fusion had forgone his shield journal in favor of attacking the dream demon head on, letting sheer, unbridled rage overtake him as he remembered every horrible thing his foe had done. Amidst that rage, Stepper didn’t even realize the vibrant pink glow that had started brimming in his usually dark violet eyes, pink that steadily spread out from his face across his entire body, to the point that he was glowing with it. At the same time, the entire Nightmare Realm had begun to rumble from the immense power Bill was pulling from it, his devastating attack nearing completion as he still seemingly ignored Stepper’s furious approach. For his part, Stepper was set to complete that approach as he drew from his own power, or more specifically, his gem’s, the countless momentous emotions running rampant between both of his halves fueling the fire of that power into a grand, uncontrollable blaze.

And, working on every ounce of unspeakable anger within him, Stepper unleashed that blaze upon Bill at full force. At the very same time Bill released his own.

Titanic waves of white, destructive energy violently clashed against a pink, purifying flash. The moment these two completely opposing forces met, the reaction was stark and immediate. An incredible explosion rocked the entire realm, rippling through every part of it in searing shockwaves. Those shockwaves split over the group in the midst of escaping from the Nightmare Realm, energy from them blasting their way through the very same portal that led back to Earth. And from that portal, that energy continued spreading in swift, largely invisible flourishes, engulfing all of Gravity Falls itself in a brief, inexplicable flash of what almost seemed like lightning.

A single moment was all it took, a show of power far too immeasurable to contain. And just as quickly as that power flooded between both dimensions, it was all over, leaving everything seemingly exactly the same. And yet, in the process, leaving a sudden shift in the very fabric of reality itself, one that would practically change everything.

Both Bill and Stepper were thrown back by the brunt of this blast, hard enough that the fusion briefly lost consciousness altogether. When he finally did manage to open his eyes again, his ears were ringing, his vision blurry and his skin no longer beaming pink. He was flying backward, not on his own accord, but by something else entirely: by Lapis and the steady, unrelenting hold she had on both of his upper arms as she carried him back toward the wavering portal.

As another wave of the explosion’s fallout shuddered through the Nightmare Realm, Stepper forced his bleary vision focus ahead of him, hoping that he’d see not a single sign of Bill anywhere in sight. And yet, his worst fears were realized as the dream demon suddenly rose into view afar in the distance, shaken by the impact of the explosion, but hardly no worse for wear because of it.

“N-no…” Stepper choked, his eyes wide and distraught as he realized his plan hadn’t worked. Still, he refused to let it not work, it had to work, he had to stop Bill somehow, he was going to stop Bill right here and now and he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

“D-Dipper! S-Steven!” Lapis grunted as Stepper started aggressively struggling against her firm hold. “What are you doing?!”

“L-let me go!” he shouted hotly, his lower arms reaching up to pry his upper ones out of Lapis’ hands.

“Are you crazy?!” Lapis retorted, incredulously. “There’s no way I’m letting you get anywhere close to him again! We’re getting both of you home where you belong, NOW!”

“Please! Lapis, you have to let me go finish him off!” Stepper practically pleaded, knowing that they were nearing the portal. Which meant that his time to act was running out. “I know I can! I-”

“Forget it!” Lapis snapped, infuriated by his stubbornness. By his incredibly self-destructive behavior above all else, especially after everything he’d just been through. “You are NOT doing this! We almost lost you once, I’m not letting that happen again!”

Stepper continued resisting her hold, wanting to argue back with every bit of palpable fury he had left in him. Yet he stopped just shy of them reaching the portal, which itself was on the verge of sealing up completely after everyone had already safely made it through to the other side. He stilled briefly, just to hear Bill offer him one final vindictive word of farewell. A bitter reminder of once possible chance that had just slipped out of his hands once and for all:

“Nice try, Rose Tree, but you can’t get rid of me that easily! I’ll always come back! And I’ll ALWAYS BE WATCHING YOU!”

The last thing Stepper heard before Lapis dragged him through the portal was the dream demon’s haunting, malicious laughter. Laughter that had always tormented his mind and heart from the very beginning. And now, as long as Bill would continue to survive and thrive and carry on with his ceaseless conquest of chaos and destruction, it always would.

The portal sealed itself up in a blinding burst of light, closing up the connection between the Nightmare Realm and Earth just in time. The moment it did, Garnet wasted no time in plowing her gauntlets into the machine that had made it, knowing that the risk of keeping such a device around was far too great. In light of their harrowing escape, most of the group took the time to recover their lost breath on the floor of the author’s room, save for Stepper, who, as soon as Lapis finally released him, made it a point to get up and vent his immense frustration right off the bat.

“Why?” he asked harshly, turning on Lapis in particular as she also rose to stand. “Why did you stop me?! Why didn’t you let me go back and finish what I started?!”

“Finish what?” Lapis shot back just as severely. “Trying to get yourself killed?! You’re lucky to even be alive right now after what you just went through, and you were just... ready to throw the life you only barely managed to get back away without a second thought!”

“That’s not what I was trying to do!” Stepper argued fiercely. “I was trying to beat Bill once and for all. I could have done it too, I was right there-”

“And then what?” Lapis countered, refusing to back down. “Even if you had destroyed him, which you didn’t, either you would have been stuck in there forever or you would have wound up destroying yourself at the same time! You weren’t thinking about what you were doing, Dipper!”

“I was thinking!” Stepper shouted hotly, ignoring the fact that she had been spot on about who had actually decided on such a deadly course of action to begin with. “I was thinking that I had a chance to finally, finally stop him and I took it. Unlike the rest of you who just ran as soon as you had the chance.”

“We had no choice but to run, Stepper,” Garnet interjected, her tone surprisingly even. “Even while working together, we all only barely managed to hold Bill back. We didn’t go to the Nightmare Realm to pick a fight with him in the first place. We went there to recover your memories, which we did. We had no reason to risk staying there any longer.”

“Yes, we did!” Stepper rebuffed resiliently. “If we’d all worked together, we could have taken Bill down easily! We could have won! And if we had, if you had all just let me take my chance and stop him, then we’d never have to worry about him hurting anyone else ever again!”

“Stepper,” Ford spoke up with a weary sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Believe me when I say that no one wants to see Bill’s downfall more than me. But that was not the proper time and place to launch such a haphazard, desperate, reckless-”

“Reckless?!” Stepper interrupted with an appalled scoff. “You think I was being reckless?! I knew what I was doing in there! I was ready for whatever might happen as long as it might work. Defeating Bill-”

“Is NOT your responsibility!” Ford cut him off in newfound frustration. “You’re both just kids! Children who shouldn’t be anywhere near Bill, much less trying to bring him to an end!”

“But I could have done it!” Stepper protested. “We’re strong enough, I’m strong enough to face him! A-and… and even if I hadn’t made it back, wouldn’t it have been worth it to finally get rid of him, to finally keep everyone, the entire Earth, safe from what he’s planning for it?”

“N-no…” Mabel muttered on the outskirts of this intense fight, her voice barely audible as she clung onto Stan’s leg for support. “It wouldn’t have been…”

“Stepper, just… chill already!” Amethyst advised anxiously. “We all want to see Bill go down just as much as you do-“

“No you don’t!” Stepper sharply shouted, all four of his hands in tight, shaking fists.

“Yes, we do,” Pearl countered as calmly as she could. “Bill has hurt all of us in so many different ways-“

“Ohohoh, yeah, Bill’s really hurt all of you,” Stepper scoffed, an air of bitter mocking in his tone. “The worst he ever did to any of you was trick you or possess you. Well guess what? He did BOTH of those things to me! But I guess you’re right. I mean it’s not like he took away every part of who any of you are and just... burnt it to ashes like it was nothing, RIGHT?!”

A long, heavy bout of silence filled the room at this, one that was only permeated by a heavy, angry sob from Stepper himself. He could tell just from the pity-filled glances they were all sending his way that no one was on his side with this, not really. Instead, they were all seeing him for exactly what he was: a pair of largely broken boys hiding behind a fused facade that was falling apart at the seams every bit as much as each of his halves were. And under their scrutinizing stares, Stepper quickly realized he could scarcely bear the immense weight of his own mounting mistakes, of his own failure to finally stop Bill’s tyranny once and for all. His failure to take back everything the dream demon had stolen from him and then some.

So he sighed, wiping away his tears as he turned to leave entirely. “Yeah…” he muttered as he walked out of the room. “That’s what I thought.”

Mabel was the first to move to follow Stepper, awash in worry for his wellbeing on several levels after everything that just happened. Yet before she could get too far, Garnet happened to stop her with a sudden hand on her shoulder. “Let him go,” she advised with a small, tired sigh, clearly sharing Mabel’s concern for the troubled fusion. “He needs space to work through this on his own. To work through this together.”

Shield after shield was flung off the top of the temple hill, with no real regard given to where they might be going until they inevitably disappeared into the distance entirely. Stepper knew he was essentially throwing a childish temper tantrum as he tossed them haphazardly, wishing he could throw away all of the anger and resentment he was feeling just as easily. Though his tears were gone, his frustration had hardly diminished, even though that palpable fury was only really coming from one of his halves all while the other one stepped aside to let them both feel it. After all, pain like this simply demanded to be felt.

“It’s not fair!” Stepper shouted, letting another shield fly loose over the edge of the cliffside. “We finally had the chance to beat Bill for good and they just… took it away from us! And now he’s still out there, still after the rift, after all of us! It’s like none of them even understand that! I-I know…” he sighed sadly, his less furious side finally peeking through the cracks a bit. “But… there is an upside to all this. Really?” he scoffed, finally letting his shield journal disappear as he crossed his upper arms. “Because as far as I can see, there is none. There is,” his lower hands gently found a place against his upper ones. “We made it back; both of us remember who we are again… I know it’s not the same as actually defeating Bill but… at least we managed to win that much from him… That’s something... right?”

Stepper took pause at this, his gem and his birthmark briefly flashing with the same mutual thought: at least you’re ok if nothing else is…

And on that thought, the fusion let out a long, exhausted sigh as he allowed himself to fall back into the soft grass, the bright morning sun casting a sort of welcome warmth he couldn’t quite feel. Instead, he felt cold on the inside, cold and sad and empty. A feeling both of his halves were far more used to than they should have been by this point in their lives.

“I-I just… wanted to stop him…” he whispered, covering his eyes with his arms to block out any tears that might come. “I wanted to never have to think about him or what he did to me again… I wanted to finally learn how to feel safe again…” He could feel a morose sob begin to escape him, but his other half managed to stop it as he wrapped his lower arms loosely around himself. “You are safe… with me��”

While there was so much he could have said, so much he wanted to say at a moment like that, he let that gentle promise sink in, allowing himself to accept it as a much-needed momentary comfort. He let out another deep breath as he closed his eyes, simply letting himself lie there in solemn silence to reflect on everything that they’d been through. Everything he’d been through.

His halves could remember everything their fusion had gone through, even when their own memories had been torn away from him. They could remember how lost and scared and alone Stepper had felt, how much he’d wanted to become his own person instead of being torn apart into either of them. It was a jarring recollection, to say the least, but even so, neither of his halves could fault him for it. Because in losing both Steven and Dipper, Stepper had lost who he really was too.

And now, both of them were back, Stepper, Steven, and Dipper were all properly restored in body and mind. But it had been a narrow, almost hollow victory, one that they had barely managed to snatch away from Bill in a moment when all hope had essentially been lost. And in the end, Bill had really been the one to win, his wicked ways allowed to survive and thrive another day despite the fusion’s very best efforts to put an end to them. Because in the end, those efforts hadn’t been enough. He hadn’t been enough.

Stepper didn’t know how long he’d been lying there when he finally caught onto the sound of approaching footsteps in the grass. A brief glance to the side told him Garnet was coming, and while he didn’t acknowledge her outside of that, he did sit up, pulling his knees to his chest as he glanced down at the wide view of the town before him.

“Mind if I join you?” Garnet spoke up, though even so, Stepper refused to look her way.

“I thought you were mad at me for being ‘reckless’, just like everyone else is…” he muttered crossly.

“I’m not mad,” Garnet clarified, taking a seat in the grass beside him. “In fact, I’m very happy that both of you are safe and sound. We all are.”

“...But you still think what I tried to do was wrong… don’t you?” Stepper asked, finally briefly glancing her way.

“Actually, I think what you did was very brave. And warranted. For the safety of our entire universe, Bill does need to go down, but the way you tried to go about doing it… that’s not how it was meant to go.”

“Now you tell me…” Stepper deadpanned, disappointed.

“To be honest, I can’t see how, when, or even if Bill will ever be defeated,” Garnet said, adjusting her shades. “He evades my future vision every step of the way; that’s why what he did to the two of you came as such a shock. I could have never seen it coming; but if I had…” The Gem leader paused to wipe away the tear that had happened to slip out from under her visor. “I would have done anything in my power to keep both of you from suffering the way you did. Stepper is something that’s so special to both of you; the way you both have grown and bonded together through him is inspiring, even to me. But Bill turned your fusion, your bond, into a prison that you were both powerless to escape from. And that’s something I’ll never forgive him for.”

“Well… at least that’s something we can all agree on…” Stepper said, managing a weak smile at this.

Garnet, on the other hand, said nothing, her focus set on the fusion before her and her expression unreadable all the while. Still, it didn’t take her long to speak to that scrutiny, noticing Stepper’s sudden confusion over it. “Stepper,” she began calmly, evenly. “Both of you have your memories back… you’re both whole again. Which is why I can’t help but wonder why, now that everything’s said and done, you’re still fused.”

“Wait… what?” Stepper frowned, looking over himself in newfound surprise. Or at least, surprise for one of his halves. “Oh my gosh, we are still fused. I-I mean, of course I knew we were fused, but… between everything else, I-I… I guess I didn’t really think about it until now…”

“Steven,” Garnet addressed the half of their fusion that was truly behind this. “You should tell Dipper the truth of why you’re still together. He deserves to know.”

“Know… what?” Stepper asked, only for his own shared thoughts to answer him as his gem and birthmark flashed once more. Tears had already started welling up in his eyes as he covered his mouth, both parts of him reeling from exactly what that answer actually was. “Y-you… you’re scared?” he whispered to himself worriedly. “Why? B-because!” he choked out a tight, sudden sob. “I don’t want to lose you again! When I brought you back from inside your mind, I-I didn’t have a clue what I was doing! I just thought fusing would work somehow, a-and it did! But… i-if we split up, then… I don’t know what’ll happen! I don’t want you to just… disappear all over again! Whoa, whoa, wait!” he stopped himself, trying to keep both of his halves steady despite such a frightening thought. “I-it’s ok! I won’t disappear. ...Will I?” he asked, looking to Garnet.

“I… don’t know,” Garnet shook her head fretfully. “I can see several outcomes but… not all of them are good. Not all of them are absolute either.”

“So… what you’re saying is… there’s no telling what could happen?” Stepper asked, aptly anxious. Garnet only nodded in response to this, leaving the fusion at even more of a distraught loss than before. Especially when he realized what the alternative might be to staying together, an alternative with far more permanent consequences than he could really see at the moment. “Then… what should I do?”

“That’s your decision. One both of you have to make together,” Garnet advised as she stood, placing a consoling hand on Stepper’s shoulder as she did. “But whatever you choose, we’ll all be there for you. No matter what.”

And with that, the Gem leader left Stepper to ponder the momentous decision before him, the outcome of which could impact his life, or rather, the lives of his halves far more than any other decision either of them had ever been forced to make. Even so, the bittersweet irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. They’d come so far and fought so hard to get themselves, their memories, every piece of who they actually were as individuals, back from Bill. Only to realize that they still very well might have to end up trapped in their fusion all the same. Yet even so, neither of them saw that fusion as a prison, they never could. If anything, Stepper’s very existence meant more to them now, after all they’d gone through together as him, after how they’d managed to stay by each others’ sides through it all while being him, more than ever. But to be that fusion for the rest of their lives, after only just regaining their own identities… it was something Stepper wasn’t sure he could allow either of them to commit to.

Which meant that once again, he found himself facing yet another incredible risk that he had no choice but to take.

He decided to unfuse in front of everyone, deciding it was better that they weren’t alone in doing so, just in case. There was a bit of convenient coincidence beyond that, since Ford had also spread the word that he wanted to gather everyone together for the sake of sharing some “important information”. But that information was largely the last thing on anyone’s minds as Stepper stood before them, preparing himself to finally split apart once more. He hadn’t told anyone else about the risk he’d be taking in doing so, and as far as he knew, Garnet was the only other one to know. And yet even so, she offered him a supportive nod to proceed, though he still hesitated, at least until he met Mabel’s practically pleading expression. He knew he’d kept her waiting for both of them for far too long now. It was time to give her brother and her best friend back. It was time to allow Dipper and Steven to rightfully return.

A sense of calm washed over him at the same pace as the white, gentle light that enshrouded his form. It only took a second, it always took a second, but soon enough, there they both were, standing apart from each other, on their own, their hands still intertwined all the while. Steven opened his eyes instantly, only to notice Dipper starting to sway forward, his eyes still shut, his own return still completely uncertain. He panicked, rushing to catch him just before he could hit the den floor and Mabel hurried to join him at his side as he lay still for a long, unbearable moment. A moment in which Steven couldn’t help but think the unthinkable: that he really had just fortited Dipper’s life at the expense of his own after all.

And yet nothing could have described the young Gem’s incredible relief when Dipper suddenly started to stir, a soft, tired moan escaping him as he slowly opened his eyes. He met the pair hovering over him with a small, warm smile, one that they both returned with a tight, tearful hug. The others were all quick to join in on that hug, the Pines and the Gems all folded together into a momentary blissful embrace… but one that ultimately did little to fully heal the heavy rifts that this dire ordeal had torn between so many of them.

Even so, everyone settled down, taking a seat across the den to listen to Ford’s most recent findings in light of their frantic escape from the Nightmare Realm. Steven and Mabel sat with Dipper sandwiched close and comfortably between them both, all three of them quite cozy under the light blanket Pearl had draped over them. Despite that, they were just as on edge as all the others were as Ford began to divulge what he knew, his own tone and manner rather grave and serious as he reported his latest research to them.

“So I have some good news and some bad news,” the author began as he flipped through his notes. “The good news is that after a thorough scan of interdimensional activity, I can safely say that Bill is still confined to the Nightmare Realm, as he should be. He didn’t manage to slip back through our own portal home. But… there’s still an entirely new problem altogether. It seems as though there have been several small, randomly-forming gateways to the Nightmare Realm appearing in the area in and around Gravity Falls due to… some u-unexplained phenomena.” Ford hesitated at this, exchanging a brief, knowing glance with the Gems, confirming that all of them knew the rift was to blame for those gateways. “It was through one of those gateways that Steven and Dipper first wound up in the Nightmare Realm to begin with, correct?”

“Yeah…” Dipper answered, bitterly glaring away as Steven nodded fretfully.

“So… are these random portals something we should be worried about?” Lapis asked, aptly concerned.

“I-I think they should be, especially if Cipher can manage to sneak his way through them!” Peridot exclaimed tightly, fearfully.

“Well actually, he can’t!” Ford pointed out with something of a relieved smile. “Largely since those portals won’t lead to the Nightmare Realm, at least not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Pearl asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

“It seems as though the fallout from that last attack exchanged between Bill and Stepper had a certain… effect on the ongoing interdimensional instability,” Ford said, clearing his throat as he looked away from Steven and Dipper in particular. The pair exchanged a confused glance all the same, completely oblivious to whatever impact their shared power could have had at large. In fact, the only thing either seemed to know of that incredibly strong, momentous attack was that it hadn’t worked as they’d intended it to. “That fallout slipped through our portal back and rippled across not only our dimension, but… from the looks of it, several others. It severed the existing connection between our world and the Nightmare Realm, for now, and instead opened up passageways between our dimension and countless worlds existing parallel to it! I’ve never seen anything like this before, it’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s ‘astonishing’,” Stan deadpanned, annoyed. “Mind explaining all that mambo-jumbo in english for the rest of us, poindexter?”

Ford returned his brother’s scowl at this but even so he complied. “Simply put, the randomly-occurring portals that once led to the Nightmare Realm will continue to show up, but instead, they’ll lead to parallel dimensions to our own.”

“Well… that doesn’t sound too bad,” Mabel piped up. “At least nobody else can get sucked into the Nightmare Realm again, right?”

“While that is true, these dimensional gateways still have me concerned all the same,” Ford mused. “Regardless of where they lead, they’re still holes torn in the very fabric of reality itself. And the more holes we let rip their way into it, the weaker that fabric will steadily become.”

“Then that makes those portals a problem,” Garnet said firmly. “Possibly even more of a problem if Bill somehow finds a way to use them to his advantage.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Ford staunchly agreed. “That’s why I’m already in the process of readying a device that can not only scan for these portals, but close them up completely. But it’s going to take some time. For now, the best any of us can do is keep an eye out for any unusual dimensional anomalies, especially anything akin to a portal. Where exactly these gateways could lead is mystery; as far as we know, the worlds they connect to could be hostile and dangerous. So until we can find a foolproof way to keep them at bay, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

A murmur of solemn agreement passed throughout the room at this, everyone understanding just how much of a problem these newfound portals could really pose. But at the same time, Steven and Dipper both remained silent, their shared role in changing where these portals led not lost on either of them. Because in the end, their last-ditch, desperate attempt at stopping Bill only did more harm than good.

Just as everything either of them did always seemed to do.

The night air was cool and crisp and refreshing, complimenting the dark, moonless sky well. The natural silence filling that air was calm and comforting, an aura Dipper tried to let wash over him as he sat on the shack’s roof platform alone. In general, being alone was suddenly a strange sensation to him, even outside of no longer being fused with Steven; Mabel and Stan hovered over him with immense concern (or as much concern as Stan was actually willing to show) for the rest of the day, and while Lapis and Ford both kept their distance for obvious reasons, he still caught them sending several fretful glances his way all the same. He’d assured them several times over that he was fine, that there was nothing more for any of them to worry about, but of course that worry still came all the same.

Only now, in the very late hours of the night once everyone else had finally gone home or gone to sleep, was Dipper able to find a spare moment of solitude. Yet even still, that solitude felt strangely… wrong somehow. He frowned as he glanced down at his hands, only two now instead of Stepper’s four. The longest he’d ever been part of a fusion before was for a few hours at most; but the course of several days as Stepper, both when Stepper remembered he existed and when he didn’t, had left him feeling oddly out of place on his own. While he didn’t necessarily feel the need to be fused, he still felt wrong somehow. He felt like something important, essential even, was missing.

Above all else, he felt alone.

Or at least he did until the very person he wanted to see most suddenly came to join him.

“H-hey,” Steven greeted with a small wave, landing on the roof from the floating leap he’d taken to get up there.

“S-Steven?” Dipper started, though he was quick to ease up as Steven came over to take a seat next to him. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” the young Gem admitted. “Not after… well, you know.”

“Yeah…” Dipper sighed, pulling his knees to his chest as he perched his chin upon them. “Same here…”

Silence lingered between both boys for what felt like hours, both of them knowing there was so much they could have discussed in light of what they’d just been through together yet neither of them knew where to start. Eventually though, Dipper was the first to speak up, a very vague, distressing thought filling his mind, a memory he only really had at all thanks to Steven sharing it with him while they were still fused. “I… I really was gone… wasn’t I?” he asked, his voice barely even above a whisper.

Steven shuttered, hating to even think about what had to have been one of the absolute worst moments of his entire life so far. Even so, he knew he owed Dipper the truth of the matter. “Yeah…” he admitted anxiously, glancing away. “You were…”

“But… you brought me back… didn’t you?” Dipper asked, glancing over at him.

Steven nodded, finally managing to muster a small, fond smile at this. “I would have never been able to do it without your help.”

“My help? What do you mean?”

“Your memories,” the young Gem’s smile widened just a bit. “When I was inside your mind, they were what led me to find you.”

“...You were inside my mind?” Dipper asked with a light frown.

Steven gasped, his eyes widening as he realized the unintentional slight he’d made against Dipper in doing so, memories of their bitter argument flooding his mind with guilt and dread. “I-I’m sorry!” he exclaimed anxiously. “I know you don’t like me using my powers on you, b-but it was the only thing I could think of to get Bill out and save you, a-and I-”

He was abruptly cut off as Dipper engulfed him in a tight, unexpected embrace. The tears that were well on their way stopped, for Steven at least, though for Dipper, they were only starting to arrive. “Please, please don’t be sorry,” he begged him, remorse racking his tone as he sobbed against his shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be sorry! I said so many terrible things to you! I-I can’t believe I said you were anything like… like him! You’re not! You’re nothing like he is! What was I even thinking?!”

“Y-you were just upset,” Steven tried to sooth him as he gently returned his desperate hug. “I’m not angry about it; I never was.”

“You should be!” Dipper protested, tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled away from the young Gem a bit. “You should be furious with me, not risking your life to try to save mine like you did! W-why… why’d you do that?” his volume diminished entirely at this as he closed his eyes, looking away in unspeakable shame. “Why didn’t you just let me go…?”

“Because,” Steven comforted him, placing his hands against Dipper’s arms in the hopes of calming him down. “When my gem was cracked, you didn’t let go of me. And even if you had, I still would have done anything I could to get you back.”

“B-but why?” Dipper asked, still mystified by the young Gem’s sheer, incredible sense of loyalty.

“Because you’re my best friend, Dipper!” Steven laughed warmly, tears brimming in his own eyes now. “I’d do anything for you!”

“A-anything…” Dipper repeated, letting out a small, incredulous chuckle of his own. That levity soon faded as he slowly wiped a few of his own tears away. “Even agree to sacrifice everything just because I wanted to defeat Bill, huh?”

“Of course,” Steven nodded earnestly. “I could tell that’s what you wanted more than anything. I knew how much you thought that would help you, and all I wanted, all I’ve ever wanted, is just to help you. And I guess… I listened to you for a change to figure out how.”

“A part of me wishes you hadn’t,” Dipper sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “As much as I hate to admit it, the others were right; if our attack had worked, then… there’s a pretty good chance neither of us would be sitting here right now. I almost got us both killed, all because I was obsessed with finally getting even with him for every awful thing he’s done to us. But… it didn’t work. Of course, it didn’t…” he sighed again, shame creeping into his tone once more as he hugged himself loosely. “I was wrong… just like I always am.”

“N-no, you weren’t, it’s just…” Steven frowned, unsure of what he really wanted to say. “It’s like Garnet said; now just… wasn’t the right time. But… when we finally do stop him, and we will, then we’ll do it together, just like before.”

Dipper faltered briefly at this, wanting to believe such a hopeful idea, that Bill really could and would be brought to justice someday. And yet, in light of him so easily escaping that justice yet again, he knew that finally bringing him down once and for all would be far easier said than done.

Yet for the moment, at least, he allowed himself to smile, grateful to be alive after everything they’d both been through. Grateful for his memories, now revived and restored in full. Grateful for Steven, grateful for his support, his selflessness, his kindness in every instance of this ordeal. And most of all, grateful that their friendship had managed to weather the worst of storms it could have ever gone through, grateful that the rifts torn between them had, at long last, finally been repaired.

So he still smiled, knowing that even if Bill was still out there and their problems were still plentiful, there was still so much to be grateful for. Still someone who stayed right by his side through it all, who was ready to stay by his side, right up to the bitter end.

Someone he knew, without a single question in his mind, was nothing less than the absolute best friend he could have ever asked for.

“Yeah… Together.”

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