#verse: fragment (au.)

[beastenraged]

the nature of the diseased, pt. 2

@hallowed-nebulae

The person that raised Xehanort died of disease.

His parent. He watched them as they coughed out the last of their breath, as the rising of their chest grew shallower and shallower until it didn't rise at all.

Xehanort didn't have any medicine. Any knowledge on how to fix what had gone so terribly wrong in the body before him.

Even at Scala, he'd never been never good at healing magics like Cure. Probably something about how those magics belong to the Light and Xehanort has always lived in the Dark.

Eraqus never got sick. Did that mean that they were never meant to be connected, for what was to come? Xehanort doesn't know. Fate is tricky like that.

Seems only fitting that the next person in his life to catch his attention, be so vital to the future, is dying too. Dying from a wrongness in the body that he cannot correct.

(Not without putting himself there. Reshaping the Heart to hold part of his own inside.)

Xehanort breathes.

No, Ruse won't die. Not yet. Because she's not the Ruse that will offer a hand to a small child on Destiny Island's shores and promise never to leave him.

To leave Xehanort.

But sickness can do worse than kill. It'll eat her alive, it already has eaten her alive. And the way everyone reacts to this diagnosis...it's like they think she's already dead, the fools.

Xehanort huffs to himself, turning his attention from the situation and Ruse. To something else to remember.

Because the other Xehanort, as different as they are, is free in a way he cannot be. Xehanort did not make a mistake in talking to the other in the way he did, but he has to admit at least one truth: this Xehanort is happy.

In the glow of their silver eyes (never gold), and how they talk to the friends they met in the Arena. Friends, not tools.

He may have spoken true, saying that their friends will die as a result of being Xehanort, but for this individual...those friends don't have to stay dead.

As bitter as the truth is in his mouth, in his Heart...he can't help feel a weight on his shoulders lighten. Ever so slightly.

At least in one universe, a Xehanort will escape their fate.

It will not be him, never be him.

But at least in one universe, he can be happy without the destiny to fix the worlds on their shoulders.

(Xehanort will bear the disease of destiny for the both of them.)

[opyre]

WHAT KIND OF LOVE ARE YOU ?

LOVE AS A FLAW : Cowering, your love hides in the dark. In shadows and under cover of night, your love runs from corner to corner, afraid to linger, afraid to be caught. Afraid, afraid, afraid of everything. When you fall in love, it is with alarm bells ringing. Your love is a mistake, a flaw in the code, a purchase you don’t remember making and desperately want to return. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t want this. It’s a problem–– your problem ––and you would do anything to pass it off, burn it away, scoop it out of you with bare hands, or carved out with hooked knives before it can destroy you. Get it out, just get it out now. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, only that you can’t afford to be hurt first. Being loved by you is to be loved by a figment of the imagination. It is to be loved in halves, or not at all.

tagged by : @elemosyna ♡

tagging : any and all may steal ! tag me in it so i can see (only if you'd like) ! :)c

[lastmurianwarrior]

💭 !!

((HOo boy, I had fun - settling on a scene was tough though. With this blog's Solo pulling from the games and anime most, it's an interesting dance to incorporate as much lore from either media as possible, while fleshing out the details and making sense of it. I want to do Laplace too, but this ended up long enough, that I think I'll save that for a new post. This is a window into a particularly pivotal day for Solo, from long long ago.))

FLASHBACK: Aching eyes from bright sunlight that poured in through the pale-green air shuttle's sliding door, was the first greeting from this ground-dwelling destination to meet the passengers from Mu as they arrived for a diplomatic meeting that would inevitably unravel into unamusing discourse.

Solo followed from behind as the small crew of Mu officials ambled out onto a wide dusty circle. At 13 he was deemed mature and expected to take on the responsibilities of his noble position. Getting to know the world and involving himself in geopolitical discussions would be a start. But Mu’s tactician always wanted him to play along and read from a script; becoming furious if Solo changed any of the details.

It was too embarrassing to admit he hadn’t paid enough attention to what was happening between Mu and the tribes on the ground. But some of the things he’d had to say, never set well with him, and he at least knew from faces in the crowds that it didn’t set well with the tribes either. Mulling over that fact, Solo didn’t feel like involving himself this time, and the spectacle of this foreign town was enough to tempt him into skipping the day’s meeting altogether to go explore on his own; to get to know the people and sniff out some local treats.

The tactician; Mu’s master-planner, a tall old man, dressed darkly and with a hat like a tower on his head, flattened at the top, marched in front, expecting everyone to keep up with his long stride. He threw a few indignant sneers back at Solo for lagging behind, but didn’t waste any time waiting around.

Jagged megaliths with the visages of important people and revered animals; as though guarding the walkways, guided the visitors to a stone brick roadway populated by village-folk; merchants, carvers, toolmakers, and farmers all with their fare and animals to offer.

There was little hope of convincing the locals that Mu technology wasn’t all powered by some magic or divine force; even many of Mu’s people themselves still believed this. A small portion of the village dawned their most elaborate garb to dance, while musicians of woodwind and bone instruments played tunes almost magical in their own way. Such flamboyance was motivated by hopes of earning favor from their sky visitors, of course.

Each of the Mu officials strolled on, paying no heed to the garish ensemble, stopping only briefly to look back with steely eyes as they entered the tallest building for miles; a relic of stone architecture from a time when the floating continent of Mu was still rooted firmly in the ground; a mere hundred years prior. Newer construction surrounding it seemed oddly more primitive; distinguished by a framework of wood, mastodon tusks, and painted animal hides.

Rather than join his party inside, Solo took a turn on his own to walk further down the street. Breaking the sunlight induced glare, his eyes filled with wonder at the rocky scrublands, patched with temperate foliage and exotic flowers, then shifted to soaking in the sight of all the people; many of them thoroughly tanned, wrapped in lightweight yellow, green, orange, or red textiles, and leather garb. Camelids and barely tame village-dogs moseyed about the street, which narrowed, then broke off into a dead end marked by spiny overgrowth that trailed off in the direction of a distantly roaring waterfall from glacial melt.

As he kept his pace along the bustling street, the thought of moving aside for others hadn’t so much as cross his mind. In spite of the open airspace, the walkway was claustrophobic compared to the vast halls within the upper floors of Mu that he’d grown up in. Roughly brushing shoulders with folk disinterested in showing the noble Murian respect, however, struck Solo with the gut-wrenching sense that something had changed in the atmosphere; there was a rising tension distinctly in opposition to the affection, wonder, intrigue, and most importantly; respect, that his presence once garnered.

Suspicious and apprehensive eyes began to track his white-haired, ruby-eyed presence from all sides, and seemed to grow in number with every step. He had no choice but to stand out. Even the sheen of his perfectly angular earrings set him apart from the largely stone-age folk occupying this territory. Attempting to pay no mind to them, he chose a collection of produce to fixate on; legumes, wild grains, and various medicinal herbs sorted into piles atop mats, or stuffed into laboriously hand-woven baskets. The merchant’s most prized however, were dainty yellow-orange squash whose flowers had been hand pollinated to ensure a pure, sweeter new strain; a dozen of them to the side, clean and neatly ordered.

While small-scale efforts were made to farm on the floating continent, ground dwelling villages such as this one were agriculturally vital to Mu’s food line. Few peoples in the world had proven so dedicated to cultivating new resilient and appetizing crop varieties as here. It was both a necessity and a luxury Mu couldn’t afford to loose by getting into a war with.

“Give me your best one.”

Solo stiffly ordered, absentminded of his entitled tone; after all, why shouldn’t he want the best, when the best is what his people always seemed to expect of him? He was taken aback when the seller chided him for his complex, and refused to give him one unless he had something of value to offer, like his earrings, which was a definite no.

Unsettled, he made a silent turn, landing him unexpectedly in front of a much taller man, that suddenly reprimanded the young noble for his poor manners, sparking a whole onset of village-folk spitting their dissatisfaction with Mu in Solo’s general direction. Before anyone had even said a negative word, his innocent curiosity had already given way, replaced by a confused panic, that he fought to entirely conceal. Up to that point, he’d never personally encountered a crowd that would so readily turn on him; that would band together like this.

“You always get more than we could ever dream to ask for! Yet you have the nerve to want the best that we have!”

“You claim Mu is our security!? You threaten us with the very same power and weapons you claim to protect us with!”

“Do you even remember the villages that were burned for the sake of cooperation with Mu!? Or is that just another necessary sacrifice to you!?”

“The powers of Mu are unnatural! - This world would be better off without your kind, you monsters!”

Mu’s very recent exercise of dominance through displays of great destructive power across the world was likely to blame for igniting the sudden hostility. Offerings made to Mu that were once given out of love and hope of blessing, were now bribes for mere survival or an advantage over other tribes.

None took too kindly to being viewed as tools by much of the higher Murian caste. Some were bursting at the seams to make those feelings clear; viewing this moment as an opportunity to do so; to make a demonstration of one of Mu’s supposedly treasured individuals.

The now quite unpopular noble, snapped a reply,

“Isn’t that how the world works? - Those with power, get to make the rules! They can take what they want!”

Yet somehow, speaking only made him look more foolish to the crowd.

The fuss continued, yet fell into the background of Solo’s mind as an almost sly-looking young man, came within arm’s reach of the lone Murian, and with him, a few others trickled in to form a feisty-looking circle around their flustered visitor. Solo’s first instinct was to tuck his chin into the high teal turtleneck of his uniform, wishing he could just hide within an impenetrable shell, like some kind of turtle. Goading him on, the other young man questioned,

“So you think you can just do what you want huh?”

Without a second thought, Solo snapped back,

“Yes, I’ll do as I please.”

The other young man, keeping his smug cool, continued as though setting up some kind of hostile joke,

“Oh yeah, and what makes you so special?”

The Mu noble spewed whatever came to mind first, everything he said was going to be used against him at this point; but loosing his temper made it impossible to keep his mouth shut.

“The blood of Mu that courses through my veins!”

Swiftly came the interrogator's searing punchline,

“Mhm, and if that’s so valuable, maybe spilling it on the streets will finally pay for all the food and labor you’ve taken from my people!”

“Now tell me Mu child - If you really can see more than us with those unearthly eyes. Can you see this?”

Solo indignantly glanced around with puzzled frustration. But a mere second later the young man’s fist made a hard landing across the noble kid’s face. Enraged shock filled every ounce of Solo’s being, as he finally let out a sharp shout; though almost swallowing his own breath in the process,

“GAAAHH, I-I could take any of you on!”

The prompt response of the crowd was by no means reassuring for the loner in its middle. Someone interjected from behind,

“Shut up! Maybe you could. But not all of us together!”

With that, Solo felt his legs kicked out from behind. Others worked to keep him on the ground. As a soft faced wiry kid, Solo was tough, but against the gang surrounding him, he seemed more akin to a small bird surrounded by lions. They were rugged and strong, they knew they were always lifting more than their share of weight in this world.

The young Murian wasn’t ready for this; he wasn’t ready to just EM Wave change on a whim. Let alone, in the midst of such confusion. But enraged by the insults of the crowd, he used all his strength to prop himself back up with his arms, just to look them in the eyes.

“I’ll hunt you down! …I’ll-I’ll make you know what it really means to suffer!”

At that, they only beat him harder. Face to the bricks, Solo froze up completely, and by the time three thunderous shouts from the other Mu officials broke up the crowd, their child of Mu was already in a limp haze.

Solo hadn’t known true fear or suffering before this. It was his first taste; his first bite, and it made his stomach sick. No one had so much as asked him to think over the fate of the peoples that might’ve opposed Mu. The mere thought of opposing Mu was a pill so foreign, nothing could make him swallow it; they must have been enemies…

As the first of multiple incidents following a similar theme, Solo grew to immensely despise crowds.

Though word spread of decimated villages who opposed Mu’s total reign, many continued to view those of Mu as auspicious, brushing other tribe’s grievances off as rumors, or unconcerning to those that remained loyal to their empire.

However, Solo never got over the feeling that others could turn on him at any moment should Mu fail to ensure they felt blessed with fortunate harvests or secure infrastructure; or for that matter, any reason they wanted. Trusting others became an only barely surpassable obstacle for him.

… The reign of his people lasted only a mere three years after.

[pyonpyonpyon]

Two new aus for Ramuda!

star rail au (loosely based off stella)

Ramuda is a plant-like alien who left his home planet and landed on an empty ice planet for his research. Due to his experiments, he was able to attain immortality for himself, but in his loneliness and single-mindedness he lost touch with his emotions over the untrackable amount of time.

One day, a visitor (Hanabi) lands on the ice planet, and after getting to know Ramuda, Hanabi eventually manages to succeed in dragging him away. The two of them spent time together hopping worlds, and Ramuda slowly starts to exhibit emotion again.

He is then murdered by an assassin, and Hanabi is kidnapped while Ramuda's body is thrown into a dumpster. Though he isn't actually dead due to his artificial immortality, he's in a coma-like state close enough to be mistaken as dead while his wounds heal themselves.

The Trailblazer finds him while they're digging through trash, and once he regains consciousness he decides to come along the Astral Express in hopes of finding and saving Hanabi. Most notable physical trait are the white camellias in his hair.

megaman battle network au

Just your regular cute fashion designer with a simple but cheerful and obnoxious navi nothing suspicious here at all!!! Don't you dare try to pick him up even if he looks small!!

[tathrin]

Okay but bad enough he just lost his complicated-quasi-daughter-figure to a Kinslayer Adoption, there is no way that Thranduil-I-lost-family-in-Doriath-You-Fuck would let his son run around unguarded when there’s a Fëanorian around. Legolas is going to spend the entire battle basically trapped like an oversized melon under his dad’s arm with Thranduil hissing and doing sword-tricks anytime somebody comes too close. No bat-riding for you this time kid, you’re in the They Will Kinslay You Over My Dead Body And Their Own Zone now.

Hobbit AU where everything is the same except Maglor shows up to yell at Gandalf and Thranduil about the stupidity of going to war over a shiny rock. He’s also disappointed in Bilbo, Bard, and Thorn, but they’re all Second Born, so he’s not sure how much history they know.

They leave the Arkenstone unguarded in Thranduil’s tent for approximately five seconds and when they come back, Maglor is sitting on Thranduil’s fancy chair wiht his arms crossed.

Just… imagine the look on the face of Thranduil (a survivor of Doriath) when he walks into his tent and there’s a SON OF FEANOR sitting there with the Arkenstone in front of him. FUCKKKKK.

No one is certain how he got in there. The guards never saw him.

At this point, everyone in Middle Earth had assumed he was dead, because there hadn’t been ANY sign of him since the Sinking of Beleriand.

Gandalf doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he knows it has the potential to provide great entertainment (or end in tragedy, but either way, he’s looking forward to it). He’s looking forward to telling Elrond and Galadriel, because he’s certain they will have highly emotional (and very different) reactions.

Bilbo doesn’t know why everyone fell silent when they walked into the tent, so he just politely bows to Maglor and introduces himself as “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Maglor gives him a funny look - because he knows that offering your service to a Fëanorian is a really bad idea - but he decides the funny little creature looks too innocent to scold, so he smiles and bows his head. “Well met,” he says. “A star shines on the hour of our meeting.”

Thranduil internally screams at the word “star”

Then Maglor just starts shouting at Thranduil and Gandalf, calling them all fucking stupid. He asks Thranduil if he enjoyed the Kinslaying at Doriath, since he’s about to do the same fucking thing (‘It’s not the same!’ Thranduil argues. “Oh really?” Maglor asks, “You’re not about to go into an underground Kingdom to flush out the native inhabitants, ALL OVER A ROCK”)

Bard and Bilbo are looking at each other like ‘do you know him?’ ‘no, don’t you?’ (Bilbo is highly upset because he’s considered an elf that could be so rude or that there was any such thing as an elf with a ‘hobo aesthetic’)

Thranduil is, of course, offended to be compared to the Feanorians, so he shouts back that those are bold words for someone who came to claim the Silmaril for himself.

Maglor stands up - and he’s taller than all of them - and just picks up the Arkenstone in his bare hand.

Everyone goes silent. Thranduil is waiting for him to start burning. Bilbo is seeing their chance at using the Arkenstone to prevent battle slipping away. Gandalf knows what’s coming, and he’s having a BLAST.

“YOU THOUGHT THIS PIECE OF SHIT WAS A SILMARIL?”

[kitxkatrp]

Tag Dump 6

[sparkrls]

set a love alight

MASTERLIST

part of the bandmates! harry x yn au

Summary: in which Y/N makes mistakes and Harry remind her she’s only human

Author’s Note: just needed some emotional Y/N with sweetheart Harry. remember to like and reblog because i crave validation. love ya <3

Word Count: 1.3k

•••

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Y/N cursed, pushing past the mess of wires and equipment backstage and pushing through the door of the emergency exit. The door swung open, slamming against the brick wall before clicking shut again.

Kicking at a small rock in the gravel, Y/N tried to release her fury. A choked sob escaped her raw throat, the burning reminding her of the fatal mistake she’d made that night.

Ambition had been her downfall. She’d let herself be overly confident in her abilities and had reached too high, her wings scorched by the sun.

Y/N fell to the ground. She didn’t bother to sit down gently, simply just letting her knees give out beneath her. She curled her knees up to her chest, hugging them and linking her hands together.

The hem of her skirt rode up, reaching her upper thigh. Usually, she might tug it down, but she was a bit too busy crying to even think about something so trivial like her skirt.

A pair of hands settled on her shoulders. Y/N was startled at the sudden touch. She could’ve sworn she was alone.

Eyeliner and makeup smudged from crying, Y/N looked up to find that Harry was crouched in front of her, his gaze soft and warm. She quickly tried to wipe her tears away, but he caught her wrists and pulled them down to her sides.

Harry’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, “Baby. It’s okay.” He was handling her like shattered glass, doing his best to not slit his hand while picking up the sharp fragments. “I’m here.”

Y/N didn’t like for people to see her cry. Not only was she an ugly crier, but she hated when people saw her so vulnerable. It felt wrong. And she didn’t cry often anyways. But when she did, it was messy and wild.

“I screwed up,” Y/N whispered, hating how her voice broke when she was barely audible. A pool of shame gathered in her stomach, weighing her down and suffocating her.

Harry sat down next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. He leaned forward to meet her eyes. “Yeah. You did. And?”

“And?” She said, her voice raising a bit. “And I humiliated myself. I was so fucking bad.”

“You were nervous and you made a mistake,” Harry said steadily, his voice never raising. “It happens to the best of us.”

“I shouldn’t have taken that solo,” Y/N said with the shake of her head, another tear spilling against her will.

They had decided to perform their new song, ‘Set A Love Alight’. Y/N and Harry had written it just three weeks ago, and they decided to play it at this gig they’d booked at the bar they regularly played at, 17 Black.

After a long time of reluctance and hesitation, Y/N had decided to do the song as a solo. Up until now, Harry was always the one singing. Occasionally, Sarah or Mitch would sing a verse or two, but for the most part, Harry was the vocal powerhouse. Everyone liked it that way, everyone felt comfortable.

And Y/N had never dared to sing anything except backing vocals. And for the last few months, Harry had been trying to convince her to sing at least one verse of a song. He’d hyped her up, encouraging her to do so and telling her how amazing her voice was about a million times.

After a long time of pleading, Harry’d gotten what he wanted and more. Y/N took on the burden of an entire song. And tonight was not only the debut of the new song, but also of her voice.

Weeks of rehearsals had fallen down the drain when Y/N started singing and her voice came out shaky with nerves. Her hands were shaking and she didn’t hit the right chords on the guitar. And her lungs started constricting, making it hard for her to complete the lines without gasping for air. And all of this combined into the messiest performance the band had ever performed.

At the end of the song, Y/N was holding back tears and the small amount of people paying attention to the band clapped politely, but she heard the whispers of judgement. And when she turned to look at the band, the three of them were looking at her with pity in their eyes.

That was how she’d rushed off stage, thrusting her guitar into the hands of someone she passed by, possibly even a bystander just walking by. She didn’t even look at their face before walking out in tears.

“Love, you’re a good singer,” Harry said with a small sigh, caressing her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes fluttered shut. “You got nervous. It happens to everyone. You just have to learn how to control those nerves, that’s all.”

Y/N took a shaky breath, holding back a sob. “I made everyone look bad.”

Harry let out a small laugh. Y/N opened her eyes to glare at him. He rushed to say, “Baby, I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear. I just… I’ve made countless mistakes on stage. My voice has cracked, I’ve missed high notes, I’ve mixed up verses, I’ve sung off-key. But my mistakes don’t take away from my talent.” He pulled her forward to hug her. “Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a good singer. Because I was persistent and a hard worker. I didn’t give up even when I had moments where I sounded like shit and thought I had humiliated myself to a degree no other human being ever had.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Which part?” Harry asked, curiously. He was ever as bright as always, but so soft and gentle. He was a sweetheart above anything else.

“Getting on stage and giving an amazing as fuck performance each time,” Y/N said. She shook her head. “You’re amazing, H.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s what I know how to do. I’ve done it my entire life. The same way you always play the guitar ‘amazing as fuck’.” He scrunched his nose up at her as he mocked her words. She let out a small chuckle. He smiled, pleased at himself. He always pulled a smile out of her. “It takes time and experience. I promise next time you get on stage to sing you’ll be better. Not perfect, just better. And someday, you won’t even remember tonight as anything more than just another story to tell and laugh at.”

Y/N pursed her lips, silent for a moment in thought. He was right. He always was.

Somehow, Harry always managed to make the tears seem like just another silly hurdle to jump over. The world seemed so much easier to face when he spoke about it so simply.

And with Harry holding her in his arms, who wouldn’t be ready to take on anything the universe threw her way?

Harry let out a small sigh, running his fingers through her hair. “You’ll be okay, love.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Harry always took care of her with love. Not as if she were fractured sharp glass, but as if she were a bouquet of flowers you settled into a vase with care as to not let a single petal drop.

And Y/N wished she were as sweet as him. She wished she could be as good and pure as he was, to give him the affection he needed. The care he gave her was the kind he should be receiving.

“I love you,” Y/N whispered, starting off with something small to remind him of her love.

Harry smiled, as if she’d made some grand declaration of love and hung a star in the night sky for him. “I love you too.”

[technically-human]

Do you write longer fics?! Just the tidbit of Charles in the Hell Train has my brain wheels turning. I can extrapolate and guess how some of their story would go, but you have such thought put into them. I would hate for you to be like "aw man they totally got this part of the au wrong!" if someone else tried their hand at it, and I would love to read more (and more art). You seem to do both really well

I write... Occasionally. I'm a bit insecure about it, especially in English. I would really love it if someone wrote about the reverse verse, even if their interpretation was different from mine! It would be a lot of fun to read that. I doubt I could make it entertaining enough, though.

I did write The Lamps Are Going Out which is an AU with Edwin as an evil spirit!

And I'm currently working on a couple of fics. Hopefully I'll actually finish them at some point. Here's a fragment of a fic I titled Possibly, maybe

The thing was, Charles had rejected people before.

Back when he was thirteen and alive, the neighborhood kids started taunting him about one of the girls. Amanda, who lived a few streets away from him, had apparently told someone that she fancied Charles, and the rumors spread until Charles himself heard about it. He had never given Amanda much thought, they often crossed paths while going to church, and that was Charles in his best behavior and therefore the most boring –and bored– version of himself. They had probably talked a total of ten times, half of them being a simple greeting. Charles didn't like her back, and resolved to ignore the rumors.

That worked for all of two weeks before Amanda decided to do something about it. She probably had been, Charles knew even back then, waiting for him to be the one to do something, as was the proper way. He wouldn't, though, and whether it was because she knew it or simply that she wasn't willing to wait, she ended up asking him out.

It had been uncomfortable, Charles could hear the giggles from two other girls who had accompanied Amanda and were waiting just a few steps behind her. He wanted to say no, really, because so far he had only considered girls in an abstract, distant sort of way, and again, Amanda wouldn't have been his first choice. But something like anxiety pooled in his stomach, wiping his sweaty palms against his trousers had helped none, and in the end Charles had blurted out an answer that he only fully registered as positive when Amanda squealed happily, her friends running to hug her and jump in place.

Always impulsive, Charles figured that it shouldn't matter. Dating didn't seem all that hard and, after all, he only ever saw her on Sundays. Of course, Amanda's plans were very different. Suddenly, she was everywhere Charles was at, and she always wanted to hold hands or talk or walk together. She would get her bicycle and follow him when he wanted to practice tricks on his skateboard –he was shit at it, and she certainly didn't seem impressed, demanding he paid attention to her after half an hour most of the time, even though she owned a walkman and could probably keep herself entertained– or expect him to walk her home despite the fact that he had to then turn around and walk back a couple streets to get to his place, which they had passed a few minutes prior.

The other neighborhood kids, who had initially mocked him for having a girl be into him, continued to laugh and whistle and shout stuff whenever Amanda took his hand or leaned against his shoulder or called him a cheesy pet name.

They only dated for three weeks, and she was Charles' first kiss.

One morning, as Charles was trying to recover from a cricket game the night before –they had won, and his team was closer to another useless trophy that he could use to decorate his room. His body was sore, but it was a kind of pain he usually welcomed– his dad barged into the room, demanding he do something useful instead of wasting all day in bed. Charles got up and followed his father to the garage, where it was decided that “something useful” meant helping him repair the car.

It was fun. His dad wasn't the most patient person, and he would very quickly resort to yelling if something wasn't understood on the first try, but Charles paid as much attention as he could, asked very little questions and only got scolded a couple of times throughout the day. By the end of it, the car was working properly and, although his body was aching even more than before, it was still a far more pleasant pain than the one his father tended to leave him with.

As was the case every time Charles successfully interacted with his father, he craved to make the day last. Sitting on the porch, his father drinking an ale, Charles taking a few disgusting sips whenever Paul offered the can to him, he searched his brain for a topic of conversation –one that wouldn't ruin the day, that wouldn't end with his body hurting in a different, perhaps more familiar, way– and ended up talking about Amanda. In all honesty, he couldn't quite recall what words he had actually used. Nothing unkind, he liked to think. He had not fancied Amanda, but she was a pleasant enough girl, if somewhat galling. Whatever came out of his mouth, it didn't make his dad angry, but instead caused him to laugh loudly and push Charles in a way that was meant to be friendly, but caused him to involuntarily tense every muscle in his body.

“Look at our Charlie,” his dad had said, smile huge, proud, and Charles had stared, stunned. “Breaking hearts already!”

Charles had smiled back, elated, proud of himself, feeling big and important and good, and like he was finally getting the hang of it, like soon enough his dad would run out of reasons to be angry at him, and everything would be smooth sailing from then on.

Breaking the heart in question was decidedly less fun than being praised for it. Amanda cried when Charles told her he didn't fancy her anymore. He hadn't felt proud of himself or big or good at all, and she stopped saying hello even when they crossed paths at church, where Charles was in his best, most apologetic behavior. His father never did ask how the breakup went, almost like he forgot that whole conversation. Charles was very careful to reject people properly, kindly, after that.

Edwin was a different story. There had been no neighborhood kids to warn Charles of his feelings, but in over thirty years of friendship, there were some moments in which he wondered. Sometimes, Edwin would look at him for a little too long, or smile a little too sweetly, or treat him a little too kindly, and Charles would wonder. He would then push the feeling aside, save his suspicion for more important things, and tell himself that, even if it was true –and that “if” was really carrying that whole sentence– it wouldn't be anyone's problem until someone went and opened their mouth about it. Charles promised himself he wouldn't be that someone. There was no joy that could come from breaking anyone's heart, let alone Edwin's.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to resent his friend when he decided to confirm what Charles only occasionally dared to suspect, and whatever bit of attention he ever afforded his dad, whatever bit of love he held for the most important person in the world, whatever bit of care he put into not breaking any more hearts, he poured into his answer, and willed it to be enough to stop himself from even cracking this precious thing that was offered to him, and that he only ever strived to protect.

Even with something like anxiety in his stomach, and with sweaty palms that he didn't even try to dry on his trousers, Charles reeled in that part of him that always wanted to make people happy, and rejected the person he loved the most in the world, unwilling to be impulsive about this.

[legacygirlingreen]

Peace || Captain Rex x OFC (Mae Killough)

Pairing: Captain Rex X Original Female Character (Mae Killough); mentions @leenabb104104 's AU verse including Aiko x Echo, Tech x Leena, Wrecker x Chori

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: mentions of former injury, mentions of former clone death, brief mentions of order 66 (but only if you squint), mentions of unnamed character in labor, brief allusions to abusive childhood -- all that said its mostly VERY sweet/wholesome vibes in the midst of some introspection

Edited: 10/24/24

AN: Hi friends! So some of you may know, but I've been doing some collaborating with my friend @leenabb104104 ! This is a short oneshot for her Pabu AU introducing Mae, the doctor on the island! It can be read independently or separately! Overall it's just a sweet, wholesome meet cute for her and a particular captain whom we all know and love... If you wish to see Mae's intro on her account you can find it HERE and if you'd like to read about her being the MOH during her OFC Aiko and Echo's wedding that is HERE! Anyways, hope you like it. Don't be afraid to comment, and if you prefer the AO3 link that's here...

MASTERLIST || Part 2 || Part 3 (coming soon)

Rex always made a point to avoid eavesdropping on Echo’s conversations with Aiko whenever he could. Although he had introduced the two, he respected their privacy. Still, it was difficult not to overhear snippets of their dialogue while they shared the bridge of the small transport ship.

“We're headed back; it shouldn't be more than a few hours before Rex drops me off,” Echo reassured Aiko as a loud swoosh and bang suddenly broke the ambient sounds of the transmission. Rex glanced over, noticing the pale blue image of Aiko’s face turn toward the source of the commotion on her end.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, sensing the tension radiating from her roommate.

“Labor. Can’t leave. Medical supplies—” came the fragmented response.

“She sounds flustered,” Echo remarked with a chuckle, prompting Rex to lean in slightly, intrigued by the plight of Aiko’s friend. Although he had met the Empath before Echo, he had yet to formally meet Mae, the resident doctor on Pabu. In fact, he had made it a point to avoid lingering on the island, always ensuring he dropped Echo off quickly before returning to one of the facilities he had helped establish for the clones they had rescued.

Rex watched as Aiko opened her arms, and the outline of a woman suddenly collapsed into her lap over the blurry imagery. “I need to head back; I just ran home to grab some clothes to change into later,” she groaned, her voice muffled as her mouth pressed into Aiko’s neck.

“What if I knew someone off-world who could pick up the supplies for you? Would that ease some of the stress?” Aiko suggested, her doctor nodding as she reached for the large clip securing her hair at the back of her head.

Rex observed, fascinated, as the blurry image of curls sprang free, almost cartoonishly, the moment they were released. “Depends on how trustworthy this person is,” she replied skeptically, her hands combing through her hair as she swiftly twisted it back into a tidy bun. Despite her back being turned to the transmission, he couldn’t help but be amazed at how long her hair was and how much space it seemed to occupy. He had never given hair much thought before; to him, it was just a nuisance, something to keep short and practical from all his years in combat. Yet now, he found himself wondering what color the doctor’s hair might be in real life.

“Echo can handle it. You can take care of it, right, darlin’?” Aiko prompted, shifting her attention back to the holopad as the woman whipped around abruptly.

The transmission distorted her features, making it hard to discern the exact shape of her nose or the nuances of her complexion beyond her pale skin. Details like the length of her eyelashes or the presence of freckles were lost in the blur. What stood out, however, were her large, expressive eyes, partially hidden behind comically oversized frames. Her lips were pulled into a shocked expression, full and plush, lending her a sharp yet fair appearance.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. I really need to head back anyway—patient in labor!” Mae exclaimed, abruptly standing and moving just out of the recording device's view.

“Mae, slow down—”

“Yes?” She spun around as Aiko pointed at the transmitter, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you need to tell Echo—”

“The supplies! Right! I’ll have AZI send the coordinates since he usually goes with me to pick them up. Thank you, Echo! Please tell your Captain I’m so sorry for any inconvenience the extra pitstop might cause!” She smiled brightly and dashed off before either of them could respond.

Rex doubted she even caught a proper glimpse of the image on the transmitter. If she had, she might have noticed him barely visible in the corner alongside Echo, and wouldn’t have felt the need to apologize to him. Hearing that concern sparked a light fluttering sensation in his stomach, creeping up his sternum and settling along his neck. It made Rex wonder how much Mae actually knew about him. After all, she had invited Aiko into her home, and she must be familiar with Echo’s frequent departures to assist him and the other clones. That implied she had some awareness of their situation. Yet here he was, knowing little about her aside from the fact that the empath lived with and befriended this intriguing woman.

Silence settled in the wake of the doctor's hasty departure. Eventually, Rex cleared his throat, the lack of conversation throughout the flight leaving it feeling coarse. He meant to ask Echo something, but instead, he found himself asking, “Is she, uh, always like that?”

In unison, Echo and Rex confirmed that yes, the resident doctor was indeed chaotic most of the time. Rex gave a light nod before turning back to the distance transmitter, knowing information about the drop would come soon. He opted to tune out the rest of their conversation, allowing a moment of privacy for the couple.

He couldn’t quite understand why the sight of the frazzled woman with oversized glasses, rivaling Tech’s goggles in diameter, was so perplexing. Perhaps it was his mental image of a doctor who would open her home to Aiko—a figure he’d expected to be more mature, perhaps even older. Instead, here was someone who looked close to his own age. Was it the loneliness he had tried to bury, but which now resurfaced more frequently since Echo’s transmission?

He couldn’t deny that the longing had always lingered, perhaps embedded in his very DNA from Jango. It was a desire that felt intrinsic, something the longnecks seemed unable to resolve. It might have been ignited by his injury on Saleucami, the encounters with Cut and Suu and their children. Rex often reassured himself that he didn’t need what they had, nor what the 99 boys had discovered on the island. He had his brothers and a mission, and that should have been enough… right? Yet he couldn’t shake the realization that it had been a long time since he’d genuinely spent time with a woman.

Recently, the only women Rex encountered were those already involved with his brothers, contacts for assignments, or friends like the Martell sisters and Senator Chuci. All of them felt unattainable, and none turned his head quite the same way.

“You sure it’s not a bother to make an additional pit stop?” Echo asked, pulling Rex from his thoughts. He turned to see that Aiko had ended the transmission.

“No, not at all?” Rex replied, his tone more of a question than a statement, prompting Echo to raise an eyebrow and hum in response. Rex noticed how Echo subtly observed him, taking in the way he straightened his posture and adjusted his collar, then fixed his gaze on the hyperspace lane ahead as if it had suddenly become the most captivating sight in the galaxy.

“Remind me again, what are your plans while I’m back on Pabu for a few days?” Echo inquired.

“Waiting to hear back from my contact about that prison in the Outer Rim, catching up on manuals, keeping the others in line. The usual,” Rex shrugged. He often felt that spending time on Pabu was an imposition on the relaxed life Clone Force 99 had built for themselves, with each of the boys finding their own personal distractions. Given the nature of his work and the responsibilities he felt toward his brothers still trapped under the Empire’s thumb, those distractions felt like a risk. It was why he had erected a mental barrier around such relationships.

“You know, you’re always welcome to spend your downtime on Pabu—” 

“No, no, that’s your home,” Rex interrupted.

“You need to recharge sometime,” Echo insisted.

“I can recharge at our satellite facility,” Rex countered.

“By the time you get there and back, it’ll be a waste of fuel.”

“Still, I don’t want to impose—”

“Rex, we go way back,” Echo said with a sigh, his new hand attachment gripping his brows as he massaged his temples, searching for the right words.

“Pabu is your home, Echo. I don’t mind making an extra pit stop to help someone who does so much for the community where you boys hang up your armor, but that doesn’t mean I need to stay and see it through.” Deep down, Rex understood that lingering and getting close to a pretty doctor wasn’t wise. If she was as busy as Echo often described, she likely felt the same way. As stunning as she was, she probably had her pick of the clones residing there. What if she was already involved with someone?

“Are you even listening to me?” Echo huffed.

Rex knew there was no point in lying, so he simply shook his head.

“One or two days won’t kill you. Besides, we both know the chances of anyone getting us solid information on that prison are slim to none. It’s a waste of fuel. Plus, the others keep pestering me about how you’re doing, especially Aiko. I think she’s worried about you,” Echo said with a playful smirk.

“Why on earth would she be worried about me?” Rex quirked a dark eyebrow, feeling the tension ease as the conversation took on a more lighthearted tone.

“She’s concerned that you’re lonely and overworking yourself. And just in case you’ve forgotten, I can’t lie to her,” Echo reminded him.

“You really had to fall for an empath,” Rex replied, shaking his head. He knew fuel was expensive, and leaving on principle wasn’t exactly a rational decision. Still, he felt himself being swayed; a few days to rest and step away from his worries would be good for his health. He had been waking up exhausted every day, and the moment he slid back onto his bunk, that fatigue wrapped around him like a heavy blanket. Time was wearing him down in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge, from the crick in his back to the persistent tightness in his neck and shoulders.

“Hey now, need I remind you that you’re the one who introduced that empath to me?” Echo interjected, pulling Rex from his thoughts. A slight beep indicated coordinates had been set, and Rex glanced down to see they were already on their way, with minimal delay to their anticipated arrival.

“Fine, it’s my fault. I accept full responsibility. Two days as punishment. That’s all you get.” Rex threw up his palms in mock surrender, while Echo simply rolled his eyes. Sarcasm—something he could definitely blame on the Jedi for teaching him. The thought twisted in his stomach for a moment as he realized that General Skywalker was likely gone, like the others. Just thinking about it made him feel nauseous, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.

“Some sun might do you good, brother. Got the coordinates?” 

With a nod, Rex set the navigation system, and they were off for a quick pickup. In his mind, he could justify the stop; after all, it was to help a woman who dedicated herself to serving others—a sentiment he understood all too well.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

 In a galaxy rife with war, disease, famine, and every imaginable atrocity, being a doctor meant confronting countless unpleasant sights, sounds, and sometimes even smells. So when the rare opportunity to bring new life into the universe arose, Mae found it to be a beautiful kind of labor—a brief moment of light and hope that reaffirmed her decision to leave home and carve out a path in this challenging role.

Running away from home at such a young and vulnerable age to escape the organized crime that plagued her past was no easy feat. Funding her education amid the rising tensions across the galaxy meant taking a transport ship to the heart of the Republic and joining a civilian-based program dedicated to providing aid relief. Through various deployments dealing with natural disasters and minor conflicts, she gained valuable medical training. However, when war broke out and her deployments shifted to accompany clone troopers into combat, the nature of her work turned grim.

Many of her friends and colleagues, who had enlisted during a time of peace, chose to forgo their duties in the face of an intergalactic civil war. This left Mae as one of the few willing to enter dangerous situations to assist the unfortunate souls whose homeworlds were under attack. It also afforded her a level of seniority, as she became one of the longest-serving members of her organization.

That seniority ultimately led her to Ryloth, a battleground marked by one of the war’s most brutal conflicts and the regrettable reason why the Senate-funded relief organization was disbanded. The staggering civilian casualties in combat did not bode well for the politicians. Nor did it reflect positively on the Jedi, who had sent her off-world following a surprise attack that rattled their camp. After months of deployment in Ryloth's canyons alongside clones and rebels, Mae boarded the last shuttle off-world after things took a turn for the worse—a bullet wound to her chest.

Looking back, Mae carried the weight of guilt for being one of the last to see Master Di and his brave clone commander alive. The news of their tragic fate, yet remarkably valiant stand against the droid army, was what accompanied the discharge notice she received the moment she woke up after surgery aboard the Jedi Cruiser.

With nowhere to go upon her arrival at the Republic Capital—barely recovered from her ordeal—she drifted through the galaxy until fate brought her to the tranquil island of Pabu. As the sole doctor there, she finally found the peaceful life she had longed for since childhood, growing up among violent criminals.

The war had never reached Pabu, not until the deserters from Clone Force 99 arrived, seeking solitude just as she had. Even then, it wasn’t their fault that the newly formed Empire was after their familial unit. Once the situation was resolved—by means she never fully questioned—life returned to normal.

A steady stream of clones came through her clinic, rescued from captivity, seeking her help for their aching bodies and lingering injuries from the war. She aided in their recovery, sending them off to new lives. Yet, throughout it all, she never had the opportunity to meet the clone responsible for their rescue, at least not the one orchestrating it.

Aiko had arrived on the island with Echo after nearly a year of the Bad Batch settling in with the locals. Mae had only spoken to Echo a few times, as he was rarely around, often lost among the stars with his former captain. But as her friendship with the kind empath he called “love” deepened, it was only a matter of time before she got to know him better through her connection to Aiko.

They shared stories of their journeys during the war, Mae offering brief glimpses of her own temporary involvement before finding solace in her role as a caregiver. All of this unfolded over evening drinks, yet still, the elusive Captain did not make an appearance. Not that it truly mattered—he was a busy man, after all. From what Echo had shared, he was one of the kindest and bravest people he knew. Still, it would be nice to meet the man responsible for continually dropping new patients at her door.

After finally delivering a child following a grueling forty-three hours of labor, Mae returned to her office, ready to clean up and seek some much-needed rest. Yet, a gnawing feeling crept in—she hated the thought of inconveniencing Echo and his Captain. She would likely never be able to thank him properly, beyond expressing her gratitude indirectly through Echo. Knowing the importance of the work they did only amplified her guilt.

Fortunately, the clinic was close to the shared home she had with Aiko. If she hadn’t been so utterly exhausted, Mae might have recognized the sound of laughter before even reaching the door. Slipping inside, she tossed her glasses onto the table next to the entrance and quietly removed her shoes. The murmurs from the kitchen faded momentarily at her arrival.

“Mae, when was the last time you slept, hon?” Aiko's soft voice called from the kitchen, her gasp filled with concern. Not glancing in that direction, Mae probed at her temple with clammy fingers, finally releasing the clip from her hair and relishing the sensation of her locks flowing free once more. The tight bun had left her with a tension headache, and Aiko didn’t need to ask who had arrived; she could feel Mae's exhaustion rolling off her in waves.

“Fifty-four hours, I believe. Unless you count a lothcat nap in my office between contractions, then it’s twenty-one,” Mae replied, rounding the wall into the kitchen, her fingers shaking loose the remnants of her bun as she realized she had an audience.

“She’s alive after all... You can cancel the search party,” Crosshair smirked, leaning against the counter as he teasingly nudged Mae into the center of their small circle, a toothpick perched between his lips.

“Crosshair is merely attempting humor; there was no actual search party,” Tech interjected, adjusting his glasses. “However, I would recommend some rest, as staying awake for extended periods is unhealthy—”

Mae shook her head at him. “Thank you for the medical advice, Tech. I plan to do just that. I wasn’t aware we were hosting tonight,” she said quietly to Aiko, who looked up sheepishly.

“Something came up that I hadn’t anticipated, so the others decided to gather here. But we’ll keep the noise down if you need to sleep,” Aiko offered, realizing that disrupting her already overworked housemate might not have been the best idea. She silenced that thought when Mae shook her head again.

“It’s fine, really. What’s a few more hours, anyway?” Mae paused before turning toward Tech, cutting off his impending lecture. “Unhealthy, I know. But I promise I’ll be okay. I just can’t guarantee I’ll be my usual lively self.” She yawned, prompting Crosshair to mutter something along the lines of “thank the maker,” only to be playfully slapped on the shoulder by Kay, Leena’s twin sister. The pair launched into a lighthearted banter as Mae walked over to Aiko and Echo.

Surveying the room, she noted that most of their group was present, with only Hunter and Omega missing. Perhaps it was a bit late for the girl. Wrecker and Chori had left Pabu to visit her family, leaving her pup, Muffin, under Leena’s proud care as she chatted with the others. Tech maintained a safe distance from Muffin, referring to the mischievous creature as “a missing finger waiting to happen,” all while holding onto his wife protectively.

“Do I have time to clean up before this... something that came up, or—” Mae began, only to be interrupted by the door slamming open and Hunter’s shout for Omega to slow down.

“Come on, you have to meet Mae too!” the girl’s voice rang out as everyone turned to see a blur of movement, Omega enthusiastically pulling a man through the living room. At the sound of her name, Mae turned, only to find her cheek pressed against a firm chest—plastoid armor, no less. As one might imagine, that wasn’t the most pleasant contact after hours of delivering a baby.

“Oops—” Omega exclaimed, attempting to back away from the collision she had inadvertently caused by misjudging the distance.

“Oh wow—”

“Are you alright—” Mae and the former Captain spoke in unison. In the background, Hunter's reprimand of Omega faded away as Mae and the stranger locked eyes. She pressed her hand to her cheek, feeling the dull throb beneath it, then slowly lowered it as she craned her neck to take in his features.

He was tall, with a face reminiscent of the other clones, yet distinctly different. Mae was accustomed to the standard clone features, but his eyes seemed somehow brighter. The crow's feet at the corners of his eyes were slightly deeper, and his light blond hair was cut very short, forming a halo that contrasted strikingly with his tanned skin.

If anyone had asked, she would have attributed her lingering gaze to a lack of sleep. Yet, staring at the poor man hadn’t been her intent. Mae was all too familiar with the remarkable genetics of Jango Fett, which were indeed impressive, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint why he seemed so much more handsome than the others.

Rex finally had the chance to see the doctor in person, rather than through the grainy image of their ship's transmitter. Her hair was a striking shade of red—not the unnatural hues he often encountered on women planetside or even among his brothers, but a warm, natural tint. Despite her pale complexion, her cheeks held a lovely pink hue. The details that had been lost in the poor transmission blended seamlessly in real life, and he was hit with the realization that she was even more beautiful than he had imagined.

“That looks like it’s going to leave a mark,” Echo joked, drawing their attention as he stood nearby with Aiko. Rex glanced down, and sure enough, a small bruise was already forming just above her cheekbone. “Kriff, I’m so sorry,” he said, his honey-colored eyes meeting hers, noting the unreadable expression in her pale gaze.

“It’s definitely not the worst blow I’ve ever taken. No need to apologize, soldier,” she replied, trying to laugh it off. She looked at Aiko and Echo, clearly expecting an introduction. Assuming he was just another rescued soldier passing through, she was surprised when Echo placed a hand on Rex’s shoulder and turned to her with an explanation.

“Mae, this is my old captain from my 501st days. Rex, this is Mae—” As Echo introduced them, Mae felt a wave of embarrassment wash over her. Not only had she just collided with a man’s chest, but this man was Echo’s close friend—the one who worked tirelessly to rescue clones, who had saved Echo’s life from the Separatists, and the very person she had inconvenienced earlier that day.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, ma’am,” Rex said, extending his hand. She froze, staring at his outstretched fingers, encased in black gloves. A gentle nudge from Aiko prompted her to respond, and she offered her own hand, which was quickly engulfed in his firm grip.

“You as well. Thank you again for making a pit stop on the way here. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble—” she began, only to have him slip his hand from hers with a chuckle.

“Not at all. Happy to help,” he replied with a polite nod.

“We were thinking of heading to the square for some drinks, if you’re up for it,” Aiko offered. Mae considered it for a moment; as appealing as that sounded, the idea of finally washing up felt even more inviting.

“I might go clean up. I can’t imagine I look fantastic right now. If I’m still standing by some miracle, I can meet you all there,” she suggested, glancing at Rex to gauge his reaction. If she didn’t know any better, he almost seemed disappointed.

“I might do the same back on the ship,” Rex said, only to have Echo shake his head.

“You can use ours. No need to trek all the way down the island for a fresher,” Echo pointed toward Aiko’s room, which had a separate shower stall. He hadn’t had a chance to use it, as Hunter and Omega had dragged him around the island to catch up with everyone else.

“Alright, I guess we’ll both join you in a bit,” Rex said, glancing between Aiko and Echo before turning back to Mae. In the background, the group was gradually settling down, with Omega calling out a cheerful apology after Hunter's grumbled reprimand. Soon, the room filled with laughter and chatter grew silent, leaving Rex and Mae in a quiet, uncertain bubble. The sound of the front door sliding shut prompted them both to speak at once.

“Do you—”

“I am real—”

They both blinked, wide-eyed, momentarily unsure who would continue. Taking a breath, Mae let out a light laugh. “You first.”

Rex shook his head. “No, I insist,” he said, gesturing for her to go ahead, as if his encouragement could coax the words from her.

“I was just going to ask if you needed anything. I was planning to grab some towels from the linen closet, but I wasn’t sure if you needed anything else. We keep quite a bit of spare clothing here since Echo brings troopers through my home,” she explained, stepping toward a slight alcove in the wall. She swung the door open and stepped aside for him to take a look inside.

Rex peered into the small supply closet, surprised by its contents. It wasn’t anything fancy—just spare clothes, toiletries, and assorted items—but the knowledge that these were all set aside for his brothers filled him with warmth. It was comforting to know this kind doctor was caring for them as they transitioned to new lives.

“Oh, that’s uh—” he started, feeling a flush of warmth rise to his cheeks as he took in the sight.

“Take your time. I’ll grab a towel,” Mae said with a slight nod before quietly stepping down the hall. Rex couldn’t help but admire the ease with which she moved through her space. There was a natural grace to her, a combination of swaying hips and light footfalls that lingered in his mind long after she disappeared from view.

Shaking his head, Rex grabbed a bar of soap and a change of clothes while he waited for Mae to return. He figured it was best to leave more supplies for others. When she came back, she wore a warm smile and handed him a simple white towel, pointing him toward Echo and Aiko’s shared room. He hadn’t meant to zone out as she explained how to use the refresher, but the exhaustion in her voice sparked a hint of concern.

“Holler if you need anything, hon,” Mae said, turning to head back to what he assumed was her own space. 

Trudging toward the room, he closed the door behind him and began to shed the armor he’d worn for years. With practiced ease, he undid the latches and set the pieces on the floor, then reached for the top of his black body glove, wincing slightly as he pulled it off over his head.

For a moment, panic set in as he tried to remember how to turn on the water. After a few moments of fumbling, he finally figured it out. The cool air brushed against his bare skin, raising goosebumps, but once the warm water cascaded over him, it felt like pure bliss. Rex couldn’t remember the last time he’d had hot water; lukewarm had become his new normal. The soothing stream worked wonders on his aching joints and tense shoulders, washing away the fatigue as he let out a contented sigh.

Still, he felt a twinge of guilt for indulging in such a luxury. The relief quickly turned into a sense of urgency—how fast could he wrap this up? Before long, he was drying off and getting dressed. That’s when he noticed an unfamiliar sensation. It had been ages since he’d worn civilian clothing, especially anything not designed for protection. Sliding a simple cotton shirt over his body felt oddly liberating, yet strangely foreign.

Returning to the living space, Rex felt a sense of relief without the weight of his armor. The room was empty, but he could hear the water running in the other room, accompanied by Mae's occasional hum echoing through the walls. He hesitated, unsure whether to wait for her or assume she had collapsed into bed. Given the exhausting work of delivering a baby, he wouldn’t blame her at all.

As he padded around the space, he took in the various artifacts that filled it. Houseplants thrived in corners, and paintings adorned the walls—likely created by a local artist. He noticed elements of Echo’s minimal presence among the decor: a few meager belongings from his time as an ARC Trooper, alongside mementos from Aiko’s homeworld. But what caught his eye was a worn white and maroon shoulder pad on a small shelf.

Drawing closer, he recognized the markings. It belonged to the 303rd, who had been stationed on Ryloth during the blockade, following the initial forces' tragic fate. Rex recalled Howser’s vague references to the legion that had come before them, and he felt a familiar pang of sorrow for the 303 and their Jedi leader.

Next to the shoulder pad lay a small photo frame. Curiosity piqued, he tapped the on button and was surprised to see Mae's smiling face among a group of troopers, wearing the standard uniform of the Republic Aid Relief. Though she looked a bit worn and underfed, her beauty shone through.

It had been so long since he’d crossed paths with any of them, particularly after the Senate disbanded the organization early in the war. He recalled Wolffe’s complaints about taking over their responsibilities after a natural disaster on a planet occupied by strange alien reptiles. If his memory served him, it was Ryloth’s failed first invasion that had led to the dissolution of the RAR contracts. Realization dawned on him—if the 303 had originally been assigned to Ryloth, that would mean...

“I like to think it’s important to remember those who have fallen, even if the war is over,” came Mae's soft voice from behind him. Startled, Rex dropped the photo display, guilt flooding through him for having been caught snooping.

“I shouldn’t have—” he began to apologize, but paused at the wave of her hand.

“If I wanted it to remain private, I would have kept it in my quarters or tucked it away somewhere. I don’t treat my past like a well-guarded secret,” Mae replied, bending down to retrieve the tablet and placing it back on the shelf, allowing the image of her among the clones and Twi’lek rebels to be visible once more.

“You were in the RAR,” he stated, more as an observation than a question, his gaze drifting back to her features. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and the mark on her cheek had deepened into a bruise. She looked utterly worn out after the exhausting days she’d faced, yet there was a spark in her eyes that seemed almost out of place for someone who had weathered one of the harshest battles of the Clone Wars.

“I was,” she replied simply, finally tearing her gaze from the memorial to meet his. He, too, looked fatigued.

“I had no idea,” he said, his voice quiet. In truth, there was no reason for him to know about her past. They weren’t friends; they had merely crossed paths. Their connection was tenuous, built on mutual acquaintances. He felt no entitlement to the personal history of a doctor he barely knew. Yet the knowledge that she had chosen to be in the thick of it all spoke volumes. It revealed an unexpected courage and strength he wouldn’t have associated with someone so small and seemingly unassuming.

“I would’ve stayed too, but the moment I woke up from surgery, they handed me discharge papers and said we were no longer needed,” she said, her tone laced with a hint of guilt.

“Surgery?” he asked, aware that Ryloth lacked the sterile environments necessary for such intensive care.

“I got the last shuttle off-world before the blockade went up. It was a surprise attack, and I took a shot to the chest,” Mae explained, her fingers gently pulling down the simple shirt she wore to reveal a pale scar at the top of the valley between her breasts. The sudden flash of skin caught him off guard, and he quickly averted his gaze, a blush creeping across his tanned cheeks. He instinctively rubbed the back of his neck, stealing a moment as she adjusted her shirt back into place.

“Want to know the worst part?” she said, her tone tinged with sadness as his golden eyes returned to her face, curiosity evident. “They just threw us into that situation. We made the best of it, but in the early days, we had no choice. When enough people complained about enlisting during peace, they eventually allowed anyone who wanted out to leave. Yet only a handful of us stayed to see it through. When things got bad, they tossed us aside, saying we weren’t needed anymore. I would’ve stayed. I wanted to stay. I—” She paused, noticing the shock in his expression at her sudden outburst. “I’m sorry. It was so long ago; being angry about it now doesn’t help.”

“No, I understand. More than most would, actually,” he reassured her, though he knew doing so would require confronting the memories he kept locked away— the sorrow of lost brothers, the guilt of surviving, the nagging feeling that he wasn’t doing enough.

“Survivor’s guilt is a relentless burden. As a doctor, I see how debilitating it can be. Almost every trooper who comes through my clinic struggles with it, and I feel like a hypocrite telling them to channel that pain into something productive when I carry my own,” she said, turning away to sit on the sofa. Exhaustion washed over her, and she clasped her hands in her lap, avoiding eye contact.

Rex felt a surge of responsibility—not for the root of her pain, but for bringing it back to the surface. He approached her cautiously, lowering himself to one knee in front of the sofa, careful not to startle her or invade her space. He had experience helping soldiers through shell shock, piecing them back together after battles. But he wasn’t sure how to navigate the vulnerabilities of a civilian, especially when he himself kept his walls up, just as she seemed to. So, he chose a different approach.

“Thank you,” he said simply, placing his hand over hers for a reassuring squeeze. 

Expecting yet another one of those clichéd phrases—“You did all you could” or “You aren’t alone”—her eyes widened in surprise. “For what?” she asked, almost timidly.

“For putting up with all of us. I can’t speak for everyone, but to be cared for by someone who doesn’t have to be kind, who doesn’t have to be gentle, and who actually sees us as individuals means a lot. All I ever wanted was for my brothers to find their freedom and live the lives they dreamed of. I didn’t realize how much Echo was allowing our burden to fall on you,” he explained.

“It’s not really a burden, per se,” she replied, and he let out a reassuring chuckle.

“I know my brothers better than anyone. Trust me, it’s a challenge to keep them in line,” Rex said, grinning as he watched her snicker.

“Then might I inquire…” She leaned in conspiratorially, as if about to share a deep secret. Rex tilted his head to the side, inviting her to whisper. “Does that mean the stubbornness is genetically wired into you all, or is it taught?”

As Rex pulled back, he couldn’t help but notice the grin on her lips and the mischief dancing in her wide eyes. Up close, they looked more blue than the grayish hue he’d perceived from a distance. The recognition of her eye color didn’t diminish the warmth spreading in his chest from her joke—or from the way she was looking at him.

He couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh at her jest as he rose from the floor to take a seat on the couch beside her. Though he knew the others were likely waiting for him, he wasn’t quite ready to leave, especially since she seemed to be running out of energy. Leaning back, he rested his head against the sofa and sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

Silence often made him uneasy; it usually heralded enemy strikes, the calm before the storm. Yet, he found the comfortable stillness in the room surprising but welcome. It was a relief to just exist for a moment, free from the burden of what came next. 

He felt a shift beside him and opened his eyes to see Mae had mirrored his position, her head just inches from his. Her eyes were closed, and soft breaths escaped her lips, the tension in her brow finally easing after their earlier conversation. In that moment, he realized that connection didn’t always require words. Sometimes, you met people who simply understood the unexplainable parts of you. It was a beautiful revelation, and with that thought, he closed his eyes once more, surrendering to the tranquil stillness of Pabu.

 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

“I highly doubt Rex would slip away without saying goodbye, especially since he agreed to stay a few days, Love,” Aiko remarked as she and Echo walked back toward the house. It hadn’t taken long for the others to notice that Rex and Mae were missing, prompting the pair to seek out the absent soldier and doctor.

“I’d like to agree, but Rex can be... quite driven by his sense of duty, often to the point of overlooking simple courtesies,” Echo replied as they stepped onto the front porch. He opened the door to find the lights dimmed but not completely off, just as they had left them. His gaze quickly landed on the illuminated screen of Mae’s Ryloth memorial, and Aiko gasped, pointing toward the sofa. When Echo followed her finger, he couldn't suppress a quiet chuckle.

There, side by side and fast asleep, were Rex and Mae. Rex leaned against the back of the couch, his legs stretched out before him, soft snores escaping his lips—clearly, Echo and Aiko’s entrance hadn’t disturbed him. Mae had slumped over, her head resting on Rex’s shoulder, blissfully unaware of her position or the fact that they now had an audience.

“Well, that’s... unexpected,” Echo murmured, gesturing to the door. Aiko followed him, stealing one last glance at the sleeping pair, her smile conveying everything that needed to be said. If there was one thing the empath understood, it was that finding peace amid chaos was truly a blessing.

Part 2 HERE

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for faking my death?

CW: Suicide Source: AU of Canon Characters

I (F) have been presumed dead by my coworkers for many, many years.

Well, I mean, I did die. Mostly. And I didn't mean to. It was an accident.

The thing is, when I "died", an automated message was sent out to all of our coworkers that I had solved the Big Problem we've all been working towards. At first, I did want to tell others... but then I figured that my "death" may give them the kick to find the actual Solution.

That was... a while ago. A Solution still hasn't been found, isn't portable, and isn't generally applicable. And yet I still remain in hiding.

Not only that, but some people have misconstrued death to be the Solution. This has led to an... unfortunate situation pertaining to an old friend of mine (F).

Her younger brother (M) tried to follow in my false footsteps, which has led to him gravely hurting my friend and getting himself sick.

...The irony is that my friend finds herself in a similar situation to mine.

...

I... should have said this sooner, because it seems that the organisms who may be reading this are not well-versed in my kind's predicament. My "coworkers" and I are giant, stationary supercomputers tasked with finding a way to break the cycle of life and death in its entirety. Our creators abandoned us to toil away on this task...

Automated systems within me sent out the false signal, while I was dying. And yet a fragment of the old me remains, one that is able to be far more mobile than my whole structure could have dreamed of.

This same part has also been divorced from my friend's structure, after her brother hurt her. However, I am surprised how... well... she is taking it, and how willing she was to speak to others about it while I just... sit here. Watching the chat messages roll by.

I... should talk to her. And I will. Just... she may not be ready for the truth yet. I'll do what I can to help. Ironically, I am capable of more in this reduced state than I ever was when I was whole. Hopefully I can at least guide her...

I just... I don't know. It's been so long. Too long. And I've carved my own path in the world, one that does not involve any of them. Yet I can't help but... care a bit.

...let's just get this over with. Am I the asshole?

[mothervonmayhem]

Battle of the Bands

▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ █▓▒░〈🎸🕷♪🕷♬🕷♪🎤〉░▒▓█ ▇ ▅ ▃ ▂ ▁

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

🕷Notable Characters: Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

🎸Premise: AU! The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem.  Destination?  BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal.  They meet other ATSV characters along the way. 

🕷WC: 0:00 ————|——— -3,000 ↻ ◁ II ▷

🎤A/N: New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster.  This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

───────────── {.⋅🕷 ♫ 🕷 ⋅.} ───────────────  

 ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : << Chapter 1 >> “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire” 

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag, I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon.

My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it.  Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it.  Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off. 

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

[angelmichelangelo]

i think i deserved it, a kinder goodbye for @lesbians4leonardo

verse: human!au

rating: g

word count: 7k

read on ao3!

x

Donnie is hurt. Badly.

Leo knows, in all his ten year old wisdom that he holds mostly in his heart rather than anywhere else, that this was beyond scraped knees or bumped heads or even the bruises that crept up Raph’s arms when Mama would hold him too tightly.

This wasn’t any of that – those things, they were easy for Leo to soothe away with kisses and promises in hushed, shaky voices that it would get better.

Those things were something he knew how to fix.

Donnie’s arm, it’s bent up all funny; the wrist has gone a weird deep purple, stark against the rest of his paleing skin and he’s cradling it limply in his good arm, like it had just stopped working altogether to hold up on its own.

He’s since stopped crying; it took him a while, ever since Leo had swept through the kitchen to go peel him up off the floor where he’d been knocked down, but Raph carries on for him, like he was the one that’d busted his arm. Like he could feel equal parts of his pain.

They’re camped out in their bedroom now with the door firmly closed and Leo’s dresser wedged a few inches across it because Mom is never really strong enough to fully break down the barriers they put between them and her. Not when she’s like this.

But it makes Leo feel safer somehow, tucked away in their dingy little bedroom that is far too cramped for four growing boys, with the wallpaper peeling and crayon scribbling beneath it where Leo had let his brothers try and make up for the lack of goodness that was held in this room.

Mikey rolls about on his tummy on the ground, only half engaged on what was going on as he waves about a plastic leg of one the action figures that had been had been long since snapped off before they’d snagged it from the Salvation bin Mom sometimes took them to when she was feeling up to it.

“I… I think it might be broken,” Leo concludes as he inspects his brother’s puffy arm, careful not to knock it like Raph had done just moments ago on accident when trying to wrap his arms protectively around his twin. “It doesn’t look right.”

“Look right! Look right!” Mikey repeats with glee, because that’s what he’s been doing of late — picking up fragments of other people's sentences and yelling them out with a big cheesy grin.

And it’d been funny at first because Raph would get him to say silly things like Mikey smells or Raph is the best! Because it’d earned giggles out of four boys until Mom and her new boyfriend would start yelling at each other, screaming matches far too loud for their cramped, boxy apartment, and Leo would press all his siblings close to him like he could just swallow them up and spit them some place new and quiet, and Mikey started yelling out things like bitch! dumb bitch!

Donnie hiccups a sob, his big brown eyes wobble and gloss over, more tears to be shed.

“You gotta fix it, Leo!” Raph is demanding with as much force as he can through his own tears and the lisp he’s yet to shake.

He’s pushing past Don’s good side to get to him, looking at him like he holds the answers in the world because he’s just seven years old still and believes that big brothers were full of magic like that. Leo doesn’t want to be the one to break the spell but he doesn’t think he can fix this one this time.

He rubs Raph’s shoulder slowly, in a way that he knows will help balm all his burning emotions that bubble up inside of him, nowhere to escape except in a place that becomes explosive and loud and angry because Raph hurts just as much as Donnie’s busted arm some days.

“I, um. I can ask the lady next door,” Leo suggests timidly.

He didn’t know her by name but he knew that she smiled kindly at them whenever she crossed their paths in the lobby. She would look at Leo with a look that he would come to recognise when he got bigger, that was pity because Leo’s childhood wasn’t very normal and something to be pitied to some people.

“She can maybe help Donnie’s arm.”

Donnie huffs, screwing his whole face up to squeeze more tears down his face. “It really hurts, Leo,” he whimpers in a small, scared voice. It had talons and it’s sharp when it takes grip on Leo’s heart, tearing into it with force.

He leaps up off the bed with a breath lodged in the back of his throat. “Raphie, stay here with Don and Mike. I’m– I’m gonna get help.”

He’s able to move the dresser himself because Leo is a big boy and he has to be big and strong for his brothers, even when he doesn’t feel like he can be, and he makes his way out through the apartment.

He doesn’t have to worry about bumping into an angry, hurtful Mom right now; she was currently locked away in her bedroom where she felt a million worlds away from Leo and his brothers – a million worlds distance that felt safe enough for him to come out and try the front door that he knew wasn’t ever locked anyway.

It’s cold out in the hall but his home is colder in a hundred different ways than none. There’s a few envelopes and leaflets scattered about and abandoned across their welcome mat that he toes past and goes to the next door over. He knocks three times with a heavy, determined fist.

It doesn’t take long for the door to swing open.

“My brother needs help.” He’s saying it with a singular breath, all the words said with as much courage as he could possibly muster because Leonardo has felt like he’s always been chasing after the idea of asking for help, never fast enough to catch up to it in notion and now here he was, feeling hot tears spring behind his eyes as his neighbor looks at him with that same pitiful look in tenfold now because this was real.

“Alright, kid,” she says, soothing him with her gentle tone, crouching down into his space in a way that for once, doesn’t feel suffocating or scary. “Tell me what happened.”

***

Leo never gets the name of the kind neighbor that calls the cops on Mom after he explains what had happened, because as soon as they turn up, storming up the stairwell with force, he’s whisked away from her apartment and into the back of an ambulance as per Donnie’s request.

It feels safer there in the cramped, wobbly vehicle that smells strongly like alcohol wipes and leather than it ever did back in that small, horrid little bedroom that he’s not so sure he’ll ever see again, yet when he watches as Raph and Mikey are placed in the back of one of the flashing cop cars, Raph’s face still streaked with tear marks and Mikey’s whiny little fussing he tended to pout out around when he was picked up for too long, does it start to feel very unsafe.

“Where are they taking them?” He’s asking of the EMT workers, a tall, gangly man who’s scribbling down a boat load of notes as they check Donnie over. “What’s going on?”

Nobody gives him a straight answer right away, and when the back of the van doors slam shut and they start to drive off without his other little brothers, does the panic start to swell up inside him like a wave.

“Wait!” He’s rising to his feet, almost toppling over right into poor Donnie who’s laid out comfortably on the stretcher. “Wait, please!”

The EMT guy sits Leo back down and clips his buckle in.

“It’s alright kid,” is the response he’s given; the man’s voice crackly and mid-way between breaking. “It’s alright. Just sit down, okay?”

Leo does as he’s told despite the way his heart pounds at his chest. He’s still got Donnie to look after, and when he glances over at him, still being tended to on the stretcher with fresh tears wetting his eyes, does he swallow all that panic down with a big, ferocious gulp.

It doesn’t take them long to get to the hospital, and as soon as the back door fly open and Donnie is being wheeled out, Leo is following him, spilling out into the parking lot, searching for that cop car like a bloodhound before there’s a pair of hands on his shoulders, guiding him in through the big double doors behind his brother.

He gets to sit with Donnie as the doctor inspects his arm. The room is full of people — nurses and strangers that Leo isn’t quite sure who they are.

After they x-ray Leo’s brothers arm and conclude that is in fact broken, there’s a tall lady standing in the corner of the room, flitting between scribbling down notes on a bit of paper and talking fast into a cellphone that’s propped precariously between her ear and shoulder.

“They’re gonna let me pick the colour,” Donnie announces proudly. He’s sat on the edge of the bed, arm now temporarily hung carefully in a sling as he swings his legs back and forth. They’d given him something for the pain a while back, and it seems to have dried up his tears. “Isn’t that cool, Leo?”

Leo, sits in the plastic chair beside the bed, feeling eyes burn hotly into the back of his neck where the strange lady stands at watches over them both. He reaches up and takes Don’s good hand to give it a reassuring pat.

“Really cool,” he says to his brother with a confident bob of his head. “What are you gonna have?”

Donnie looks down at his broken arm, as if to envision a multitude of options and what would look best there. “Maybe purple,” he says in a shy voice, eyes lifting to meet Leo’s. “I like purple.”

Leo smiles warmly at him. “You can have purple then if you want.” He tells him. “It’ll look good.”

The doors then hiss open, another doctor waltzing in to fix Donnie’s new cast on his arm, the lady doesn’t leave, still watching on, and by the time Donnie’s cast is now his preferable purple, she’s advancing on them, crouching slightly to meet his level.

“That looks reallty cool,” she says with a big, toothy grin.

Leo and Donnie quickly share a cautious look between them before looking at her again.

“Yeah,” Donnie says, voice small. “Thanks.”

Leo sits up a little, desperate to make himself bigger. “Would be better if he had no broken arm at all. It really hurt, didn’t it Donnie?”

He looks to his brother, a pinkish tint now blooming beneath his cheeks as he awkwardly shrinks away.

He doesn’t answer him, probably out of embarrassment, but the woman seems to be at least sympathetic on the matter; her smile falters and there’s a little crooked line running between her brows when she frowns.

“I know, honey. And that’s why I’m here,” she explains. “So it won’t happen again.”

Donnie shifts in his seat, the paper towel he’s perched upon, wrinkling under his small weight. “Is… is mommy in trouble?” He’s asking, voice pitching upwards, almost hopeful in a way that has Leo’s tummy squirming uncomfortably.

The lady smiles kindly at him, as if to balm his worries.

“Sweetie,” she starts out by saying. “Mommy made a mistake, didn’t she?”

The feeling in Leo’s stomach coils up tight. Mom made many mistakes, that was for sure.

“She needs help,” the lady says the words slowly, as if she wasn’t even too sure on them herself. “That’s what we do. We help people.”

Leo swallows thickly. “You’re a social worker.”

It wasn’t much of a question; Leo had met these kinds of people before, when he was really little, when Mikey was just fresh out of Mom’s tummy, they’d knock on the door and look right past Leo.

His hackles are up, and the woman must sense this, backing away with a single clip-clopped step of her shiny high heels.

“I am,” she says with a nod of her head. All her hair is scraped up nearly into a tight bun on the top of her head, not a single strand out of place. “My name is Sunita.”

Leo tips his chin upwards, a swell of bravery overcoming him makes him feel big all of a sudden. “Where’s Mikey and Raph?” He demands, just as Donnie makes a pitiful whining sound, shrinking as his shoulders come up and his head ducks downwards.

But whatever teeth Leo has to show off, doesn’t deter Sunita. She doesn’t back away or bite back. She doesn’t get loud and angry like Mom does when he tries it on her on some days.

She just smiles at him, kindly, like that was maybe the only face she had.

“They’re here, being looked after.” A beat. “Could we look after you, too?”

Leo shies away. A certain nervousness seems to shadow that previous bravado as he thinks about being separated from Donnie, pulled away into a room with strangers.

“I don’t need looking after,” he tells her with as much confidence as he can muster. “And I don’t need anyone looking after Raphie or Mike — I can do it just fine.”

There’s the threat of tears now suddenly springing behind his eyes — too long away from his other siblings, out of his reach and the panic from earlier is drumming into his system with each sharp, quickening heartbeat.

“I know you can,” Sunita agrees with a gentle voice. “But Leo,” she looks at him more serious now. “It’s not your job to look after everyone. You’re just a kid, too.”

For a very long time, Leo hadn’t felt like a kid. He’d bypassed nearly most of the other children in his class not because he wanted to, but he needed to make sure he could read big chapter books so he could read them to Donnie, or he knew how to change a diaper before he knew all the rules to softball because Mom never played with him.

And he was the one his little brothers would turn to when they had nightmares or sticky tummies because Mom would either be passed out on the couch, or out of town with her scary friends or locked away in her room surrounded by shadows and monsters.

Leo wasn’t a kid. Not to him, anyway. He didn’t have anyone to look after him, and he knew how that felt, to be so alone in the world, so he made sure that Raph, Donnie and Mikey had the very opposite in tenfold, never once letting them go from his grasp.

He blinks, and fat tears slip down his cheeks. A sob hiccups in his chest where he fails to swallow it down, and the noise makes Donnie turn around to face him, face creasing with worry.

“I want my brothers,” he tells Sunita through his tears, desperate to blink them away. He feels Donnie’s hand reach for his, clammy and warm and his fingers fold beneath his. “I just want my brothers.”

Sunita looks like she might move in on him to wrap him up in a hug but Leo doesn’t want that, and she stays where she is.

“I know. I know, honey. I’ll get them for you. Okay? When they’re done with the doctor, we’ll get them back to you.”

Mom made Leo a lot of promises to him a lot of the times. When she’d promise that she’d start feeding Mikey when he’d cry when he was a baby, or when she’d lay slumped on her bedroom floor telling him through her own tears that she was going to try and get better for them.

It’d all fallen flat and diminished the idea of promises altogether for Leo. Yet when Sunita makes one, it feels as if it has a little more truth to it.

***

Half an hour later and Sunita makes good on that promise.

They’re taken to a little room that doesn’t smell like a doctors office or medicines, and he’s plonked onto a plush chair with Donnie practically in his lap when Raph and Mikey rush through the door.

Raph’s face seems to have been wiped clear, his tear tracks no longer visible across his skin, yet when he moves across the room to greet Leo and Don, his eyes start to water all over again.

Mikey doesn’t seem at all bothered by the whole ordeal, clutching a little plushie that looks brand new and clean.

“Puppy!” He exclaims with glee as he holds it up to show it off to Leo. It isn’t a dog, but Leo doesn’t correct him, just looping his arm around his neck to bring him in for a brief hug.

Donnie is showing off his new cast to Raph, proudly telling him about how he picked out the color himself, and they chatter amongst themselves as Mikey dances about the room with his new toy.

They have a moment between them all before the door opens and Sunita is stepping in.

Neither Raph or Mikey seem weary of her when they both lift their gazes up at the same time to look up at her, indicating that she’d already introduced herself to them. Mikey actually goes toddling off to her, showing off the plushie that Leo begins to suspect that she herself had gifted him.

“How is your arm feeling now, Donatello?” She asks, smiling warmly at the boy curled up on Leo’s lap still.

Donnie holds it out as if to inspect it before giving his final verdict on the matter. He looks up to Sunita and smiles and says in a slightly shy voice, “Better, thank you.”

She seems pleased enough with that answer. She goes to say something else when Mikey stands right by her hip, nudging her leg with the plushie to garner her attention.

“Mama? Mama now?”

Leo watches as her smile falters for a moment before Raph is cutting in too, pushing forward with his usual boisterous force.

“Are we goin’ home now? Now that Don’s arm is all fixed up?”

Leo waits with a bated breath for her answer: he wishes for nothing more than to never go back to that tiny, little apartment where Mom was mean and angry all the time and where the wallpaper was peeling away and he had to push the dresser in front of the door on bad days and kiss away his brothers hurt.

But there’s also the implications that he was waiting for the fallout now, waiting for the aftershock that would blow his little family apart. That he’d ended up some place without them, alone and scared all over again.

Sunita crouches down to get on their level and Mikey decides that it’s free game to clutch tightly onto her hand, which she gladly allows.

“Mommy isn’t very well herself,” she starts to explain. “She needs a bit of looking after herself.”

Donnie’s brow creases. “Will she get better?”

A ugly voice in Leo’s head sounds off, responding I hope she doesn’t ever.

“We can hope so,” Sunita answers him.

Raph shifts where he’s stood, changing his weight from foot to foot, if the chair Leo was sat on was bigger, there’s no doubt he would have clambered on to join them.

“So we’ll stay here, with mommy?” Donnie is asking.

Sunita shakes her head and Leo feels gravity start to work against him, crushing against him in a way that felt somewhat suffocating.

“We’re going to find you a place to stay whilst mom gets better,” she tells them, giving Mike’s hand a tight little squeeze. “Actually, we might already have a place for you to stay for now.”

Leo had a girl in his class that would come to school in dirty clothes and her hair unwashed. She was mean and nasty and called Leo and the other kids foul names that he darent ever repeat. She would start kicking and screaming in class and one day she left and didn’t come back for a long time.

When she reappeared, she’d had a haircut and was proudly showing off her brand new sneakers that had lights in the bottom and flashed when she stomped about the playground.

“Where did you go?” One kid had asked her. “Did you go on vacation?”

She’d shook her head, neat little bob sweeping over her shoulders. “Nope,” she’d said, popping the p. “I got a new family. A foster family.”

This is what this is, Leo recognises. This is a new family, something better he knows, but anxiety curls up tight in his stomach like a bug and turns his whole body nauseous.

“Will we be split up?” Is the only question Leo is interested in asking her.

Sunita shakes her head, and with it, seems to shake away that lingering fear clinging to every inch of Leo’s being.

He clutches Donnie tight, careful of his poorly arm and watches as Mikey blissfully starts playing with his plushie again, unaware of the situation unfolding around him.

“Okay,” Leo says calmly. “When can we go?”

***

They’re not long after ushered into Sunita’s little car, with Leo sat up front, they’re greeted at the doors they’d come in through by a couple of cops that wordlessly hand her a few black sacks that she piles into the trunk.

“We got a few of your things from home,” she explains as Leo buckles himself in. “Just until we can get you new clothes and toys.”

Mikey is strapped into a car seat for maybe the first time in his life, still happily clutching onto his plushie, chewing on the now soggy label between his baby teeth, “Toys! Toys! Toys!”

It doesn’t take an awful amount of time to drive from the hospital to the new house that they’re supposedly staying at. Leo doesn’t say anything the entire ride over, even when Sunita prompts him a few times with snippets of conversation that he chooses to ignore, instead supplying himself with endless ideas as to where he was about to be dropped off towards.

Who was this person that would take them in? Was it safe? Safer than home, at least?

They pull up to a brownstone apartment; the neighbouring building has a bike sprawled out across the small lawn and when Sunita opens Leo’s door for him, she has to side step a man walking his dog that smiles kindly at them all.

Donnie carefully maneuvers climbing out of his seat and onto the sidewalk, Raphael taking up his good hand in his in an instant, like magnets destined to always connect.

“Want me to take him?” Sunita asks as Leo lifts Mikey into his arms, spotting the tired, sleepy expression now drooping across his face, the plushy now hanging limp in his almost fully lax fingers.

Leo shakes his head and follows her up the steps.

The man that answers the door is tall and broad and honestly a little bit scary looking.

Sunita ushers them all in before they start on ahh formal pleasantries.

“This is Lorenzo,” Sunita introduces them. “You’ll be staying with him for a little while.”

“Until mommy gets better?”

That’s Donatello asking again, full of all that childish, naive hope that puts Leo’s tummy on edge a little, even when Sunita politely nods, trying not to prompt any follow up questions on the matter.

“Welcome to my home,” Lorenzo speaks, his voice is low and rumbly, and has Mikey sitting up in his arms in an instant, curious. “Would you like to see your rooms?”

Raph hesitates at first, but once Donnie takes a step forward, he’s quickly following. All of them march down the hallway, past a kitchen and a living room where there’s two bedrooms situated right at the back of the house.

Lorenzo pushes a door open. “This will be your room. You can pick which beds you want, I wasn’t sure what things you liked, so we can head out tomorrow and choose your own new comforters.”

Back at home, Raph and Donnie shared a bed, and Mikey had soon outgrown the cot he’d had since he was a baby, limbs spilling through the wooden rungs, Leo had quickly grown to having him in his bed.

But the room he stands in now is big enough for two bunk beds on either side pressed up against opposite walls. There’s no peeling wallpaper. No dirtied floors with old diapers and stains. There’s a toy box sat beneath the bay window that looks over the city as well as a desk that sits perfectly beside the door.

“Is… is this really for us?” Leo finds himself saying outloud. There’s a flush of fast rising embarrassment touching hotly at his face, creeping across his cheekbones before he can swallow it down, looking anxiously between Lorenzo and Sunita.

They both smile warmly at him, tinges of that pitying look he’s grown so accustomed to in his life, she places a steady hand on his shoulder and tells him,

“Of course. It’s all for you.”

Lorenzo and Sunita let the boys explore their room for a little bit whilst they head to the kitchen for a coffee and a talk. Leo suspects it’s all grown up stuff, maybe even talk about mom that he has no interest in as he curiously inspects the toy box.

Inside, it’s full to the brim. There’s soft toys and plastic action figures with all their limbs. He digs deeper and finds a stim toy — one like they used to have a long time ago before mom threw it at the wall and broke it.

He clutches it tightly and protectively before he walks to one of the beds.

“I want this one!” Raph announces as he starts to clamber up the ladde. “This is my whole own bed!”

He flops down onto the mattress with a giddy laughter that catches on, leaving them all giggling.

Donnie perches on the bed below it, testing out the mattress with a few wiggles before deeming it worthy enough.

Mikey gets the second bottom bunk, only because he can’t quite climb the ladder just yet. He gives a little whine of protest when Leo has to pry his chubby little fingers off the rungs to deter him from trying on his own, but gives in when Leo draws his attention back to the toy box.

Leo spots Donnie wistfully staring at the desk, looking like he’s unsure if he should approach it or not.

“You could do your homework on there,” Leo tells him. Donnie’s head snaps up fast like a rubber band, looking shameful for even looking before he’s giving Leo a more neutral look.

“Do you think?”

Leo nods confidently. “Maybe we can ask Mr Lorenzo for a new book. I don’t think they brought over any of ours from home.”

After dumping all their bags on the floor, all they’d been left with was a few useless teddies and a handful of clothes that mustn’t been clean enough or just about able to fit them still — there wasn’t a lot in the way of what could have been salvaged, but to see it all here now on the nice, clean rug of their new room in a meek, pathetic little pile, made Leo feel pretty crummy.

“They weren’t all that good anyway,” Donnie admits. “All my favorites had some pages missing or I read them too many times.” Leo knew that what his brother really wanted was something new to sink his teeth into.

“Maybe we can ask,” Leo says again, a new found confidence rising up inside of him already ever since he’d rapped his knuckles against his neighbors front door. “He seems nice enough.”

Eventually Sunita has to leave, and when she does so, she’s lingering by the door, sharing a few more hushed words between herself and Lorenzo before she’s crouching again to talk to the boys.

“You’ll be alright?” She frames it in both a question and a statement that has Leo nodding confidently. “Good. Lorenzo is here to help you guys too. Remember that. Anything you need, we’ll be here.”

She gives Leo one last look before Lorenzo is kindly walking her back to her car. When he returns, it’s oddly silent in the hallway.

He smiles at them, unsure what to say before he’s offering up something to eat and drink. None of the boys turn him down for that.

***

Lorenzo lets them explore the rest of the house, even his own bedroom, keeping his distance as he waits patiently in the doorways to allow them their space.

“Oh, cool!” Raph is jumping up and down as he points out the DVD player that sits neatly on the TV unit. The screen itself is bigger than the one they have at home, and there isn’t a spiderweb of cracks sliced through the corner to ruin the picture. “Can we watch a movie later?” He’s asking.

Lorenzo chuckles softly and nods, making Raph jump higher.

The kitchen is a small little room but a far cry from the one Leo is used to. He stands in the middle of the room as his brothers clamber across the stretch of breakfast bar, trying to picture what his mother would look like in a place like this, strewn across the neatly polished tiles, pushing out a little brother with blood, sweat and—

“Leonardo?”

The voice startles him, making him flinch back. Lorenzo looks as if he wishes to place a comforting hand on his shoulder but refrains himself. He frowns, “Are you alright?”

Leo nods quickly, brain shaking about in his head to rid himself of the mental images that plague his mind like poison, he’s beckoned over by Donnie who whispers to him with excitement about the various cereal choices that weren’t off brand.

For dinner, Lorenzo makes them spaghetti after expressing that it was his specialty. Leo doesn’t remember the last time he had a cooked meal that wasn’t something slung in their tiny little microwave but when he shovels in the first forkful of meat and noodles, it’s hard for him to stop until his plate is entirely cleared.

It’s not until he’s setting down his fork that he realises that he hadn’t even helped Mikey with his yet.

He turns to face him, shame swallowing him whole only to find Lorenzo is cutting up his brother's food with the plastic knife and fork.

Mikey has most of it smeared across his face because table manners were something he was yet to learn amongst other things most three year olds had in their arsenal but he smiles at him nonetheless.

After their meal, they get a bowl of ice cream each, and Leo lets his melt down into a goop before he’s eating his, watching carefully as his brothers messily devour theirs.

And once that’s done, Lorenzo gets to work on the dishes when Leo gingerly approaches him where he stands at the basin.

“Can I help?” He asks.

Lorenzo looks surprised for a moment before he’s shaking his head at the boy.

“It’s quite alright. I could use the practice now I have five plates to wash and dry. Why don’t you go and join your brothers in picking out a movie for tonight?”

It’s said with such domesticity that it almost rattles Leo how easy it feels. He dismisses him politely with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s alright,” he tells him as he watches him run a wet sponge over the orange plate Mikey had been eating off of. “They’ll probably be there for ages arguing over what one to pick.”

A small, impressed smile creeps over him. “You, uh, have a lot of movies. That’s pretty cool.”

Lorenzo seems pleased with this, whether it was the praise at his excessive film collection or that Leo was making something of an attempt at conversation, he laughs gently, his voice low and rumbling like a sound of thunderstorm on the other side of the city. It somehow feels quite comforting.

“I live by myself, I find myself with a lot of free time in the evenings, so I watch a lot of movies,” he tells Leo. “It’ll be nice to have someone to watch them with for a change.”

Leo smiles at that. “That’d be nice.”

Lorenzo wasn’t like most of the adult men he’d known in his life. His and Mikey’s dad barely stuck around to make any lasting impression that wasn’t negative and he’d only met Donnie and Raph’s father once in his life before he was rushing out of the door to avoid any kind of responsibility that might’ve been thrust upon him.

He wonders if perhaps today, both men had been contacted on the outcome of their children. Whether they would have cared or not? Whether they might fight for them at all?

Aside from the fact that if they did, they’d be split into twos, Leo really does not want that to become a reality for a multitude of reasons.

“Do you think we’ll go see my mom tomorrow?” He finds himself asking Lorenzo.

The man pauses, looking a little put out for a second before he’s answering him.

“I… don’t think so.” He frowns. “Did you want to?”

Leo is quick to shake his head. “No,” he says, voice small. He lifts his gaze up, wanting to change the subject he spots a framed certificate leaning against the wall on the kitchen counter. It’s a Psychology Degree awarded to Lorenzo Leatherhead.

That piques Leo’s attention, drawing an amused smile across his face.

“Leatherhead?” He says. “Is that really your name?”

Lorenzo laughs again, flicking a soapy sud off his arm and nods. “Yes it is.” He pauses. “I gave it to myself.”

Leo blinks. “You can do that?”

Lorenzo nods again and hums. There was something about him that was so entirely calming. “I did. I wished to no longer be attatched to my fathers name, so I changed it when I was eighteen. It was after a silly nickname my friends gave me — I was in foster care too, you know.”

There’s something about that piece of information shared over to him that gives Leo a sense of ease.

He’s not an easily trusting child, not when his mother is the way she is, and there’s been random men traipsing through his home making her sick and mean, but Lorenzo stoops over him with his mountainous height and his big, wide grin and his sweeping braids and it makes Leo feel like maybe he could perhaps trust this man somewhat.

“That’s cool,” he admits. “I don’t know what I would change my name too.”

He’d been burdened with his mother’s name, trailing behind his first like heavy, overstuffed luggage. He wasn’t sure if there was another name besides Leonardo Nanimonai that would suit him best, and he wouldn’t dream of changing his first name: he matched with his brothers, it made them a set.

He meekly wonders if Leonardo Leatherhead would suit him at all, but he doesn’t dare voice that thought.

“A name can be just a name,” Lorenzo tells him, plucking up the sponge. “It is the person who bares it that matters most.”

Leo stews in that nugget of wisdom for a little bit before Lorenzo sends him in after his brothers as they indeed get a little rowdy trying to pick a singular movie to watch in his vast collection.

***

Luckily for Leo and the rest of his brothers, included in Lorenzo’s movie shelf is a bunch of Disney classics, and they’re able to settle on Beauty in the Beast tucked away on the couch whilst Lorenzo takes up the armchair.

After the movie is done and the credits are rolling, Lorenzo suggests they head to bed.

“It’s been a long day. Donatello, I believe you’re due some pain meds.”

Donnie gladly takes them, wincing a little as he slides off the couch to be guided to the kitchen for a glass of water to take with his pills.

Leo takes Mikey and Raph to their room to get ready for bed.

It’s when he’s wrangling Mikey into his pajamas that he notes that Raph has lost all his previous bubbly, excitable energy, drooping a little bit with a slight frown etched across his face.

He says nothing when he checks Mikey’s diaper, clicking when he finds it slightly damp.

His little brother was supposed to have been somewhat on his way to being potty trained at least but like most things, fell behind without a parent to urge him on.

He’s digging through their pile from home for any pull ups when Lorenzo returns with Donatello in tow.

“Looking for something?” Lorenzo asks, guiding a yawning Donnie to his bed.

Leo doesn’t look up, still rifling though an assortment of sweaters and jeans and vest tops. “Mikey needs a change,” he explains flatly. He feels a little bit of panic swell inside of him when he realises they must have been left behind.

Lorenzo moves into the room to stop Leo. “Not to worry. I have some in the bathroom. I can take him.”

Something wild and protective sits up in Leo’s brain, making his head snap up fast and his teeth to bare as he warms Lorenzo off,

“No!”

Lorenzo looks stunned for a moment, backing away, even Raph has turned to watch him curiously.

Leo expects the feeling to shrink away, to possibly make way for a bout of shame but it doesn’t come. It’s like someone switched an alarm off in his brain and it’s failing to be killed.

“I can do it,” he tells Lorenzo sternly. “I always do it. Mikey won’t like it if you do it.”

As if on cue, Mikey pouts and whines and starts tugging at his damp diaper. Leo moves towards b and scoops him up in his arms.

“It’s fine,” is all he says to Lorenzo as he brushes past him for the bathroom.

He’s able to find the pull ups and wet wipes just fine, all neatly organized by Lorenzo as well as four different colored toothbrushes sat on the side of the basin and an assortment of bath toys lined up on the lip of the bath.

There’s a weird sinking feeling in his gut, like it was falling right out of his body as he finishes up changing his brother.

“You really ought to be using the potty, Mike.” He scolds his brother lightly, pointing to the toilet.

Mikey looks at it and then back to Leo and pinches his face into a tight frown. “No,” he says, and that’s the end of that.

***

After Leo’s outburst, Lorenzo keeps a respectable distance from him. He lingers in the doorway as all four of them clamber into their respective beds.

“If you need me, I’m just down the hall.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, making gauging that he won’t get one now, and leaves closing the door behind him.

There’s a little nightlight beside the desk that glows from across the room.

There’s silence for a while before Raph’s voice comes out as a small little whisper,

“Are we not going home?”

Leo sits up onto his elbows and looks across the room, from bunk to bunk he’s level with Raph, and can see clearly even through the orange glow, the worriesome look he’s pinning him with.

“Mommy’s not well, remember?” He tells him. “We can’t go back. Not yet.”

Donnie rolls onto his good side, fresh, crisp sheets crinkle beneath him. “When then?”

Mikey is already clambering out of bed to make a fuss. “Mama,” he cries at the closed door. “Mama!”

And it makes Leo angry; mom didn’t care before, she didn’t care now — they didn’t cry for her when they were at home and she’d let them go hungry or when she’d get loud in their faces or even when she’d pushed Donnie over and broke his arm earlier today.

So why did they suddenly need her now?

Mikey starts to cry harder, reaching up to the door handle he’s not quite tall enough for, calling out for their mother, Leo races down the ladder to collect him before Lorenzo could hear him.

“Stop it now,” he says trying desperately to soothe him like he’d done a hundred times before. “I know it’s scary, but it won’t be forever.”

There’s the ugly mean voice whispering things in his head, telling him I hope it is, I hope we never go back, I hope mom stays sick forever.

“I don’t like it,” Raph pouts and it’s not long before he too is climbing out of bed.

Leo sets Mikey back into his own bed, tucking him in seems futile before he’s clambering in beside him in an attempt to settle him.

Mikey kicks him, making a disgruntlement noise before he finally seems to be at ease with him beside him. Leo moves over so that when Raph gets in, there’s enough room.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Raph asks Leo with a whisper. “Without us?”

He swallows down that flaming angry feeling from before — something like betrayal because they should be asking that question the other way around, because a kid should need their mom, not the other way around, but his brothers are still so little and unknowing of the world around them in a way that Leo is not, even at ten, he’s bigger than his years, and he nods.

It doesn’t take long for Donnie to join them, curled up on the edge of the bed with Mikey in the middle, mindful of his heavy, cumbersome arm that sticks out, Leo is able to reach each of his brothers like this, cramped up and close in a way that feels comfortingly familiar.

And there’s no crayon scribblings under the walls for him to trace until he falls asleep, or the sound of mom’s telenovelas drifting from the other room or the stink of smoke in the carpets — it's a world away from what they know to be home.

But it could work. If mom didn’t get better and if Leo could put his faith fully in Lorenzo’s hands, it could work.

With his brothers pressed against him like this like he could chase away all their fears and hurts, it could maybe, hopefully work.

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Helloo!!

I was just wondering if you knew any fics where Remus is a photographer? The plot doesn't necessarily matter, just as long as Remus is a photographer, and that it plays a not necessarily central role, but at least so that it gets mentioned often throughout the story.

Thanks!!

A picture of my dog because she's adorable🫶

Well since you sent a picture of your ADORABLE dog, clearly this request must be filled.

Photographer Remus 📸

Exposed by @remuslives23 (Part 3 of the Muse Verse series) Sirius helps Remus overcome his insecurities.

Ink & Parchment by @prettyremus A cache of letters between Remus Lupin and Sirius Black has recently been uncovered. Join us as they are released, and read the story of their love through their own words.

Walking in a Wizard Wonderland by @yumenouveau It's minutes till Christmas and Sirius has just finished bar-tending for the a Victorian-style wedding. He'd been watching the cute photographer all night, but little did he know the other man was looking back at him too. With how hard it's started to snow, Sirius wonders whether the other man will be able to get home or if he'll be staying over for Christmas

Rule of Thirds by bluepeony Modern AU: Sirius Black, star of the university's football team, only wants one thing: a teensy-weensy, harmless little kiss.

Pictures of You by @cacchieressa He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that [he] had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

[spntoxicfemslashevent]

full prompt list

hey everyone! this is the full february prompt list for this event. we're going to have six prompts every day, so it's big! smaller versions containing only some of the prompts are forthcoming. ideally a piece submitted for a certain day should be inspired by at least one of the prompts for that day.

[conceptual prompts only] [pairing prompts only] [format/style prompts only] [prompts by date] [submission guidelines] [intro post]

conceptual prompts:

feb 1: manipulation || rot || political play

feb 2: tied up || burning flesh || jealousy

feb 3: suburbia || betrayal/judas kiss || doll

feb 4: blackmail || cannibalism || age gap

feb 5: blasphemy || executioner || genderless

feb 6: “...and it felt like a kiss” || on the rack || handmaiden-feudal lord

feb 7: sainthood || blood || isolation

feb 8: poison/drugging || barefoot and pregnant || murder suicide

feb 9: scars || heaven and/or hell || voyeurism

feb 10: shallow grave/midnight gardening || exes || serial killer(s)

feb 11: crossdressing || corpse || brat

feb 12: war/opposite sides || soulmates || guts/gore

feb 13: demonization || immortality || "forgive me father"

feb 14: unrequited || butch || imprisonment

feb 15: high school sweethearts || justifications || resurrection

feb 16: stabbing || masturbation || somnophilia

feb 17: turn the straight girl || kidnapping || ritual sacrifice

feb 18: stalking || substance use/abuse || comp het

feb 19: amnesia/mindwipe/lobotomy || flogging || forcefem

feb 20: vessel || make each other worse || gothic

feb 21: mistress || forced marriage || petplay

feb 22: demon deal || power imbalance || state of mind/dreams/confusion

feb 23: experiment || bastard child || what happened to her first husband/wife?

feb 24: curses || possession || infidelity

feb 25: controlling || temptation || "i ran into a door"

feb 26: victim || right hand || true crime

feb 27: humiliation || dubious consent || brainwashing

feb 28: family || true form || obsession

feb 29: closeted || sins of the father || not passing the bechdel test

pairing prompts:

feb 1: rowena mcleod/billie

feb 2: linda tran/ofc

feb 3: hannah/naomi

feb 4: rowena mcleod/alicia banes

feb 5: raphael/billie

feb 6: amelia novak/naomi

feb 7: abaddon/colette mullen

feb 8: ruby/astaroth

feb 9: cassie robinson/fem!dean winchester

feb 10: linda tran/mary winchester

feb 11: cassie robinson/meg masters

feb 12: linda tran/abaddon

feb 13: risa (endverse)/meg masters

feb 14: kelly kline/dagon

feb 15: linda tran/tasha banes

feb 16: billie/amara/the empty (meg)

feb 17: meg masters/jo harvelle

feb 18: patience turner/claire novak

feb 19: mary winchester/antonia bevell

feb 20: lily sunder/claire novak

feb 21: bela talbot/ruby

feb 22: patience turner/magda peterson

feb 23: fem!castiel/fem!crowley

feb 24: missouri moseley/ellen harvelle

feb 25: jody mills/donna hanscum

feb 26: lily baker/lilith

feb 27: hannah/caroline johnson

feb 28: raphael/naomi

feb 29: eileen leahy/mary winchester

format/style prompts:

day 1: canon divergent || drabble (exactly 100 words)

day 2: canon character/oc || traditional art

day 3: scifi au || non-traditional art medium

day 4: post-canon || gifset

day 5: canon compliant || metered poetry

day 6: reverse!verse/roleswap || sketch

day 7: epistolary || flash fiction

day 8: episode rewrite || fanmix

day 9: gender changes - het to femslash || script format

day 10: canon a little to the left || headcanon

day 11: outsider pov || fancam

day 12: 5 + 1 || exquisite corpse/round robin

day 13: for want of a nail || sequel

day 14: dark fluff || webweave

day 15: vignettes/fragments || fansong

day 16: polyamory || abstract

day 17: unreliable narrator || screencap edit

day 18: meta plot/metafandom/carver edlund novels || non-song based fanvid

day 19: crossover/fusion || multimedia

day 20: trans headcanon || podfic

day 21: humor || amv

day 22: au || fiber arts

day 23: gender changes - slash to femslash || comic

day 24: pre-canon || digital art

day 25: omegaverse || sentence fics

day 26: mundane au || photography

day 27: selfcest || freeverse poetry

feb 28: character study || fanwork-of-a-fanwork

feb 29: rashomon style || fic rec list

[kaydeefalls]

4, 11, 12!

Excellent, thanks!

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

I assume this isn't referring to the scraps of partial fics sitting in my WIP folder, even if none of those have been posted yet. Okay, I haven't technically started writing a theoretical sequel to The Conspirator's Gift (X-Men medieval mystery AU), though I do have a doc of story notes and a couple of line fragments. So. That one has a rough plot and character notes - it's another murder mystery, and I know who the victim is, how it happened, and who the other potential suspects are and why, as well as broad strokes of the main character arcs. But no actual writing has been accomplished yet, mostly because I'm not ready to commit to another LONG fucking fic at the moment (in a fandom I've drifted out of, though I'm sure I'll drift back in eventually, because it's X-Men and I always do). Also because I'm still pushing through the thorny issue of how to sustain a mystery when one of the main characters is a goddamn telepath.

11. a WIP you’d like to finish someday

ALL OF THEM, UGH. For TOG in particular, I do want to circle back to Joe/Nicky Firefly fusion fic (in the same 'verse as I'm not ready yet (for the light to dim), for whatever that's worth), and a Lykon-as-new-immortal canon divergence AU. Both of those have a few thousand words written and rough outlines for the rest. I've just not been in a TOG mindset lately. But hopefully I'll circle back to them eventually.

12. a trope you’re really into right now

I mean, I always have my favorite tropes, those don't really change. Canon divergence AUs are still top of mind at the moment, those are perennial faves. And friend to lovers, always, always. 😉

(more fic writing asks!)

[lamialamia]

hai!!! are there any sledgefu fanfics or writers u could rec to me?

Anon I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to this. I was swamped with exams and deadlines and traveling. But gosh. I GOT CHU. I got recs!!!

This got insanely long so I'm putting a read more

Fanfic - Canon-verse (no AU)

Sleep Aid by someonesgrlbomb. Gosh. Okay. We all know the weird, fucked up bond between Sledge and Snafu is so interesting. They are traumatized young men who are wrestling with their humanity in hellish conditions. And this fic is one amazing look into this bond.

C’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée. by ijustlookatpictures. This one is heartbreaking. Not healthy in the slightest. But if you want to be devastated, this fic is for you.

I do my best because I'm counting on you counting on me by ijustlookatpictures. A groundhog day AU set in the war so I still put it here. I love this fic for its Snafu's voice. Trust me, Snafu is a tough character to write for because he is a layered bastard who has so much going for him. I re-read this fic like once every few months.

As It Was by SJtrinity. Possibly one of the best post-war fics for sledgefu out there. This fic might be formatted a little weird on Ao3 but trust me, it's worth it. Sledge and Snafu's road to a happy endings isn't easy or simple and this fic makes them earn their happy endings (even after surviving a war). READ THIS FIC PLEASE. I'M ON MY KNEES BEGGING YOU.

i’m the diode, you’re the kerosene by getmean. This imo is one of the required reading sledgefu fics. I mean, I would say that about any of getmean's fic but yeah. Realistic about PTSD but so perfectly balance with the slow-burn romance we all crave. Simply magnificent.

an angel like a memory by starblessed. Another incredible fic that nailed Snafu's voice.

gone but not entirely by marinersapptcomplex. Angst for the ages. Sledgefu is treasure trove of angst and in the right hand, it would fuck you up. Because this fic fucked me up. It's so good and deserve thousand of kudos.

The Boy and the Magpie by harin91. Oh this is a special sledgefu fic. It moved me to tears. It showed but never told. It got me craving for all the pretty jewels and lost loves and fairy-tale dreamings one could possibly have. If I think about this fic too much I might lost it.

Come Take Me Home Again by ThrillingDetectiveTales. Ehehhe, very sexy and very cute and made me giggle every time I re-read this.

Let Me Know The Way by bearkare. Epistolary story telling is no small task to pull off. Something which was done here so good it felt like I actually get to step into the characters' heads and dive into their inner turmoil. Another fic that takes the slow road to Sledgefu's happy ending. Love every word of this.

a collection of fragmented thoughts that were never written and never sent by canimo. Underrated. So fucking underrated. All the angst, and well, sledgefu have a tendency in many fic to not end happily at all. They are after all two very different people and with everything that happened, no matter how much love they might share, it isn't easy.

I Was Fixed on Your Hand of Gold by Cinderscream. Another epistolary fic that amazed me with the ease of how they manage to make story unfold within the limited confinement of letter writing. Love this one to bits.

friends who share your past by kinnoth. Once in a while, you had to let your OTP be toxic and unhealthy and unable to communicate and lead them to their downfall. Yeah.

fill in the holes you've made by foreignconstellations. Relationships are complicated. This one managed to capture that in just 2.5k words, which I absolutely can not comprehend.

Sweet Water, Wash Me Down by modernature. Atmospheric and very gripping. Amazing world building where the world felt alive and wriggling and squirming in the best possible way.

Leave your baggage here by malmanagement. Sometimes, we needed a groundhog day AU to make stubborn idiots understands.

Fanfic - AU:

got a fire but you just can't use it by getmean. I binged this instead of sleeping. Worth it.

catch it down in new orleans by starblessed. This is one of my comfort fics of all time. It's so funny and so charming. Never failed to lift me out of a bad mood.

Unknown Number by harin91. In which our favorite idiots tried long distance and it is endlessly entertaining.

lest we fall into the dark by gingerwerk. Oh everything about this AU is incredible. The slowburn is so good I wish I can lost my memory to read this again completely fresh.

Oh! Darling by Anonymous. I waited years for this fic to finally finish. I screamed when I saw the final update. Sexy and lovely. Can not recommend this fic enough.

Author:

getmean. Well you can't mention sledgefu without this author. No matter what their fics deliver. I aspire to write as good as them one day.

SJtrinity. I don't know what to say about this author because... my english could never measure my awe and love for their works

starblessed. You saw how many times I rec their fics? Yeah. Read everything this author write please.

Stolperzunge. I love them and their works. I could write a love letter here but I don't wanna be cringe.

bearkare. ANything written by this author made me feral <3 <3 <3

Honorable mention: eugeneshelton whose sledgefu fics gave me diabetes, and endlessly inspire me with his sledgefu ideas :*