#as for upset he has to deal with severe family matters and so he does not speak to his teammates at all

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW2 Reaction to Their S/O Who Self-Harms

Warnings: Heavy Mentions of Self-Harm, Non-Explicit Mentions of Injuries, Mentions of Violence (Not Towards Reader), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Petnames, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

A/N: Hey guys, just letting you know that this post is a bit heavier than my usual ones. This has been requested of me quite a few times, so here it is. I’ve tried to remain as realistic and respectful as possible while bringing you your favourite MW2 people. I’m going to link some mental health resources here for anyone who needs them, and I implore anyone suffering, regardless of whether you self-harm or not, to please, please talk to someone. Nobody deserves to live with the weight of poor mental health, so if you’re able, don’t hesitate to reach out to someone and tell them how you’re feeling ! Friends, family members, pets – anyone who you think will be able to be a good listening partner, even if they’re not a licensed therapist. And if you feel you have no-one to talk to, there are always options ! Local and national mental health services, some of which are free and don’t show up on phone bills ! A lot of the time, simply speaking about what’s hurting you is the first step to mental healing <3. Please stay safe, guys <3

Ghost

Is appalled at himself that he didn’t notice sooner.

He bundles you up into his arms, pulling you as close to him as physics will allow, and then some. His head is buried in your shoulder, his grip around you tight, but he doesn’t hurt you.

“Oh, Sweetheart– I’m so sorry,” you hear him whisper. His voice is thin and high as if the composite of helium, yet a sombre tone weights it.

“I should’ve known how you were feeling – I should’ve been here for you more–”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to console him, or how well you are able to conceal your suffering. Simon will never forgive himself for allowing you to go through this alone.

“It’s no excuse,” he says, and there’s a hitch to his voice. Something wet, warm, hits your shoulder.

Now, distraught as if he’d already lost you, Simon pulls away just so he can see your face. His eyes are glossy and red with tears, his face the mask of anguish.

He takes your head in his hands, holds it at the jaw, and, with angel tenderness, presses a kiss to your crown.

He tucks your head beneath his chin, encases you with his body again.

“I’m never gonna let anything hurt you,” he says, and you can feel his heart pounding against his chest. “Not again.”

And you know he means it.

Due to his own mental health struggles, Simon will use his own logic to try and help you.

He’s never had anyone to rely on – before you, at least – so he makes himself available to you wherever and whenever you need him.

He does everything you ask of him without question, whether that’s making you a bowl of soup or listening to whatever thoughts roll into your head.

He helps you get ready for bed and tucks you in when he can tell it’s been a taxing day, mentally or physically.

And he watches over you, as if to make sure you don’t disappear before his eyes, before going to sleep himself.

There’s nothing he loves more than to hold you, whether you’re upset or not. He just wants to feel your weight and your warmth in his arms, nuzzling you and telling you “I love you. D’you know that ? Very, very much,”

You do know. He tells you every waking moment.

And throughout it all, despite the unfortunate circumstances from which this is derived, Simon is just glad that you want to open up to him, and he’ll never deny you a request or a question, wanting to remain a source of hope and comfort to you for as long as you need him.

König

König’s many dealings with his own occupation have clued him into how severe one’s mental health issues can become. Especially when left unattended.

And, as a result, König has the propensity to become…overbearing.

Of course, he’s mortified that you’ve been suffering in silence this whole time, and while he knows he can’t change the past, or rewrite the stars to ensure this never happens again, he does everything in his power to prevent you from falling into despair.

“It’s okay, Engel,” he says, taking you into his arms and holding you close so you can hear his thundering heart. “You’re safe. You’re alright, you’re alright…”

In the beginning of your shared journey to healing, König tries to do anything and everything for you. Chores, cooking, pillow readjustment – anything he thinks would be a nuisance to you.

However, he ends up completing tasks that you actually find enjoyable, leaving nothing for you to do.

While you appreciate everything he’s doing – very much so ! – you still want some independence, even if it’s minimal. And you told him as much.

König looked like he was on the verge of tears when he apologised: “I just wanted to do what was best for you, Darling,”

You have to console him, tell him that his gallant efforts are not appreciated.

König still keeps an eye on you if he has cause to believe you may be trying to self-harm again, but he won’t smother you.

He’ll wait for you to come to him, trusting that you know yourself and him well enough to understand that there is nothing you can’t tell him.

Even if you relapse, or stumble a little, König always encourages you to get back up.

“That’s why our skin heals,” he says, holding your injured arm in his hand, cleansing you of your pain. “So we can start again.”

He loves taking you out on trips – anywhere he knows you’ll like.

He just wants to see you feel something again. Or at least see a sliver of happiness light up your face, even if just for a second.

Petting zoo, amusement park, shopping trip, spa day – you name it, it’s yours !

At the end of the day, when you’re exhausted and König is carrying you home on his back, your 6’10 military princess is just happy that he gets to spend time with you, your warmth the best he’s ever felt.

And he’ll do whatever he can to keep it. To keep you.

Soap

Initially, he’s in denial. But when he sees how tired you are, how grey your soul has become, his heart tears, and everything he’s ever felt for you comes pouring out.

He takes your hands in his, and, the feeling of tears burning his throat, he buries kisses into the back of them.

“I love you– so, so much,” he says, breathless. “You know that, don’t you ?”

The tone in his voice suggests haste, or perhaps desperation. The need for you to know that you are loved. Very, very dearly.

And when you start to cry, Johnny can’t keep his tears in any longer.

“It’s okay, my Love, it’s okay,” he tells you, voice low and soft.

He pulls you into an embrace from which you gather the impression you will never escape. Not while he’s holding on to you as if you could slip between his fingers at any minute.

“We can get through this. Together,”

His assurance is resolute as the sunrise in the morning, and you know, from the way he holds you, speaks to you, that what he’s saying is true.

“You’re okay. You’re safe now. We’ll be okay…”

Johnny makes a concerted effort to watch over you more from now on.

You still maintain your independence – that’s not an issue.

But if he can sense you’re not feeling too good, he’ll either ask if you want to talk about it or wait for you to come to him.

He trusts you to come to him when you’re ready, just as he trusts you with his heart.

He makes sure to ask what your boundaries are when it comes to talking about mental health, just to be sure that he doesn’t accidentally overstep or trigger you in any way.

The last thing he wants to do is upset you. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

And whenever you come and tell him that you’re feeling a little better today, or you found even just one, tiny thing to celebrate, like finding a cool pebble, he’s overjoyed, overcome with pride for your achievements.

Valeria

She is daughter and heir to her own demons, but none of them compare to the thought of you harming yourself or being harmed.

Her initial reaction is anger, but not towards you.

Never towards you.

She wants to eradicate whoever or whatever has driven you to feel this way.

It will take some explaining that the source of your pain isn’t necessarily easy to vanquish, and even if it is, right now, all you want is comfort.

Valeria doesn’t cry. Not in front of you.

Instead, she pulls you to her chest and cradles you while you tell her all your worries, your problems, your sorrows.

And, when she settles you into bed, she embarks on a journey to rid you of your demons.

If they are caused by something external, it’s gone by the time morning rolls around.

If your habits are a result of something within yourself, Valeria will try to remedy it as best she can.

Hours upon hours of research, tending to you whenever you need her, letting you know she’ll never let anyone or anything hurt you–

“And that’s a Valeria guarantee !”

She never breaks out her humorous side, so you know she means it.

She does have the potential to become a helicopter girlfriend, so you’ll have to speak with her and establish some boundaries if there are some things you wish to do alone.

Valeria will understand, but she does get worried when she doesn’t hear from you every hour, and she has to resist the urge to send one of her men to check on you.

At the end of the day, she trusts you and knows that you are your own person, intelligent enough to make your own choices.

All she wants is to be able to be with you, and so long as you plan on sticking around, she will work to bring you a life that can chase away the shadows in your mind.

Price

Due to Price’s fatherly nature, his immediate reaction is deep concern.

“Oh, Love,” he says, his brow creased as his discovery weighs heavy on his face. In all his years as a military professional, he’s seen many a mortifying scene. But none of them have hurt to witness as much as your suffering.

“Come and tell me about it,” he tells you, bringing you to sit beside him on the sofa. “Tell me everything, and I’ll listen.”

Whether you confide in him or not is entirely up to you; he won’t force you to divulge anything you don't want to. But he does remind you that “We’re a team, you and I. There’s nothing you can’t tell me – that we can’t tell each other.”

And he means it. Truly.

Whenever you stand by the doorway to his study, he drops everything and invites you to sit with him, on him – whatever you want to do.

And he listens to anything and everything you tell him.

Price is an incredibly intuitive, intelligent man, and whatever you tell him, even in passing fancy, you can expect to have it within an hour of you unintentionally requesting it.

Price once bundled you up in a blanket and carried you around the house, calling you “Love Bug”. Sometimes he uses it as a comforting tactic since it keeps you warm and you can be nearer to him whenever you want to be.

He calls you his “Brave little soldier” whenever he’s tending to your scrapes or cuts (intentional or otherwise), telling you how you’re the “Strongest warrior this side of the planet !”

He’s always looking for ways to make you smile.

It doesn’t matter what he has to do to achieve a result; for you, there are no boundaries to his love.

And yes, that includes making duck lips out of Pringles.

Or walrus tusks out of chopsticks.

And whenever you smile, no matter how faint, John knows that, regardless of how bleak things may seem now, everything’s going to be okay.

Horangi

Given how mental health is rarely spoken about in Horangi’s birthplace, even stigmatised, he understands how difficult it can be coming out to someone about your inner struggles.

Initially, he sighs, though not out of frustration or anger.

But rather, understanding.

He knows there’s nothing he can say to make everything alright, but he wants to try and help you in any way he can.

And the first step is thanking you for opening up to him.

“I’m just happy you felt you could talk to me about this, 내꺼.”

He does everything in his power to make your life easier: doing your laundry, keeping your toiletries organised, preparing your meals; anything that’ll put a smile on your face or just make your day more bearable.

He doesn’t want you to feel as if he’s trying to sanitise the content you watch, but if he suspects or outright knows that specific topics or content triggers you, he’ll try to steer you away from it and bring you some safer alternatives.

He knows that everyone has different contributors and triggers so he never assumes that one specific thing may be yours; instead, he asks what makes you feel good, what doesn’t, or, if you don’t want to talk about it, he’ll try and use his intuition.

He’ll never force you to give something up, though. But he’ll gently advise against it if he feels it isn’t serving you in your journey to mental healing.

He teaches you how to ground yourself in a way that’s immediate and effective, and, whatever the weather, he’ll take you outside if you ask him to – to feel the rain or the sun or the snow, or to be held by the fog that rolls in over the oceans and mountains.

And he’ll always be there to hold your hand when you want him to, to be your shoulder to hold on to when you can no longer stay standing; your driftwood in the black sea, leading you to the lighthouse on a calm shore.

Alejandro

After priding himself on being the one person in the whole world who knows you the best, he feels his world shatter.

Not because he’s been proven wrong – his ego does not come into this equation – but because he feels as if he could somehow have helped prevent whatever feeling has driven you to self-harm.

Alejandro is a strong man, both physically and emotionally. But seeing you like this, in a ceaseless sea of despair, he crumbles, falls to his knees before you as if you are God itself.

“Mi Amor…why ?” is all he can say. “What has caused you to do this ?”

When you explain to him that, sometimes, it’s not anything external at all, but entirely conjured within your own mind, your own worst enemy, he understands.

Even when he feels he has failed you, he refuses to allow you to come to any more harm, whether from yourself or someone else.

“We– we can get help for you, or– or we can just stay here, go out like we always do, go and see new things–”

Alejandro is the type to throw anything at the wall until it sticks. And by god, he is not stopping until something sticks.

He pays particularly close attention to you now. Not so much as to become a helicopter boyfriend, but enough so that you know he’s there.

He grants you your privacy, believes you are entitled to it as anyone else is, regardless of your condition.

But, if you disappear for half an hour or more, he’ll come to check on you.

He doesn’t want you feeling smothered, but he’s just so terrified of losing you that he’s not sure what to do for the best.

You may have to help him here. Let him know what you want, what you need, so he can do what is right by you.

He apologises for reacting the way he did when you initially told him. “It was…selfish, self-centred. I thought that I could just– destroy whatever was hurting you. But…now, I see that’s not how it works.”

Alejandro doesn’t rest until he knows you’re at maximum comfort and happiness (however much your mind will permit that day), and he will shield you from anything that could cause you to spiral, no matter what.

Rodolfo

For the first time, he’s dead serious. His face goes straight and thin with what you think is consideration.

And he stays that way until he breaks his own silence, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

“Mi Sol,” he says, quiet, as if keeping a secret. And then, you see it. Just a flicker. But a weight bears down on his shoulders – one which wasn’t there before. But it isn’t a burden of weight. Far from it. And you know this when Rodolfo smiles, his eyes becoming glassy.

It’s the weight of love, of his heart taking on your load, halving it.

He holds his arms out to you, pulling you to him.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says. His hold around you tightens. “I know that can’t have been easy,”

From then on, he is at your beck and call – 24/7.

Though, this isn’t a big change given how he already willingly threw himself at any request you made. But now, he uses his intuition more. Taps into verbal or physical cues that let him know you’re not feeling all that good today, and so he’ll take over the chores and tell you to go and sit down.

He makes your favourite meal every night you want it, no matter how unorthodox it is.

Cereal and a plate of sausages ? You got it. Spaghetti with dino nuggies ? It’s already on the table.

The only time Rodolfo will ask you to do anything is when he thinks it’s for your own good – like taking a quick walk with him around the block so you’re out in the sunshine for a bit. Or washing your hair when he can tell it’s getting you down.

He never makes you do anything you don’t want to, though.

Nor does he make you talk when you don’t want to.

He listens whenever you come to him of your own volition. And if he can tell something is really bothering you, he’ll press once for any kind of information. If you don’t want to tell him, he drops it. But he’d rather risk your upset and try to find a solution to whatever’s upsetting you than live to regret it later when it all becomes too much for you.

And whenever you confide in him, he can’t hide how lucky he feels to have someone as special as you; even if you don’t see it right now, Rodolfo knows you’re the most important person in the world, and he won’t stop until you’ve grown into the person you’re destined to be, no matter how long it takes.

And he’s with you every step of the way.

Graves

At first, he was overwhelmed.

Of course, he was hurt that you’d been suffering – and hid it so well, too.

“Darlin’... I’m so sorry – I should’a known or asked or– done– somethin’ !”

To rectify his self-proclaimed self-inattentiveness, he purchases the best therapist money can buy.

“So you can tell ‘em all about your feelings,”

He doesn’t realise how insensitive a gesture can be until it’s too late; it doesn’t even occur to him that you may not want a therapist, but just to speak to someone you know.

Someone like Graves.

And this is something you’ll have to teach him.

But, of course, this will also take time for him to adjust to.

“Well…I– uh…Are ya sure ?”

He cannot wrap his head around the idea that you could ever possibly want to confide in him about something so important, but he’s relieved that you do.

It takes time for him to understand that he doesn't need to have all the answers, or be a trained professional to help you feel better.

He just needs to be there.

To listen, to help whenever you ask for it (or when he can tell you want it).

He makes himself available to you as often as he can, sending others on business trips for him if he knows you’re encountering a particularly rough patch.

Your opening up to him inspires him to open up more, too.

Sometimes, late in the night, you sit together, awake, pouring your wine-darkest thoughts and patchwork memories into a never ending conversation.

Philip wants you to know that he’s always got time for you, so he joins you more frequently in your hobbies, and yours his.

Anything to simply be with you. And also to finish this cool bauble he’s started decorating.

Gaz

Gaz is young; he grew up in a generation that values mental health above all else, so he knows a thing or two about helping people.

However, he never assumes to know anything and everything about your causes, your triggers, your contributors; those he lets you tell to him.

He’s always willing to listen, no matter how early in the morning or late into the evening it is; he lends you his ear whenever you need it.

He tries to take time off work whenever he knows he can so he can be with you. Especially if you’ve encountered a rough patch and have asked him for help.

If you choose to pursue professional mental help, he’ll come with you if you want him to – hold your hand for as long as you want, speak for you if you’re finding that words are escaping you and you want his help.

There’s nothing this guy won’t do for you.

Not that there wasn’t already, but now he does it even quicker.

Brings you a healthy snack whenever he knows you need or want one.

He partakes in new hobbies with you when your usual ones just don’t cut it.

Colouring, crocheting, antique collecting, drawing, writing – he’ll gladly follow you down any path you take.

He brings you things he thinks may help you feel better, if only for a minute.

Whenever you need a change of scenery, he takes you on a “Magical mystery tour !” (bundles you into the car and drives to wherever your hearts take you).

He tries to pick locations he knows are scenic – ones which are calming and not too densely populated.

The days where you want to be around people – humanity – he brings you to the park, lays a blanket down for you and people watches with you the whole day.

At the end of the day, he won’t stop until you’re feeling better, be it by one percent or a hundred; any progress is monumental, in his eyes.

And he congratulates all your little victories with your favourite treats and days out of town – the country, even, when you’re feeling up to it.

He loves you so much, it’s unreal; he just can’t believe how lucky he is to have you in his life.

And he makes sure to let you know, whether through gestures or just telling you, every single day.

And he hopes that, even if you don’t believe it now, one day you’ll see yourself how he sees you.

The perfect human being.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig headcanons #mw2 soap #soap x reader #alejandro x reader #valeria x reader #mw2 valeria x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #horangi x reader #rodolfo x reader #phillip graves x reader

[coupleoffanfics]

Hey, it’s almost 1am and I’m riding the angst train I wanted to ask ur opinion on something.

How would the fam react to Y/n getting grievously I hired or dying by the hands of a villain or by Jeremiah and getting caught in the crossfire???

❤️❤️❤️

I'm so glad that people like reading my stuff. It's more self-indulgent, but what fanfic isn't self-indulgent?

Anyway, I'm so excited by seeing this ask because it sounds fun to write about. Let's start with the "less" angsty one. y/n getting gravely injured (I'm assuming that's a typo) by a villain.

TW: Mention of suicidal ideation once and gore.

Getting Gravely Injured by a Villain

It'd depend on the Villain. The family is going to act accordingly in their personas. Their punches are probably hitting harder than usual.

Jason might shoot the villain in the head, but ultimately can't. He's in Gotham following the Bat's rules slightly. So he'll just shoot their knee.

y/n isn't Batgirl anymore. So that means the villain must know the publicity they'll get by attacking, kidnapping, or holding a minor celebrity would give them. The fact that it's Bruce Wayne's daughter who's painted out to be a saint by the media would spread like wildfire. They'd have to be doing it to get attention or money.

How severely y/n was harmed doesn't matter too much. Bruised, broken bones, stabbed, etc are going to make the family more protective. Trying to persuade y/n into coming back to the manor, so that they can keep her close and prevent this from happening again.

Now the Valeska twins will differ in how y/n gets hurt and their reaction.

Jerome is like a child on a sugar high when with y/n. Wouldn't deliberately harm her in any way. Kidnaps y/n and go on a joy ride around the city even though she has no choice and isn't finding any joy from this. She'll probably get a scrape on her legs or arms from falling because Jerome is running too fast while he is holding her arm. Maybe have a bruised arm or wrist because of how tightly he holds her.

He doesn't think too much about things and will get into dangerous situations. Pick a fight or mock the wrong person leading to a shootout. He's having too much fun to care about anyone until y/n is hit.

One of the family members finally caught up to Jerome and was ready to— oh, my God y/n is bleeding from her side! Oh, fuck! AHHH! Jerome knows he can leave y/n in the hands of whatever bat family member showed up. She'll be in good hands while he hunts down the one who shot her.

"I know you're one of the 'good guys', but take care of her. If I hear that you did something that upsets her I'll— actually, I'll keep that a surprise." He looks at y/n who is just bleeding on the floor and in pain with a big ol’ smile. "I'll make sure to give you the head of that fucker who got you. Until then see ya later, toots!"

After that y/n is forced to stay in the manor. They made a deal that it would just be a few weeks, but her stay is indefinite.

Bruce

Opens the door one day to find a large box. It wasn't a delivery because it has no shipping information on it. Just an envelope with y/n's name on top of it. Bruce opens the envelope first and reads the letter which has poor handwriting.

Hey, doll!

Hope you're resting up and not in too much pain. I didn't think picking on a mob boss would get so messy. They just couldn't take a joke. I'll pick a more private place for our next date cuz I know how shy you are. Hope seeing them brightens your day. Made sure to get rid of the eyes since I know how you don't like too many eyes on you. Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone who was there.

Love Jerome.

Bruce doesn't need a minute to take things in. He already knows what's in the box and sends it to the authorities. Does not mention a word of this to y/n. She is already going through a lot and best to not tell her.

He does increase the security around the manor. He ends up putting a tracker on y/n because knowing where she is the only way to keep him from worrying.

This further solidifies that she needs to be in their protection to keep this mentally disturbed boy away. The whole thing is twisted but the line "a more private place" bothers him the most. He's not letting his daughter be alone with Jerome longer than she already has.

Dick

It's early in the morning and Dick wanted to check up on how y/n doing. As he walks up to the manor there's a large box sitting in front of the door. A letter sits on top of it with y/n's name on it. Rips up the envelope and begins reading the letter.

Once Dick was done reading, he looked down at the box. Noticing dried blood around the box. This makes him nauseous and immediately goes to Bruce to inform him. They sent it to authorities so they could identify the heads in the box.

He doesn’t tell y/n or the others about this. Everyone is already in a frenzy from the events prior, so it seemed best to keep this between him, Bruce, and Alfred.

"Made sure to get rid of their eyes," Dick isn't sure why that sticks with him. Maybe it's because he wonders if Jerome beheaded them or took out their eyes first. It doesn't matter though because he needs to keep his little sister safe.

Barbara

Doesn't even want to go near it, checks that there isn't a bomb in there waiting to explode. She takes one peek in the box and immediately looks away. Does not read the letter because what was in the box said what needed to be said. Informs the whole family and that sets the mood for the day.

She checks up on y/n after telling everyone. The poor girl is so overwhelmed by everything that she doesn't want to be around anyone. Spends most of the day with y/n, trying to cheer her up. Get sweets since that's y/n weakness and sugar releases dopamine. She has Alfred cook y/n's comfort food.

The day is meant to help release all of the stress. Barb wasn't sure if it was working until y/n said thank you before going to bed. Barb makes a promise to herself that she'll become better at shielding y/n from this type of depravity.

Jason

Can tell who this is from just by the envelope. y/n's name with little hearts around it. Shoves it into his pocket, he'll give it to y/n when he sees her. Opens the box to be hit with a familiar disgusting odor. Looking inside there are 3 heads. Recognizes one of them being a mod boss he has on his list for a while now.

Jason wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't this. He pulls out the envelope and tears it open to get some sort of context. Reading the letter left him unsettled and a little…satisfied? Grateful maybe? For taking care of those who harmed y/n even though it was entirely Jerome's fault that this happened in the first place.

Closes the box and informs the whole family of what he found. Everyone is put more on edge. y/n isn't allowed out of the manor for a few days. y/n is upset by the news and she’s more quiet the following days.

Jason almost wants to laugh at, "They just couldn't take a joke." Bets that these" jokes" were just thinly veiled threats and pointing a gun at them. He probably would have snickered if this didn't involve y/n.

Tim

All he wanted to do was check the mail. Now he's reading a sort of love letter written by a psycho and looking down at the heads that could not look back at him. Their empty eye sockets had- ugh, God there was so much blood.

Debates on whether he should tell y/n about this, but ends up telling her. There was no point in hiding it because she'll probably find out one way or another. Sees the guilt and horror flash across her face. Wants to comfort her as much as he can, but all she does is detract from him. Of course, when Barb opens her arms y/n jumps into them. What happened to them always being there for each?

Doesn't like, "our next date", one bit. He doesn't like the insinuation or the thought of it. He starts keeping his eyes peeled for Jerome and ears open if anyone has information on where he is or going. The sooner he's in Arkham the safer y/n is from him and going on that next date.

Damian

Not impressed. The delivery was lazy and the writing was so sloppy that he almost couldn't read it. The heads must have been cut with a butter knife with how unclean and jagged the cut is. Every unprofessional. Nonchalantly brings this up at the table during breakfast. Not even when everyone is finished, just right in the middle of it.

Never really had respect for a villain or any, but the whole "Didn't know who shot you, so I just killed everyone" was almost respectable. Damian having a speck of respect doesn't mean he likes Jerome. Still thinks he's stupid and annoying.

He'd give him a 3/10 for the delivery and would not order again.

Per-Spray Jeremiah isn't going to do anything, but Post-Spray Jeremiah is a different story. Will break one of y/n's arms or legs just so that she can't get away from him too easily. Though that's going to the extreme, he's more likely to guilt trip her. Getting into her head isn't hard and more effective.

"I thought you loved me. You were the one who always said you loved me. y/n, who has been here for you the most and always will? Not your best friend, Norah, she's leaving you behind and you know it. Not your family because they never cared about you in the first place. No one will love you like I do. You need me, y/n."

By the time the family saves y/n and brings her back to the cave for medical attention. She's consumed by guilt and almost believes she deserved any harm done to her. Will cry to Barb about this and only Barb.

Concerned by this revelation Barb will tell the whole family. Bruce is worried as it's clear that y/n's mental state is worsening. He knew that it would be after bad being kidnapped by Jeremiah, he just didn't think it would be this bad. Bruce and Tim have the same idea to get y/n another therapist if she's still not seeing one.

Jason and Damian are mad that y/n would think that she deserves any pain. Jason is kinda, sort of, not really more understanding about the whole thing than Damian. He gets how she could feel that she failed Jeremiah. If she has revealed that they had been dating and she can't or won’t give up on him, everyone is conflicted and concerned.

Dick has had the most romantic relationships and will try to convince y/n that Jeremiah is a lost cause now. Leading her to a spiral into a depressive episode. Oops!

If y/n is on the verge of death the family freaking the fuck out. Slowly recovers at the manor and convinces her that staying with them is the best thing for her. Depending on if her injury is life-threatening or not will determine how cooperative she is.

Getting Killed by a Villain

Doesn't matter who it is Jason is shooting them on the spot. Though with how emotional and choked up he's getting, he'll probably miss. Damian would react the same way if his whole body didn't stop upon seeing y/n's lifeless eyes. He doesn't want to step near her to see if it was true that he lost his sister.

Bruce, Dick, and Tim will force themselves to act professionally. They're still in their hero personas and killing was a strict no. If the whole family is there then whoever killed y/n is getting a beating of their life.

It could also depend on who's at the scene. Bruce and Dick hold on to the moral code that killing is wrong. This will prevent any further killings from happening.

Damian and Jason would probably end up killing the villain after seeing y/n's corpse. They know it's not going to bring back y/n, but what else can they do except making the villain to pay their debt?

Tim teeters between the lines. If Bruce or Dick is there then he's on their side of not killing. If it's just Damian and/or Jason then he won't stop them. He won't participate just stands back to let them do their thing.

Depending how and when she died will weigh heavily on their mind. Quick and painless before they got there? At least she didn't have to suffer too much, but still keeps them up at night.

Tortured for hours before succumbing to her injuries? They already feel guilty that they couldn't save her on time, but her last hours of living was being in pain will only intensify it. Out of the whole family, Jason would probably be the most distraught by this. He reopens old wounds and memories. y/n meeting a similar end is horrifying to him.

Get there on time, but it’s too late to save her from her injuries. Then slowly dies in their arms. If they're all there then y/n is dying in Bruce's arms.

"Please tell Jeremiah, I'm sorry and- and that I love him. Tell Norah that I hope s-she achieves her dreams of becoming a doctor. Are- are you still there? I can't see or feel you." She can slightly hear Bruce's deep voice while what seems to be the others are screaming. It's getting harder to hear and her body is starting to feel heavier.

This is the end and everyone knows it. Jason, Tim, and Dick don't want to accept it and are trying to patch her wound(s). Trying to get help there as soon as possible. Bruce and Damian are quiet trying to listen to her soft voice get quieter.

y/n starts slightly laughing, it's a nervous tick. "I always fantasize about having enough courage to end it all. Bu-but I- fuck. I'm such a fuck up." She starts crying and any words of comfort are either not heard or ignored. Starts coughing blood, but that doesn't deter Bruce in the slightest. Damian squeezes her hand though he doubts she can feel it.

"I don't even feel the pain anymore…At least I…At least I'm not dying alone." It isn't long before she stops breathing.

Alternatively, I thought of y/n saying, "I wished I was surrounded by loved ones." But she wouldn't stay that no matter how angry she is at the family. Might think it though.

In both cases of the Valeska twins, y/n would be caught in the crossfire. Jerome isn't going to kill y/n because she's his one and only. Jeremiah isn't going to kill y/n because why would he kill his wife? He's already planned out most of their whole lives and she already signed the mentally fabricated marriage certificate.

Jerome gets into a frenzy seeing y/n drop dead. No one is spared from his wrath. He can't bring himself to look at her body and will just leave. Inactive for a short time before getting back into the swing of things.

She is buried next to Jason. The family will catch Jerome hanging around her grave "talking to her" or something. Who knows what the hell he's doing. They'll have to chase him off or turn on the sprinklers if they want him to leave.

He didn't kill her himself, but he's still responsible for the events leading up to it. Meaning the family isn't going to pull back any punches.

Post-Spray Jeremiah has a similar reaction to y/n's death. Honestly, y/n could have died by just jumping in front of him to take a bullet. Doesn't matter how much y/n should hate him, she can't bring herself to. Ultimately it doesn't matter how she died, Jeremiah will blame Batman or the others for their inability to save y/n. Deflecting any responsibility.

This reinforces that he has to destroy Gotham and make it into his perfect image. y/n always talked about wanting to make the world a better place and that's exactly what he's doing.

If she dies in his arms he'll make a quick escape with her body. Having Echo hold back everyone to buy him time. Buries y/n in an undisclosed location and the tombstone will stay y/n Valeska instead of l/n or Wayne.

If he knew of the family's identity, he'd make subtle jabs at them. Mocking them for their mishandling of y/n. When or if he takes over Gotham he'll make sure that they all have front-row seats of the destruction before killing them off.

If he's feeling ruthless he might just have one of his followers get plastic surgery to look like y/n. Even change the pitch of their voice to get close enough to y/n's. Then send the follower after them and make various claims about how they lied about caring about her. How they let her die on purpose. That she'll never forgive them.

Traumatizing the whole family. Will make his follower's death gruesome just fuck with them and have them relive that day.

Bruce regrets not having kept y/n closer. He has a lot of 'should haves’ and 'if only’ in his head. He knows that's not going to do anything, but it'll take a while to accept her death. Always visits her grave every week.

Dick wishes that he'd been a better brother to y/n. He'll often wonder if she's looking down at them from above. Any mention of her will upset him for a while. Tim feels the same as Dick but often finds himself reminiscing about those happy moments. When they're smiling and laughing, once the memory is over he's left feeling melancholy.

Barbara is heartbroken by this. y/n always talked about how she wanted a normal domestic lifestyle. How much she loves Jeremiah and believes that he's the one. Now she's in the dirt and never experienced that simple quiet life she wanted. Carries a photo of y/n and her smiling on her all the time. Believes that y/n is in a better place where she can live out her dreams. One day Barb will see her again and give her a bone-crushing hug.

Jason and Damian think of throwing her body into Lazarus Pit if they have access to her body. Jason seriously thinks of it for only a minute before throwing it out. The pit messed him up and he can't handle bringing y/n back only for her mental turmoil to worsen. Damian doesn't think about that. He wants to apologize for all he's said and done. He wants his sister back, but the family is quick to turn down the idea. Explaining how it could only lead to more pain.

Damian would most likely listen to the family since they're technically right. Although there is a small chance that he wouldn't listen and do it anyway. Right out of the pit, y/n's thinking of her only love. Tries to run back to Jeremiah, but Damian is not having any of that. 

When he returns to the manor with y/n tied up the whole family will have a verbal MMA fight. After that, they lock y/n in a nicely furnished room with hidden security cameras. y/n is like a zombie. Only has one thing, rather one person on her mind. She's a shell of who she once was.

At least they have a second chance, right?

y/n can not go ten minutes without talking or asking about Jeremiah. Will speak with herself if there isn't anyone else with her.

I think this turned out horrible, but hope you enjoyed this. Feel free to ask anything else as my inbox in always open. Also sorry for misspells or grammar mistakes, kinda rushed this.

#batfamily x batsis #batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #richard grayson x reader #dick grayson x batsis #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x batsis #barbara gordon x reader #jerome valeska x batsis reader #jeremiah valeska x batsis reader #gotham x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska x reader

[autisticlancemcclain]

cw for suicidal thoughts, ideation, & attempt

———

It starts again with the bone dread.

That sounds dramatic. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s making a big deal of something that really isn’t that huge, in the big picture.

But Lance can feel it, the dread seeping from his heart to his head to the marrow of his bones, feel his skin become leather and his feet leaden. He can feel the Grey coming, like he has for years, like he will for as long as he lives.

He is being dramatic.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care about much of anything.

It’s started, the apathy. It’s not even a struggle that he’s losing, because you can’t lose if you’re not playing.

He hasn’t touched his skincare routine in months. He can’t remember the last time he looked at his console. He’s starting to forget the sound of his own voice. It’s getting increasingly harder to force himself out of bed.

Lance is very, very afraid.

———

He thinks he was twelve when it first started happening. He’s not sure if he should blame the move from Cuba at such a plastic age, or the hormonal imbalance everyone starts getting at that age, but it really doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t remember exactly when it started. He didn’t document the slow descent, didn’t know to watch carefully for the signs. He has no idea when it truly began.

He does remember, with startling clarity, laying in his bed the morning after his twelfth birthday and thinking to himself: “Six more and you’re done.”

The next clear memory is overwhelming relief.

———

He hated snow from the minute he saw it. Despised it. It was beautiful when it was fresh, breathtaking from a distance, but quickly became tainted and slushy and cold and so, so empty.

Fitting.

He never understood why they had to move from Cuba to fucking Vermont, of all places. Anywhere else would have been better. Hell, he would’ve even taken Texas.

But no. Vermont was where Mamá’s work had moved her, so Vermont is where they went.

The summer they arrived was fine. Lance was grouchy, sure, but that’s because he had left his family and friends and life back in Cuba for stupid America, and he was upset about it. But he enjoyed mucking around the big forests with his siblings, and was excited to cart himself all the way to Arizona for flight school.

Flight school! So he could be a pilot!

The uniforms were ugly and the desert was plain, but classes were interesting and he had a roommate, which was totally different from sharing a room with Rachel. (Hunk was cool, and he was nice to Lance. Two things Rachel could never claim to be.)

He threw himself into his studies with a vigour, and several clubs besides. He hung out with Hunk every evening, even meeting some other friends and hanging out with them, too. The rec room had a pool table, and Lance had just recently learned what hustling was.

He was great at it. (Hunk was great at sending victims Lance’s way. They split the profits and used them to pay for weekends at the local town, which meant plate after plate of nachos and ridiculously fast go-karts that made Hunk blow chunks every time without fail.)

Things started to get hard, the longer the year stretched on.

The sun was fully set by five-thirty.

Lance didn’t know why that started to make his chest hurt.

He stopped going out on weekends, first. Lied to Hunk that his family wanted him on Skype calls, even though they’d never wanted that before. He didn’t know why he said it.

Hunk looked unsure, but smiled tightly and told Lance he’d miss him on the tracks.

Lance slept the whole time Hunk was gone.

He was…tired, all the time. He couldn’t look at his bed without thinking about how nice it would feel to be wrapped up in the blankets.

He stopped going to the rec room, next. First he made up a story about a cold he didn’t want to spread, then about grades that were slipping (they weren’t) and studying he needed to do. Then he invented a friend who lived in Australia, who Lance had to call every day and the time difference made it hard.

Hunk stopped questioning. They still hung out, after all, in between classes and right before curfew. For all that Lance had dropped all his clubs and rarely left his room, his grades had never slipped — all Garrison classes were group-based. Lance couldn’t let his group mates down.

Everything else was fair game, though.

Week after week, month after month, Lance went to classes and then went to bed. He didn’t even go home for the holidays, lied to his family and told them the Garrison didn’t have them.

He slept through Christmas. He didn’t even realize it was Christmas, actually. If he left his bed it was to shower occasionally. Time passed — or it didn’t — and Lance was none the wiser. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

It started after his twelfth birthday, but it kept on going, really. So long as he was conscious, every time he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he’s sigh, deep and long, and remind himself he only had a few years left before it was over.

Eighteen.

Eighteen.

Eighteen.

It’s not like he had any plans, or anything. He didn’t know why he was so sure he wouldn’t have to worry past eighteen, but he knew in his heart it was true. Probably made the whole piloting career a bit of a waste, but that didn’t matter. It was better than public school.

It happened on a random day in April.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk had said, digging through his closet for a hoodie. “I know you’re not huge on it, but a bunch of us are gonna go play pool in the rec room. You wanna come?”

A little surprisingly, Lance found he did want to come, actually. The sun warmed his skin from where it bled golden through their dorm window, and he was feeling kind of antsy.

“What are you talking about? I love pool. Think we can scam some juniors out of forty dollars?”

Hunk grinned.

———

He didn’t feel nearly so tired in the next few weeks. He must have been going through a growth spurt — although Hunk happily reminded him he was still a shrimp, for which Lance happily kicked him in the knee — and needed a lot of sleep. He felt a lot more energized now, though, and the air outside smelled so good. It made him want to run around.

He and Hunk went back to hustling older kids at pool, going to town every weekend. It was fun. Even when the desert heat started up again, Lance couldn’t find it in himself to complain. And when June came, and he and Hunk put in their roommate requests for next year, he was so excited to get home that he probably could have run the thousands of miles himself.

He missed everyone. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t go home for Christmas. He was a little guilty about it, too — did he really sleep instead of calling his Mamá?

The summer passed in a whirlwind of hiking and running and swimming and bothering Veronica at her new job. It was great. The heat settled heavy over his skin, even in stupid Vermont, and the sun burned his scalp and bleached his hair. It was wonderful. The joy carried him through the months, even when boredom seemed to drag, and he was itching to get back to Hunk and the Garrison by the end of it. From what he remembered of the last year, it had been decently busy and fun. Winter was a little fuzzy — finals stress muddles your memory, Marco claims — but he was ready to go back.

He couldn’t wait for the first day of school.

———

The next time the thought hit, it kind of…startled him.

He and Hunk had climbed their way to the roof, watching the sunset after a week of brutal midterms. They’d taken a million pictures of the clouds that they’d never look at again, but it was the principle of the thing, anyway. They’d stayed out right until the sun dipped below the horizon of sand and brush and cacti, until the stars twinkled out above the sky.

“Oh, fuck,” Lance had cursed, scrambling to his feet. “It must be late as shit. Did we miss curfew?”

Hunk checked his phone, and then huffed a laugh. “Nope! It’s only six, bud. We’re good. Man, I always forget how quickly the days shorten, huh?”

Lance swallowed. All of a sudden it felt like the lightness of the evening had evaporated, and a heavy ball of something settled in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, voice dry.

Hunk got up anyway, brushing the dirt from his pants. “We should head in, though, you’re right. It’s gonna get cold.”

He slung an arm around Lance’s shoulder — he’d somehow grown more over the summer, which was rude, because Lance had not — and headed towards the door.

“You want to head to the rec room for a bit? I think the RA rented a movie, or something. Might be cool.”

“I’m actually really tired,” Lance said, and it was true. He was. All he could think about was the warmth of his bed, of curling up in his blankets for the night.

“Aw, man, but it’s so early!”

“Feels like midnight.”

“I guess so,” Hunk relented, and squeezed his shoulders one more time before letting go. “You just gonna go to bed, or are you gonna go right to sleep?”

“I think I’m gonna pass out, honestly. Might be coming down with something.”

“Alright, Lance. See you in the morning. Love ya.”

“Love you, too.”

As he walked back to their dorms, he started to feel guilty. It was one thing to make his mom and siblings love him — that was kind of their job, he couldn’t really help it — but was it really fair to make Hunk love him? He wasn’t going to be around in a few years, after all. It was kind of unfair to have him stick so much affection and time on a guy who wouldn’t even be there once they graduate.

He froze, as he closed the door behind him.

Why wouldn’t he be there? It’s not like he was sick, or anything.

You just won’t be. It’s okay, though. It’s too late to change it now. Might as well enjoy it while you can.

That was fair, Lance supposed. Five years was a long time, anyways. And it was selfish, but it wasn’t like Lance would be around to feel guilty after, anyways.

———

The next year, shortly after Lance turned fourteen, his physics teacher left the room, and the guidance counsellor walked in.

“You’re all going through some pretty major changes,” she’d started, and Lance barely held back a groan.

Was this a sex talk? Were they really getting a sex talk right now? Lance had already endured the most painful one of his life over the summer. He couldn’t look his mother in the eyes for a week, after. Horrible. A general glance around the classroom showed the rest of his peers in a similar state of despair, even though everyone was desperately avoiding eye contact with one another.

“A big one of those is hormonal changes,” she continued, and everyone groaned.

She smiled wryly. “I’m not hear for that talk, as amusing as it would be to watch you all suffer.”

She…wasn’t giving them a sex talk? What the hell else does ‘all your hormones are changing’ mean?

“I’m here to talk to y’all about mental health. Your brains are in the most vulnerable state they’ve ever been in right now, and I’m willing to bet that none of you know the warning signs of trouble. None of you have parents watching out for you here, either, and as much as your instructors will try, it’s just not the same. Your best bet is to be able to recognize the signs of mental illness in yourself and in each other, and then ask us for help. Okay?”

The guidance counsellor was kind, but firm. She spent the next two hours systematically going over half the goddamn DSM-5, warning them off harmful stereotypes that take away from true symptoms.

“People who are depressed are not just puddles of tears who wail about their sadness all time time,” she said. “Most of them feel empty, if anything. Long periods of blankness, inability to do basic things like be social and even shower or get out of bed. Sometimes the blankness gets overshot by irritability, so watch out for that, too. But most dangerous, and the thing that requires immediate attention — watch out for suicidal thoughts. If you’re contemplating suicide, seek help immediately, even if you think it’s stupid. Am I understood?”

Everyone muttered some equivalent to ‘yes, ma’am,’ but Lance sat there in shock.

That couldn’t be him, right? He’s not suicidal. And he never misses class, even though she mentioned that depressed people often shirk responsibilities. And it’s not like he has a reason to be depressed, for fuck’s sake. He grew up in a loving home, more or less financially stable. There was bullying, of course, but who hasn’t been bullied?

He’s not fucking depressed.

He’s just growing. That’s all.

———

“Lance, buddy?”

“Mhm.”

Hunk sighed. Lance felt a little bad, but he didn’t have the energy today — class had dragged on so long. He just wanted a nap.

“I need to talk to you, Lance. You have to get up for that.”

“I’m really tired, Hunk. I had a long day. Can we talk tomorrow.”

“That is the problem, Lance. You didn’t have a hard day. Classes were light, we had lunch outside the caf, and you don’t have any assignments due. You’re tired for no reason.”

Lance summoned the energy to roll over, facing Hunk for the first time. He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m growing, Hunk, you know that. It takes a lot of energy.”

Hunk bit his lip. He spent a long moment staring at his hands, long enough that Lance considered rolling back over and going to sleep, but then Hunk steeled himself and looked straight into his eyes.

“Lance, I think you’re depressed. You need to talk to the counsellor.”

“Ha. Okay, sure.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance pulled the covers back up to his nose.

“I’m serious, Lance. You sleep all the time, you blow off clubs and stuff — I talked to your mom, you even blew off Christmas again this year — you get snappy randomly, and…”

Hunk trailed off for a moment.

“Well, dude, I’m worried you’re suicidal. You never talk about your future.”

In a burst of energy Lance hadn’t felt in weeks, he shot straight up, throwing off the blankets and glaring at Hunk with more vitriol he knew he was capable of having.

“I am not suicidal, Hunk. I’m not fucking depressed, either.”

Hunk held his gaze, unfazed by the venom in Lance’s voice.

“You are. You fit all the symptoms.”

“Maybe you should get checked out, because you’re apparently fucking delusional —”

It was Hunk’s turn to glare now, arms crossed and unflinching.

“You either go to the counsellor yourself, or I tell her I’m worried. Either way you have to talk to her.”

“Fuck off. No you won’t.”

“I will, Lance, I care about you and I’m worried —”

“If you really cared you’d leave me the hell alone! I am not fucking depressed!”

“You’re going and that’s final, Lance. If you don’t go, I swear to God I’ll tell the counsellor and I’ll tell your mother that you slept through winter break.”

Lance stilled. He looked at Hunk, examining his expression for any sign that he was bluffing.

He found none. Hunk was serious.

Lance’s face hardened. Well, he was fucking serious too.

“I’m not going. And if you go and snitch, I swear to God, Hunk, I will never forgive you as long as I live.”

With that he turned back over and shoved his pillow over his head. He couldn’t believe Hunk was pulling this shit — he thought they were friends! Did Hunk fucking want Lance to be medicated until he was brainless, or locked in a psych ward?

Apparently.

Whatever, though. There was no way Hunk was serious. He looked serious, sure, but eventually he’d drop it and they could move on.

Or, that’s what Lance thought would happen. It would be an understatement to say he was shocked when he was called to the counsellor’s office in the middle of class the next morning.

He looked at Hunk in shocked betrayal. Hunk, to his credit, looked guilty.

But he didn’t look sorry.

“Lance,” said the guidance counsellor warmly as he sat stiffly in the seat in front of her. “I’m concerned about you.”

Lance said nothing. She couldn’t diagnose him with a goddamn thing if he shut the fuck up.

She, unfortunately, looked unphased. “Your friend told me you sleep, a lot.”

“I’m growing,” Lance snapped.

So much for staying silent.

“I’m sure you are,” she said gently. “But it’s not normal to do this every year. To sleep more than you’re awake.”

“I don’t. I go to every single class. I do all my homework. I call my mother. I’m not depressed, and with all due respect —” that didn’t mean a lot, but he was spitting a good amount of attitude right now and as much as he very much was angry, he didn’t want shit for insubordination — “this is a massive waste of time. My friend is a worrier. I’m fine.”

She was quiet for a long time. Contemplative. Her hands were steepled in front of her, half-covering her face where she rested her head on them, but her eyes never left his.

“Do you think your friend will stop pushing this?” she asked eventually. “If I dismiss you, if I take you at your word, and you walk out of here, do you think your friend will accept that?”

Lance thought of Hunk, the most stubborn person he knew, determined to be an airforce engineer even though the sims made him sick.

“No,” he said petulantly. “He won’t.”

“Let me run a diagnostic, then. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are just growing. Answer a few questions for me and we’ll see, okay?”

It was a long process. Long enough that it wasn’t even finished within the day — he had to make several more appointments with her, on top of seeing a specialist. Every visit made him angrier, all the time, and there was hardly a moment where he talked to anyone without snapping.

“Here’s the final deal,” she said, days later, making him miss a stupid class again to deal with this shit. “You’re right that you don’t have regular depression.”

Ha!

“You do, however, have one of the worst cases of seasonal affective disorder I’ve ever seen.”

Less ha.

“What’s that?” he asked irritably, somehow more annoyed than when he came here for the first time.

“It’s also known as seasonal depression,” she said, well used to his shit now and easily able to handle his moods. “The lack of sun makes your mood plummet. Your brain stops producing adequate amounts of stimuli, especially serotonin and dopamine. It’s as if your energy goes down with the sun in the winter months.”

Lance wanted to argue. He wanted to push and fight and deny, because that’s such a dumbass disease to have — really? His brain doesn’t work because the sun is too far away? What is he, a reverse vampire? — but that…makes an alarming amount of sense.

His energy does go down when the sun goes down.

“Fine,” he said sullenly. “I’m good now? I can go?”

“Not quite. I want to go over warning signs with you, and then your treatment plan. Then you can go, okay?”

“Whatever.”

She looked at him sternly.

“Lance.”

He deflated.

“Sorry,” he muttered. As much as this sucked, royally, it wasn’t her fault, and it wasn’t at all fair to take it out on her. That, and she was an adult. If Mamá heard him talking like that to a grown-up she’d tear him a new asshole.

Besides, if there was one person to be mad at it was Hunk. If it weren’t for him and his snitching mouth, Lance wouldn’t even be in this mess.

“Are you going to listen to me, now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I’m sure this symptoms will be familiar to you as I talk about them, but it should be helpful to have an outside source point them out. Do you have a pen and paper? I want you to write this down.”

Lance frowned. “I don’t need to.”

“One of the symptoms is a foggy memory,” she said, looking at him pointedly. “Remember how you told me you always forget how shitty your winters are when you get home? That’s not just willful ignorance. Your brain is actively refusing to store a lot of the memory you take in, right now. That’s also why your finals are so hard for you. Write down what I’m telling you, Lance.”

Lance scowled as he pulled out a pen and paper, even though what she was saying made sense.

Whatever.

“Alright, fine. Shitty memory. What else?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, kiddo. I know you’re frustrated, but I’m only trying to help.”

Lance bit back tears, because at the core of him he knew she was right, and he was being a huge douchebag, but it was like he didn’t know how to stop!

“Sorry,” he choked out again.

She softened immediately. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. But we’re going to get you medicated, okay? It should help. It will make things way easier, hopefully.”

This time he listened carefully as she listed the warning signs, writing them down dutifully.

Exhaustion. Apathy. Unwillingness to leave bed, even if you’re not tired. Wonky appetite. Dread, from every part of your body, for no reason. Easily overstimulated on the rare occasions you do walk out of bed. Loss of interest in things you love. Feelings of desperation when it starts to get dark.

“And, most importantly — suicidal thoughts, or ideation. If you get that you come right to me, okay?”

Lance nodded, and she handed him a bottle of pills.

“Read over the label. These are antidepressants. You don’t have to take them all year — you’ll take them now, because you’re in the middle of an episode, but in the future you’ll only need to take them when you start feeling the symptoms with greater frequency. If you have trouble identifying that, start taking them in the first week of November. You’ll come here every morning after breakfast to grab them, okay?”

Lance furrowed his brow. “Come here? I don’t take them with me?”

“Think about it, Lance,” she said softly. “These are SSRIs. As much as they’re helpful, they can kill you easily. Do you understand why I can’t let you have the whole bottle?”

Lance scowled. “What, so I come here like a baby every morning for the rest of my life?”

“Not every morning. Just for the winter months, and maybe some of autumn and spring.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I get to be treated like a child for the rest of my life!”

“Not for that long, either. Technically we can’t withhold them from you past 18, although I would prefer it if you would allow us.”

Lance stilled.

Eighteen.

Another thing to look forward to, for that year.

“Do you understand, Lance?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I just have to let your mom know, and then —”

“You can’t tell my mom!”

The counsellor looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t have a choice, buddy. You’re a minor. She has to know about your medical treatments.”

Lance bit back a comment about how this wasn’t a fucking medical treatment — it was a waste of time — knowing it would only dig a deeper hole for him.

“She’s going to freak out. She can’t know.”

She smiled at him, although there was no joy behind it.

Pitying.

Lance wanted to throw up.

“She only wants the best for you. Promise.”

Lance refused to look at her. She sighed.

“Let’s just get it over with, okay? The number we have for her on file isn’t working. I need her number from you.”

That was right — Mamá changed her phone number in September. His file was outdated.

Suddenly, he had an idea.

“She never has it on her, doesn’t answer much,” he lied.

“Still need the number, kiddo. I can leave her a message.”

Heart pounding in his throat, Lance rattled off his own phone number.

They would never know.

How would they know?

“Alright,” said the counsellor after she wrote it down. “You can head back now, buddy. Come back first thing in the morning, alright?”

Lance muttered his compliance and stomped back to his dorm. Hunk smiled tightly at him with he walked in.

“How’d it go?”

Lance ignored him. He’d been doing that a lot, lately.

Hunk sighed. “I’m sorry you’re struggling, Lance. But you know I had to.”

Lance said nothing. Hunk sighed again, looking away. He looked hurt.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. He told Hunk what would happen if he snitched — Lance has to be coddled by the staff, now, for dumbass pills that weren’t even going to work. It’s forever on his file.

He told Hunk. He did.

———

Three weeks later, Lance had to swallow his pride.

The pills did work, unfortunately. Turns out it’s a helluva lot easier to care about life when your brain works properly. Go figure.

(And, with all this newfound emotion, Lance has plenty of time to feel intensely angry at himself for being so broken. Not, like, in an emo way or anything — a disease is a disease, yadda yadda yadda — but did his have to be so stupid? What kind of brain relied entirely on the amount of time a giant ball of gas was in his eyesight? Real depressed people have a fucking reason to be depressed. Lance’s brain just fucking decided it wouldn’t work properly for six months of the year. It couldn’t even be broken year round! It had the capacity to work like it goddamn well should, it just chose not to. What a fucking joke.)

Now that every waking moment wasn’t consumed with the greyest of all apathy, though… Lance felt a lot of guilt.

A lot.

He’d been ignoring Hunk for upwards of a goddamn month, treating the guy like shit, and for what? Because he cared about Lance?

Lance had never been so ashamed in his whole life. Now he was avoiding Hunk for a while different reason — he couldn’t look the guy in the eyes.

But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Hunk had that kicked puppy look every time Lance ducked around a corner to avoid him.

As much as it sucked, Lance had to own up to his shit. Their friendship was probably ruined, and Hunk was likely done with him, but still.

Responsibility. Lance could do with taking some.

“Hey, Hunk?” he said, well aware his voice was shaking. Hunk looked up at him in shock, surrounded by his friends in the rec room.

Lance swallowed roughly.

“Can I talk to you?”

Hunk stood immediately, wordlessly following Lance back to their dorm. He shut the door behind him, staring at Lance with wide eyes as he fidgeted.

“I’m sorry,” Lance blurted, after several minutes of tense silence. He felt the tears that had been stinging his eyes spill out at the same time as the desperate words.

“You were just being a good friend, just trying to help, and I was being a surly jackass and you’re right I am depressed but that’s no excuse for how I treated you and you deserve way better and I’m just really, really sorry and —”

“Oh, Lance,” Hunk said, and the next thing Lance knew he was being crushed in a set of strong arms. “Oh, Lance, I know. I forgive you. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Lance sobbed. “I treated you like shit for weeks. I ignored you.”

“I know. And that was shitty. But… you’re taking your meds now, right?”

Lance nodded, smearing tears and snot into poor Hunk’s sleeve.

Gross. So much for not making Hunk’s life hard anymore.

“Good. You’re getting better, okay? You’re doing your best. I forgive you. Okay?”

Lance nodded again, shuddering in Hunk’s arms. He still felt guilty, but it was no longer all-encompassing.

It was a hopeful kind of guilt, really. The kind of guilt that inspired you to move forward.

———

Lance’s next few years were pretty decent, all things considered. The meds really did help, as wildly dehumanizing as it was to sulk over to the counsellor’s office every morning with all the other fucked up kids to get his daily make-my-dumbass-brain-work-right pills. He learned to forget about the wounded pride as soon as he left, move on with his life.

He used that list religiously. Memorized the symptoms, repeated them endlessly in his head.

Apathy. Loss of interest. Exhaustion.

Suicidal thoughts.

He was never suicidal, he doesn’t think. Still isn’t. He never made a plan to kill himself, never wanted to jump off a bridge or anything. Sure he refused to think about his future, sure he thought idly about it ending it occasionally, sure he joked about throwing himself off the roof during midterms. But that was normal. Everyone made those jokes, everyone looked curiously over the rail on the highway. But he dutifully made his stupid way to the stupid counsellor’s office when the Grey — that’s what he’d taken to calling the stupid disease, because that’s how it made everything feel — set in.

He was careful.

Hunk was supportive, too. He knew to watch out for Lance, although he trusted Lance to watch out for himself, by now. Still, it felt nice to have someone care for him.

Mamá still didn’t know, and everyone else didn’t know that she didn’t know. Which was fine by Lance. The less people to know about his embarrassing shit the better. Plus, he only really saw her in the summer months, anyway, so she never had any reason to worry. It was fine.

He was fine.

He was handling it.

He had everything under control.

———

The very day he turned eighteen, Lance marched to the counsellor’s office and demanded his pills.

She was reluctant.

“You know it’s safer for me to keep them,” she said.

“I am not going to kill myself,” he responded.

“I know. But isn’t it easier to not have the risk? To keep it here?”

Lance folded his hands together and looked her dead in the eyes. “Words cannot explain how much I hate the stupid parade I have to do here every morning,” he said seriously. “It makes me wish I shut up and stayed quiet when I was fourteen so I never had to take the stupid pills to begin with. I’ve been working with you, ma’am, for four years, but I’m tired and it’s my right. Please give them to me.”

She sighed, but complied. Lance closed his fist around the ugly orange bottle and walked out without another word.

He sat quietly on his bed for a moment, when he got back from his dorm. He didn’t feel the Grey yet. He knew it was coming. It came every year.

But he wasn’t fourteen anymore. Did he really need to drug himself? He knew the symptoms, now. Knew what to avoid. When the Grey set in, he could just… not spend his time in bed. Go on more walks. Spend more time with Hunk. He knew how to handle himself, now.

Back then he was so uninformed. Of course he had depressive episodes. He didn’t know better.

But he knew, now.

Nodding resolutely to himself, he stuffed the bottle in the back of his sock drawer. He’d just do a trial. If he started to struggle again, he’d just take the pills. Simple.

He had this under control.

———

“You are, without a doubt, the worst pilot I’ve ever had in my class, McClain,” Iverson said coldly. “Get out of my classroom. Come back when you pull your head out of your ass and remember how to think.”

Lance did. He walked slowly back to his dorm, pretending he didn’t see Hunk’s sympathetic look as he exited the classroom. He took his time down the hallways, stopping to watch the streetlights flicker in the darkness out the windows.

What the fuck was he doing?

He’d been avoiding it for four years. Laughing away any question about his future.

But really, what did he have waiting for him?

He used to have his grades. But ever since he got bumped to fighter class, his grades had fucking tanked. He was dragging his team down with every fuck up — there weren’t even people relying on him anymore. Hunk had been needling him to come with him to town, to no avail. Lance just wasn’t feeling it. He’d been ignoring all Mamá’s calls, too. For no reason. He just hits decline before he thinks.

He was a bad student, a bad pilot, a bad friend, and a bad son. What the hell was he doing here? Why was he wasting time, wasting resources?

For years, his mantra had been eighteen. Eighteen, and you don’t have to struggle. Eighteen, and this’ll all be in the past. Eighteen, and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.

Well, he was eighteen, now. His birthday came and went. What the fuck was he waiting for? An invitation?

He told his counsellor he wasn’t suicidal, and he wasn’t. This was different. He was never supposed to live past eighteen, he knew that in his heart. You can’t be suicidal if you were fated to die anyway.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached towards his sock drawer. He searched around blindly — he hadn’t bothered with the lights — until he found what he was looking for.

He sat back against his pillows, turning the orange pill bottle around in his hands. It rattled — mostly full.

Strong pills.

He was pretty scrawny. It wouldn’t be hard.

Don’t overthink it, the thought to himself. Take a few, see how you feel.

He rummaged around in his bag for his water bottle, popping the lid and bringing it to his lips. He counted out six pills, threw them into the back of his throat, and swallowed.

He waited a moment.

What was he feeling?

Nothing, really. The Grey had long set in, he knew it, but couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about it.

He swallowed a few more pills.

Then a few more.

He kept going until he choked down the whole damn bottle.

It was disgusting. He felt that. Tasted like plastic soup, with all the nasty coating.

He carefully put back his water bottle, then shoved the empty pill bottle deep into his jeans pocket. He settled down into bed, over the covers. He was kind of hot, actually.

Should he write a note, or something? For his family? For Hunk?

No. That would be unfair. Might make them feel guilty, or something. Better to let him think he died randomly in his sleep.

He stayed where he was, drifting in and out of consciousness for God knows how long. It couldn’t have been more than an hour, because Hunk wasn’t back yet.

Damn. In the movies it’s a lot faster, dying.

His stomach starts to cramp, but he ignores it. He didn’t exactly expect it to be painless. He put a lot of foreign chemical in his body, after all, it made sense that it was trying to fight it off. It’d lose the fight before long, and Lance could sleep.

Only, he didn’t drift off, and the cramps didn’t fade. They got worse.

And worse.

And worse.

The worse the got, the more panic began to set in. God, he was going to die, wasn’t he? He’d never see his mamá again. Or his siblings. God, fuck, how was Luis going to explain this to the kids? Their brains were still developing. What if this traumatized them? Fuck, what if their brains get fucked up because Lance killed himself?

Lance scrambled out of bed. Oh, this was bad. This was really, really bad.

He sprinted to the bathrooms, but he was kind of dizzy. He couldn’t see well, he kept tripping over nothing. He finally collapsed over the nearest toilet, immediately shoving his fingers down his throat until he gagged.

He threw up, some.

But not enough.

His stomach was in agony.

He knew at once that he was fucked. Pills dissolve fast, and — fuck! He could barely think. He had to — he had to get to a hospital, or something. But he couldn’t call anyone. They couldn’t know.

With shaking, spit-soaked fingers, he opened the Uber app. The nearest hospital was only a twenty minute drive. It was fine.

He limped his way outside, blinking desperately to stay awake. He kept gagging, but nothing came up. He tried to remember some breathing exercises, calm himself down — it couldn’t be helpful to freak out any more than he already was. He’d just have to stay calm until the Uber arrived.

He stumbled over to it when it finally pulled up, not even bothering to check the plates. Hopefully it was the right car.

“To the hospital, dude? Should I… get a teacher, or something?”

“I’m an adult,” Lance rasped. “Please just go.”

The driver didn’t need any more instruction, hastily pulling out of the parking lot and whipping down the highway.

Well, Lance supposed he couldn’t feel any more nauseous.

They arrived to the hospital in what was probably record time, if Lance was not too out of it to actually record the time. He barely noticed when the pulled into the hospital parking lot, except to yank open the door and dry heave until he sobbed.

“Do you need help?” the driver asked worriedly. “Like, checking in or anything?”

“I’m good,” Lance lied, throwing himself out of the car and making a crooked beeline for the ER door.

He managed to hold himself together long enough to speak to the attendant. Explain what happened. Tell them what he took and how much. Hand them the bottle he had thankfully kept in his pocket.

Then he remembered collapsing onto the dinky plastic chairs of the waiting room.

And then nothing.

———

When he woke up again, he was groggy and confused, and his heart was beating way too fast. He felt like a hummingbird, like his heart was speeding quickly enough that it just sounded like one long hum. A beeping noise sounded from his left, and before he had the time to look to see what that was a nurse pulled back the curtain and approached his cot.

“You need to calm down,” she said gruffly.

“What happened?” Lance rasped.

She raised an eyebrow. “You tried to off yourself,” she said, like he was stupid.

Lance didn’t even have the wherewithal to flush, even though he was embarrassed. He was busy focusing on trying to breathe properly.

He didn’t notice as she left, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“We got a Snowy,” he heard someone say, voice floaty and underwater. “I’ll check him out. Cot three?”

Next thing he knew a hand was resting on his shoulder.

“Lance?” said a bland, deep voice. “Can you wake up for me?”

“‘M awake,” he mumbled. He voice shook, as did the rest of him. He couldn’t stop trembling.

“That’s normal,” said the man, who Lance assumed was a doctor of some kind, as he noticed Lance staring at his violently quaking hands.

“You took a truly mindbreaking amount of pills. I’m shocked you’re alive, although I’m sure you are too. We had to pump your stomach.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Well, I have to check your vitals, and you have to stay in the ER until you’re stable, and then we’ll move you to the ICU. They’ll decide where you go from there.”

Lance swallowed, throat dry.

“C’n I ‘ve some water?”

“Sure.”

The man continued to check Lance’s vitals, leaving without another word. What felt like hours later — could have been minutes, or days, Lance could barely even remember where he was — a different nurse from before came in, handing him a tiny paper cup. It wasn’t nearly enough for his throat, which was drier than the desert, probably, but he took it anyway and thanked him.

Well, he probably did.

He passed out again after. Time went kind of fuzzy. He vaguely remembers trying to get up, to stay awake. He remembers spending a lot of time either sleeping or staring into the space in front of him, unable to blink. He remembers snippets of overheard conversations:

“It’s just so selfish, you know? There are people with real issues who don’t have a bed now. It was his choice.”

“God, is he making his fucking heart race on purpose? I swear I’m checking his stupid monitor every ten minutes.”

“Would he stop staring at me? What a freak.” Giggling. “I got a picture, look. What a creep.”

He remembers a lot of terror swirling in his stomach. He remembers that he wanted, above all else, to go home.

He remembers feeling afraid.

———

“I need you to wake up a moment, love.”

This voice was much kinder, and the cold fingers pressing gently on his forehead remind him of his Mamá. He forced his eyes open, blinking at the bright hospital lights blinded him for a moment. A middle-aged nurse was smiling at him when he could see again.

“We’re moving you to the ICU, kiddo. That alright?”

Lance nodded.

“Alright.”

She began untangling the various wires attached to him, then started to wheel him away.

“I can walk,” he protested, cheeks colouring.

He hesitated. “You sure, Lance? You’ve still got a lot to work out of your system. It might be better if I just push you.”

“I can walk,” he insisted. He wasn’t honestly sure if he could, but he didn’t want to be lying down as everyone in the hospital watched him be moved.

“Alright,” she relented.

Luckily, so long as he held on to the cot for help, he could walk. She led him carefully down a series of hallways, until he was wheeled into a room divided into four.

“You’re going to be here until the drugs are completely flushed from your system,” the nurse told him. “Then we’re bringing you up the the paediatric psych unit. Don’t worry though, sweetheart. They’re the best of the best.”

“Paediatric?” he questioned. He was more worried about the ‘psych ward’ part of that, honestly, but he supposed he was in no boat to complain. “I’m eighteen.”

She smiled gently. “Just young enough that you’re still a kid. No worries. Rest for now, okay?”

Lance did. He let himself drift, coming back only when a couple more nurses popped in to check his vitals or make sure he was feeling okay.

The terror mounting earlier has mostly faded, by then. The drugs were slowly making their way out of his system, and that made it a lot easier to think.

Plus, everyone at the ICU was a lot nicer. He could be wrong, though. He may very well have made the whole ER experience up, consumed by his own guilt. Who knew.

Although, a quiet voice in his head whispered, I’m not sure you’re creative enough to come up with ‘Snowy’ as a name for someone who poisoned themself. Are you sure that wasn’t real?

Lance shook his head, dismissing it. There was no point in worrying about that now.

Eventually, the same kindly nurse from before informed him it was time to go to the paediatric unit. He insisted on walking, again, and she didn’t fight him too hard. It was much easier that time around, anyway. It must have been a day or two, because his head was clearing.

He had his own room, in the paediatric unit. A much older woman helped him into it, showing him the bed and the shelves he got, handing him some soap and pointing him in the direction of the showers.

“I’m sure it will feel nice to wash off,” she said. “I’ll leave a fresh gown on your bed, and I’ll come let you know what the plan is when you come back.”

Lance thanked her, and headed to the showers. She was right, it did feel nice to be clean. He hadn’t realized how dirty he was.

When he finally made it back to his room — he had no idea how long he took, he was still shakey and time was still iffy — the same woman was waiting for him.

“You’re eighteen now,” she said after he changed. “So, technically, you can go home now, if you want. There’s nothing keeping you here. But we would suggest you sign a voluntary stay form, and spend at least a week here, to get yourself sorted. We’ll work through some treatment plans, find a way to help you. What do you think?”

Lance swallowed. “Who has to know?”

“Nobody. Your medical records are your own, now that you’re an adult. You can of course call whomever you like —” she gestured to a phone hanging on the wall by the nurse’s station — “and we have visiting hours, but if you would prefer this to be kept private, that’s your prerogative. I would suggest talking to someone though, dear. Would you like to call your mother?”

Lance shook his head vehemently. No, he would not like to call his mother. This would break her heart.

He should probably call someone, though. So no one thinks he’s gone missing.

———

“Hello?”

“Hunk?”

His voice shook, he knew it did.

But he couldn’t help it.

“Lance.” Hunk’s voice sounded wet, relieved, and as shakey as Lance’s. “Oh my God, Lance. Where are you? Are you okay? What happened? You just disappeared!”

Lance bit his lip. There was no easy way to say this.

“I’m at the hospital.”

“Oh my God! Are you okay?”

“I am now.”

“Fuck, I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are, okay? What unit are you in?”

“Paediatric,” Lance said in a small voice. He hesitated.

“Psych ward.”

Their was a pause on the other end. A stillness Lance could feel.

Hunk understood immediately.

“Lance…?” It was his turn to sound small, now. To sound lost.

Hurt.

Lance burst into tears. “I — I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I stopped taking the pills because I hate them and I thought I could handle it myself but I couldn’t and I fucked up and I’m scared, Hunk, I almost —”

“I’m coming,” Hunks said, voice firm and careful. “I’ll be there in less than an hour. Okay? Just wait for me, Lance.”

“Okay.”

———

“What now?” Hunk asked, voice muffled in Lance’s hair. He latched onto Lance the second he saw him, holding him tightly as he trembled and cried.

“I have to stay here for a week,” Lance said quietly, face still tucked into Hunk’s chest. “Uh, voluntarily. Technically I can check myself out whenever, but the doctors say I should stay until I can work out a treatment plan, which usually takes a week.”

“Is that what you want to do? Is that what will keep you safe?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What then? What after?”

“I don’t know,” Lance admitted. “I never thought… Hunk, I’ve known I was going to die at eighteen for as long as I can remember. I don’t… I don’t know where to go from here.”

Hunk took a shuddering breath, body stilling at Lance’s words. He squeezes Lance’s hands tightly, three times in succession.

“We’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll come every day for all the visiting hours. We’ll make a plan and figure things out. I promise.”

“Okay,” Lance whispered. “Are you leaving?”

Hunk pulled him tighter, hefting him into his lap and wrapping his arms around where Lance is curled up.

“Of course not. I’ll stay until they kick me out.”

Lance smiled.

———

Lance honestly spent most of his time reading random novels and meditating. He understandably didn’t feel too fond of sleeping, and the psychiatrist appointments only lasted so long. He needed something to do.

Mostly, he looked forward to when Hunk came to visit. He had told the Garrison that Lance had a severe allergic reaction to medicine that he didn’t know he was allergic too — the story they’d decided on for people Lance didn’t trust to tell — and since the semester was basically over, they were fine to let Hunk visit.

It was nice. Lance has forgotten how scary the Grey was, how much it stole from him, and he was glad he was safe now.

In the end, the doctors reiterated his previous SAD diagnosis, suggesting gently to him that as much as it sucked, until he could trust himself, it was probably better for him to keep his meds with the guidance counsellor.

As much as he hated it, Lance couldn’t help but agree.

Surprisingly, though, the doctors were also sending him for some further tests in the summer. Apparently he was looking at an ASD diagnosis as well, although it was too early to tell for sure.

It made sense, Lance supposed, when he thought about it.

Regardless, he signed the appropriate release papers at the end of the week, dressing in the clothes Hunk brought him and meeting Hunk in the lobby to head back to the Garrison.

“That was scary,” Hunk said quietly, when they were situated in the back of the Uber. “You scared me, Lance. It’s probably unfair to say, but… I dunno. I don’t think I’ve ever been so terrified in my life. I prayed.”

Lance bit his lip, playing nervously with Hunk’s hand where he had it clasped between both of his.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lance. I’m not mad at you. I just mean that you’re not leaving my sight for a while. Maybe not until summer comes back.”

Lance frowned. “But winter break is just around the corner. You’re going home, aren’t you?”

Hunk shrugged, but his expression was determined and left no room for argument.

“You’re coming with me.”

Lance opened his mouth, but closed it after a minute of silence.

He wouldn’t mind that, actually.

“Okay.”

———

Leaving his meds at the guidance counsellor’s solved one’s problem. It really did. As much as Lance hates it, it’s better for him in the long run.

Unfortunately, it does mean that he does not have his meds with him in space.

Where there’s no sun at all, actually. So that’s not excellent.

Lance is surprised how long he lasts before the Grey set in. Months, at least. It was early summer when they left Earth, though. That must have something to do with it.

The thing about suicide attempts is that often times — not always, Lance thinks, but it must be often — it scares the suicide right out of you. It makes you afraid to die. It reminds you that, holy shit, you actually do appreciate being alive, thanks, and there’s quite a lot you’re willing to do to keep it that way.

The several dozen near-death experiences he’s had since then has only cemented that fact. Lance is very, very happy he’s alive. He likes laughing. He likes spending time with Hunk, with the rest of his team. He likes flying in Blue. He misses his family, and he wants to see them again. He misses Earth, and the sunshine on his skin.

Also, there are trillions of people relying on him. Literal trillions.

He cannot afford to die.

He drags himself to the bathroom, staring himself down in the mirror.

“Please,” he begs his brain. “Please, please get your shit together. I know it’s rough. I know it’s hopeless. But I do not want to die. I tried it, thanks, and it sucks ass. It’s scary. Can you please do your one fucking job and keep me alive?”

“Lance?”

Lance jumps out of his skin at the call, even as he immediately relaxes at the voice.

Strange combo, that.

“In here,” he shouts back.

He listens to Hunk’s solid footsteps, watching through the mirror as he makes his way behind Lance. Brown eyes meet brown in the mirror.

“Grey starting?”

Lance exhales shakily. He takes out a worn piece of paper from his pocket — of fucking course he brought this to space accidentally and not his pills — and reads over it for the millionth time since he wrote it four and a half years ago.

Apathy. Loss of interest. Exhaustion.

Suicidal thoughts.

Well, at least that last one hadn’t hit him too hard yet, although he did nearly slip up and make a joke about it last week. (Lance forbid himself from making an suicide joke ever again the day he got back from the hospital. It makes his headspace worse, and it freaks Hunk out a little. He hates it when he fucks up.)

Hunk’s hand reaches over and tangles with his.

“I think we need to talk to Coran,” he says quietly. “He might be able to help.”

Lance swallows. His first instinct, as it always is, is to dismiss the very idea, insist he can handle himself.

But he can’t.

And that’s okay.

“Yeah,” he says finally, curling his hand around Hunk’s. “I think I could use the help.”

#vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #hunk #hunk garret #seasonal depression #seasonal affective disorder #depression #depressed lance #suicide attempt #suicidal ideation #growing up suicidal #hunk & lance #hunk/lance #that was an accident but it fits #brown-eyed lance #brown eyed lance #langst #lance angst #bamf lance #bc he struggles but he makes it through! #fic #my writing #autistic lance #kind hunk #pining hunk #pining lance #suicidal thoughts #longpost

[br1ghtestlight]

I'm in your asks should much, I think I might just start living here

But look at them🥰

Any hcs regarding the pesto family?

THANK YOU FOR INDULGING MY HYPERFIXATION <33 love andy and ollie in this screenshot. just sittin' there

they aren't close like tina/louise/gene (mostly bcuz andy and ollie already have each other for friendship) but jimmy jr does love his little brothers and feels protective of them. he feels responsible for them and generally just tries to keep them out of trouble. also as we see in that one episode he has to hold their hands when they cross the street which i think is adorable!!!! always keeping em safe :)

when andy or ollie has a nightmare and they're scared they ALWAYS go to jimmy jr and he lets them sleep in his bed with him even though its very crowded (the twins will not sleep without each other) he asks them about it and tells them that they're safe and it was just a bad dream <3

andy and ollie think jimmy jr is VERY cool actually!!!! they love his dancing and generally look up to him a lot they're very impressed when he does things like blow a bubble with bubblegum or does a handstand on the monkey bars yknow typical big brother stuff. they're always following him around at recess and its kinda embarrassing but he does think its cute (its also comforting for him to know that his brothers love him no matter what bcuz he doesn't always feel like that way with his parents)

andy and ollie's first word was jimmy jr <3 he knew his parents would be upset about this so he let them believe that their first word was mama or dada and nobody knows the truth except for him

jimmy pesto legally changed their family name to pesto before his kids were born and all of his kids genuinely believe that their family is italian. nobody has ever corrected them for some reason not even their mom

andy and ollie like staying with their mom better and jimmy jr likes staying with their dad better. but the siblings never wanted to be split up so their parents have equal custody

jimmy pesto likes showing his kids old italian movies that he watched when he was younger and its a genuine bonding moment for them!!!! not all the movies they watch are appropriate for kids and there is some murder drug dealing and gangs but thats okay its fine

andy and ollie brought one of his old italian movies to school once for show and tell and it was inappropriate for kids so jimmy pesto got in trouble and told them not to do that anymore FJDMDJDJSKSKS or at least ask him first

jimmy jr babysits andy and ollie when his dad is busy and he is NOT good at it Tbh he mostly just does whatever he wants and leaves them to fend for themselves bcuz he figures they're old enough that they can yell for help if they need him. they usually just raid the fridge or do arts and crafts and end up making a huge mess everywhere that jimmy jr has to clean up (or else he'll get in trouble)

jimmy jr has convinced andy and ollie to play dance games (like just dance on the wii) with him on several occasions and they will TRY but they are extremely bad at dancing and uncoordinated and jimmy jr gets frustrated when they get a low score

andy and ollie like drawing pictures for jimmy jr with crayons or paints or for school assignments and they like giving to him as surprise gifts :) he's probably got a million of them at this point but he keeps them all and hangs them up in his bedroom

andy and ollie LOVE bugging jimmy jr when they're bored and dont have anything else to do they'll go into his bedroom or follow him into the bathroom and just TALK AND TALK abt whatever is on their mind and he is shockingly patient about this. he sometimes gets tired of them and puts headphones in but pretends that he's still listening and they honestly cant even tell the difference

#sorry that there are not many jimmy pesto headcanons he's a fun character but he interacts with his kids uhh not very often!!!! #and from what we see when he DOES interact with them their relationship is not great #but i believe he does love him and he knows that his life would be 100x worse without them in it #he never once considered not taking custody of them after the divorce he loves those freaking kids even when they drive him crazy #bob's burgers #ask #headcanons

[ineffably-human]

Have not checked the tags, have not even touched everyone else's reaction to the leaks with a pinky toe bc I suspect I'm gonna disagree with some of the louder consensus. but I'm stuck on something and I need to emote loudly under the cut and see who presses the little heart button to concur so uh.

I WILL BE TALKING ABOUT WWDITS 4x9 AND 4x10 IN DETAIL UNDER THE CUT, sourced from watching/reading other summaries/doing some google transcript schenanigans. BE WARNED this is not spoiler safe and so I will only be using the leak tag for now. I also think a lot of context must get lost in translation (it certainly did with Pine Barrens) so I am taking certain things with a grain of salt.

I had learned some stuff about 4x9 already and suspected Nandor was gonna do a dick move. I was actually pleasantly surprised for several reasons and could see this as an element of character development and growth but we're not gonna dwell on that rn because speaking of character development lol:

episode 10. Guillermo in episode 10. okay okay okay like-

We're supposed to be frustrated with the vampires' stagnation as much as Guillermo is. Deeply sad, even. We are. Returning to sitcom reset is upsetting when three of our four vampires have spent as long as we've known them in a state of dissatisfaction. This is a vicious cycle, and it's a squandering of immortality. Reading interviews about the writers' attitude towards keeping the series new and different I really, really doubt the answer to the season-long question of 'does nurture matter, is change possible?' is just 'nope' with no additions. And Colin's challenge to Laszlo about why he doesn't do something about this just reinforces that, to me.

But Guillermo sat around suppressing himself patiently for ten years, holding his life in limbo, until the slayer stuff forced his hand. Since then he's: learned he has supernatural powers, had two to three rapid-fire job changes, had his life in danger multiple times, was imprisoned for a month, gained a huge amount of confidence, learned both stick- and sword-fighting, undeniably evolved his relationship with Nandor, was forced to spend a year in another country, embraced his sexuality, embezzled a huge amount of money, had and lost his first real relationship, reunited with/came out to his biological family, and helped raise a child. Not to mention all the supernatural things going on around him at all times.

That's more change than a lot of people deal with their entire lives. That's enough change in a four to five year period to give a lot of people a toxic level of PTSD stress. And he feels like he's stuck?

Is his real problem that the others haven't evolved to meet him, that it's much easier for them to slip back into their old bullshit? I can see that. Everything he did for them this season didn't matter, is starting to fade like a passing whim. (Just like the absolute HUGE swerve of the s3 ending turning into everyone being exactly where we left them, in Guillermo's case literally. More and more, I'm realizing just how cyclical this season was, because this show has a lot of subtle brilliance like that.) He's not left out anymore but he feels like none of it matters.

But like... He still wants to be a vampire. He still wants to be a vampire even if it's alone with Derek, Derek who is literally a guy working in a dead end job (as in, the way Guillermo started) who also just happens to be a vampire, and who made it clear he was miserable without company. Even seeing how everyone else is stuck in place. Even comfortable in his body, in his sexuality, having powers that will probably not work as well if he's turned, recently reuniting with a family that freaks out at the presence of a vampire. Even seeing how other vampires stay in place, even with that being basically the reason he leaves. Not loving the vampires enough to stay with them, when he was referring to Nadja as family three episodes ago, but not loving everything he's become as a human enough to keep that either.

Gigi, I need to study you under a microscope. What the fuck do you want and do YOU even know and what do you plan to do with the things you want if you get them? Because every time I think I know what direction you're going in, you move exactly opposite to my expectation. And I think I get why this is the cliffhanger for the season, I think I know where this is going, but it's driving me crazy - and feels like a failure of writing - that I can't grok anything about why is Guillermo de la Cruz on the road to what comes next.

#wwdits leaks #here there be leaks #seriously spoilers so many spoilers #but i have used a cut like a civilized human being uwu

[fate-accursed]

// @deathwis ( tanya. ) said: " it did escalate severely after five minutes. "

Anthony had missed the beginning of this particular argument, too busy kicking rocks and moping to rush the walk home from school — but just because he was late doesn't mean he missed out on tonight's family trainwreck entirely. Actually, he got home just in time to witness its explosive conclusion; lucky him.

The sound of the front door's slam is still ringing in his ears, deafening in the silence that follows, and it takes everything in him just to remember how to breathe. ( Everything's falling apart again. ) He can already feel the tension building in his spine, a sure-fire sign of the headache that's to come; maybe he deserves it, though, for being so caught up in his own problems that he didn't realize something might be wrong. He definitely deserves it for still being upset regardless, even underneath all the worry and confusion, even as he's wandering over to Tanya to figure out what the hell went wrong.

( Because yeah, it's not a huge deal to walk through town, seeing as he does it in his spare time anyway — but they'd told him they would pick him up, so he'd waited. Standing in time's agonizing pass while the school slowly emptied out, letting slow realization crush him until he walked away all alone. So now the question burrows under his skin, poisonous and cutting, relentless even when buried under layers of guilt: had his family just forgotten him completely, or was the fighting really just that much more important? Does it even really matter when the outcome is the same either way? )

Of course, when he tries to talk to Tanya, the first response he gets is a flippant one. It's so typical of her that he could scream, but instead he stays silent, beholden to the knot that ties itself around his throat when he thinks of losing her. ( These days, it seems like he always has to swallow around it; it's there when Tanya stays out late, and when Dennis lashes out, and when Megan gets real quiet. It sinks like lead in his stomach when their dad comes home drunk, and when the fighting gets so loud he can hear it over Dennis's records. Some nights, he wakes up in a cold sweat convinced he's already lost them. )

But maybe if he knows what went wrong, he can try to fix it.

"Hey, I'm being serious," he finally manages, shifting anxiously on his feet as his gaze wanders toward the stairs. He can hear the floorboards creaking overhead, either Megan's cautious creeping or the sound of Anne pacing in the bedroom — or maybe a bit of both, chipping away at the foundation, waiting for an unsteady housing to settle. "It sounded bad, Tanya. What did you even get into it about?"

#c: lost everything #deathwis #v: no escaping fate #(( anthony babes you have issues<3 ))

[6220coronation]

Traintober Day 5 - It’s Only Me

Upset over the loss of his E2 siblings, Thomas has a conversation with Edward, who shares a secret he hasn’t told anyone else.

June 10th, 1963.

As he pulled into Brendam with a passenger train, Edward heard an odd commotion coming from the yards. There were several loud bangs, followed by the sound of screaming trucks. After being uncoupled from the coaches, Edward went to see what was going on.

When he arrived, the old tender engine saw Thomas, repeatedly bumping trucks as he moved about the yard. Edward had a vague idea why the E2 was being so rough with them, but began moving towards the tank engine to confirm his hunch. “Is something the matter, Thomas? You seem upset about something.”

“Oh, and what gave you that idea? I’m not upset at all, not one bit!” He snapped, before giving one truck a particularly hard bump. Although he didn’t outwardly show it, Edward was taken aback. In all his years of knowing Thomas, not once had the tank engine ever snapped at him at this.

But he quickly composed himself, and resumed speaking. “Tell you what, Thomas. I’ve got some time before I have to take my next train. So how about we go over to the sheds and you can tell me what’s troubling you. How does that sound?” As he glanced at Edward, Thomas now felt guilty about snapping at him, glancing down at his buffers in shame.

“Yeah, sure thing. Just, let me finish shunting first and I’ll join you.” A short time later, Edward listened intently as Thomas explained why he was so upset. “And that’s pretty much it.” After the tank engine finished speaking, Edward shot him a sympathetic look.

“Oh, Thomas. I’m so sorry. Losing all your siblings is never easy for any engine to deal with. I would know,” he said, letting out a wistful sigh. Puzzled by what Edward meant, the E2 looked at him. “Thomas, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never shared with anyone else on this island.”

“I also, lost my entire family. My final sibling, she was withdrawn in 1931. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her.” Edward then paused, letting out another sigh. “She’s a lot like you, actually. Always eager to see the world. I know, she would have enjoyed meeting you.”

The two engines then sat in silence for some time. But eventually, Thomas spoke up. “Edward? I’m, sorry. Not just for snapping at you, but about your siblings, too.”

“It’s alright, Thomas. I’m not angry. All of us handle grief in different ways. But there is one thing I want to say. Even though you’re the last E2, your family will always live on in your memories.”

This made the tank engine feel a little better. Even though he barely got to know his siblings before being whisked away to Sodor, Thomas resolved to always keep them alive in his memories.

#traintober 2023

[olddirtybadfic]

I asked ChatGPT to write Pokémon blueshipping mpreg.

The results were....disturbing.

Prompt: Write a Pokémon fanfiction in which Meowth impregnates James with a kitten and Jessie does not approve of their actions.

(I should have specified that James would consent to the mpreg in the story. I didn't and got this.)

Content warning: This fanfiction contains adult themes and may not be suitable for all audiences.

-O-o-O-o-O-

Jessie stormed into the Team Rocket headquarters, slamming the door behind her. She was fuming, and it was clear to everyone in the room that something was bothering her.

"What's wrong, Jessie?" James asked, concern etched across his face.

"It's Meowth," Jessie spat. "He's gone too far this time."

"What did he do?" James asked, looking confused.

"He impregnated you, James!" Jessie exclaimed.

James's eyes went wide as he took in what Jessie had just said. "What? How is that even possible?"

"Meowth used his psychic powers to make it happen," Jessie explained. "And now you're carrying a kitten. I can't believe he would do something like this without even consulting us first."

James looked down at his stomach, which was visibly swollen. He could feel the kitten moving around inside of him, and it was a strange and unsettling sensation. He wasn't sure how he felt about becoming a father – especially not in such an unconventional way.

"I don't know what to do," James said, his voice trembling. "I never expected anything like this to happen."

"We'll figure it out," Jessie said, taking his hand in hers. "But first, we need to talk to Meowth. He can't just go around impregnating people without their consent."

They made their way to Meowth's quarters, where they found him lounging on his bed, looking smug.

"What's up, guys?" he asked, grinning.

"You know exactly what's up," Jessie snapped. "You impregnated James without even asking him first. How could you do something so irresponsible?"

Meowth's expression soured as he realized that Jessie was angry with him. "I did it for the good of Team Rocket," he said. "We need more members, and I thought this was the best way to accomplish that."

"That's ridiculous," Jessie said. "You can't just go around forcing people to have babies. James didn't want this."

"I'm sorry," Meowth said, his tone contrite. "I didn't mean to upset anyone. I just thought I was doing what was best for the team."

"Well, you were wrong," Jessie said. "And now we have to deal with the consequences. James is pregnant, and we have to figure out how to take care of him and the kitten."

Meowth nodded, looking ashamed. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right," he said.

For the next few weeks, James carried the kitten inside of him, growing more and more uncomfortable as the due date approached. Jessie and Meowth did their best to take care of him, bringing him food and water and helping him get around. But it was clear that James was struggling – both physically and emotionally.

Finally, the day of the birth arrived. Jessie and Meowth helped James into a makeshift birthing chamber, where he went into labor. It was a difficult and painful process, but after several hours, he gave birth to a healthy kitten.

As soon as the kitten was born, Jessie scooped it up, cradling it in her arms. She looked down at the tiny creature, and her heart melted. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't help feeling a deep love for the little kitten.

"I guess we're a family now," she said, looking at James and Meowth. "And we'll do whatever it takes to take care of each other – no matter what."

-O-o-O-o-O-

That might have been on the same level as the badfic twelve!me wrote.

Though I can't help but think that in a different story (one in which James consented to this), it would be funny that Jessie has to tell James that he's pregnant for him to realize it.

#pokemon fanfiction #james team rocket #jessie team rocket #meowth team rocket #cw mpreg #tw forced pregnancy #wtf chatgpt #chatgpt #ai fanfic #ai writing #artificial intelligence

[sedatedusk]

It still bothers me

Just because you may have had it worse or know people who have had it worse, that is not a reason to invalidate or devalue someone else's pain and trauma. I understand that you grew up in a time when abuse was normalized, and it still is to a lesser degree, but what may seem like a molehill to you could be the most insurmountable mountain that someone else may have ever seen. You wouldn't tell someone to suck up the pain of a broken leg just because someone somewhere is dealing with a brain tumour. Pain is different and relative and while I'm not asking you to make mountains out of molehills or baby everyone and treat them all like they're ceramic and paper-thin glass, what I'm asking you to do is understand that yes, some people have had it worse, but to that person, that is their worst and they need to learn to deal with it, overcome it, whatever the situation calls for.

You can remember the things your parents did to you, congratulations, but not everyone can and that means that not everyone is able to articulate and explain it. Things get blocked off or swallowed into a black hole. Me personally, the only things I can remember without having to sit, network, and reconstruct, are the several times blood work has gone wrong, being yelled at and threatened, being punished over things as insignificant as breathing, the dogs seeking shelter with me, my mother threatening suicide because she was snooping and found out I had told one of my friends that I had gotten into a minor argument with her and was upset about it, being locked in my room for several hours and once overnight - I still don't know what I did wrong but they were adamant that I couldn't come out and put a plastic toilet in there, and that's pretty much it. The earliest happy memory I have is earlier this year when I was at a concert with someone I care for very very much, but even then most of that has been wiped from my memory too.

Things like emotions and being present in body, being grounded, these are all new experiences to me. So many of the things that most of my peers and the practitioners I meet have all had the chance to learn how to be human before becoming whatever it is they're meant to become. They learned what emotions were and what social cues are and what sort of things are acceptable and what are technically legal but may even be punished by law.

It's also important to note that it doesn't always matter how physical or sexual the bad experiences were. The brain and the body don't process trauma and pain the same way conscious awareness does. It can't tell the difference between emotional and physical abuse and many would argue that long-term emotional abuse and neglect is actually worse than physical and sexual abuse, especially since they can only go on for so long at a time. I would've rather my father hit me than what he did put me through, but he didn't. It got to the point where I was absolutely terrified to even be in the same room as him and my heart would sink every time I saw I had a message from him. It was a monumental task just to muster up the courage to call him because every interaction I've had has been overflowing with mind games and puppeteering. He admitted to me once that I'm is legacy and retirement plan, and I don't need an admission from him to know that so long as I was willing to obey and agree with everything, so long as I didn't try to stand on my own two feet and come to understand that I had worth, I was a trophy. I was just something for him to wave around as proof that he wasn't entirely useless. When I came out to him, the drama wasn't over my identity, it was over me wanting to change my last name and because - according to him - I didn't thank him for not kicking me out when he found out. I did, by the way, it was one of the first things I said to him after he finished his questions, and the whole thing with the last name is all this familial trauma he has with his relatives from a young age that he needs to sort out.

Believe me, I understand that pretty much everyone is traumatized, especially nowadays. I don't think I could be this fascinated by dreams and psychology and not understand that, but knowing or experiencing things you deem to be worse than what the other person is going through or has gone through doesn't stop their pain. If anything, it makes it worse.

If you want to end the conversation here or you don't want to talk to me ever again, that's fine. I understand and I appreciate the insight and conversations we've had so far, but this feels like something I'd be kicking myself over if I had kept my mouth shut.

[threeopennames]

15072022: T14

Chapter 14: Mind your Matters

Plot: Edward and Isabella go home. Isabella acts horny and fishy as hell, Edward grabs her and threatens her a couple times in what I assume are supposed to be romantic ways, and Charlie is Hitler for doing basic dad things. 

Isabella: Lots and lots of paranoid delusions this chapter. In particular she repeats several times her belief that her father is spying on her and going to try and catch her doing something with no real reasoning behind it. He does do this (because when has Isabella ever been wrong) so well played, author surrogate character. It makes sense she’s paranoid, because she’s flirting with a child predator, but the tone and venom she takes when talking about her dad just seems over the top in this chapter. Granted she is ESPECIALLY horny this chapter so maybe that’s just what she does when she gets riled up. She’s really into that ‘we might get discovered’ play whenever she isn’t getting off to having her partner repeatedly mention how much he wants to kill her. 

EDWATCH: He’s 100+ years old, but the author very wisely throws in some ‘but his memories are bad so he’s not REALLY like a 100 year old’ because that would obviously be kind of weird. An almost throwaway excuse is used here for why they pretend to be kids, something along the lines of ‘the younger we pretend to be the longer we can stay in one place’. The more I think about that the less sense it makes, like it’s obviously an attempt to say something like a 17 year old looking 30 year old is less believable or whatever, but registering at a high school just seems way over the top. Like think about all the documentation you’d need to get enrolled, and how much time of their day is filled doing classes, and how obvious their aversion to sunlight and food was, none of that makes any sense if they were just trying to lay low. Especially when you consider they weren’t talking to anyone and just hanging out on their own at lunch all the time anyway. Why would they spend so much time at school when they could pretend to be graduated 18+ year olds? For that 1 extra year or something? Whatever, let’s not think about it, they are all super smart vampires who have figured this all out.

We also learn Edward stalked Isabella, as if that’s in any way a surprise. She’s ‘flattered’, which I think means something else, but I’m not going to dwell on it. The most interesting part about this is that Isabella throws a fit when she learns not that Edward was peeping on her (because that’s hot), but that he listened to her speak. She didn’t feel upset at all when Edward freely read the minds of anyone he wanted, but listening to her is apparently stepping over the line. Weird double standards, the Isabella specialty. 

CHARLIEWATCH: Naturally, since Edward sat in his house, everything is now Edward’s and he simply cannot match up to the glory that is a stalking obsessive vampire. There’s an especially rude slight where Charlie suggests Isabella might be better off waiting for college to start dating, and she assumes it’s because he doesn’t want her bringing boys back to his house. I don’t want to read into that very much except that the dad’s constant support and emotional availability to Isabella is met at every turn with contempt and revulsion. I hope the author had a good family life and this isn’t some unresolved issues making their way into the text. 

MIKEWATCH: Unable to go for more than a page without a target for seething hatred, Mike gets dragged back into the story, this time to deal with jealousy. No need to rehash material here, except that Mike’s attraction towards Isabella as framed as ‘vile’. Not a lot of context is given for this even though we already heard that apparently all the males (including the teachers?) thought Isabella was attractive on the first day. Like most of the book’s double standards this one stands out more as the author does the thing where jealousy is treated as an admirable trait, but only when Edward or Isabella have it and never when other characters do. Isabella is supposed to be super attractive, right? She’s really special and smart and unique and everyone just instantly falls in love with her (unless you are blonde, in which case you are threatened by her). However anyone actively showing that attraction (apart from Edward) is to be reviled. This is a consistent inconsistency of course, we’ve already established that dominant lust = bad and submissive lust = good, but now we’re seeing Edward jump on the Mike + other Isabella fanboys hatewagon so I thought it worth mentioning again. Protagonist centered morality is usually a pretty unsettling thing to see when done unintentionally, since it likely reflects on the author’s own life perspectives. But let’s not get into that; this moment really just serves to show that Edward and Isabella are on the same page when it comes to the ‘we’re good, everyone else bad’ outlook on life. 

Overall a much worse chapter than the last one. It’s just so transparently sexual and the unpleasant hateful angle that kept cropping up really soured me on it. This chapter had no reason to exist!

[stainedglassthreads]

You ever think about how Flowey only judges and criticizes you at the very end of the Ruins. 

After Asgore’s death, he may remark on how you have or haven’t learned the world is Kill or be Killed, and his own thoughts on the matter, but he rarely seems especially upset you just killed his father, often dealing the final blow if you can’t. And he’s cruel in the ensuing Photoshop Flowey fight, but what he says says a lot more about himself than you, it’s not really judging you and more playing out his trauma while reveling in power. 

But no matter what you do to in the Ruins, he’s judging you in some way. 

Kill everyone? You’re empty inside, just like him. 

Kill everyone except Toriel? What, you don’t think other monsters could have had families and loved ones? 

Kill Toriel? He starts doubling down on how the world is kill or be killed, and she couldn’t save anyone from that fate, not even herself. 

Kill Toriel several times? He calls you out for being just as bad as him. Likewise if you spare THEN kill her. 

Kill then spare, or kill no one? He accuses you of basically cheating and ‘not playing by the rules of the world’. If you previously killed her, he reminds you that even if no one else remembers, he does. If you killed no one, he wonders how long you’ll keep this act up. 

Like. Papyrus was Flowey’s favorite, I don’t doubt this. I also don’t doubt he, himself, has probably killed Toriel multiple times. But Toriel is probably higher in his favorites ranking than some give her credit for. He doesn’t judge you like this after ANYONE else’s death. He went to her with the expectation that’d she’d be the only one capable of making him feel better when Asgore fails.The implication he feels Toriel was replacing him indicates anger at her, even while being ‘emotionless.’ 

And of course, the Winter Alarm Clock Dialogue. 

Shines a new light on his dialogue when you kill Toriel once, huh? 

“She tried so hard to save you humans. But when it came down to it... Hee hee... She couldn’t even save herself! What an idiot!” 

*...Idiot. 

*You can’t even take care of yourself. 

#undertale meta #undertale analysis #undertale #toriel #flowey #asriel #asriel dreemurr #reset

[phoenixyfriend]

Auntie ‘Soka and Little Leia (and Rex)

The counterpart to Uncle Ben and Little Luke (Original Post, Chrono)

Listen. You all knew this was coming.

This got... very long and detailed and I’m going to have to clean it up and post to AO3. As in, this was supposed to be 2-3k and is literally ten times that long. It crossed 25k. And the initial section actually glosses over a bunch, actual fic-style writing starts at “That, of course, is when things get interesting.”

Warnings: discussion of various canon traumas (most relating to being child soldiers), general PTSD, several scenes featuring dissociation or panic attacks upon being triggered, and canon-typical violence.

Rated T, gen.

I still want there to be de-aging nonsense involved so Ahsoka is physically a late teenager despite having a solid two decades of field experience behind her (we’re pulling her from Malachor).

Leia, much like Luke, is now six. She just came from being a rebellion general. She is not happy about being a child. She was already short, this is just mean.  She’s a human espresso.

UNLIKE BEN, Ahsoka is not happy about this turn of events. Being seventeen-ish is not helpful in the outer rim. She’s a female togruta, young and healthy, and in the Outer Rim, caring for a small human child. Sure, she has her lightsabers and plenty of combat experience, and she can keep them safe, but she’s just one person, and a major target for those looking to make some quick cash. It doesn’t matter how good she is; she needs sleep at some point.

It makes my heart happy to treat Ahsoka and Rex as two halves of the same black ops specialist so you know what, he’s there too! He’s physically like... 10-12 in natborn, maybe. They’re not sure, because clones age weird. He’s moderately more useful than Leia (who is very competent but also physically six, and short for that age), but he’s still... very small.

Reminder that none of them have been born yet.

Ahsoka has a harder time explaining WHY she has children with her, since she's barely more than a kid herself, and clearly unrelated by species. She sometimes just says “Oh, my adoptive brother’s kids” since it’s kind of the truth for Leia and she’s not touching the actual truth about Rex with a ten foot pole.

Ahsoka definitely knows about Leia being a Skywalker, or at least has suspicions that Bail never outright confirmed but was conspicuously quiet about. She does tell Leia about it, but it’s not like that means anything, right? Just, you know, your dad was my teacher! I don’t have to tell you he became Va--oh shit, you already knew that part. Well, fuck. What do you mean he had a son? OH SHIT, PADME HAD TWINS.

Alt take for explaining why she’s got kids: She’s my foundling, I know her name as my child (Leia shut up!!!)

(Ahsoka can fake Mandalore. Sometimes.)

That said, there is... significantly less gambling and significantly more theft to get to Coruscant.

As previously stated, Ahsoka is a black ops kinda gal, and more importantly, she looks like a fairly attractive young woman in the Outer Rim, with two children in good health. She’s a target, and also not the kind of person one generally gambles with. If she does gamble, people get upset when she doesn’t lose, in ways they don’t get upset about Ben doing the same, because she’s, again, a cute teenage girl. It’s exhausting.

As things go, she largely ends up stealing from people who deserve it and/or smuggling herself and her charges into someone else’s ship. They’re small, they can hide. Sometimes she can get them all passage by working as a mechanic, she’s good at that.

Once they’ve got a handle on when they are, they have to decide on Names. None of them have been born yet, so technically they could use their own names without anyone Knowing. Rex and Leia might not even be born, depending on how successful they are at, you know, stopping the war and everything. Ahsoka, though, she’s going be born in two years, and there’s no reason to prevent it, so... she doesn’t want to steal baby-her’s name. That would be mean.

Leia is already calling her “Auntie ‘Soka” when she can for reasons like “selling the bit” and “manipulating adults” and “making us both feel better after we had a mutual breakdown about Anakin being Vader.” Ergo, she decides that whatever new name she picks better include that in some way, and decides on “Sokari” because it sounds pretty.

Overall, they don’t... they don’t actually make it very far before there’s an Incident. Again, teenager with small children. They spend a lot of time hiding out in space ports looking for an opportunity.

That, of course, is when things get interesting.

Specifically, Ahsoka spots a Mandalorian.

She doesn’t recognize the armor. She does recognize the sigil, and thinks ‘well, they’re more likely to help than some,’ because from what she’s heard, the Haat Mando’ade are Decent People Overall. Her view is a little biased, mostly on account of the sheer level of grudge she has against Kyr’tsad. It’s fine! The True Mandalorians have the same grudge, right? And Mandalorians like kids and Ahsoka hasn’t slept in five days and it’s fine. It’s fine! IT’S FINE.

“Oh shit,” Rex whispers, before she can suggest anything. “Oh fuck.”

“Stop cursing,” Leia hisses, elbowing him. “People are going to notice.”

“That’s the Prime,” Rex panics, mostly quiet. Ahsoka’s heart drops, because fuck is right. “That’s Fett.”

Leia isn’t impressed. Ahsoka just angles herself between Fett and Rex and hopes that he doesn’t see them. That’s just asking for trouble.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is in fact running on none sleep with left trauma, and doesn’t notice Fett walking up and dropping into a seat across from them until he’s actually done so, removing his helmet to glare a little more efficiently.

“Wanna explain why your kid has my face?”

Ahsoka later tells herself that he’s killed Jedi and that’s why he can sneak up on her, and that she can be forgiven some slip-ups with the exhaustion being what it is, and that she’s obviously going to be dealing with some emotional instability in light of the sudden return of teenage hormones and new forms of anxiety that are markedly different from those she was dealing with a few weeks ago.

What Ahsoka wants to say is “that’s kind of a long story,” or “maybe he’s a cousin,” or “kriff off, I don’t know you,” or maybe even “he’s a clone.”

What Ahsoka actually does is burst into tears, which is embarrassing for her, for Fett, for the kids, and for the entire rest of the bar.

It really is the straw that broke the eopie’s back. Even when she was actually this age, she didn’t exactly cry much. Objectively, Fett quasi-aggressively asking a valid question shouldn’t send her into a panic. She’s been through torture and worse. She shouldn’t be crying.

But she is, sobbing her eyes out with no control, and he’s just sitting across from her and looking uncomfortable while Rex wraps his little arms--oh Force he’s so small--around her, and both ‘children’ glare at Fett.

“So, I’m going to take it she didn’t kidnap you from a loving family or do something illicit with a blood sample,” Fett says, after it becomes obvious that Ahsoka’s not going to be ready to talk any time soon.

“She didn’t,” Rex says stiffly, with just the right emphasis for Fett to catch what’s implied. Ahsoka just keeps her head down, eyes pressed against the heels of her palms, trying to get her body to stop rebelling against her.

Fett’s eyes dart to Leia, who folds her arms and draws herself up, every bit the unimpressed princess. “My father claimed her as a sister, so she’s my Auntie ‘Soka.”

The man dithers a bit, the conversation clearly not going where he’d expected. “Right,” he says. “You--you’re all kids. I thought she was a little older, at least, but I didn’t have a good look at her face before.”

She is older, but actually admitting that is only going to make this worse, both for her pride and for her chances of making it out alive.

“Where are you staying?”

“What?” Leia bites out.

“You’re kids, you’re alone, and you’re clearly not okay if you were trying to hide the one with my face as blatantly as you did, and then... whatever this is, when I confronted you,” Fett explains. Ahsoka lifts her head to glare at him, but it’s probably not doing much with the way her eyes are rimmed with red and still wet. “Don’t give me that look, ad’ika, your kids looked as confused and horrified by that as the bartender did. They obviously didn’t think it was normal either.”

Well, kriff you too, Ahsoka thinks.

“And what do you mean by ‘blatantly,’ here?” Leia challenges. It’s adorable, but Ahsoka watched this tiny girl shoot a man last week, and wonders when people are going to start taking that seriously.

“There’s a lot of people in this galaxy, and I don’t exactly have the clearest memory of what I looked like at that age,” Fett says, slow and careful like he thinks they’re dumb. Ahsoka decides to chalk it up as being because Leia’s visibly six. “I would have thought it was just a coincidence if you hadn’t put in effort to hide him.”

Leia huffs, and Rex glares harder. Fett just sighs, like they’re all going to give him grey hairs.

“You can explain whatever the hell’s going on,” Fett says. “I’ll let you stay on my ship, there’s a spare bunk and you’re small.”

“For free?” Rex demands.

“A night on a bunk in exchange for information,” Fett clarifies. “We can negotiate from there.”

Ahsoka takes a few moments, notes that both of the others are waiting on her for the decision, and cringes. She doesn’t feel steady enough to carry that. She has to anyway.

“Rex?” she asks, voice rasping after the breakdown of the past few minutes.

“Yeah?”

“How much?”

He looks up at her, eyes calculating, and grimaces. “We don’t want Order 66. A warning is better, even if we... share information.”

She nods, and turns to Leia. “Any premonitions, princess?”

Leia glowers, cute and furious. “No.”

“No, don’t tell, or no, you aren’t getting any vibes about sharing info one way or the other?”

“The latter,” Leia clarifies, huffy to the last.

“Right,” Ahsoka says, and then just... hesitates. “Fett...”

“You’ve got conditions,” he guesses.

She bares her teeth in what could have, through a squint and perhaps a few drinks, been called an apologetic smile. “Just one, really.”

“Yeah?”

“No hurting, killing, or turning us in for bounties,” she says. “Any of us.”

“You’re children, I wouldn’t.”

She blinks at him, slow and careful. She hesitates. She reaches down, out of sight, sees him stiffen.

She unclips her sabers from her belt and puts them on the table.

His eyes are fixed on the weapons the second they enter his line of sight, and don’t move as he clearly realizes why she made the condition she did.

“I left years ago, because I couldn’t stay without it ruining me,” she says. Still slow. Still careful. She’s so tired. “But if I want to keep Leia safe, I have to get back to Coruscant.”

His eyes finally lift from the sabers, expression blank. “Just her?”

“Rex doesn’t have the same monsters coming after him,” she says. “If it were just me and him, I’d worry less. Leia’s a different kind of target.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith on the table by telling me that,” Fett says, voice flat and toneless. “Considering my occupation.”

“She’s a child,” Ahsoka says, feeling heavy and boneless. “Even with what I was and will be, even with what money you would get from the right buyer, you wouldn’t.”

“There are other risks.”

“There are.”

They stare at each other for too long, probably, and then Fett jerks as Rex kicks him under the table. The boys glare for a moment, and then Rex says, “If she weren’t good, I’d still be a slave to those who grew me.”

Fett blinks, and then nearly growls the word, “What?”

“She freed me,” Rex reiterates. “While I was trying to shoot her.”

Ahsoka lifts a hand and puts it on his far shoulder, pulling him into her side. She doesn’t meet Fett’s eyes again, because part of her is back on Mandalore, dodging her own soldiers and crying out as her family dies across the galaxy.

Fett breathes in. Breathes out. He puts a hand to his head, visibly frustrated. “Fine. A good Jedi kid, and two smaller kids, one of which is apparently in some way mine.”

Rex makes a face, which is fair, but also not helping.

“To the ship,” Ahsoka says, putting her sabers back on her belt and sliding out of the seat. “I’m... I’m Sokari.”

“You already know my name.”

“I do.”

---------------------------

Fett watches her like she’s a predator, which has the benefit of being accurate and slightly flattering. She lets other two take care of most of talking, and then Fett tells her to sleep first, and talk in the morning.

“You’re dead on your feet, jetii,” he snorts. “And that crying jag didn’t do you any favors. Sleep.”

So she does, and Fett doesn’t even wake her. He just lets her sleep. He watches her in the way of a guard. She sees him when she gets up to use the ‘fresher in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t even comment when she collapses right back into the mediocre cot she’s borrowed for the cycle.

Rex and Leia are safe, her hindbrain tells her, even in the depths of sleep. Her mind curls around theirs in the Force, and she trusts that they are here. They are not happy, but they are alive and unharmed, and that has to be enough.

When she stumbles her way to true wakefulness, groggy and loose-limbed, Fett greets her with caf.

“The kids wouldn’t let me near you,” he tells her.

“They’re good,” she says, cupping her hands around the mug. She feels wobbly, in every sense. Her body, her mind, her emotions, her connection to the Force. Nothing is on-kilter right now. “Did they tell you anything?”

“They waited for you,” he says. “But the little miss needed a nap of her own. They’re down in the other bunk.”

“I didn’t notice,” she admits. She should have. She’s Fulcrum. She’s a veteran of the Clone Wars. She’s... she’s supposed to be better than this.

“How long?” he asks, and then when she squints up at him, he clarifies. “How long did you fight?”

“My last fight--”

“No, whatever war you came out of,” he says. Her chest twists cold. “I don’t know if the Jedi sent you into it or if you waded in yourself once you left, but you move like a soldier.”

“I was,” she confirms. “But... but I don’t want to talk about the details. Not until the other two are here.”

He frowns at her. “Is there anything you can talk about?”

She shrugs and looks away, trying to take solace in the warmth of the caff she holds above the table, as if it can hide her, guard her, from the disgraced Mand’alor across the table.

“Jedi?”

“I’m not officially a Jedi,” she says, voice quiet. “Not anymore.”

“Then what do I call you?” he asks. “We’re not exactly close enough for names.”

“Torrent,” she says. “It’s not--I can’t claim my family name anymore. But I can claim Torrent, so I will. And if you want a title, I was a commander.”

“Bit young for that.”

“I got the rank when I was fourteen,” she says, and watches his face do something complicated and unpleasant. “Don’t. I know your own culture puts children on the field that young.”

“Not in command.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, well... the soldiers were technically younger. Adults, but...”

Ahsoka can see the way he casts about to figure out what species grows at that rate. He guesses a few, and she shoots all of it down.

She won’t tell him. Not until Rex is awake.

This part of the story is his.

--------------------------

When Leia tries to sit alone, a foot away on the bench like a proper adult, Ahsoka refuses to let it happen. She pulls the younger girl to her side and quells protests with a glance. It’s a decent skill, but she’s not sure how long it’s going to work on her niece-in-spirit.

“Your body needs the chemical release of skinship,” she says, and Leia glares at her. “I spent way too much time with the boys to not know about this. Deal.”

Rex sits close enough to knock their knees together under the table, and his warmth is the old comfort she needs.

“Do you want the story you’ll believe, or the truth?” Ahsoka asks.

“What’s the difference?”

“One of them involves something so impossible that even most Jedi wouldn’t believe it,” she tells him.

Fett folds his arms and leans forward to rest them on the table, challenging but oddly open. “Try me.”

“Time travel.”

He blinks, just once, fully controlled. “That’s a tough one.”

“There were only three Jedi left alive when I died,” she says. “Or... whatever it is that happened to me. I think I died. All I know is that one moment, I was thirty-two and dying, and the next, I was... seventeen again, and had these two with me. All of us younger than we were. None of us have even been born yet.”

She refuses to look him in the eye. “They both outlived me by... six years, maybe. Got caught up while traveling instead of dying. Leia was twenty-two. Rex was thirty-five. I’m not technically the oldest anymore. I mean, physically I am, but that doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not exactly doing us any good, and--”

Rex bumps his shoulder to her arm. “I dunno, Commander. I’ve spent a long time looking older than I should. Nice to look younger for once.”

She shoots him a small, pained grin. “Could be worse, yeah.”

“Let’s say I believe you.”

Her attention snaps back to Fett, who’s looking damnably blank, and is showing even less in the Force.

He waits a second for her to relax back into her seat.

“Let’s say I believe you,” he repeats. “How’s ‘Rex’ connected to me? What’s so special about Leia there? And what war did you fight in that has you acting like a veteran?”

“Three years in the clone wars,” she whispers, glancing to Rex and forcing herself to not go for her sabers to defend against an attack that her paranoia says is coming and the Force says is not. “Then almost all the Jedi were wiped out at once, and I spent a year... drifting. Then black ops for the next fifteen.”

“Black ops,” he repeats, still damnably flat.

“There was a Sith Empire,” she says, and she can hear her own tone growing somehow emptier. “Glassing planets. Enslaving entire species. Committing genocides all over. Of course, there was a rebellion, and of course I joined it. I was one of the only people left with Jedi training. For all that I’d left the Order, I still had a duty to the universe.”

His eyes flit to Leia, who shrugs and tries to look prim. “I was adopted and raised by one of the founders of the rebellion, a movement built on the desire to instate freedom and democracy in a galaxy that had lost even the pretense.”

“That why you’re special?”

Leia smiles, thin and patronizing. It doesn’t fit on her little face. “I’m special because my biological father was one of the most powerful Force users in history, and his Fall to the dark side and choice to become a Sith is why the Emperor’s rise was nearly uncontested. I do not like power, but it’s in my veins and I can’t change that. Force users are... a lucrative trade, and I’m still the size of a child, so I can’t fight back. I’ll be safer in the Jedi Temple, even if I don’t want to be a Jedi.”

Fett looks to Ahsoka, makes to ask a question, and then shakes his head. Not the time, maybe.

“So, that’s all... very complicated and I don’t know how much of it I believe, but it doesn’t explain...” he trails off, and sighs. “My kid, or whatever you are. I heard you mention clones.”

Rex grins. It is not a kind expression.

“Let me tell you about Kamino.”

---------------------------

Ahsoka has no idea if Fett believes them. Either he thinks they’re telling the truth, or he thinks their delusional kids. Whatever the case, he offers to take them closer to the Core. Ahsoka quietly offers to take a look at his engine in return, and then pretends not to notice when Fett awkwardly drifts to and away from Rex.

“They put chips in our brains to make us kill the Jedi we respected, cared for, even loved. I tried to shoot ‘Soka, Fett. She was seventeen and risked her life to get that chip out of my head while I was trying to kill her. I have never hated myself more than when I woke up and realized what I’d almost done, and I was one of the few that were able to fight it. I heard the stories of dozens of brothers who woke with their chips having degraded and chose to eat their blaster rather than live with the guilt of the orders they’d followed without question because of a thrice-damned Sith slave chip in their head.”

“So no, I won’t call you father or acknowledge you as clan until you do something to prove you’re worth it, shared blood or not.”

What Ahsoka does get out of the arrangement, for all that Fett’s route mostly takes them on a meandering path that isn’t faster than their previous system, is sleep. She gets to rest. She gets to trust that Fett won’t kill Rex, out of guilt for something he hasn’t done, that he won’t kill Leia out of a worry that she’s just a delusional child, a real child, that he won’t kill ‘Sokari’ because it would ruin any chance of gaining Rex’s favor, ever.

She’s not safe, won’t believe she can be until she’s in the Temple and Sidious is dead dead dead, but she’s safer than she’s been in a long time.

Every night, Ahsoka wakes up and stumbles to the little galley, deaths and torture sparkling behind her eyes with the energy of a thousand lost Jedi, ten thousand mourned brothers and sisters.

She is not the only one of their little group to be a survivor of a near-total genocide, but Rex could not feel his brothers die in the Force, even if his nightmares featured what they heard of suicide missions by the emperor’s favored shock troopers, and Leia had... Alderaan had more off-world survivors than there had been Jedi at all.

It’s not worth comparing their pain. It’s stupid to even think it. Part of her can’t help but do it anyway.

“Caf?”

She feels a lek twitch in response to the voice of the only other person on board who can reach the top shelf. “I probably shouldn’t.”

“Whiskey?”

“That’s a definitely shouldn’t.”

“Hoth chocolate?”

“...please.”

She doesn’t lift her head from her arms until the mug clicks down in front of her, ceramic on plastisteel.

“Do I ask what it was this time?”

She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain to non-sensitives.”

“Try me anyway.”

Ahsoka twists the Hoth chocolate in her hands, takes a sip as she thinks. “The Force isn’t just one thing. It’s... energy and philosophy and spirit, a sense of being that ties the entire universe together. Sentient and inanimate and living and dead, empty space and lush forests and stifled cities. For those of us who are sensitive to it, it’s possible to feel the life of everyone around you, theoretically possible to feel entire systems. If you have a Force bond, like a master and padawan, that can stretch across planets, even systems if one or both are particularly powerful.

“So just... just imagine, for a moment, what it’s like to feel the screaming of all those Jedi in the Force as their trusted men shot them down.

“Some of them were close enough that I could feel them die,” she manages. “I... it’s horrible. It’s horrific. It’s not something I can ever forget, and I want to. I want to forget what that moment was like. Not that it happened, but...”

She can feel the tears. Fuck..

“You want to dull the edges.”

“Don’t we all?” she asks, scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. “Leia lost her entire planet, billions of people, and she was forced to watch. Rex... Force, I can barely imagine, and I was there for most of it.”

Fett watches her, measuring. “From what he said, they were as much your brothers as his, by the end.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “They could have been, maybe, but the ones I was closest to died earlier, and then I left, and by the time the Empire rose, all but a handful were... no. Rex, I will claim as a brother in all the ways that matter, but I don’t get to do that with the rest. I don’t have the right.”

“You’re hard on yourself.”

“Fate of the galaxy, my good bitch. Guess who’s got it on her shoulders.”

He snorts at her, and nods at the mug. “Drink your Hoth chocolate. We’re landing in eight hours, and you’ve got kids to look out for.”

---------------------------

There’s a twitch in the Force when they land, something pulling at her in a way she barely feels. She’s had her shields up so fully for so long that it’s natural to hide away what she is to the point where she can hardly tell what anyone else is, either. It takes more than a moment to remember how to let herself spread out across the world.

“Auntie ‘Soka? Why’d you stop?”

She doesn’t have an answer to Leia’s prodding question. “I don’t know.”

It’s almost familiar. Old and half-forgotten, not the same as what she remembers, but--

“This way,” she says, and wanders off into the crowd. Leia and Rex follow without question. Fett curses and rushes through the rest of his transaction with the docking attendant. The sound of him jogging after them is almost funny, with the armor, but she can’t focus on that.

Ahsoka slips between people with the ease of a career built on such a habit, children trailing like ducklings. She knows this feeling, she knows this person, what is she missi--

“Oh,” she breathes, going stock still. She knows that face. She knows those braids. She even knows the presence.

Younger than Ahsoka had ever seen her, but unmistakably Master Billaba.

“Torrent, what the hell?” Fett demands, finally catching up. “You can’t just run off like that!”

“It’s Depa,” she says, eyes still fixed on the woman parsing through a datapad with an irritated vendor. She has a padawan braid. It doesn’t feel like Master Windu is on-planet, so this might be a solo mission, a... oh. Senior Padawan, Knight Elect. This is the kind of mission taken to test if she’s ready to be promoted.

Ahsoka feels light-headed.

Fett waits for her to elaborate, but she can’t. This was Kanan’s master. This was a member of the High Council. This was a woman who died and--

“You need to sit down,” Fett says, not a touch gruff. He puts a hand on her shoulder and guides her off the main walkway. “I’m... going to talk to the woman in the Jedi robes. You three just stay there and don’t get kidnapped.”

Ahsoka nods, feeling like she’s not quite inhabiting her own body.

It’s Depa.

Her eyes track Fett without conscious control, and her montrals pick up the sound.

Depa looks up when the armor comes close enough, free hand tensed in a way that says she’s preventing herself from reaching for a saber in reaction to the heavily-armored individual standing several feet away.

“Mando,” the woman says. “May I help you?”

“Are you Depa?”

Depa doesn’t do anything so dramatic as gape or step back, but she does blink rapidly for a moment. She then folds her hands down in front of her, drawing her spine up ramrod straight. “I am Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, yes. May I ask why it is that you need to know?”

Ahsoka imagines Fett grimacing, or rolling his eyes, or maybe dithering. She can’t tell from this angle, and he has a helmet on besides. It turns his awkward silences into judgmental ones.

“I’ve had some Jedi kids on my ship, hitching a ride,” he says at length. “One of them recognized you and then just... froze.”

“You have our younglings in your care,” Depa says, carefully not accusatory, but close enough to be a warning.

“Not quite,” he says. “The one that actually came from the temple is seventeen. One of ‘em isn’t Force Sensitive, and the last one is but hasn’t been to Coruscant before. They’re trying to get the little one to the Temple for her own safety.”

Depa considers that, and then passes the datapad to the vendor. “Lead on.”

It’s surprisingly simple, really. Fett did all the talking.

And then Depa is standing right in front of her.

“Like I said,” Fett sighs. “She froze up.”

“Hello,” Depa says, hands laced together inside her sleeves. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ahsoka shakes her head. “I know of you. I’ve seen you spar. You’ve never spoken to me.”

All true. A little misleading, but it’s fine, it’s all fine.

Depa waits a moment, and then says, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“Sokari T-Torrent,” she manages. The words feel clunky in her mouth, the sound abrasive for all that it’s just her own voice, no different from usual. A little shaky, maybe. She can feel a cool breeze on her upper arms. Shouldn’t she have armor? She should have armor. “It... it’s been a long time since I’ve seen another Jedi. I’m having a hard time believing you’re real.”

“I see,” Depa says. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere more private? You seem a little unsteady.”

Ahsoka lets herself be led back to the ship, in the company of Mand’alor Jango Fett, Jedi Padawan Depa Billaba, Princess-General Leia Organa, and good old Captain Rex.

It’s like the start of a sick joke.

---------------------------

Fett and Depa talk where she can hear, but they rarely address her directly. Both seem to realize that she’s not particularly useful right now. Leia and Rex are pressing up against her at the little table in the galley, and Ahsoka lets them.

This is real. She can feel Depa in the Force, recognizes her energy even if it’s not quite what it will-was-could-have-been. This is happening.

It’s a textbook Traumatic Stress Response case, one of them says.

Fett has his helmet off. Ahsoka’s sure that’s wrong for some reason. She thinks he might already be on wanted lists. Should she worry about Depa trying to arrest him?

Depa asks about Rex at one point. Fett tells her that someone cloned him without his knowing, but the kid is more comfortable with Ahsoka so they’re still working on what that means for him.

It’s more or less true. Rex squeezes her hand the one time someone suggests separating them. She’s not letting that happen unless Rex wants to leave for whatever reason. They’ve worked apart before. They can do it again.

“Auntie Soka? You’re shivering.”

Is she?

Leia cuddles in closer, and Ahsoka runs a hand over her hair. It’s an absentminded motion, and for all that she knows Leia’s hair is fine as silk, it feels like plastic in the moment.

“I don’t think I’m okay,” Ahsoka announces. The words hang in the air like lead balloons, and she can feel Depa staring at her. “I haven’t been for a very long time.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Fett says. “Do you need to lay down, Torrent?”

Does she?

“No,” she says. “I... I don’t know what I need.”

“The spicy drink,” Rex tells them. “It’s grounding.”

Right. That.

Fett goes to grab it, and Depa continues to watch.

“How long ago did you leave your master?” Depa asks. “Or... did he die?”

Ahsoka closes her eyes and shakes her head. She can feel the shivers now, tremors in her biceps and a shudder she can’t control in the height of her ribcage. Her teeth grind together, jaw like stone.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Depa assures her. “I’m... going to recommend you see a mind healer on Coruscant.”

That was a forgone conclusion.

A cup clinks onto the table. Fett’s back. “Drink.”

She does.

Depa and Fett continue discussing it as “the adults” at the table. She’s older than both of them. Rex is older than all of them. Ahsoka follows about half of what they say. She agrees with most of it. Rex bullies his way into speaking when she doesn’t, without her even asking, because he knows her mind as well as she does. Fett rolls with it. Depa lets him.

She’s going to reach out to the Temple and see about getting them a ride back to Imperial Center Coruscant.

Fett makes Soka go to bed, taking Leia with her.

---------------------------

She feels more like a person come morning.

Depa’s sitting at the table, datapad in her hands and caff on the table in front of her.

“Good morning,” Ahsoka says, rough and croaking, and Depa’s eyes flick up to meet hers. She nods a shallow hello.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” Ahsoka says, and goes about gathering a breakfast. There’s definitely some dried meat in here. She can get something fresh when they stop by the market later.

“I was hoping to speak with you about your options,” Depa tells her, once she’s sat at the table. “Fett and your friend Rex took care of most of the negotiation, and I feel like I have an idea of what would work best for you.”

Ahsoka nods slowly. “Okay.”

“There is a Master-Padawan pair a few planets away,” Depa says. “The Council informed me when I spoke with them about you and your wards. They’d be headed back to the Temple in a few days anyway, and the Council has agreed to extend an offer to Fett to handle the transportation. The presence of a Jedi Master on board will allow for him to get in and out of the Core unmolested, and we’d like for you and yours to have a Jedi escort, given what happened yesterday afternoon.”

Her complete spiral into nonbeing?

“I understand,” she says instead. “I suppose Fett agreed because he’s still trying to get Rex to like him?”

Depa shrugs. “That part isn’t my business.”

Of course it isn’t.

“Rex can stay with me for a while, right?” Ahsoka finally asks. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but I’m...”

“In need of a support system until you’ve seen a mind healer, and against all odds, the child is part of it,” Depa summarizes. “Yes, I recognized as much. I think the Council will be able to allow some leeway there. I don’t know if he’ll enjoy it, given that all the others his age are Initiates, but we can adjust as necessary. On that note... Do you know Leia’s midichlorian count?”

“No,” Ahsoka says, and hesitantly adds, “But her biological father was my Jedi Master, and I’m told his count broke records even as a child. Given what Leia’s shown so far... it’s why I’ve been in a hurry to get her to the Temple.”

Depa frowns at her, clearly working through the implications of a Jedi having a daughter and still teaching... and then visibly dismisses the situation, eyes closing to breathe in the steam of her caff.

Biological father certainly implies a child that was raised by her mother or adopted out so the Jedi father could remain in their chosen career without a conflict of interest or duty.

She’ll tell the council the truth, or... at least Master Koon. Master Kenobi is still a padawan, but she can tell Master Koon.

She already told Jango Fett, of all people.

“Padawan Torrent?”

Her head snaps up. She hasn’t been a padawan in over fifteen years. It’s weird to hear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you wanted some time to think it over before I presented the offer to Fett,” Depa says.

Ahsoka gets the distinct feeling that Depa is planning a report to the Council that has ‘needs a mind healer’ underlined at least three times.

“No, I’m--I’m fine. That sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll speak with him, then. Would you like to come with?”

"No, thank you.”

---------------------------

Fett agrees. Ahsoka’s pretty sure it’s all to do with Rex and maybe Leia. It’s probably nothing to do with ‘Sokari.’ She’s a Jedi, an adult in mind and in body, or at least close enough to count. She’s a damn sight more ‘enemy’ to Fett than the other two are. Not as much as Depa, maybe, but Fett’s been playing nice with her for Leia’s sake.

He plays nice with Ahsoka for Rex’s. That’s all.

They’re only a few planets over from the meeting point, and they have a few days to hang around before the escort meets them. Depa hadn’t given them a name--apparently it could have compromised the opsec for the Jedi team--but Ahsoka’s pretty sure she’ll be able to identify almost anyone. She gets the feeling that the Force is going to send her a familiar face, just as it did Master Padawan Billaba.

Ahsoka lets herself feel the world around her. It’s dark and dreary, in the sense that the beaten-down port is full of petty crimes and less petty horrors, but it’s still lighter than most of the Empire had been. She sneaks away from the ship at night, ignoring Fett at her back, and performs a bit of vigilante justice while she can. She’ll be banned from doing so as soon as she’s reinstated as a Jedi, probably, but for now... for now, she can look at the drug cartels and ‘they’re not slaves, really’ workers and do something to help.

She doesn’t use her sabers. She doesn’t need to. It’s been a long time since she has, for small fry like these.

“What are you doing?” Fett asks her, landing heavily behind her back.

“Chip removal,” she says, hand pressed to the slave’s leg. Her eyes are closed, but she can hear him shifting. “Let me concentrate, I don’t have a meddroid for this.”

He’s silent until she finishes, and waits until the people she’s helped are on their way to the planet’s freedom routes. He doesn’t ask what she did with the owners.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Regularly,” she confirms. “You?”

He doesn’t answer that, just ambles over to the the chains and stares down at them.

“Fett?”

“You go through this like it’s as easy as breathing,” he says. “It’s... impressive.”

“I guess?” she hesitates to continue. “I’m... I don’t think of it that way. This is the easy stuff. A time-waster that helps people. If I wanted to help for real, I’d been going after Jabba or Sidious or--”

“How old were you?” he asks, turning on his heel to face her dead-on. The vocoder of his helmet pulls the emotion from his voice. “When did this... these missions, the slavery battles, when did that start for you?”

“Fourteen,” she says. She’s not entirely sure, really, what counted as a mission for ending slavery and what counted as just a part of war, but she can round down. “Maybe fifteen. It’s a bit of a blur.”

“And you just kept doing it.”

“Of course,” she says. “If I have the time and the energy, if I need to do something and there’s nothing official on my hands, why not?”

He doesn’t answer her.

---------------------------

Rex greets them before she does.

Ahsoka, in her defense, is asleep at the time. It’s a restless sleep, but it’s enough that she doesn’t sense the nearing Force signatures until they’re almost at the ship.

She recognizes one of them.

“Auntie ‘Soka?” Leia questions, when she lurches to her feet and starts pulling on her boots with all the energy of a zombie. “Where are you going?”

“Jedi,” Ahsoka grunts. “Here.”

“I see.”

Leia dresses to follow her, in a little coat that’ll withstand the chill of the outside air, and Ahsoka makes it to the cargo hold just in time to hear Rex saying, “I’m not shaking your hand until you put your gloves on, Vos.”

She laughs to herself, breathless with the knowledge of what she’s about to find. She jumps the railing of the upper walkway, drops down just in front of the Master-Padawan team, and keeps her back to Fett and Rex. “Hello, there.”

One human, one Kiffar. She knows the latter.

“Would you be Sokari Torrent?” the Master asks.

“I am,” she says, with a slight bow. She can tell there’s a bit of judgement for how she’s dressed, but they’re covering it well. A Shadow and his trainee know the value of armor better than most Jedi bother with. “I’m afraid Padawan Billaba didn’t inform me of your names before we met.”

“And yet your friend knew my padawan,” the Master says.

“By reputation,” she says, as smoothly as she can. “I’ve encountered Quinlan Vos before, though I doubt he remembers--”

“I’d remember someone like you,” Quinlan interrupts, with a grin she’s sure is meant to be charming and rogueish.

He’s... very young for her, and not her type. Mostly, she wants to pat him on the head, but that probably wouldn’t go over very well. She still looks like she’s younger than him.

“Anyway,” she says, turning back to the master, “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, Master.”

“I am Tholme,” he says, with the bow that a Master gives a Padawan. She feels a little slighted, but it’s fine. She looks the right age, it’s fine.

It’s not like they know.

“It’s nice to meet you, Master Tholme,” she says. “My charges are Rex Torrent, the young man behind me, and currently coming down the ladder is Leia Antilles. I’m sure you’re aware of Jango Fett.”

“The Mand’alor,” Quinlan volunteers, and Ahsoka can almost hear Fett’s teeth grinding.

“Don’t call me that,” he says. She’s sure he’s got a hand drifting for his blaster.

“There isn’t a whole lot of room on the ship,” she says before the men can get into whatever weird contest she’s sure someone might start. Her bet’s on Fett. “But Leia and Rex are small enough to share with me, so I’m sure we can make it work.”

“There’s spare rolls for anyone comfortable with sleeping in the hold,” Fett grunts. “Or on the floor in the passenger room.”

“Well, I guess I could ask for a little help fi--”

“Vos,” Ahsoka snaps, letting her voice take on the kind of ‘obey me or get fresher duty’ irritation that she’d perfected back when the rebellion still had her managing people, before they’d realized she was more use in the field. “Do not.”

There’s a moment’s pause, and Tholme looks unimpressed with that raised eyebrow, but the kind of unimpressed that’s split between his own padawan and the stranger before him.

“Um,” Quinlan says. “I just--”

“No,” she cuts him off. “No flirting.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable and she’d have maybe been okay with it if she was actually the seventeen-or-eighteen-ish(?) that she looked, but she’s not. She’s in her thirties and Vos is... what, twenty? Twenty-one? No.

He stares at her, and she wonders momentarily if she’d gone too far in the direction of judging his intentions in the Force and preempted actual flirtations.

“I’m sorry?” He offers, looking confused, but ashamed. “I, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She definitely preempted the actual flirtation.

Fuck.

Ahsoka closes her eyes and breathes in. Breathes out. Opens her eyes. “Right. That was... I’m not sure how much Padawan Billaba told you about me.”

“Enough,” Tholme says. He moves forward and puts a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. Ahsoka has no idea if it’s to comfort him or hold him back. “I didn’t share most of it with my padawan, but I have a general understanding of what’s going on.”

Quinlan darts a look at his teacher, but Ahsoka doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“Thank you for your understanding,” she says, and bows, and stiffly turns away to walk to the galley.

---------------------------

Leia squirms into the bench seat, shoving her way under Ahsoka’s arm like a particularly wriggly tooka.

“What was that?” Leia demands, the authority of a rebellion general rather useless in the squeaky voice of a child.

“What was what?”

“The whole thing with Padawan Vos,” Leia says. “You blew up at him before he even did anything.”

That’s pretty true.

“I felt the flirtation coming before it happened and reacted inappropriately because I panicked. I’m significantly older than him, but I can’t tell him that, so it’s just awkward and uncomfortable and... I’m not okay, Princess. I haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah, we can tell.”

“Leia.”

“What? I need therapy too! Captain Rex needs therapy! I’m pretty sure Fett needs therapy! You, Fulcrum, you really need therapy. None of us are okay.” She huffs, wiggling impossibly closer. “I don’t like it, but it’s true.”

“I know,” Ahsoka groans. “I just... I just need to hold out until the Temple.”

“Will you be able to hold it together if you see someone you actually care about?” Leia demands. “What are you going to do when you see Kenobi?”

“Stop.”

“I’m serious, you--”

“Leia, that’s enough,” she snaps. “I was fighting that war before you were even born, and I’ve dealt with the consequences since. I know the risks and I’ll thank you to remember who taught you to control your own mind.”

Leia stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. “That was uncalled for.”

“You’re not the child you appear to be,” Ahsoka reminds her, not a little sharply. “You want to dish it out, be ready to take it. What will you do when we see Bail Organa? When we see the toddler that is Anakin Skywalker?”

“I get it.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Ahsoka mutters. She isn’t surprised when Leia ducks out of the embrace and leaves the galley. She lets the girl go, guilt warring with the memory of how Master Kenobi had more than once spoken that way to Anakin at the height of the war. The fact that she’s an adult in the body of a child isn’t an excuse for poking at Ahsoka’s open wounds. It was cruel and unnecessary, and unbecoming of a... not a Jedi. A princess. A politician.

She rests her head on her arms and zones out. She should meditate, but that seems like... too much effort.

She can feel Vos and Tholme setting up in the room they’ve been assigned. Neither seems particularly angry. Most likely, Tholme’s given the absolute shortest explanation of ‘child soldier, dead master, highly traumatized and emotionally unstable’ to Vos to smooth over the incident in the cargo hold. Rex is with Leia; he’s agitated, but less so than Leia herself. Fett’s annoyed, in the cockpit, but he seems annoyed as often as not. There’s a shudder at lift-off, and a few minutes later, they’re in hyperspace, headed for the Core.

Fett finds her, falls into the other bench in full armor, and drops his elbows onto the table. The helmet clunks down a moment later.

She doesn’t lift her head. “What do you want?”

“Do I need to keep Vos away from you?”

“What?”

“Vos. He made you uncomfortable. Was that him being someone that hurt you in the future, or just the interaction being awkward?”

She lifts her head. She stares at him. “What?”

He leans back and crosses his arms. “Do you need me to tell Vos to stay the hell away from you?”

She’s gaping. “You realize I’m thirty-two, right? I can handle my own battles.”

“You’re also traumatized as hell and everyone can see it,” Fett argues back. “If Vos himself is a trigger, I can handle it.”

“He’s not,” she tells him. This is strange. Fett’s being strange. “He was actually a friend of my grandmaster’s. I’m just uncomfortable with the flirting because I’m a lot older than he realizes, and I can’t tell him that.”

He nods sharply, and then looks away. The silence sits.

“Thanks for asking?” Ahsoka says, well aware of how her confusion over the offer turns it into a question. “I mean, thank you for... caring.”

I guess, she finishes in the privacy of her own head. Or at least pretending to.

Fett makes a face, still not facing her. He eyes the galley instead. She can guess where his thoughts are going. The galley is... not very big, especially with six people on board instead of one, but she’s sure they’ve stocked up enough. On the off chance they do go through more than expected, because of how many growing bodies are in residence, they can stop off and buy more. They have those resources now.

Jango never does ask what she did with the slavers.

“Who’s going to cry if I spice things properly?” he asks.

“Probably Leia,” she says immediately. “Vos will try to power through it even though he’s going to be overwhelmed. No idea about Tholme, but I think he’ll keep a straight face whether he likes it or not. Rex and I are fine, ‘hot’ was pretty much the only flavor of seasoning the GAR had.”

“GAR?”

“Grand Army of the Republic.”

He finally looks at her.

“You already knew I was a child soldier, Fett; don’t act surprised.”

“That doesn’t mean I like hearing about it.”

“I was fourteen. That’s old enough by Mando standards, Fett. Just think back, when did you get on the battlefield?”

“I take your point,” he says, lip curling unpleasantly. “It just hits different now that I’m old enough to look back and think of how damned young fourteen really is.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Yeah, well--”

“You said the clones were ten.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it?

Of course it was about the clones.

“...closer to seven, by the end. Kamino was just making speedies at that point. Triple growth on the average instead of double, but averages in that case meant they’d been growing at double rates for six years and then got forced through four growth cycles in a single year to beef up the army when we kept losing men.” She looks down at the table, picking at a scratch in the plastipaint with her nail. “Rex and the rest of the ones from the beginning were basically twenty in mind and body, even if they’d only been decanted ten years earlier. The speedies... I always wondered. They’d gone from functionally twelve to functionally twenty in a year. That’s not... even in Kamino, that can’t have been normal. They didn’t act like adults, not the way the originals did.”

Fett rubs at his face, groaning. He swears under his breath in three different languages.

She pities him, if only because he hasn’t actually done any of this yet. He’s paying for the crimes of a man he likely won’t ever become.

She kicks him under the table. “Wanna make tiingilar and see how long it takes Vos to start crying while he insists it’s fine?”

---------------------------

Dinner is when the questions start. Some are relatively easy. Others, not so much.

“My Master was Leia’s biological father,” is an easy truth to share. “She inherited his power, so I need to get her to the temple for her own safety, because home no longer is.”

“Yes, her adoptive parents were unfortunately killed rather recently. We’d prefer not to talk about it.”

“Rex is with me. Where he goes, I go, and vice versa.”

That one gets her an odd look.

“I thought...” Quinlan trails off, gesturing between Rex and Fett.

Fett keeps his face impassive, but his discomfort and guilt leak into the Force. “I didn’t know Rex existed until I ran into these three in a spaceport cantina a few weeks ago.”

Quinlan blinks at him, looks at Rex again, and then turns back to Fett with a grin that might have been described as ‘saucy’ if he were less smug about it. “Wild oats, huh?”

“Are you shitting me right now,” Leia whispers, and Ahsoka elbows her.

“That was inappropriate, padawan.”

Quinlan’s grin fades as Fett just continues to eye him.

“Um, so--”

“How old is the kid?” Fett interrupts.

Darting eyes answer him, as Quinlan tries to gauge Rex. “Ten? Maybe twelve?”

“And how old am I?”

“...early thirties?”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

Quinlan’s grin fades further as he does the math.

“I’d have been between fifteen and seventeen when he was born,” Fett says, tone flat. “Between fourteen and sixteen at conception. I know damn well I wasn’t doing anything that could have resulted in a kid at that age.”

Quinlan rallies. “So, brothers?”

Tholme sighs loudly, hand over his eyes.

“I’m a clone,” Rex says, and Ahsoka can feel the amusement he gets out of Quinlan’s confused shock. They’d both had plenty of respect for Master Vos, but Padawan Vos was nothing but trouble. “Harvested genetic material, grown in a tube, inconsistent aging meaning I don’t even know how old I am for sure.”

“I broke him out,” Ahsoka adds, which is half true.

“There was a chip in my head,” Rex adds, with a bright smile. Quinlan’s discomfort grows. “She got it out. Also, lots of brothers. None of them are... around anymore. The creators were trying to make an army.”

Vos and Tholme have no response. Fett looks like he’s been carved out of stone. Leia’s just ignoring them and picking at her food.

Ahsoka lifts a hand and, without looking, Rex high-fives her.

---------------------------

“Drop your elbow.”

Ahsoka tries to cover her smile at the dirty look that Leia shoots Fett. Fett remains unimpressed by the glare of royalty, just gestures for the girl to do as he said.

“I know how to fight,” Leia grumbles. “I took lessons. I was good at them.”

“And I’m better,” Fett says, leaving no room for argument. “You want the Torrents to take over?”

The Torrents. Rex and Soka. She likes being referred to that way. Like they’re a team that never got split up.

Force, she wished they’d never gotten split up.

“Again,” Fett orders, and Leia moves through the Mandalorian kata with ill grace in her emotions and all grace in her sweeping limbs.

Well, as much grace as an undersized six-year-old can, at any rate.

“Think he’ll ask me to spar her again?” Rex asks, dropping down into the seat next to Ahsoka and passing her a drink.

“Maybe,” she acknowledges. “I think he’s wondering if it’s worth asking Vos to spar with her, so she gets more experience with size differences.”

“Hm?”

“She flinched at his face again,” she tells him. “The whole... thing with Boba, I guess. She still won’t tell me why Fett triggers her sometimes, but he’s not pressing her to spar with him, and there’s only so much she can get out of fighting me. Asking Tholme would be presumptuous, but Vos is just a padawan. I think it’d work out.”

“And you?”

She looks at him, already feeling a cresting wave of bullshit she doesn’t want to deal with. “What about me?”

“Are you going to spar with the Jedi?”

She should. She hasn’t sparred with a saber since she got tossed back into a body only half-familiar to her. She’s let Leia borrow the shorter one to learn some basic blocking moves, Shii-Cho and then, with hesitance, the first Soresu form. Another time, she loaned it to Rex to practice some attacks; they both know that the next time he picks up her saber in battle, having lost his weapons or she her grip, it will be neither the first or last time he wields a sword of light. None of that, however, is... sparring.

None of that is against someone who knows what they’re doing.

How long has it been since she sparred with anyone other than Kanan and Ezra?

How long has it been since she sparred without the looming specter of Darth Vader in the back of her mind, without fear of the Inquisitors, without the knowledge that any saber held by someone other than her two friends would be red as blood and twice as drenched.

Would she be able to hold back as she fought?

“I should,” she acknowledges, eyes on where Fett is nudging Leia’s feet into position for some kind of leveraging flip. She’s so small. “It would probably be a good idea to spar against a master at some point.”

“Do you think you can?” Rex asks.

“I never knew him,” she says. “And he isn’t Dark. It should be fine.”

Rex nods, taking her word for it. They watch as Leia stumbles on a final move, and Fett gestures for her to sit down and get a drink.

“That man is a terror,” she informs them.

(She’d once described him as a slave-driver. She had not made that mistake twice.)

“Least it’s not Kamino!” Rex tells her cheerfully. When Leia refuses to look impressed, he laughs at her.

Ahsoka has a half-second’s warning before heavy boots thud to the ground next to her. “What’s Kamino?”

“Hello, Vos, it’s nice to see you too,” she drawls. “I’m good, thanks for asking, and yourself?”

The boy-not-quite-man rolls his eyes. “Hi, Torrents; hi, tiny one.”

Leia glares at him next.

“So, Kamino?”

“Planet by Rishi,” Rex says.

“Why were you there?”

“They specialize in cloning.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth as the conversation drops into the same awkward gap that always happens when Quinlan stumbles into a subject he didn’t know to avoid.

“Like... you were made there, or you were researching how it works for your own--”

Ahsoka slaps a hand over his mouth. “Now’s a great time to stop talking.”

He licks her palm.

She bares her teeth and arches her fingers just enough to press nails into his cheek.

He bites at her palm, and she yanks her hand away.

“You’re all children,” Leia accuses, conveniently forgetting that Ahsoka and Rex are both over a decade older than her.

“I can throw you the length of a swimming pool,” Ahsoka tells her. “One of the fancy competition-ready ones that would make a Tatooinian cry. You are absolutely the child here.”

“Using the Force is cheating, sir,” Rex informs her.

“Only if there’s a competition,” Ahsoka shoots back. “And proving that a certain princess is a small child is not a competition. It’s a declarative fact.”

“I’m going to rip open the seams on all your tops except the ugliest one,” Leia decides.

“Try me,” Ahsoka challenges. “Adi’ka.”

A low, rough cough interrupts them. “Are you done?”

Fett has his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised. He knows they’re all adults here, and is entirely unamused. As the silence drags, the eyebrow climbs a little higher.

“Done with what?” Quinlan finally asks, thereby volunteering himself to spar in hand-to-hand with Jango Fett, as one does.

“Poor, poor Vos,” Rex laughs, watching as Fett barks out orders at Quinlan every five seconds to fix his footwork, to stop dropping his guard, to stop wasting energy on flips instead of just dodging the easy way.

“Throw him!” Ahsoka calls. To her delight, Fett obliges.

The thing is, Quinlan isn’t bad at brawling. He’s got training, endurance, skill. The man knows what he’s doing, objectively. He’s just not a match for Fett, and is used enough to relying on his saber that his hand-to-hand skills are rusty. They are perhaps less rusty than those Jedi who don’t take questionable jobs in the Mid-Outer Rim, and Ahsoka’s got a suspicion that Vos regularly gets into bar fights in his downtime, but none of that is enough for him to actually do more than survive against Fett without his saber.

Even the saber wouldn’t help, if Fett had his armor.

“Whose idea was this?”

Ahsoka cranes her head back and smiles. “Hello, Master Tholme. Vos... volunteered.”

“Did he know he was volunteering?”

“No comment.”

Tholme snorts, crossing his arms and eyeing the spar in front of him. “I thought Fett hated Jedi. Giving us a ride for the sake of you three is one thing, but why is he teaching my padawan?”

Ahsoka shrugs. “Constructive bullying?”

There’s a small twitch of a smile, quickly gone. “He said something wrong, I’m guessing?”

“There was no way he could have known,” she dismisses. “We’re just, like, ninety-percent tragic backstories.”

“You’d think the Force would warn him,” Rex notes.

“That’s not how the Force works,” Leia chides.

“No, no, he’s right,” Ahsoka corrects. “The Force does sometimes step in to stop a person from saying something stupid. However, Padawan Vos is at an age where people think they are very rational while being more irrational than they likely ever will be again.”

“Do I want to ask what you were doing at that age?” Tholme asks.

“Running bla...” she trails off, then whips around to gape at him.

He smiles, bland and unassuming. “Does Fett know?”

“Know... what?” Ahsoka asks.

“That you’re significantly older than you look,” he says, voice just low enough that the sparring duo can’t hear him. “All three of you.”

Ahsoka turns back to the spar, only catching Tholme out of the corner of her eye. “He knows.”

“Mm. Were you planning on telling the Council?”

“Yes.” That part was never in question. “How did you figure it out?”

“I am a good investigator,” he says. “And you rely a little too heavily on your physical forms to obfuscate. Were it just one of you, that wouldn’t be a problem, but the pattern repeated across three is a little easier to discern.”

“I hoped the whole ‘child soldiers’ thing would be a bigger distraction,” Ahsoka mutters. She glances at Leia and Rex. Both of them are used to being in charge to some degree, giving orders and making contingency plans, but in this... in this, Ahsoka is in charge. They’d decided that at the very start. It didn’t matter that Rex had lived longer and had more experience, or that Leia had held the highest Rebellion rank of the three of them. Ahsoka had been agreed as leader, and they were relying on her.

They’re waiting on her orders. Stiff and unhappy, in Leia’s case, but they trust her.

“Will you be telling Vos?” She asks.

“No,” Tholme says. “Your secrets remain your own unless they endanger us, and I’ve a feeling they won’t be.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Rex jokes, smile not reaching his eyes. “I’ve been working with this family for too long to trust that trouble won’t find them around the next corner.”

“This family?” Tholme repeats.

“Sokari was telling the truth about her master being Leia’s biological father,” Rex says. He shrugs. “I worked with him, with his wife, with both of his kids, with his master and his padawan. All of them, to a one, are trouble magnets.”

“Ah, but that’s not the secret that’s putting us in danger,” Tholme points out. “Simply existence as a Jedi.”

Rex shrugs. “Fair enough. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

Ahsoka lurches to her feet, turning with a smile and dancing backward into the the stretch of empty cargo hold they used for such things. “A spar, Master Tholme?”

He looks past her, to Quinlan, and raises a brow. “Would you not prefer to spar with someone a little closer to your level first?”

She barks out a laugh. “Master Tholme, I’m afraid I’ve spent more of my life fighting to survive than having normal friendly spars. My style is more lethal than the average, and you’ve already seen what war’s done to my mind. I ask to spar with you because, if I lose control, if I slip in time or react on an instinct that isn’t appropriate, I trust that you’ll be more able to stop me than a senior padawan.”

He smiles. “Yes, I gathered as much. Still, better to ask. Shall we wait for them to finish up?”

Ahsoka shrugs, turns, and yells. “Clear the deck!”

Rex snorts behind her, and lowly mutters, “Sir, yes, sir.”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “At ease, Captain.”

“That’s ‘Commander’ to you, I got promoted,” he sniffs, chin held high.

Heavy steps herald Fett’s arrival at their little group. “The hells are you doing?”

“I’m going to have a spar with a Jedi Master, and I want you and Vos to not get stabbed.”

“I’m not that easy to injure in an actual fight, let alone by accident,” Fett grouses. He looks up and over at Vos, who is already significantly taller, if a fair shot less built. “This one, on the other hand...”

“Hey!”

Ahsoka laughs and backs into the center of the cargo hold, drawing her sabers. “Don’t worry, Vos, I won’t play dirty. You’ll probably get your master back in one piece.”

He wrinkles his nose at her. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you? He’s a Jedi Master and former Watchman. You’re... what, eighteen?”

Ahsoka raises a brow and activates her sabers, tapping the blades together and watching as more than one person winces. “Wanna bet on how long I last?”

“No,” he says immediately, stepping back to join Rex on the bench. “You’ve already blindsided me enough. I’m not dumb enough to fall for whatever you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“I don’t have sleeves.”

“Armwarmers-slash-greaves, then.”

“Greaves go on the legs, these are vambraces.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m just going to stop talking now!”

“Good plan,” Leia snarks, and then literally hisses when Rex ruffles her hair.

Tholme lights his saber and sinks into an opening stance.

Ahsoka mirrors him.

---------------------------

She wins, but barely. She's had a few weeks to practice her forms, has sparred hands-only with Rex and Fett, but this is her first real try at using her sabers against a person, instead of a blaster or thin air, since she arrived in the past. She’s only mostly adjusted to her body.

But Tholme is a healer and a watchman, not a duelist. Ahsoka held her own against Ventress, against Grievous, against Maul when she was this age. Still adjusting to her body or not, her lineage is one of battle, and it bled true.

“You’re terrifying,” Quinlan tells her after they’re done, smiling like the sun as he hands her a towel. “Please never turn that on me.”

She laughs at him. “Would you believe that I’m out of practice?”

“Out of practice with what?” he asks, horrified and fascinated. “Fighting Sith Lords?”

“Among other things,” she says, and smirks when he chokes on his drink. “Multiple darkside users who claimed to be Sith, at least. One being a full Lord, one that was disowned by his master, and one that was apprenticed to a Banite apprentice, so she wasn’t technically allowed to be a Darth because of the rule of two.”

Tholme meets her eyes past Quinlan’s shoulder, head tilted and eyes half-shut in consideration. He’s taking her seriously. He knows what she’s not saying.

“How...” Quinlan trails off and shakes his head. “You know what, no. Asking you people questions never ends well.”

“Good plan,” Ahsoka says, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Also, you need to spar with Fett more. Your footwork is shit.”

“It is not,” Quinlan gripes. “You’re all just scary good at this stuff.”

“You mean surviving?” Leia pipes up, and smiles innocently when Quinlan turns to pout at her.

“You’re getting bullied by a six-year-old,” Rex informs him.

“Yeah,” Quinlan sighs. “I know.”

Ahsoka laughs, and it’s fine. It’s all fine. For a week, everything is honestly great. She trains, she laughs, she works through the nightmares.

Then fucking Denon happens.

---------------------------

Denon is a city-planet on the intersection of two major hyperlanes. It’s the kind of place where they stop for two things:

Fuel.

Paperwork.

Technically, there’s a whole mess of paperwork they have to fill out to continue along this specific hyperlane, since they aren’t official Republic ships, and don’t have the licenses to just pass along like ships that are pre-registered to the Trade Federation or the like. They could sneak past--literally all of them know smuggler’s routes--but it’s honestly less of a pain to do things legally. They have a Jedi Master. They have cash. Some of that cash wasn’t quite legally acquired, but nobody needs to know that.

It’s supposed to be a pit stop. That’s all.

It’s just a pit stop.

But no, the galaxy isn’t that kind and Ahsoka’s luck is currently being compounded with a Skywalker, two Fetts, and Vos, which means that of course they run into trouble. Of course they do. There was never any other option, was there?

“Motherfucker,” Ahsoka snaps, lifting her head up and slamming her drink on the table.

The glass is empty. That’s good. They’re in a restaurant right now, a little splurging after weeks with only each others’ company, and spilling the sugary child-friendly juice with that move would have drawn way too much attention from the servers.

“Language,” Tholme says, voice idly unconcerned.

“Sir?” Rex asks, kicking Ahsoka under the table. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wr--that jackass,” she hisses, getting to her feet. “Rex, grab a blaster, I’ve got shebs to kick.”

“Okay,” Rex says, grabbing one out of Fett’s holster and scooting out of the booth before anyone can tell him not to. “Whose?”

“I didn’t even know that he was... osik, I don’t have jurisdiction,” she realizes. “I don’t have any record of wrongdoing. I can’t arrest him since we don’t have evidence of criminal wrongdoing...”

“Are you two going to explain what’s going on?” Vos asks. “Or sit down, maybe?”

Ahsoka makes her decision. She eyes the window--the restaurant in question is a little dingy, but it’s also several dozen stories in the air. “Rex, remember the thing we did on Geonosis that you hated?”

He pauses, and then sighs heavily. “Yes, sir. I remember the... yeeting.”

Hah. That slang doesn’t even exist yet.

“Great. With me!”

It’s a good thing the windows are forcefields instead of transparisteel. A bit of a twist to the energy and they’re gone.

She only hears a little screaming before the wind tears all noises away while they plummet.

They land lightly--of course--and Ahsoka wraps them both in a don’t notice me aura. Nobody even notices that they’ve just come from above. It’s great that she can just Do These Things again, and get brushed off as Weird Jedi Shit, instead of worrying about the Empire. She’s missed being able to jump out of windows without fear.

Rex follows her as she starts running through the city. They don’t have comms, and he’s still so small, which means he can’t keep up with her even if she runs at normal speeds without Force enhancement.

“Should you carry me?” he asks, before she can figure out if it’s worth suggesting. She did it a few times before they joined up with Jango.

“It’s not... urgent, I think,” she says. She hesitates to speak, even as she keeps jogging with Rex at her heels. “Honestly, I’m trying to figure out if there’s anything I can ding him for so we can attack him. It’s all well and good that I can beat him right now, but all the crimes I know about haven’t happened yet, so it wouldn’t be legal...”

“Commander?”

“Hm?”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

She scrolls the conversation back mentally, considers, and says, “Oh.”

“Who’s getting steamrolled?”

“Uh, Maul’s here,” Ahsoka admits.

“Ah,” Rex says. He makes a face. “I understand the desire to jump out a window, now. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.”

Ahsoka laughs. “I mean, I just... every time I’ve seen him for almost twenty years, it’s been like... on sight, you know? We’ve never not attacked each other, except when I needed him to cause problems on Mandalore. But I always knew I was in the right, then.”

“So... what do we arrest him for?” Rex prompts.

“Um... carrying a lightsaber without a license?” she hazards. “We’ll need Tholme there. Hopefully I can just shout at him and he’ll attack me, but I think he only went full nutjob after Master Kenobi cut his legs off. He might be too controlled to try to kill me just for yelling at him.”

“...do we have to stalk him?” Rex asks, sounding like he’d most likely sigh if he weren’t mid-run.

She scoops him up and swings him around onto her back before she answers. “I think we have to stalk him, Rex’ika.”

“Don’t call me that.”

---------------------------

Maul is... exceptionally sneaky, actually. Either that, or he hasn’t done anything wrong yet. Ahsoka’s betting on the former, because she’s seen this particular skocha kung take over a planet before anyone realized he was the most dangerous person around.

Or maybe he’s just not committing crimes, and is in fact just here to buy groceries.

He’s examining a papaya.

She fantasizes about jumping across the market and greeting him with a heel to the cheekbone.

“Are you imagining a flying kick, Sir?”

“Yeah...”

“He’s examining a papaya, Sir.”

“I know...”

“Does he know we’re here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Do you think I should go hit him?”

“No.”

“Should I hit on him?”

“No, Sir. I would not advise that.”

“He’s looking at the neloms.”

“I can see that.”

“Why does he have to be so bo--did he just fucking bite a nelom?”

“It appears so, Sir.”

“Like... like rind and all. Just bit the little fucker.”

“Seems it.”

A scuff of metal. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

Ahsoka tips her head around to peer through the grate. “We’re spying, Fett, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Rex cranes his head. “We’re hanging upside-down from a fire escape to get a look at a suspected Sith Apprentice that is currently shopping for various fruits, Mand’alor.”

Ahsoka waves. “Hi, Master Tholme.”

“Sokari,” the master greets. “This seems a very conspicuous way to spy.”

She shrugs as well as she can from this angle. “Yes, but you see, this way’s more fun.”

“Is it now.”

Rex shifted. “He’s on the move!”

“To kill someone?!”

“No, to the deli meats.”

“Kriff.”

---------------------------

Apparently, Tholme and Fett had told Quinlan to take care of Leia, as Leia had wanted to finish her juice and refused to get involved in the Torrents’ nonsense. According to her, if they couldn’t be bothered to explain the nonsense, they didn’t need her.

This was true and accurate.

Quinlan shows up while they’re still stalking Maul, having moved to a low rooftop for a decent vantage point with less likelihood of being spotted. He’s giving Leia an eopie-back ride, and the pout on her face at needing it is adorable. She pouts harder when she sees them.

“Are you even trying to hide?” Leia scoffs.

“Not really,” Ahsoka admits. She’s got Fett’s binoculars out. “I’m not sure he’s caught wind of the fact that we’re here yet.”

“Or he has and he’s just biding his time to escape while we’re distracted,” Tholme points out.

“Meh,” Ahsoka says, avidly devouring the visual that is a teenage Maul glaring at leafy vegetables. “I just want him to do something so I have an excuse to beat his ass.”

“Do I get to know who?” Quinlan asks, setting Leia down on the roof. “Or are we going to keep being completely unwilling to share information?”

“Baby Sith Lord,” Ahsoka says. “He’s fifteen. A child.”

“A baby,” Rex agrees.

“You’re... that’s... ugh,” Quinlan groans as loudly and as dramatically as he dares, flopping down to the rooftop. “Master Tholme, please tell me this isn’t a real Sith.”

“He’s Dark,” Tholme confirms. “Sith is... up for debate until we have evidence.”

“He’s a bitch is what he is,” Ahsoka mutters. She observes the teenager in question stop to poke at some pink tomatoes. “E chu ta, break the law, already!”

“Does he have a lightsaber?” Quinlan asks. “If he has a lightsaber and no Jedi ID or specialty license, we can probably arrest him.”

“Auntie Soka doesn’t have a license or ID,” Leia points out.

“She’s got a Jedi escort,” Tholme says. “And if our supposed Sith is polite and plays nice, we can probably escort him to the Temple as well.”

Rex snorts derisively.

“Do you know why he’s on Denon?” Fett asks.

“No clue,” Ahsoka admits. “Evil reasons, probably.”

“You’re useless,” Leia tells her.

“Thanks, princess, how’s that attempt to open the jam jar by yourself coming?”

Leia says something very inappropriate for a princess, for a child, and for a lady. It’s fairly appropriate for a soldier, which is admittedly what she’s been for a few years now. Ahsoka sticks her tongue out at the girl like the mature operative she is.

“I wish we could still get him to lose his osik by just showing up and insulting him,” Rex mutters, low enough that Quinlan probably can’t hear.

“I wanna punch him in the face,” Ahsoka confesses. “I want him to try to punch me in the face, and fail.”

“Don’t bully the baby Sith,” Rex admonishes.

“He’s a Sith.”

“He’s fifteen, it’s tacky.”

“But it’s Maul.”

“I know, but you’re tw--significantly older than him.”

“But... but it’s the motherfucker himself.”

“...you can bully him a little, but only because he’s a Sith.”

Fett steals the binoculars. “You can borrow them again when you stop acting like children.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rex says, dry as Ryloth. “I’m ten.”

“Pretty tall for your age,” Ahsoka mutters, and then giggles.

“Don’t steal my jokes,” Rex says. He elbows her, hard.

“You know,” Quinlan says, slow and tired. “Master Tholme and I are trained investigators.”

Ahsoka and Rex look at each other, and then up at him.

“Okay?”

“...do you want me to find actual evidence of this guy doing something criminal?”

“Oh, yes please.”

---------------------------

Quinlan, as it turns out, is not overselling his skills. He does catch Maul doing something illegal later that day. It’s a little more ‘stealing corporate secrets in the dead of night’ and less ‘torturing people for kicks,’ but it’s still enough to legally arrest him. Quinlan attempts to do so.

Quinlan does not succeed, and is forced to jump out a window to avoid getting cut in half. Maul follows, steals a passing speeder by throwing out the driver, and takes off. Someone--looks like Tholme--drops back to save the driver, but the rest of them give chase. Ahsoka gleefully takes point on that, of course. She’s the best pilot.

(Rex looks bored, but someone is likely to puke by the end of the night. She hopes it’s not Leia, who insisted on coming for some fucking reason.)

“How the kriff is a teenager that good?!” Quinlan yells, clinging to the edge of the speeder to avoid getting tipped out as Ahsoka swerves around a corner with a wild laugh.

“He’s a Sith!” Leia shouts over the wind. “What do you think?”

Quinlan is not impressed by the claim of Sith.

Ahsoka screeches as she drifts across four lanes of traffic and into an alleyway to pursue Maul. He’s pretty good at dodging cross-building walkways, but she’s better. She bares her teeth, hissing, and tries to pick a plan.

“Vos, how’s your aim with Force throws?” She calls to the backseat.

“Uh, decent?”

“Great! Fett’s the projectile!”

Vos takes a second longer to process that than Jango does.

“I’m wh--”

He cuts off, screaming, and is flung forward by Quinlan to crash headfirst into a teenage Sith.

“Take the wheel!” Ahsoka commands, not waiting to see who follows the order, because Fett and Maul are both getting to their feet, the other speeder is about to crash, and she’s not sure who’s going to win that fight.

She jumps from the speeder they’ve been violently dragging around Denon, and lands feet-first on Maul’s... shoulder.

Hm.

That definitely dislocated something.

“You should wear armor!” she chirps at him, drawing both sabers and grinning as he whirls to face her, eyes wide with hate.

He’s utterly silent.

That’s disturbing. Expected, but disturbing.

“Did you just throw me?” Fett demands, higher pitched than she’d normally expect.

“No, Vos threw you.”

“Because you told him to!”

“Yeah, it’s a good strategy!”

“It is not!”

“Why not? Throwing people was standard practice in the GAR.”

She can’t see his face, but she’s pretty sure he’s about ready to strangle her.

Ahsoka cannot, at that point, continue snarking with the father of her best friend, because there’s a red lightsaber coming for her throat, and she should probably worry about that. Maul’s very good at killing people and she’d like to avoid becoming part of that statistic.

As she is quickly reminded, he is... fifteen. And shorter than she’s used to. And already injured.

It’s really, really easy to take him out, actually.

At some point, the other speeder was safely recovered before it caused property damage, and their own is landing a few meters away with Vos and the kids.

“You have Force-negating cuffs, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“No, Master Tholme has them.”

“Oh,” she says, and grimaces. “I guess I’ll just... keep sitting on him then.”

Maul snarls, and she raps him on the skull. “Stop that, it’s uncivilized.”

Rex snorts.

Jango makes a noise that is incredibly frustrated with the lot of them, and turns on Rex. “Was she telling the truth?”

“About?”

“Throwing people being standard practice for the GAR.”

Rex’s face goes pained. “It was in the five-oh-first. And a few others.”

“What’s the GAR?” Quinlan asks.

“None of your damn business,” Fett snaps.

Quinlan throws his hands up in the air again. “Come on! I just proved I know what I’m doing!”

“And their tragic backstory is none of your business, prudii!”

Quinlan blinks at him, and then glances at Ahsoka. “Um.”

“He called you a shadow since your training, um, seems to be pointing in that direction,” she says as carefully as she can. “We were theorizing.”

“Wh... you actually paid attention?” Quinlan asks, looking horribly confused. “I thought I was just annoying you.”

Ahsoka laughs at him. “Oh, Vos... I’ve been running black ops for... much longer than most would guess. Trust me, I know another spy when I see them.”

She smiles as kindly as she can, because she hadn’t actually meant to make him feel left out or unwanted or... well, she’d been pretty patronizing, especially for someone seemingly younger than him. The smile does not work. Quinlan just looks kind of horrified about how young she just implied she started spy work.

Granted, she’d been sixteen for Zygerria...

Deciding to ignore him for a bit, she shifts on Maul’s back and pats him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby Sith. We’re going to get you lots of nice therapy. Mind healers, no Sith tortures, all that fun stuff. Maybe some plushies.”

“You’re also getting therapy, right?” Quinlan asks. “Please say you are. I’m required for the specifics of my training and if anything you’ve said is true, I feel like you really need it and I’m scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Ahsoka laughs, knowing exactly how empty it sounds. “Oh hell, if I didn’t get therapy, I imagine Kix would rise from the grave to force me into it.”

The name means nothing to anyone except Rex, and... ah, yeah, she told Fett about Kix a few weeks ago.

“No more throwing me without warning,” Fett grumbles, dropping to sit on the ground next to her. “Especially not at baby Sith Lords.”

“I am not a child!” Maul spits.

“He speaks!” Ahsoka cheers. “Aw, I knew you could do it.”

“’Soka, I told you not to bully him,” Rex complains. “It’s tacky. You’re being tacky.”

“I’m allowed to be tacky,” Ahsoka declares. “I’ve died twice, that’s, like, permission from the universe.”

“You’ve died twice?” Quinlan asks, back in ‘fascinated horror’ territory. “Wait, no, I shouldn’t ask--”

“Too late! The first time was on a planet that doesn’t exist and my Master lost his mind, killed a god, and used the good favor of another god to have me brought back to life at her expense. Not in that order.”

“I--what? No, that’s--what?”

Ahsoka smiles brightly. “You asked.”

Tholme finally shows up with the cuffs.

---------------------------

“You should eat something.”

He glares at her.

“Baby Sith Lords need to eat.”

He keeps glaring at her.

“Maul, you’ll never get big and strong and ready to kill if you don’t eat your vegetables.”

He bares his teeth.

“No, I don’t eat my veggies, but I’m a Togruta, so if I eat too many vegetables I throw up.”

Rex kicks her thigh, right on the faulds. “What did I say about bullying the Sith Lord?”

“Not to.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Making him eat his vegetables.”

“Soka.”

“Rex’ika.”

He kicks at her again. “Get up, we’re swapping out the watch.”

“But I wanted to hang out with my favorite little criminal mastermind.”

Rex drops to the floor and presses his forehead to her shoulder. “How the hell is being around this guy the first thing to make you cheer up in weeks?”

“I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

“He’s going to bite you.”

“I’ll bite back.”

Rex jabs a finger into her ribs, and she squeaks. “Go get something to eat, Commander.”

“Fine,” she huffs, rolling to her feet and moseying along to the galley. She walks in on Tholme and Fett having an argument about the ways in which Jedi and Mandalorians differ. Quinlan’s on the side, watching with wide eyes, and little Leia’s drinking a juice box at his side, tucked up under his arm and occasionally saying things to fan the flames. Ahsoka assumes she’s enjoying herself.

She opens the cooling unit, looks over the contents, and pulls out a raw leg of eopie mutton. She leans against the counter, bites into the chilled-but-not-frozen meat, and uses the back of one hand to wipe the blood off her chin. The ‘real adults’ don’t notice.

“I’m like ninety percent sure you’re doing this to mess with me but also...” Quinlan trails off, staring at her with horror. “Why?”

“A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Yeah, but all the obligate carnivores I know are like... generally holding to basic rules of courtesy when it comes to not grossing people out,” Quinlan says. “Like, I don’t chew with my mouth open. You don’t... eat in the most intimidating--did you just crack the bone with your teeth?!”

Ahsoka smirks at him, using her free hand to take away the shard of bone so she can suck out the marrow without eating the bones themselves. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this isn’t polite society. We’re in a galley on a bounty hunter’s ship, and I’ve been living on the run or in an army for most of my life. Table manners are optional.”

“No, they’re not,” Leia orders. “Fett, it’s your ship, tell her to--”

“--and another thing!” Fett snaps at Tholme, clearly paying less than no attention to the food argument.

Ahsoka keeps on eating, trying to catch wind of where the discussion’s at. Mostly, it seems to be at ‘talking past each other.’ Neither of them seems to have fully grasped more than the absolute most basic parts of the other culture, and that’s only enough to insult each other, not actually have a constructive conversation. She’d have expected more out of Tholme, at least. He’s not exactly young.

“Hey, quick question,” she says, in a moment where both of them have paused for breath and the opportunity to seethe. “Fett, when’s the last time you worked with a Jedi, or any member of a Force-based religion, before I popped into your life?”

His nose scrunches up as he makes a face.

“And Tholme, when’s the last time you worked with anyone from the Mandalorian system?”

Tholme’s reaction isn’t any more gracious than Fett’s.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says. “Vos, were either of them actually interested in that conversation, or just looking for an excuse to yell?”

“Now listen here, jetiika--”

“Fett,” she snaps. “I am not a child.”

“And neither am I,” he growls right back. “This is my ship, and I damn well don’t need you treating me like a misbehaving youngling. You’ve got a problem, you bring it to my face, not get all smug about people’s tempers blowing over.”

Well, then.

She smiles thinly. “Of course.”

He stands with his arms crossed, in full armor save for the helmet. She puts aside the eopie meat and wipes her hands, smiling until she can put her hands on her hips and let it drop to a challenge.

“You know, I’m just--I’m just gonna go,” Quinlan mutters, pulling Leia out with him, the girl hanging from under one of his arms. “This, uh, this looks like a problem for... you folks. Um. Yeah.”

He sidles out.

Tholme doesn’t.

Fett rubs at the bridge of his nose, and then gestures at the table. “Sit.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

He drops his hand and glares at her. “We have another week on this ship together. We are going to have this conversation. Sit.”

She sits, right on the warm spot left behind by Quinlan and Leia. She crosses her arms, lifts a brow, and waits.

Fett takes the seat across from her. Tholme leans against the counter.

“We all know you’re older than you look,” Fett says. “I heard Tholme mention it, I know that much has been shared. You’re acting like an actual teenager, and I’ve... I’ve put up with a lot. I am trying to keep things civil, particularly with you. I’ve tried to be friendly. You’ve been fucked up since we met, fine, everyone’s got trauma. The thing where you’ve started talking shit to our faces for what seems like your own amusement? That has to stop. You’re older than me, Torrent. Fucking act like it.”

She blinks at him, slow and not exactly happy, and turns to Tholme.

The man shrugs. “I was planning to put up with it until we arrived to the temple and handed you over to some mind healers. Fett doesn’t have that kind of time.”

There’s a curdle in her stomach, defensive and angry and guilty.

“You’ve been... a bitch,” Fett finally says. “You know that. I’m not going to mince words. You’ve been holier-than-thou and rude and condescending, and aiming that at Antilles is one thing, when you’ve apparently known her since she was a toddler and taught her things. Aiming at the rest of us isn’t going to fly. We’re all adults trying to share a space. Stop acting like... just like you have been.”

There is no defense to be made that they aren’t both already aware of.

She closes her eyes and tries to strangle the burst of irrational rage.

Their accusations aren’t unfounded.

They deserve an apology.

She is in the wrong.

She’s felt freer than she had in years, and in that freedom allowed herself too much rein, let herself lace her words with barbed wires and poison instead of sparks and spices, comments that were cruel instead of just joking. Too familiar. Too comfortable.

“My behavior’s been inappropriate,” she finally says, the words clumsy and too big in her mouth. “You’re right about that. I’m sorry, and I’ll endeavor to keep a tighter rein on my less pleasant behaviors in the future.”

At least she only lashes out with words. It could be worse.

She opens her eyes, fixes her gaze on the wall behind Fett, wrestles her expression into stiff neutrality. “Am I dismissed?”

“...uh, no, not after that,” Fett says, sounding just a little horrified. “What the hell was that?”

Tholme hisses out a breath. “Let her go.”

“No, this needs to be discussed, that’s not a healthy rea--”

“Fett, let her go,” Tholme insists, low and heavy.

Fett looks between the two for a moment, seems to come to a realization he doesn’t like, and then gestures almost violently towards the door. “Fine. Go.”

She walks out, doesn’t sprint. She’s stiff. She’s controlled. She’s the one that fucked up, so it’s fine if she doesn’t feel great right now. Getting called out on one’s own failings as a person isn’t something to get upset about if the failings are real. The feelings are real and normal, but this was her fault, and so it’s up to her to fix it, and she can’t let them know it hurt her, because this was her mistake.

She goes to the cargo hold.

---------------------------

Ahsoka works out her frustrations on Fett’s punching bag. She does not augment herself with the Force, just uses raw strength and technique, ignoring the tears that press at her eyes.

She’s fine.

It’s not weird. It’s not odd. It’s not strange to not notice she’s been kind of a bitch since her mood came up with the whole Depa thing, and then Maul. She’s been mean, mostly to Vos and Fett, and nobody’s confronted her about it until now. They let her have room for her trauma, and she hadn’t reined it in. She’s just gotten worse.

‘Snippy’ she’d always been, but age apparently hadn’t fucking tempered it.

“Um.”

She catches the punching bag, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She hasn’t worked out all the twitchy, nervous energy yet.

“Vos,” she greets, once she’s caught herself enough that her voice won’t waver. He’s on the other side of the bag, but she knows his voice. “Do you need something?”

“You’re kind of... projecting,” he tells her, drifting to where she can actually see him. “Not self-loathing, but, um, recrimination? You just don’t feel very good and I was hoping to help”

Why in all the Sith hells does he have to be nice.

“I got called out on my behavior and wasn’t ready to face the fact that I’d kriffed up,” she tells him. “I’ll be fine. And I’m... sorry. I haven’t been fair to you and was using you as an easy target for some of my ruder comments.”

“I mean, I kind of figured,” he admits, coming closer. “I’ve been tutored by Shadows before, and a lot of them act like you. I just assumed it was more of that.”

“I still shouldn’t have let myself run loose like that,” she says. “I’m... it wasn’t appropriate. I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

He shrugs, not meeting her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she says. “Not with... not with you. Or anyone other than Rex and a mind healer, really. Most of it is...”

She trails off, distantly noticing that her eyes are tearing up enough to blur her vision, and her nails are digging into the bag in a way Fett won’t appreciate.

There’s so much that beat her down, never quite breaking her, that she doesn’t even know what made her act the way she does.

“Want to spar?”

She looks over at him, wonders what he sees that makes him want to fight her when she’s visibly unstable.

He smiles, kind and easy, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s genuine in intent, if not in energy. He wants to help. “You all keep saying I could work on my hand-to-hand. Just take off the armor so I don’t break a finger, maybe.”

“You’re serious.”

“No, I’m Quinlan.”

She’s going to wipe the floor with this boy. “You sure you wanna fight me?”

“You won’t be able to meditate until you do,” he says. He’s right, damn him. “The other option is that I go get your... vod, I think? I go get Rex and you two can talk it out since you trust him with more. I don’t want to do that, though, he’s still a kid.”

She eyes him, lips pressed together and mind awhirl with emotions and thoughts she’d tried to beat out of her head and into the bag. “Ever fought someone without the Force?”

“...yes?”

“Was it cuffs?”

“Oh, you meant me not having the Force,” he realizes. “Er, no. Is... is that something you’ve done a lot?”

She smiles at him. “You’re planning on Shadow work. That means getting captured and stripped of everything you are at some point, Force included. Unfortunately, the cuffs are in use on a very annoying Dathomirian right now, so we’ll have to make do with you shielding like your mind’s a Kessel Spice Mine.”

“...do I want to know how often you’ve been captured?”

“No, you don’t.”

When he comes at her, it’s easy to dodge. It’s easy to tap him on target points, little pokes that show she could take him out, but isn’t going to until he’s learned something. He stays grinning throughout, letting her take the lead, and he treats her like... like a knight. Like a teacher. He’s stepped back and gone from trying to impress her as a fellow padawan, to proving himself to a full knight.

She’s not sure when that change happened, or why or how, but it makes things much smoother. She wants to think that it would have even if she hadn’t gotten a wakeup call from Fett.

So she treats him the way she treated Ezra, for the year she’d spent traveling with Kanan. She treats him as a student that’s willing to learn, good but not yet great, competent but not yet ready to survive. She draws him into the kind of chest-heaving exhaustion that tells a fighter just how much energy they waste.

(Ahsoka may have had her own style, but her grandmaster had been the pinnacle of a Soresu user. She’d spent years on the frontlines of a war. She knew the worth of conserving energy, and she’d teach it to any who stepped in to challenge her.)

“Who taught you to fight like this?” He asks, when they’ve taken a handful of moments to circle each other. His steps are heavy, sure, planted. Her own are light and ready.

“Soldiers,” she says. It’s true enough.

“Not your Master?” he asks, just as he tries to kick for her upper arm. It’s a safe question. For anyone else, it would be a safe question.

But for Ahsoka, it’s another chink in the armor, after a maelstrom of emotion, a storm of self-loathing, a dervish of instability.

She doesn’t break right away.

She spirals. She fights Quinlan, but doesn’t quite see him. Her strikes get sloppy, her feet stumble. She can’t make herself meet Quinlan’s eyes, not when the scrape of his heel against the metal sounds like the rasp of a breathing machine. Her shields get fuzzy, she knows, and she leaks what she feels into the air, making it sour and thick. She doesn’t notice, because all she can see, all she can--all she can hear and feel and--

She drops to her knees and grabs at her head, trying to stop it.

“Sokari?”

She breathes. In and out, harsh and jagged but natural in a way that the damned respirator wasn’t.

Her master her teacher her brother the traitor the hound the executioner

Her face is hot. Something prickles. It might be tears.

She tries to say something, tries to say a name or a request, tries to make anything come out of her mouth that isn’t the broken wail of a woman who hasn’t let herself think about how she died.

She feels herself pulled into someone’s arms, and she can’t quite tell who, but they’re bigger than she is, and feel warm and worried. They care. They don’t understand, they’re scared, but they care.

Her hands shake, clutched to her chest and she can’t breathe she can’t make herself take in enough air to do a Force-damned thing the empire is going to feel her her shields are down and broken and her emotions are spilling and the empire is going to find HER ANAKIN IS GOING TO FIND HER AND--

“COMMANDER!”

Rex.

Rex is here.

Her breath is coming so fast that she’s hiccupping more than she’s actually inhaling. She feels small hands in gloves on either side of her face, and then her forehead presses to something warm.

Rex. A Keldabe kiss. Her brother, her partner, her other half. He’s here. He’s calm. If he’s calm, then things are fine.

“What happened?” Light voice, high voice, small and distant. Leia. Little Leia little princess Leia she’s in danger she’s in trouble Anakin will--

“Commander.”

No. Here and now. She needs to focus on here and now. Her throat feels cold. She breathes too fast, still. She can’t stop it.

“I don’t know.” That’s Vos. He was... they were doing something. He was here. Talking to her. “We were sparring, and she just--”

Right, sparring.

“I don’t know if I said something?” He offers, voice pitching up, unsure and worried. Is he the one holding her? He’s the one holding her. That’s embarrassing.

“Commander?” Rex prompts. “Commander, can you open your eyes?”

She tries. She can’t. She shakes her head.

“Soka?” he asks, voice quiet. “Where are you?”

“F-F-Fett,” she manages. It’s enough.

“And where were you?”

His voice is so soft. So worried. She held him the same way after Mandalore, after Order 66, after all his brothers, all her friends...

“Soka.”

Her mind is spinning, and suddenly all she can hear is Anakin Skywalker is dead. I destroyed him.

Her breath hitches, and she wails.

“Commander,” Rex tries again, but her head is a vortex of Then you will die and Perhaps this child and not the Jedi way.

Our long awaited meeting.

I destroyed him.

Then you will die.

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can only see that yellow eye that’s too familiar but belongs to a stranger can only hear a voice that shouldn’t exist can only mourn and break and--

“Soka?”

“Malachor,” she manages. “I--h-he--I died.”

“What did you say?” someone asks. A vod. It’s the right voice, almost, rough and business-like, not accusing anyone yet, and... and... no. No. Not one of her boys. It’s Fett.

“Um, right at the end? I asked her who taught her to fight like this,” Quinlan says, nervous. “And she said it was soldiers. And I joked, I asked that it wasn’t her Master, and she didn’t answer that. A couple minutes later, she just started...”

“Oh, Soka,” Rex whispers, pulling her closer. “Commander, just breathe with me.”

“H-h-he, he just--R-Rex, he j-just--and I c-c-couldn’t--”

“I know,” her captain whispers. “I know, just breathe with me.”

“He k-k-k-killed me,” she sobs, falling out of the Keldabe and into too-small arms. “I l-loved--he was my broth-ther and--and he just--he killed me, he didn’t even stop.”

“I know,” Rex whispers. “Soka, I know.”

Of course he does.

---------------------------

“It was just bad timing,” Rex says, once they’re in the room she’s been sharing with her little family, curled up under a blanket and watching the floor like it has all the secrets to how she lost her world three times over.

“Is there anything we need to keep in mind?” Fett asks, gruff and uncomfortable. She wonders if he’s angry that she took his necessary confrontation and turned it into this mess.

“Don’t bring up her Jedi Master,” Rex says, and pulls her in when she shivers. Her eyes squeeze shut before she can stop them, tears beading up again. “Just... don’t. It’s too soon.”

“He’s--”

“He Fell,” Ahsoka interrupts. “I thought he died, but he became a Sith. And fifteen years later, we ran into each other, and I refused to join him in the Dark, so he tried to kill me.”

Fett swears, low and muffled. She thinks he has a hand over his mouth.

Quin and Leia aren’t there. She thinks they’re keeping an eye on their Baby Sith prisoner. That’s good.

“Soka,” Rex whispers, and she buries her face in his shoulder. She’s too old to be this kind of mess. She’s thirty-two. She’s Fulcrum. She’s...

She’s in need of a lot of therapy.

“We can avoid the subject unless you bring it up,” Tholme promises. “Definitely until the Temple. Is there anything else we shouldn’t talk about?”

Ahsoka can practically feel Rex’s deadpan look. “Sir, we’re a trio of child soldiers ripped from everything we know. Every other sentence is a risk. We’re just... working our way through.”

There’s a knock at the door. Oh. Quin and Leia.

“Just figured we’d drop this off before we went down to visit Mr. Grumpy-Face,” Quinlan whispers. He still thinks Leia’s a child. He’s trying to make things less terrible for her. That’s nice. “We decided he’ll be less angry if he tries Hoth chocolate, and made some for everyone.”

They definitely made it for Ahsoka herself, and Maul was an afterthought. Still. It’s sweet.

“Commander?” Rex prompts, jostling her a little to try and get her to sit up.

“Gimme a sec,” she manages. It takes longer than it should to push herself away from him, to accept the mug that Leia gives her, too-serious worry in the furrow of her brow and the twist of her soul.

She doesn’t look six. She doesn’t even look twenty-two. This girl was always too old for her skin, forced to grow up in the hostile fear of the Empire.

“Thank you, Princess.”

She sips.

She can barely taste it beyond the ashes she imagines coating her tongue.

I destroyed him, her memory echoes. His slightest hesitation before he made the final move, it haunts her. She almost reached him. If only she’d tried harder, yelled louder, been better...

She shivers.

“Do you need help falling asleep?” Tholme asks. “I’m a regular healer, not a mind healer, but...”

She probably should.

She takes another sip of her drink, willing herself to taste it. It’s good. She likes it. She knows she does.

“Can you make it dreamless?” she whispers.

“It doesn’t always work, but I can try,” he tells her.

She nods. “When I finish the chocolate.”

“Of course.”

---------------------------

Everyone’s careful around her for days. The whole decision to be nicer doesn’t mean anything when she’s walking about in a daze of too few emotions, drained of everything she could feel in favor of a grey cloud of fluff in everything she does.

She does forms. Single saber and Jar’kai. Ataru and Djem so and Soresu. Reverse grip, regular grip, partial reverse on either side.

Again. Again. Again.

She loses herself in the motions, not meditating so much as just empty.

Rex worries. Fett worries. Vos worries.

Leia and Tholme keep their shields locked up tight, and she doesn’t know how they feel. She thinks Leia might be judging her. She think Tholme might be pitying.

Maul simply hates. It’s an old and familiar sensation to walk into, and she takes unthinking comfort in his rage. She’s silent instead of snippy, when she plays the role of guard, and they stare at each other in silence. His eyes burn, and she wonders how much he’s heard of her nightmares.

“You need to talk,” Rex tells her, when he finds her with a cold cup of caff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond it all. She lifts her head. “Soka.”

She just stares at him.

He sighs and pulls her into a hug. “Commander, please.”

She can’t.

Ahsoka stares at the wall behind him, resting her chin on his head. Her neck itches under the lek at the back of her head, a little tingle of a feeling that she can’t bring herself to do anything about. The pale light of the galley is sharp against the chipped paint of the metal that surrounds them. It hurts her eyes to look, but it’s not the deep and dark lit only by red--

Then you will die, her memory growls.

She flinches.

“Breathe,” Rex tells her, too-small hands clinging at her back. “Just breathe, ‘Soka.”

She curls in tighter and tries to just breathe.

---------------------------

“Tell me something good.”

Ahsoka blinks. She looks at Leia. She doesn’t have the energy to parse that.

Leia chances a look at Rex, who isn’t leaving Ahsoka’s side any more than he has to, and Fett on the other side. Tholme’s asleep and Quin’s on Baby Sith duty. It’s just people who know, right now.

The little girl across the table, the child senator, the spy, purses her lips and huffs in irritation. “You knew my biological father before he became one of the worst people in the galaxy. Both of you did. Tell me something good about him.”

Good things.

About Anakin.

“You fought a war as a Jedi,” Leia prompts. “Surely you must have done some good things with him, or at least thought you were.”

Did they?

Every mission ended in tragedy or was just a ploy of Palpatine’s. Every saved life was just...

Wait.

“He built Threepio,” she finally says. “Your father wi--I mean, Bail wiped Threepio’s memory after the Empire rose, for your safety, but Anakin was the one who built him.”

Leia sits up, eyes brighter. “I didn’t know that. I... was Artoo involved? Did he build R2D2, or...”

“No,” Rex says, “But Artoo was his favorite astromech, and they always pushed each other into stupid stunts. We risked a hell of a lot to save that droid, more than once, and I didn’t find out until you started working with the Rebellion full-time, but Artoo and Threepio were the witnesses for your bio-parents’ wedding.”

Leia gapes at him. So does Ahsoka. (Fett doesn’t know enough to care.)

Rex grins, and if it looks a little forced, that’s fine. “He had a holo recording. I was one of the few people left that knew about the marriage that might have wanted to see, so Artoo offered. It was... sweet.”

He waits, probably for Ahsoka to add something herself, but she has nothing.

“I think that’s when they swapped droids, since Threepio was more useful to a politician and Artoo did his best work when we set him loose on the enemy.”

“He never changed,” Leia muses. “Did he always swear that much?”

“Yes,” Ahsoka answers, as Rex laughs. “Always. All the binary I learned started with the best swears.”

She tries to think of another good memory, something else that Leia might appreciate. Her mind ticks back to saving Stinky, which is just a terrible option, because that mission started with Hutts and ended with the Battle of Teth. That massive loss of life, all for the son of the creature that had put Leia in chains.

She wonders if she has anything in her memory that doesn’t end in blood and graves.

“Soka.” Rex.

“Hm?”

“Remember that time Fives and Echo got lost in the undercity their first time on leave, and we had to get the General to help us find them?”

She does.

He’s right, that’s a good story.

“Okay, so what you have to understand,” Ahsoka says, already digging the faint details out and dusting them off, “is that these boys were ARC troopers, top-notch, terrifyingly competent once they got through specialty training, and loyal as hell. Echo had memorized the reg manuals front to back, and Fives was... well, Fives ended up being the only person to figure out the chips before they went into action. Point is, the Domino twins were good... eventually. Just like everyone else, though, they started out shiny.”

---------------------------

“Tholme’s hiding something.”

Ahsoka wonders if Leia will just leave if she ignores her enough. Probably not. This was the girl that got kicked out of boarding school for leading a sit-in at age seven. She’s got patience.

“His job requires him to hide a lot of things,” Ahsoka says instead. “Not as many as Vos will have to, eventually, but a lot.”

“He’s hiding something from us,” Leia insists, visibly frustrated that Ahsoka isn’t as upset about this as she is. “Something important.”

The way she says ‘important’ is clumsy and impacted by the missing baby tooth. She can’t say the r. It comes out as ‘im-poh-ten,’ which is adorable, and if Ahsoka comments on it, she’s probably going to get punched by a six-year-old.

“The Force doesn’t care,” Ahsoka says. “I trust his intentions, if not him as a person.”

“If you don’t trust him, then why trust his intentions?”

“Leia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I trust one and a half people in the galaxy,” Ahsoka points out. “Me not trusting a person isn’t a sign of anything except my paranoia. The only person I trust fully and without reservation is Rex. Even you, I only mostly trust, because my brain starts screaming if I think too hard. That’s why you’re the half.”

“Okay, whatever, paranoia aside,” Leia barrels on, “He should tell us. Whatever it is that he’s hiding, we deserve to know. We’re not children that he can just hide things from for our own good.”

Ahsoka presses her lips together. “Leia. Princess. I know you’re used to holding all the cards--”

“This isn’t about me being a control freak!”

“It is, though,” Ahsoka soothes, and smiles. “Your mother--the bio one--was the same way. You spent years as one of the leaders of the Rebellion, so obviously you’re used to having all the information, and people reporting to you... but Tholme is a Jedi Master. He reports to the Council and the Republic. Do you know how many people I kept secrets from while I was a padawan? We’re an unknown, Leia. They have no proof that we’re on their side, especially since we’re traveling with Fett.”

Leia crosses her arms and glares as hard as she can.

“I’m not going to bother him,” Ahsoka says. “I’ve already had, like, five unrelated mental breakdowns. I’m putting this on hold until we get to the Temple and I can trust that there’s a healer on hand to sedate me or something.”

“You... want to be sedated?”

“Leia, this... really should be obvious, but a Force-Sensitive losing their osik the way I have been isn’t actually safe. I know I broke a weapons rack last week.” Ahsoka gestures vaguely. “If the Jedi Master isn’t telling me something for reasons that might relate to my clear and obvious mental instability, I’m going to assume he’s got a point.”

“So he should tell me or Rex.”

“We’ll be on Coruscant in four days,” Ahsoka soothes. “Just... let it be. They won’t hurt us.”

“You don’t know that.”

Ahsoka shrugs. “I don’t have to. The Force leads me in all things, including this.”

Leia isn’t impressed by that, but Leia isn’t impressed by much in the first place.

She strides off in a fit that is, perhaps, more influenced by her six-year-old emotional control than she’d like to admit. Ahsoka lets her. It’s not worth the argument.

It’s only a few minutes later that Fett strides in, takes the seat Leia was just in, and asks, “What would it take for you to teach me how to use a jetii’kad?”

She blinks at him. “You want to learn how to use a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Viszla.”

“I see.”

She does.

Ahsoka taps her fingers against the table, eyeing him with the kind of interest she copied from Master Kenobi, years ago. Fett doesn’t fidget, but she thinks he might want to. He just looks back, waiting for her judgement.

“You’ll need to justify it,” she finally says. “It’s a significant difference from what you actually did, so I need to know your reasoning for doing it, and your plans for once it’s done.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s step one,” she corrects. She tilts her head, considering. “My standards for you aren’t built in a vacuum, and you know that. Explain to me what you plan to do and how you plan to do it, and if I approve...”

“You’ll help me achieve it.”

“Maybe,” she allows. “A lot of that depends on Rex.”

“I expected as much,” Fett says. “He is... an admittedly large part of the reason.”

“He would be,” she says. She gives the silence a few more seconds to sit awkwardly between them, and then stands up. “I’d guess you’ve been brainstorming already. Do you have it written down or is it mostly just in your head so far?”

“I’m still... debating options, so to speak.”

She grins, and the shape of the predator’s smile, the baring of teeth... that almost makes him step back. She can see it in the twitch of his muscles. Smart man.

“Follow me,” she says, and doesn’t wait for him to stand. She strides out with tooka-light steps, hears the heavy beskar tread behind her, and goes to the cargo hold. Fett’s confusion grows tangibly behind her, especially when she tosses him a wooden quarterstaff. She picks up the other and spins it in one hand.

“You’re going to fight me,” she tells him, stretching and letting the staff help with the process. “And while we fight, you’re going to tell me what your plans for Mandalore are.”

He mimics her, but there’s a frown on his face. “And why staffs?”

“You and I, we’ve only sparred bare-handed,” she says. “I need a feel for how you fight with a weapon anyway. These are a good start.”

“Not the beskad?”

She grins, and the twitch is back. “No. That can wait. We start with the staffs.”

He takes a stance, and she mirrors him. She lets him strike first with a weapon, but she’s the one that asks all the questions.

(He is the only one on the ship that can fight her one-on-one right now, and he can win. Still, she makes him work for every inch, and what she doesn’t win in bruises, she wins in words.)

(Fett might yet be a proper Mand’alor, but Ahsoka learned war from her brothers, negotiation at the knee of a general and in the shadow of a prince, and government at the side of duchesses and queens.)

(If he wants her help uniting his people, he needs to prove that he can hold them together once she’s gone.)

---------------------------

Ahsoka’s interrogation of Jango’s plans is thorough, and she’s not the only one involved. She brings Leia in, and has her join in on the grilling. She maybe laughs as the twenty-seven-year-old survivor of Galidraan, the Mand’alor, a man who has killed Master Jedi with his bare hands, gets lectured on various government structures by a tiny girl that's missing several teeth and needs to sit on books to see the table properly.

Still, Leia knows this better than any of the rest of them do. The girl might have grown up heir to a monarchy, but she got a classical education and was drilled on democracy and all associated forms of government. Where Ahsoka knows military protocol and law enforcement, intersystem relations and defensive measures, Leia knows agricultural subsidies and welfare programs, infrastructure and education.

Ahsoka may know how to find out if someone’s breaking a zoning law, but Leia knows why it exists in the first place.

“And I grew up in a cult,” Rex says, when an argument on that topic breaks out. Everyone that hasn’t heard the joke-that-isn’t-a-joke stares at him. “The Jedi grew up in a religious meritocracy; Leia grew up in a monarchy; and I grew up in a cult.”

Ahsoka elbows him. He’s not wrong, but still.

Unfortunately, Ahsoka is about forty-seven percent sure that Leia will put her foot in her mouth when it comes to Mandalorian culture, blunt as the girl is. That prefrontal cortex isn’t anywhere near as developed as it should be, either, so impulse control for the princess isn’t great. Ahsoka refuses to let Leia and Fett talk about ways to mend the breaks between tradition and the pacifism of the New Mandalorians without either Rex or Ahsoka herself as a mediating presence. Tholme sits in a few times, but while he knows that Leia isn’t really six--though not about the time-travel, yet--Quinlan doesn’t.

They admittedly end up doing this while he’s on Maul-sitting duty.

“It’s like he doesn’t even care about making nice with the people that, at this point, make up the majority of his people!” Leia grumbles one night, as Ahsoka kicks over a step stool so the girl can brush her teeth. “He may not like the New Mandalorians, but from what I understand, it’s still early enough to prevent the majority of the cultural bleaching you brought up. If he stays this stubborn--”

“Leia,” Ahsoka says, and the girl’s mouth snaps shut. “I’m aware of your reasons for not trusting his intentions. But if I may say? Chill.”

“He’s not even trying!”

“He’s trying a hell of a lot harder than he did in the original timeline,” Ahsoka reminds her. “Brush your teeth.”

“I’m not a--”

“Teeth.”

It’s a little worrying, how the child’s brain affects Leia, but... well. That’ll pass in time, hopefully. Until then, Ahsoka gets to be the aunt she should have been. This includes tucking Leia in, which the girl grumbles about despite the fond waves of comfort that enter the Force around her. Ahsoka doesn’t call her out on it, just brushes back wisps of hair to plant a kiss on Leia’s forehead, and then does the same once Rex stumbles in, grumbling about the limitations of a cadet’s body, but far more ready to follow the protocol that is bedtime.

Rex doesn’t pretend to not like getting tucked in, for all that he’s sharing with a grumbly, already-asleep princess. He smiles up at Ahsoka, lets her hug him, and pretends they can be a normal family for five seconds.

Quinlan’s making a late night snack for himself in the galley. Tholme is guarding the Baby Sith. Fett...

Ahsoka goes to the cockpit, takes the copilot’s seat, and watches hyperspace pass them by.

It takes long minutes before either of them say anything.

“Do Jedi believe in souls?”

His shields are up, locked up tighter than the innermost chambers of the Imperial Palace. She has no idea where he’s taking this question. She has to cast about for an answer.

“That depends on how you define a soul,” she finally says. “Leia told me about Force Ghosts. A Jedi Master who underwent the right meditations and training could pass into the Force upon their death without losing their sense of self. They could remain themselves, to an extent, and interact with force-sensitive individuals. I don’t know if they could last that way indefinitely, but depending on your definition, I could argue those ghosts were evidence of a form of soul.”

“So you believe that the dead pass into the Force, but that what passes could be a soul. Something must exist for a sense of self to disappear at death in a way that impacts the Force as you understand it, and many would use the word ‘soul’ for that something.”

“Mm,” Ahsoka considers it. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate. You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“What about those not yet born?”

Her fingers feel cold, and she finds herself no longer able to watch the passage of hyperspace as passively as she had, and her eyes catch on streaks and motes of what is not dust, her vision unable to keep any more still than her heart.

“Oh,” she hears herself say. “The clones.”

It’s a long time before he answers, but the walls come down. He carries a confused sort of grief with him, guilty and a mite resentful. His questions have been building for longer than she’d thought. His voice is rough. “I’ve taken plenty of lives, but I’ve never known the name of someone I erased from existence before they were even born.”

“The stories we told Leia about the brothers.”

There’s a grunt of agreement from Fett, so those dots at least connect.

“I take it my answer wasn’t helpful,” she manages to say.

“Will they still exist?” Fett asks. “Will they be born elsewhere? Or is... is a soul something that only comes into existence after the body does?”

“I have no idea,” Ahsoka admits. “I want... I want to think that I’d be able to find them eventually, to recognize them, if their souls are still born into this world elsewhere.”

“And if your Sith finds someone else to build his army out of?”

Ahsoka looks at him, sharp and pointed. “You wouldn’t.”

“They’ll be doing it anyway, if their plans are as ironclad as you say.”

“You’re already associating with Jedi,” Ahsoka says, fighting the urge to break his nose. “They wouldn’t approach you, not now. They can’t leverage your anger against you. They won’t know everything, but they’ll know that you have friends among the Jedi.”

“You think they can’t come up with better lies?”

He has a point. He has more than one point and she hate hate hates it.

A Jedi does not hate.

I am no Jedi.

“You’re going to have to convince me,” she says. “Especially if you want to somehow balance this with the darksaber thing. I won’t teach you how to fight with it if you’re not planning to retake Mandalore.”

“That’s how they’d sell it,” he says. “Retaking Mandalore. An army ostensibly for the Jedi, and ultimately...”

“You’d build an army of slaves.”

“No, I’d be the inside man for when they build that army anyway.”

She holds his gaze. She looks away first.

“Torrent?”

“I’m thinking.”

He lets her.

“I’ll need to talk to Rex. Probably Leia.”

“Understandable.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I’m only just considering it. It’s an idea, not a plan.”

“That’s the only reason I haven’t ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

“Hyperbole doesn’t suit you.”

She glares at him, and leaves, her mind chopping up and laying out every possible angle on Fett volunteering to do the exact same thing as last time, but somehow worse.

Great. Just what she needed.

---------------------------

Ahsoka isn’t there for the shouting match between Rex and Fett, but she doesn’t have to be. She can hear it form clear across the ship, and Rex comes to her afterwars. He’s been crying, which isn’t as surprising as it could be. These bodies are still prone to such things, and will be for years. She doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“We need to take out Sidious before he starts anything on Kamino.”

“Agreed,” she says. “It’ll be hard, though.”

“I don’t care.”

“What did Fett say?”

“That if it wasn’t going to be my brothers, it would be someone else’s. Either we stopped the cloning from happening at all, or we mitigated damage by being there.”

“I don’t think Sidious is going to tap him for it,” Ahsoka admits. “Not unless you’re willing to stage that kind of fight publicly enough for Fett to claim the Jedi poisoned you, family, against him. It could work, but it’s a gamble.”

He knows all of this.

“I miss them,” he says, and she cards her fingers though the curls he’s managed to grow in the past weeks. “I just... even at the end, I had Wolffe. I knew Boba was out there; I wouldn’t be surprised if the beskar let him survive a Sarlacc. I had brothers. Not as many as I used to, but there was always someone. I miss them all, so much it hurts.”

“It wouldn’t be them,” she reminds him. She pulls him closer, puts her cheek to his head. “It would be the same process, the same faces, the same training, even, but the boys themselves...”

He clings to her and shudders.

“Rex?”

“I can’t force them to grow up the way I did. I want them back. Sidious is going to make the army no matter what. Someone’s going to suffer, and I don’t want it to be my brothers, but they won’t exist otherwise, and...”

“And it’s an impossible choice,” she summarizes. “And it sucks.”

“It’s sucks Gungan balls, ‘Soka.”

She laughs, and feels him smile against her shoulder. Good. He needs to smile more.

“He’s still trying to get me to like him,” Rex says. "He’s still making an effort, and he never did that for anyone except Boba, and it’s weird. I don’t know what to do with any of that.”

“Gain a brother,” Ahsoka whispers, and she feels him jerk against her. “If that’s what you want.”

“He’s not vod.”

“Same blood as all the rest, and you’re older than him, so he’s not really in a position to be a parent to you like he was to Boba,” she says carefully. “You don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to, but... I think he’s trying. I think this means a lot to him, and that he isn’t any more sure of what to do than you are. You don’t have to forgive him for what he did in the future, you don’t have to accept when he reaches out, you don’t have to ever talk to him again after we reach Coruscant if you don’t want, but I think... I think it’s worth at least considering what you have to gain. I think it’s worth looking at what he’s trying to give you.”

Rex huffs. “Why couldn’t he just be the shabuir I knew in training?”

“Something happened between now and then?” she offers. “I don’t know. I never met him in the original timeline. I just know the guy that keeps trying to get on my good side so you’ll like him.”

He outright scoffs. “Soka, that’s not the only reason he’s trying to get on your good side.”

“...I’m a former Jedi who talks trash to his face,” she says slowly. “And I cried on him. There is no reason for him to be nice to me, other than you.”

“He thinks you’re cool and a good person and wants you to be his friend.”

“Bantha poodoo.”

Rex grins in a way that goes straight to smirking. “Soka, I’m not joking. Jango Fett wants you to be his friend.”

“Kriffing why?” she asks, more than a little horrified. “I’m a mess, look like I’m ten years younger than him, have gleefully kicked his ass in front of an audience; I even told Vos to throw him at a baby Sith Lord. Putting up with me is one thing, but I’m... I’m only barely not a Jedi. I’m a historical enemy of Mandalore, and part of the community he hates more than anything, and--”

“And his reaction to you kicking his ass was pure Mando,” Rex says. “In that he now thinks you’re a badass, and thus worth being friends with.”

“I can’t believe that. I physically cannot.”

“Soka, just accept it. The Mand’alor wants to be friends with you.” He scratches at his scalp. “I mean, he met you while you were protecting what appeared to be children, and it’s apparently still early enough for him to care about that.”

She leans back in her seat, eyes on the wall ahead of her and back against the cool metal of the other side. Rex falls back with her. She wonders if Rex changed the subject so they didn’t have to talk about deciding how many of his brothers get to exist, and whether or not he can swallow the bitterness of his history to have a connection with at least one member of his blood. She doesn’t ask. If he wants to change the subject, that’s his right.

“I don’t... no.” She denies it as well as she can, and then the implications dig a little deeper. “Is this me accidentally signing up to be the Jedi Order’s official liaison to the Mand’alor?”

“I mean, this point in time... they’ve got Kenobi for the Duchess, yeah?” Rex shrugs. “Good relations with the system are probably a good thing, and you’ve got a stronger connection than Tholme and Vos.”

“Ugh,” she says. She rubs a hand against her head, and then lurches to her feet. “Fine! Fine. If it’ll get him to retake Mandalore before the Sith decide to bribe him with an army he doesn’t get to keep, I’ll teach him how to fight for the kriffin’ Darksaber.”

“That’s what makes the decision for you?”

“Well something had to!”

They only get one lesson in before Coruscant, but the lesson lasts a full day, and Ahsoka’s got his comm number. Fett’s a quick learner anyway, and Tholme was there to give pointers where Ahsoka couldn’t.

He won’t measure up to a Jedi in saber-to-saber combat, but he doesn’t need to. He just needs to learn enough to turn all those skills with a beskad to something that works with a jetii’kad.

(The balance of a saber is wrong to those used to a physical weapon. The inertia doesn’t work the way anyone expects. There’s no need to worry about damaging the blade.)

(Fett is good. Ahsoka is better. And, bless his heart, he knows it.)

(She will mold him into the shape of someone who not only can, but should rule a system with a history like that, and he damn well knows that too.)

---------------------------

“Dropping out of hyperspace in T-minus twenty seconds.”

The Slave I is not, in fact, a Venator-class starship, or anything else near the size and smoothness of the ships that Ahsoka grew up on. This is a bounty hunter’s vessel, and the drop to real space jolts like nothing else. Ahsoka’s in the copilot seat for the return, but Tholme’s going to swap with her as soon as they’ve got confirmation that there were no problems with exiting hyperspace, and nobody’s shooting at them.

“We’re not going to get shot at,” Tholme had assured her.

“I always get shot at,” she’d told him.

“I have our clearance,” he reminded her, seeming more amused than frustrated. “There’s no need to worry about getting shot at.”

“I also always get shot at,” Jango had thrown in.

“Okay,” Tholme had allowed, after several minutes of his trust in the Temple warring against Ahsoka and Jango’s learned paranoia. The looks Quinlan had darted around the room when Leia and Rex also claimed ‘chronic getting-shot-at disease’ had been a treat. The paranoia of a Watchman and a future Shadow was great, but the paranoia of three revolutionaries and a galaxy-wide criminal was greater. “You can take us in close enough to get in radio contact, but the second we have to ask for clearance and a vector, I’m in the seat.”

She’d agreed, of course. She was paranoid, not inexperienced.

“We’re much less likely to get shot down by ground control if you tell them we’re with you,” she’d said, to his hilariously apparent metaphysical exhaustion. “Obviously.”

“Good enough,” he’d sighed.

What that means is mostly just that Ahsoka gets to watch the distant star at the center of Coruscant’s system grow rapidly brighter. She can pick out the constellations she’d grown up with, the stars the creche had projected on the ceiling every night, the ones that she may not have seen from the surface, but had greeted her and then sent her on her way every time she left on yet another campaign that lost her men their lives for a Sith Lord's wretched plans. These were the shapes and stories she’d never seen again as Fulcrum, a woman so hunted that to come within a dozen subsectors of the planet was to court her death.

For sixteen years, she hadn’t ventured closer than Alderaan, save for a single trip to Chandrila.

And now, maybe twenty minutes away at this speed, was the Temple. It was home.

A home that didn’t know her, that had sentenced her to death, that had hosted the rampage of her former master... but home nonetheless.

“Stable?” Fett grunts.

“Thrusters are good,” she confirms.

“I meant you.”

Ah. “I’m... fine. As good as I could be, anyway.”

She hesitates, but manages to speak before he does. “You?”

“I’m not the one walking into an entire building of triggers.”

“Only because you’re not entering it,” she says. “It’s the home of your ancestral enemies who, bad info or no, killed off a whole lot of your friends.”

“I get to leave,” he says. “You don’t.”

She plans to needle him a bit more, maybe on something a little less based in both their traumas. She needs to talk, if only to fill up the silence and keep herself from reaching out to all the lights in the Force. It’ll be too much, she knows.

Tholme enters the cockpit. “Change of plans.”

“Better be a good reason,” Jango says, voice flat.

“Leia’s crying.”

Ahsoka’s unbuckling herself before she can process the words fully. “What?”

Leia doesn’t cry for no reason. Her emotional control is as difficult as the body makes it, but she doesn’t just cry. There’s always a cause.

“I don’t know. Rex said to get you,” Tholme explains. “She was saying a name. He seemed to recognize it.”

Not good not good not good. If Leia was feeling the Emper--No. She cuts the thought off there. No catastrophizing. Information first.

“What name.”

“Luke. Mean anything to--and she’s gone.”

Ahsoka ignores him, just sprints to where she knows the ‘young ones’ are. They’re all in Maul’s room, because nobody wants to be alone with him now, but it’s the worst time to leave him without supervision. It’s not the worst option; he mostly refuses to talk, still.

This holds true, because he definitely isn’t talking when she bursts in. He’s sitting on the bench, in a corner, hugging his knees and watching Quinlan try to calm Leia down.

“Captain, sitrep.”

“Vos and Tholme attempted to show Leia how to reach out to feel the Temple from a distance. They felt that it would be a good use of the time, and an interesting exercise at this distance. She attempted to do so, struggled for several minutes, and then reacted with shock. She has repeated the name ‘Luke’ several times since then, and we’ve been unable to fully calm her down. I asked Tholme to get you, as you are the only Force-Sensitive on board that understands the situation in full.”

“Understood.” She nods to him, and then goes to nudge at Quinlan. “Vos, move.”

“Torre--”

“You can sit behind her, hold her in your lap like you did when we had lunch the other day, but I need to get in her face.” She waits for him to comply, and then drops to her knees and takes Leia’s hands in her own. She radiates calm and assurance, even though she knows Quinlan’s probably been doing the same since this started. She dips her head enough to get in the girl’s line of sight, waits for her to meet eyes.

“Princess,” she says, and meets Leia’s eyes. “What did you feel?”

“Luke.”

From this distance... they’ve got half the system to go, at least, and Leia’s training shouldn’t reach that far for anything more than the fact that the Temple is there. Ahsoka could feel unshielded individuals from here, if she focused, but she’s also been doing this much, much longer. The twins theory holds more water than ever.

“Can you show me?” Ahsoka asks, instead of asking for more clarification. She squeezes Leia’s hands and smiles. “In the Force?”

Leia nods, and closes her eyes. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, but it’s the first time in a while that Leia’s needed Ahsoka to guide her through.

Luke’s light, for all that it’s unfamiliar to Ahsoka, is brilliant among the rest of the signatures in Coruscant. Like Anakin and Leia, he’s a star in his own right, but he’s brighter. He doesn’t have Anakin’s bitterness or Leia’s righteous anger, just... light. Ahsoka had asked Leia to show her instead of looking for herself because she’d expected to not recognize the boy, but she needn’t have. He’s unmistakable.

He’s so bright that she almost misses the other signature that she does recognize. She shies away, knowing that it would be there, but... but it’s almost twinned with another nearby. Not identical, but different in a way that comes with age, with trauma, with... death.

Leia hadn’t arrived alone, after all.

Why would Luke?

Her eyes snap open, her hand coming up not-quite-fast enough to clap over her mouth as she gasps. She feels a shudder, one that starts in her shoulders and reaches deep into her ribcage, finds a home in her chest and doesn’t stop.

“Oh fuck,” Quinlan whispers. “Torrent? Um, Sokari?”

Rex steps closer. “Commander?”

“That shabuir faked his death again,” she manages. “Three times, Rex!”

He blinks at her. “...I know way too many people who fit that description, Soka.”

“Master Ke--” she cuts herself off. He might have changed his name, just like she had. There’s already an Obi-Wan here. Rex seems to be figuring it out, but she needs to give him another hint.

“He pulled a Hardeen,” she stresses, and Rex’s eyes snap shut with a tired groan.

“Who?” Leia asks, her own tumult of emotion paused in the wake of Ahsoka’s shock. There’s a hope and relief to her, and Ahsoka belatedly realizes that her main worry had been that she’d misidentified what was going on, that she’d given herself a false hope. Ahsoka’s internal reaction, her approval and awe at Luke’s presence, had trickled over enough to give Leia the reassurance she’d needed.

Unintentional as it was, Ahsoka was glad that she’d succeeded in helping her charge.

“Er...” she trails off. “I don’t know what name he’s going by, right now. We’ve spent so long in hiding...”

“The man Luke knew as Crazy Old Ben,” Rex says, and Leia’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” she breathes. “General O--no, names. The High General, then.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says, not a little soft. “Yeah, I guess death didn’t stop him any more than it stopped me.”

“I could have told you that,” Leia says, smiling far too widely. She squirms where she still sits on Quinlan’s lap. “He was... he taught you, right?”

“As much my master as the official one,” Ahsoka says. She glances as Quinlan, feels Maul’s gaze on the back of her head. “Your f... my official master was very young when I was assigned to him. He wasn’t ready to teach, wasn’t even ready to be a knight, entirely, so my training was split between him and his master.”

Quinlan pops in at that moment, “Your grandmaster was military, too?”

We all were, she thinks. Even you, in your own way.

“I landed in their care mid-battle,” she says carefully. “It was a complicated situation.”

He nods, and she vaguely notes that he’s got his arms wrapped around Leia, and his chin tucked on top of her head. She isn’t sure if Leia’s noticed, but Quinlan’s picked up ‘baby’-sitting duty so often recently that she’s fairly certain he’s all but declared her ‘little-sister shaped.’ It doesn’t matter that Leia’s older--she’s still taking the juice boxes and gummy snacks that Quinlan shoves at her every single snacktime.

“Do you think...” Rex trails off, something uncomfortable twisting in the Force, even though his face keeps it mostly hidden. “My brothers. If the General survived and... and made it back...”

“I didn’t feel any,” Ahsoka says, because she knows she’d have noticed if it was anyone she’d met, and likely any clone at all. They all felt different in the Force, but they all held a spark that made her know it was one of them. “I’m sorry, Rex’ika.”

“A long shot,” he says, that dash of hope shriveling up. He must see something in her face, because there’s a curl of warmth in him, even if his smile is brittle. “It’s fine, really. I have you, ‘Soka.”

Rex and Ahsoka. Two halves of one whole.

She can’t wait to hear the lectures on attachment, the way people who haven’t seen her wars try to criticize her for clinging to any chance at still having a will to live. She can’t wait to see them justify telling her that it’s selfish to hold her sanity in her hands and refuse to let the grief take it away. She can’t wait to stare someone down for asking her to ‘learn to let go’ after she’s lost her family, her life, her universe three times over.

Most of the Jedi are more sensible than that, are reasonable enough to see those shades of grey and how to approach rules in the spirit they are meant instead of the rigid letter, but there will be some.

There will be more than enough telling her she is wrong to hold her oldest, closest, best friend as dear as she can.

Attachment, they’ll say.

What they’ll mean is ‘codepedence.’

They won’t be entirely wrong.

She reaches out for him, lets him fall into her side and stay there, closes her eyes and reaches out for the man she’d long called father, when they’d still been in each other’s lives.

This time, past the deafening flare of surprise-love-hope of the little star next to him, she can feel him reach back.

---------------------------

The second the ship has landed, even before Tholme and Fett are done with the checks, Ahsoka’s waiting at the exit. She strains her hearing so she’ll know the second the system will let her open the massive door of the cargo hold.

Leia clings to her side, and the boys stand to her back.

Quinlan’s stressed enough that she can feel it like a cloud. She is very much not trying to feel that stress. Quinlan’s stress levels, back where he’s got Maul so he can keep an eye on Ahsoka and the Baby Sith at the same time, are so low on her priorities list that it’s a a little sad.

It doesn’t take long for her to be able to punch the button and open the damn door.

It opens slowly. She bounces on her toes, because there’s a beacon of light and a steady, familiar glow on the other side, and she’s so, so close. She can’t see through the crack yet, because it’s day in this part of Coruscant, and the sunlight is blinding against the dark of the hold. So close. She’s so close.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

Fett? Fett. He’s already here to get off? This door’s slow.

She doesn’t answer him, because the door is finally open enough to let her out, and she leaps through the gap.

She lands on a pourstone floor, feels pebbles and grit compress under her boots, frantically looks around as her eyes adjust to light and--

The High General, the Negotiator, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, looking just as he did when she first met him, if a little less armored and a little more fed. The hair, the beard, the crinkle in the corner of his eyes. His spirit is a little older, his smile a little more strained, his posture a little more tired, but it’s him.

He spreads his arms, low enough that she could have dismissed it if she’d cared less for hugs, except she’s almost as small as she was when they met.

And every other hug she’d given back then had been, functionally, her being a living missile aiming her montrals for someone’s organs.

She’s a little more aware of how to avoid stabbing her friends in the intestine now.

“Master!”

She sprints for him, collides and sobs, feels him stumble back and then sink to his knees on the too-hard floor, and can feel the tears pouring out of her already. Her breath hitches, and she wails like a child, and that last part of her that couldn’t even grasp at safety shreds itself. His arms are tight around her, warm and strong and Master Kenobi don’t you dare leave again.

It doesn’t matter that Sidious is out there, that the Republic’s been building towards war for a century, that even now someone’s kicking up the Trade Federation. Her dad is here.

“I’ve missed you too, my dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, the bristles of his beard scratching along the skin of her forehead. Off to the side, the binary suns that are Luke and Leia grow brighter in proximity, so bright she can barely bear it.

(“Fett, why the kriff are you reaching for your blaster?!”)

(“Torrent said her master tried to kill her.”)

(“Different guy, that was a different guy, put the blaster away.”)

(“You could have just warned me.”)

(“I didn’t expect you to go for a shot on sight!”)

(”Calm down, Jetiika, if I was going to shoot on sight, we’d already be in a firefight.”)

She ignores everything.

“If you fake your death one more time, I swear I’m going to kill you myself.”

He tries to pull away to talk to her more directly. She does not let him. He apparently resigns himself to this, because he just adjusts how he’s sitting and pulls her in closer.

“In my defense, I was far from the only one presumed dead that took advantage of that status, by the end,” he says, letting her slump into his lap and cry herself dry. “I’m proud of you. You know that, I hope.”

She nods against his chest, smearing tears and snot across the linen and wool. She doesn’t care that they’ll need a thorough washing. She can have her public breakdown and it’s fine because Master Kenobi is here.

He doesn’t even know what she’s spent the past fifteen years doing. Luke wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t know she’s thirty-two and broken, beyond a shadow and cut down by her own master. There’s so much he doesn’t know but the Force rings with the truth of it: he’s proud of her anyway.

“I’m going by Ben, now,” he mutters against her montral. “There’s already an Obi-Wan here, after all. Still, I remain a Kenobi.”

She can’t make the words come out of her mouth. She’s overwhelmed, so much so that speech is a mite bit beyond her.

Sokari Torrent, she presses along the frayed bond that’s knitting itself back to life with every breath they take. Leia was already calling me Auntie Soka, and Rex and I both took Torrent, for...

“For the men you lost,” he mutters. “Yes, that’s fitting.”

He smells like sapir tea and a spiced beard oil.

There’s a whirl of activity about her, greetings and ‘a Sith apprentice?’ and introductions. She distantly notes when Fett almost shoots Dooku before Rex shuts that down and advises the Master to leave the area before things spiral out of control. She feels Ben stand, and she stands with him, clings to his side like a child and trusts that whatever happens, whatever needs to happen, he’ll take care of it until she can stand on her own two feet without swaying.

Rex grabs her free hand, and she feels herself settle back into her skin, bit by bit.

She’s back at the Temple. The twins are safe. Her grandmaster is here. She has her other half.

They can save the galaxy this time.

She’s alive she’s home she’s okay.

She’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

#Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Leia Organa #Jango Fett #rex and ahsoka #Quinlan Vos #Tholme #Depa Billaba #Obi Wan Kenobi #Ben Kenobi #Maul #Darth Maul #time travel #de aging #ptsd #trauma #child soldiers #Phoenix Files #Uncle Ben and Little Luke #Auntie Soka and Little Leia #disaster lineage

[legless-fish-on-rollerskates]

All the morons trying to claim that Dean wasn't saying anything to Cas because he was holding back slurs or something equally ridiculous... what show have you been watching? Surely not Supernatural. Like, yeah, Dean had some internalized shit for a while (mostly cause of how he was raised, let's be real), but this isn't season fucking one. Dean's in his goddamn forties now guys.

But you still think Dean Winchester is homophobic? Let's examine the evidence then, shall we?

1. Aaron Bass: Dean was flustered because he's not used to being hit on by dudes, but he was completely respectful. And he was alone, too. It wasn't like he was trying to "hide his homophobia" from Sam. He could've said whatever he wanted in that moment without anyone ever knowing, and he chose to awkwardly walk backward and wish Aaron a nice day. Then later, when they're working with him, Dean says nothing about it (other than a quick "he was my gay thing" to Sam), doesn't make it weird, and talks to him exactly the same way he would talk to anyone else.

2. Jesse and Ceasar: Dean's surprised when he realizes that they're married, again because he's not really used to it and so he made the wrong assumptions (which I will point out is really really normal, it happens all the time even between queer people, because heteronormativity is very much a thing in real life). But what does he do when he finds out? He asks them about their marriage - with genuine curiosity. What's it like to be in a relationship with a hunter, is it hard, all that jazz. Never asks about the fact that they're both men, none of those gross "so who's the woman" questions, literally just. Talking to two married hunters. That's it. Then later, when they're working, he never once questions their capability as hunters or suggests that they're weak in any way. There's no "you're less 'manly' because you're gay" mindset at all. And at the end of the episode he's genuinely happy for them, two hunters who managed to get out of the life and retire together.

There's lots of other examples (several male cops have been obviously into him over the years, his reaction to Jody talking about Claire and Kaia, all the subtext surrounding Lee, etc.) but for my last one for now, let's not forget...

3. Charlie fucking Bradbury: Arguably Dean's best friend besides Cas (no I haven't forgotten about Benny, I love Benny, but he was part of a very specific chapter of Dean's life and that chapter is done). We've known she was a lesbian from the get-go, and Dean takes it in stride when he finds out, immediately improvising to coach her through some painfully awkward flirting so she can get into the office ("you've just come home, and Scarlett Johansson is waiting for you"). And yes, there's the whole "I feel dirty" "yeah so do I" bit there, but that's clearly established as a joke, plus the guy was gross - as someone who is attracted to both women and men, I would feel dirty after flirting with him too.

The next few times we see Charlie, she and Dean are geeks and dweebs together, Dean is having more fun than we've seen in years, and we see him be a really good friend - in some ways, a better friend than he is to Cas. Charlie talks to him a little bit about girls, they LARP, they go shopping together, Dean comforts her when she has to let go of her mom. When she's killed, he gets so upset he goes on a murderous rampage (maybe not the most healthy way to deal with greif, but nonetheless showing how much she mattered to him). When he sees an alternate version of her in trouble he's immediately ready to risk his own life to help her even though she doesn't know him. He loved her like a sister, and he never once expressed any issues with her sexuality.

So let's go back to Cas. Cas is in love with Dean. Not much of a surprise there, he's said it before. But this is the first time Dean understands that that's what he's saying. It makes sense that he's a little stunned, especially considering that Cas is also saying that he's about to die. I mean, if your best friend of twelve years told you one day that they've been in love with you all along, that just knowing you has irrevocably changed them for the better, and that also by the way telling you this means they're going to die, mightn't you be rendered a tad speechless?

Dean does not hate Cas for this. Not at all. Because whether or not Dean is bi, whether or not he reciprocates, Cas is still his best friend. We've seen how hard Dean grieves every time Cas dies. We know how much Cas matters to him. Of all the shit they've put each other through, there's absolutely no logical reason for this to be the thing that damages their friendship beyond repair. Not after everything. No fucking way.

Dean says nothing because he doesn't know what to say, because he's still processing Cas's confession but also already grieving and blaming himself for Cas's death. The way he breaks down at the very end of the episode? That's not a man who's disgusted. That's a man who's shattered.

How dare you try to simplify this incredibly complex and emotional moment into Dean being a dick. How dare you. It's positively insulting. The entire point of Cas's speech was that Dean is so much more than that. If you can't see that, than I'm sorry, but you're missing the whole message of the show.

Supernatural is about family and sacrifice. It's about free will, making your own choices. And it's about being more than just who you're supposed to be, going beyond what other people want or assume. All the depth beneath the surface. That's the show. That's why we're still watching after all this time. Because it means something important. Something relevant. Something real.

Don't you fucking discredit that.

(thank you for coming to my TED talk)

#sorry there's not a keep reading button I typed this on mobile #sidenote: lowkey cannot BELIEVE i typed this all out on mobile #analysis #spn 15x18 #15x18 #15x18 despair #supernatural #supernatural s15 #supernatural fandom #spn #spn spoilers #s15 spoilers #supernatural spoilers #dean x castiel #cas x dean #destiel #cas loves dean #it's canon #episode analysis #castiel #dean winchester #dean is complex #complex characters #supernatural season fifteen #thank you for coming to my ted talk #charlie bradbury #charlie and dean #dean and charlie #that friendship is amazing

[bitches-who-write]

Can you do headcanons siblings of the gang ? Like, how they act with them and how they treat them and how they let the gang act with them ?

Somewhat important note below~

So we know we said we take requests on a first come, first serve basis; however for the sake of time today (and due to the fact that we did not post anything last week) we decided to take on this request early. PLEASE do not be offended or upset if you are still waiting for your request! We promise we will be getting to them ALL. After this post now, we will go back to our fist come, first serve rule.

We have a few requests which we'll be writing longer stories for vs casual headcannons. Stories typically take us several hours to complete since your 2 lovely bitches who write do not live close enough to one another. We write together via FaceTime and Google Doc. We appreciate all your support and patience with us as we write you guys the best content possible! Enough rambling now, Enjoy these headcannons!!!

Patrick With A Little Sister-

Oh boy… Patrick is crazy over protective of his little sister.

Maybe the word should be obsessive and controlling instead~

He watches her every move. He even comes into her room as she sleeps just to occasionally check on her.

Whenever she gets out of Belch’s car heading to school, Patrick keeps a close eye on her again. Mentally noting everyone she talks to.

He makes sure everyone is in line. It doesn’t matter if it’s an adult or a kid. If they do something Patrick doesn’t like, they’re getting fucked up.

Patrick refuses to let guys talk to her. Only Henry, Vic and Belch are allowed to.

When Patrick isn’t around, he puts the other Bower’s Gang members in charge of her. And she knows well enough to listen to them.

He sometimes makes inappropriate comments about her, resulting in a smack off the head by the other guys.

Patrick LOVES to mess with her.

Always holding things over her head so she can’t reach.

Laughs as she tries to jump up and grab it from him.

He’ll lean down and rest his arms on the top of her head since she’s so much smaller than him.

When she doesn’t listen to Patrick, he will literally just pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and laugh as she struggles to get down.

Even though she’s a girl and a few years younger than him, doesn’t mean she’s safe from how rough Patrick gets.

He still wrestles her to the ground and puts her in a damn headlock.

Definitely gets a few bruises from Patrick playfully hitting her. (Patrick doesn't realize his own strength.)

One word… tickled. Patrick is always tickling the shit out of her to tease her.

It’s even worse when the entire Bower’s Gang joins in on torturing her.

Look… this is Patrick. So he still has a mean, sadistic side.

He gets off on fear so he loves to scare her anyway he can.

Whether that is by jumping out at her, or doing something dangerous and reckless like picking her up and dangling her over the cliff edge to the quarry. (she hates heights and doesn’t know how to swim.)

“Uh no! You’re slipping! Better hold on, sweetheart. I know you don’t know how to swim.” He chuckles darkly, smirking down at her as she grips onto his forearm tightly and cries.

Patrick doesn’t hesitate on the low- blows, either. Making comments that he knows will make her cry.

If she threatens to tell their parents on him, Patrick will grab her from behind agressively, making her gasp as he covers her mouth tightly and whisper tauntingly in her ear:

“Now, Now.. Just why would you say that? You know that only gets you in trouble, little one..” He chuckles darkly and tightens his grip in a painful manner.

Patrick With A Little Brother-

…… I think we all know how this ended…. Patrick disliked his little brother, Avery… a lot. You see, Patrick likes being the only male sibling. It’s less competition and less hassle for him. Only Patrick is allowed to make (more like break) the reputation of his family’s name in the small town of Derry, Maine. Bottom line, if Patrick had another little brother, it would result in the same outcome as Avery. Sorry.

Belch With A Little Sister-

Very protective. Does not let her out of his sight for a second.

Hovers over her when they walk in the woods so she doesn’t trip or fall down.

He brings her along when he goes out with the guys sometimes, unless he knows they will be partaking in illegal activities.

Keeps snacks in his car for whenever she rides with him and always makes sure she eats 3 proper meals during the day.

Not only does he have extra snacks but he has a first aid kit, too.

He’s always prepared knowing she’s small, so there’s a good chance she’ll accidentally get hurt hanging around the guys.

And yes, it has happened on more than one occeasion.

He checks on her during school and makes sure no one is messing with her.

After school, Belch makes sure she does her homework but never really helps her with it. Why would he? He doesn’t even do his own assignments.

For the most part, he’s pretty sweet but sometimes the big brother power goes to his head.

He makes her do her chores and his around the house.

If she ever did something wrong, Belch goes right to blackmail.

“I won’t let mom know about that F on your report card… only IF you wash my car everyday the rest of this week.

Henry purposely spills his drink on the hood of the car right after she just got down cleaning it.

“Opps.. looks like you missed a spot. Better get to it, kid.” Henry says mockingly as he ruffles her hair walking by.

Belch always makes sure she’s safe in bed by the end of the night though.

He even kisses the side of her head when the guys aren’t around.

Belch With A Little Brother-

He takes him under his wing.

Loves to talk about cars- the makes and models, horsepower, you name it.

Even though his little brother isn’t old enough to drive yet, that doesn’t stop Belch from giving him driving lessons.

But bet your life he threatens him before taking off. “I swear to fuck though man, if you crash my car, I will end you. Okay, now put it in reverse. Let’s go”

Belch watches sports with him and even plays in the backyard, as well.

Belch acts as if he’s his coach to prepare him for the school’s team.

He also teaches him how to properly lift weights and spots him, too.

Belch told him “the ladies love a man with muscles, so to keep lifting bro.”

Speaking of girls, Belch was the one who gave him ‘the talk’... in very elaborate and explicit detail leaving his brother shocked, disgusted, and intrigued all at once.

Although he does hang out with his brother from time to time, sometimes Belch chooses friends over family and takes off for long periods of time.

Belch for the most part tries to be patient with him, but still gives his brother tough love as a form of preparing him for the real world.

Overall, Belch is a pretty decent big brother.

He means well but sometimes misses the mark.

Henry With A Little Sister-

Their father works long shifts, often resulting in an absence in their home life.

Henry’s dad basically tells him he’s fully in charge of his little sister.

Henry acts pissed off about that like she’s a bother and interrupts his life but deep down, it makes him feel important for once in his life.

Henry is both very strict and protective over her.

He’s also very controlling such as who she’s allowed to talk to or what she’s allowed to wear.

Nothing short or low cut is allowed. She better not even think about talking back, either,

Henry doesn't have much patience for anything and his temper is even worse.

For example- Her short legs means she walks slower than the rest of them.

Henry rolls his eyes and ends up dragging her by her wrist or sometimes just throwing her over his shoulder because he can’t stand waiting for her.

When it comes time for school, Henry makes sure everyone knows she’s a Bowers. If anyone (child or adult) even just so much as looked at her funny, Henry is throwing hands.

Speaking of school, Henry doesn’t help her with any bit of projects or homework. “Don’t fuckin’ ask me! You do it, or don’t, I don't really give a shit.”

When it comes time for dinner, Henry makes simple stuff like peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, mac n’ cheese, or sometimes just fixes a bowl of cereal. But he always makes her clean up the mess / dishes after.

If she talks back, Henry has no problems getting in her face and yelling loudly.

Sometimes when his anger gets the best of him, he’ll smack her across the face.

He stiffens up when he sees the tears form in her eyes. Sometimes he just walks away and doesn’t want to deal with it, and other times he stands there stiffly and gives her an awkward hug.

“Sorry kid. I didn’t mean to hit you. You just pissed me the fuck off.”

Henry would never let anyone ever see this but occasionally he gives her a quick kiss to the side of her cheek when he’s feeling extra guilty. 

Similar to Patrick, Henry loves to get on her nerves.

Tripping her as she walks by.

Embarrassing her in front of the other guys just to see her blush.

Smacking her off the head as he walks by- her angry face makes Henry laugh.

Tickling her to make her admit something or as a form of punishment because he knows she hates that.

Barges in her room without knocking first.

Warns her she's never, ever allowed to have a boyfriend. And if she has a crush on either Vic, Belch, or Patrick...she’s dead meat.

Won’t allow her to drink alcohol or smoke. If she sneaks and does it, Henry teaches her a ‘lesson’.

“Find you wanna drink? Then here, take it. But now you have to drink the entire thing.”

He smirks and watches her get sick from the alcohol thinking that actually taught her a lesson and will deter her from it in the future.

Speaking of drinking-

When their dad comes home drunk, Henry is the one to take all his shit just to protect her because deep down he does care about her even though he calls her a “little fucking shit” daily.

Henry With A Little Brother-

In Henry's warped mind, his brother is a guy too, so he doesn’t need to be coddled like his little sister does.

If Henry has to withstand hits and verbal abuse, then his little brother should too. “Why should he get a pass?” Henry scoffs.

Henry gives him a lot of tough love.

He tries to make him ‘stronger’ by saying some really rotten shit to him. “Builds character, get used to it, kid.”

Henry does teach his brother how to fight though. “Put those stupid fuckin’ books down pussy. Books can’t teach you how to be a fucking man, but throwing punches will.”

Henry gave his little brother his own knife for his birthday.

He told him since he’s a Bowers, he's a target so it will come in handy~

Gives his brother “advice” on girls and sex; telling him which girls around town ‘put out’ the most.

One day when his brother asked Henry about a particular girl Henry responded with: “Ooh yeah, (random girl’s name), the only thing good about her is her pussy. Face is busted.”

Overall, Henry isn’t too bad towards his brother but once again, when his temper is raging, no one is safe from him.

Vic With A Little Sister-

Overly cautious and protective of her. He’s basically like a helicopter parent.

When the guys are swearing around her, he covers her ears and tells the guys to cut it out.

“Guys! Language!”

“I’m only a few years younger than you guys, I’m not a child!” she retorts.

Patrick, being classic creepy Patrick circles around her. “Just give it a few more years babe. Based on how your mom looks...” Patrick licks his lips envisioning Vic’s mother until Vic smacks him in the balls making Patrick hunch over in pain.

Vic likes to keep her in sight so right after school, he goes straight to her locker and makes sure she rides home with them, too.

When they get out of the car to bully some kids, Vic tells her to stay put. He doesn’t want her involved in anything.

When walking through the woods to the quarry, He always has a hand around her upper arm for support when climbing down the embankment.

He watches her like a hawk when swimming, so paranoid something will happen. Again, think helicopter parent

While he’s sweet for the most part, there’s times he just loses his temper.

He’ll explode and begin yelling at her, only inches from her face.

Sometimes when she does something really, really out of line, Vic will shove her into Henry and Patrick.

“Here guys, teach this little bitch a lesson for me. And don’t go easy on her.” Vic says walking off to calm down.

A part of him feels a little guilty when he sees her cry but other times he feels it’s justified.

He isn’t overly affectionate with her around the guys, the most he does is put an arm around her shoulder.

Sometimes sneaks behind her and tasers her sides and laughs when she jumps and collapses to the ground.

But when no one is around, he 100% gives the best hugs.

When she’s going to a sleepover at a girl-friend's house, Vic tells her to be safe and mumbles, “love you.”

Back at home before bed, Vic will tease her for being paranoid as she makes her way around the house, triple checking to make sure all the windows and doors are locked.

“What? Afraid the boogeyman is gonna getcha?” Vic mocks.

If she’s having a nightmare and calls for Vic, he’ll come and sit on the bedroom floor next to her bed until she falls asleep again.

Vic With A Little Brother-

Vic isn’t as protective over his little brother as he is with their little sister; but he still cares for him.

He just feels that his brother is able to hold his own while his sister needs more protection/ guidance.

He let’s his brother tag along with the guys. They all don’t mind. If anything, they refer to his little brother as Vic number 2.

He genuinely listens to his brother’s interests. Okay.. sometimes he zones out when he drones on and on but he always acts interested.

Vic is pretty book smart so he helps his brother with school work, especially in math.

Tries to make his brother more confident when it comes to talking / picking up girls.

Basically acts as his wing man.

The guys try to give his brother tips on how to pick up girls...Vic usually tells him to ignore everything they say because all that's gonna earn him is a slap in the face.

Tells him not to listen to Henry or Patrick for girl advice.. EVER.

He does teach his brother how to fight though.

Just because Vic is one of the sweeter ones in the gang; that doesn’t change the fact that he’s in a gang to begin with…

When his brother told him he was being picked on, Vic taught him how to fight, but also got involved himself.

Nothing like sending an intimidating message to a few assholes.

When Vic and his brother fight with each other, he doesn’t hold back just because that’s his little brother.

Overall, they get along for the most part and Vic is a pretty decent older brother to his siblings.

#headcanons #henry bowers #henry bowers x reader #imagines #patrick hocksetter x reader #patrick hockstetter #victor criss #victor criss x reader #belch huggins #preferences #bowers gang headcanons #bowers gang #it fandom #it movie #it 2017 #it stephen king #requested #the bowers gang #owen teague #nicholas hamilton #fanfic #horror #horror movies #belch huggins x reader

[cinnamonest]

Xiao - Yandere Profile

Y’all big horny for yaksha boi too??? Excellent.

Remember how I said Kaeya and Diluc were like a game on hard mode? Xiao is Dark Souls on the 6th stacked difficulty of New Game Plus.

I really like Xiao on an analytical level because he's an excellent candidate for the debate some have as to the nature of selfless vs selfish love... He's a good one to analyze for that debate bc holy fuck does this man have some of the most selfish, inconsiderate love out there. He's brutal as fuck. I feel like his would be such an interesting balance of wanting returned affection and being really obsessive, yet being so uncompromising and not really at all hesitant to wreck your shit. This is the longest one I've made, too, I had a lot of thoughts lmao.

Fun fact, when I first heard his name was Xiao I assumed it would be the hanzi for "dawn" since I've seen that used in Chinese given names sometimes... Nope, I'd never seen the hanzi for his name before so I looked it up and it's like an impish demon creature lol

I had a dilemma between to go for tsunyandere or kuuyandere, but I was in a dark content mood so I kinda went kuuyandere route.

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tws: mentions of mutilation (on reader), mentions of violence and torture (on rivals), kidnapping, Xiao is very lacking in empathy and borders on sociopathic behavior (which can be triggering to some people), mentions of misogyny bc I'm just gross like that, generally dark and awful

tws (below cut): noncon, more mentions of mutilation goddammit Xiao, forced submission, also generally dark and awful

This is probably the darkest one I've written, so, that's a fair warning.

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Aware, over time, and very irritated by it, really. He's above... Feeling things. He changes with time. He starts off a bit irritated, flustered even, which is something he's never really experienced before. Honestly exemplifies the "boys are mean to you because they like you" trope, he will go out of his way to be harsher and colder towards you because how dare you make him... Feel things. He'll be exceptionally harsh in how he speaks to you, even more than others. But... once he realizes it drives you away, he'll realize that he actually wants you around him.

But that's the thing - Xiao doesn't normally go out of his way to do anything to anyone, really. He's cold and a bit aggressive because he's bothered by or just doesn't really enjoy people, but if they leave him alone, he leaves them alone. You're different - he feels a weird, uncomfortable feeling in your presence, but he still wants your presence anyway. It's a lot of new sensations for him, and it's overwhelming. So many new feelings.

One, he doesn't understand why his stomach flutters when you smile at him, why chills run down his spine when you accidentally brush your hand across his. Well, he understands what it usually means for humans - but he's not human, surely, there's no way he could possibly experience that same "love" humans do, right?

Love is horrible after all - he's seen how humans obsess over it, how much tragedy it can bring to their lives, and, in particular, how much of a fool of themselves humans often make when "in love", especially the men.

He thinks he's above the human feelings, so he'll deny it to himself at first. It will likely be some kind of breaking point for him, particularly one in which you're in danger. Normally, he couldn't care less about people in danger - if someone isn't strong enough to protect themselves, they die, that's just how the world works. But he sees you shoved down, another human looming over you with murderous intent in their eyes, he sees the fear on your face and the tears streaming down and something in him snaps and bursts and gives way to the intense emotions he's tried to shove down. He'll go wild, and make quick work of the offender. And you'll thank him for saving you of course, even if the display was a bit horrifying to see.

It's not only that intense nervousness in the others presence, but an enjoyment of their presence. It's so contradictory and he hates it - he feels so nervous, so jittery around you, yet at the same time, something about your presence, your smiles, your voice is addictive to him and he needs more of it. He enjoys spending time with you - a new sensation.

Over time, as he becomes aware of how he feels, he becomes less flustered, more stone-faced and matter of fact about it. He accepts that he feels a sense of affection, now his concern is how to handle it. He just has no idea how to begin going about it. Does he just try to suppress it? Act on it? He acknowledges the possibility of rejection, what then? Of course, rejection wouldn't make him stop wanting you with him, it wouldn't even really deter him, but it would make things more difficult than if you accepted it. He spends a while contemplating, just trying to make sense of it all.

He ends up laying awake at night with you in his mind - it's pathetic, it irritates him. No human is important enough to occupy his mind. And yet, even if he tries, he can't stop. And, as much as it disgusts him, he finds himself feeling very physical sensations when thinking about you. That's the most irritating part, to him. He's always viewed humans' drive to copulate as disgusting, and really a pathetic weakness - again, he's seen the absolutely foolish things human men do and the extensive lengths they go to for just a spare crumb of sex. So the first few times he ends up getting a physical reaction to those late night thoughts, he'll try to ignore the throbbing and just go about his night, but eventually it starts to get painful. That's the point at which he decides he can't just sit around and do nothing.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Unavoidable. But not the absolute fastest. He's far too confused by his feelings at first, and doesn't understand why he has the urge to do so. He'll experiment, spending time around you, trying to figure himself out. His prideful tsundere nature comes out then -- it's not like he enjoys your presence, no. He feels something very strange about you, and one of the possibilities in his mind is that perhaps he's being drawn to you because his subconscious perceives you as an enemy, perhaps. Something in him knows that you're up to no good, so he has to follow you, maybe. Those reasons are far more likely than actually enjoying being around you, he thinks.

As he comes to understand it better and is forced to acknowledge that he feels an affection for you, he begins to feel a darker urge. One of the things that forces him to recognize said affection is how much it irritates him to see you talk to others. He rationalizes this, as it is perfectly normal for humans to feel jealousy, isn't it? ... But are humans this upset when they see their beloved talk to their own family? Is it normal? Is it a thing with just the males, and that's why he feels that way? Surely the humans don't get this upset, or else they wouldn't let their beloveds have friends and speak to others, right? He doesn't really feel guilt for the urges, but he does feel bothered by the notion of having some abnormal desire, wonder if there's something wrong with him.

Well, he starts thinking back to history, and all the things he's witnessed, and that gives him... an idea. Teyvat has been around a long time. There have been several cultures and societies that did keep lovers... restrained. Confined to a house... forbidden from speaking to others... and that idea sounds nice, he thinks. Back in those days, no one would bat an eye at his desire to keep you away from the world, right? So really, it's not abnormal or weird at all. Things just change with time, but there's nothing abnormal about him, it's perfectly normal to want to prevent you from ever speaking to anyone else ever again. Sure, those cultures never went that far, but... it's the same idea, right?

So, he decides, there's nothing wrong with him, and in that case, he doesn't have any guilt or concern for your desires to hold him back. He's another one to take a fairly barbaric route -- he'll be one to show up while you sleep, clamp a hand over your mouth, gag you and tie you up, before leaving right out your window. He'll find an isolated, quiet, well-hidden place to reside, one with an enclosed, windowless room to keep you confined.

He doesn't like it, but he's not completely lacking in understanding human psychology. He wouldn't like to be in your shoes, wouldn't like if someone did to him what he's going to do to you, so he understands why you'll be upset, he prepares for it, even. He's not a delusional. So, from the beginning, he's already planning out how to make you compliant and love him. He settles on a simple tactic: utilize what he knows to force your human nature to love him.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Once you do get kidnapped, it's pretty tight security. Kind of like Albedo, he'll take you far away from society. Again, he's not super concerned with your desire on the matter, since this is about keeping you with him, it's about his imperatives. He doesn't really want to harm you, though, so there is a slight consideration. He's stuck on a balance of wanting to keep you agreeable and obedient, but keeping you confined is most important, so he'll try to keep it a bit comfortable. He'll get you a nice bed, very soft things. He's so nice, he'll even get you leather cuffs instead of metal ones. But you will be getting restrained, and no amount of begging will get him to take them off. He'll also give you nothing to do, and probably nothing to wear. Clothes are a waste and totally unnecessary when no one but him sees you. And the boredom will make you compliant. You'll be so unbearably bored that talking to him will be like a privilege. You'll start to look forward to it. You'll bond with him. He'll be your only source of mental stimulation. He's smart enough to figure that out when he's in the planning stages of your confinement, and already has this planned out.

Because he... struggles to feel high amounts of empathy when it's about what he wants, it's doubtful he'll ever really lighten up without incentive. Sure, he could lighten up on your restraints, but why should he? Sure, it would alleviate your suffering, but it would present the slightest chance of an escape. Your comfort isn't worth the insecurity and worry he'd have throughout the day. Why would he be so foolish as to feel that it was?

Escape attempts are an ultimate transgression to Xiao. He understands your stubbornness and anger to the extent that they don't hurt him too much, but an escape attempt is one of the few things you can do that make him feel genuine hurt. You won't get away for long, he will hunt you down in no time and he will ensure you're discouraged from ever attempting that again. He's not very hesitant to be brutal. Really, he doesn't want to hurt you just for the sake of it, but he knows how powerful fear and pain are. He'll make sure you are strongly dissuaded from another attempt. If you're, miraculously, brave enough to try again, he'll have to take a step further and make sure you can't.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Don't. He's not stupid, he tells you, the moment you try anything. And you really, really, really should be trying to avoid making him mad. Honestly, if you're at this point, you'd have to be either incredibly unafraid of pain, or just crazy to try and do anything that could result in his anger. He'll shut it down almost immediately, and tell you exactly that.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows you need food and all that, so he'll generally get you whatever you want to make for yourself. He's got a limited list of things he's willing to eat so you'll quickly find yourself asking for the privilege of getting different foods please I'm begging you for something other than almond tofu, and he'll get you whatever you ask for, at least in that regard. He's not going to starve you or anything. But you'll find it's probably one of the only things you get much of a choice on.

If you want any relief from the harsh restraint and boredom, you have one option: succumb.

No amount of disobedience or disagreeableness will have him letting up on you. You might think you can hold out and be stubborn long enough to get him to cave, but you'd be wrong. You will crack before he does, and he knows it. He'll simply punish your disobedience, and wait out a bit more. And wait, and wait, and wait, because you won't last long. It's inevitable that you will succumb to him, start to crave him, start to be sweet and affectionate, and bond with him. At that point, maybe he'll let you walk around - hey, getting your muscles back to normal from the atrophy can be a bonding activity. And he might give you some approved tasks or books or the like. But at the first sign of a regression, the first sign of disobedience, the first sign of rejection from you, that will be gone, and you'll have to earn it back, starting back at square one.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Don't run away. Obey everything he says.

He doesn't make a rule against fighting him, really, and he doesn't need to. You'll be far too terrified of him to try, and even if you did, it would be like swatting a fly, he could disarm and incapacitate you in seconds.

And now, we get into one of the darker yanderes. Once again, Xiao doesn't really get emotions too well, and doesn’t understand his own all that much. His brain thinks in actions and results. If you're trying to run away, he'll simply have to make it so that you can't... ever again. He is one of the most likely yanderes to be open to truly, permanently incapacitating you to a severe degree to keep you with him. He understands why you're upset, but surely you knew the consequences, right? You tried to run away, it only makes sense that he would do something like this, you should understand that, even if you don't like it. You're foolish to try and talk him out of it, what, do you think he's going to be persuaded by you crying? If you were that opposed to it, you shouldn't have tried to run. Really, he doesn't understand why you humans do things as if there's no consequences.

Xiao... doesn't feel guilt. When it's something unintentional, something he didn't mean to do, he can, but when it's about what he wants? There's none, really. He usually goes on what works best for him, and for the most part, that's keeping you happy. But when your happiness goes against keeping you with him, his imperative takes priority. You'll get over it eventually, and he'll help you. He can carry you wherever you need to go, you don't need to walk.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Eek.

Yeah it won't be pretty. He gets mad about rivals, and he perceives everyone as one. He's another one that doesn't really distinguish between romantic rivals and rivals for attention - your family and friends are just as much of a problem as any love interests, because you smile at them, you pay attention to them, you like them, and just that knowledge makes an unbearable rage boil inside him.

He's desensitized to violence, and doesn't really understand how it affects normal people - he won't think of how it might affect you to see it, so slaughtering people in front of you comes naturally to him. He's actually one of the ones who might get angry enough to make it slow, making sure they know what they did wrong, even if that consisted of simply being a stranger who smiled at you. If you react negatively, he won't really understand. He has some, but doesn't possess a lot of empathy. He'll chalk it up to you being a hysterical, emotional human with your incapacitating aversion to violence. He's glad he doesn't have such a strong aversion. Would make his job rather difficult.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

He's pretty easily set off. He gets frustrated because he thinks you're being unnecessarily difficult, and frankly he's very used to getting his way with things immediately. In his life, most of the things he wants are either given to him very easily, or are easily obtainable with a simple exertion of violence. Usually he can just, well, kill and slaughter and maim his way to any result he desires. This is one of the first issues he's dealt with that violence won't solve. Well... maybe not the extent he's used to. But nonetheless, perhaps a bit of controlled violence can solve his problems, at least to an extent.

His anger is, as you can imagine, terrifying. Sure, he'll reassure you that he won't kill you, but you can't get out of your head the images of the things you've seen him do by that point, the people you've undoubtedly seen die and suffer at his hands. He snarls and speaks in a deep, booming voice when he's at his angriest, and it's enough to make you panic. If he's angry enough, he knows he can't be around you, because he fears hurting you further than he means to, so he'll likely leave. If it's enough that he feels he can control it, though, it's not pretty. He's one to hold something in his hands and squeeze it to alleviate anger so hard it breaks. Just hope that doesn't happen to be your hand, arm, shoulder, or any other part of your person.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He doesn't... really care? I'm tempted to say far below, but really, the whole concept of relative value of humans and status and the like holds no meaning to him. He thinks it's foolish and pointless to even ponder such things.

As for his superiority in certain things, it's different. He's smarter than you. He's stronger than you. He's faster, he's more perceptive, he's more capable, he's wiser, he's more skilled. These things are just facts, they are the undeniable reality, he thinks. However, he doesn't really assign these things as having any ties to the relative value of an individual, and in his mind, humans don't really, either. Didn't they prioritize the lives of children? Children are far lesser in every way, but humans treat them as most important, even if they rightfully see them as inferior in every way. So it's the same with him, he thinks. In every field, you're inferior, but that doesn't really matter, worth and relative position are worthless human ideas.

As for treatment, however, he treats you as lower, which is all that really matters. He wants obedience and submission, and he'll get it, no matter what extent he has to go to.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's in the middle - one of the ones that would LIKE for you to love them, but in the end, even if they feel like you never will, they still want you anyway. He'll never stop trying, though.

He's got a lot of pride and wouldn't resort to groveling and desperately trying the way some would. Like a few others, he kinda automatically feels like he deserves the things he wants, including your love. But his unfamiliarity with human emotions leads him to be a little confused and unable to read you. He knows humans play "hard to get," and may assume that's what you're doing. And he recognizes that by kidnapping you, he is removing you from your friends and family, so he concludes that you're only mean to him because you're mad. And anger settles down with time, right? He also knows that, even if humans don't like someone, if they're forced to spend time around them, they'll form a bond. So what he concludes is that simply time is needed. Time to let anger simmer down, time to forget about those others, time to inevitably come to depend on him.

With his experimentation, what he discovers is that even if you aren't affectionate, he is still happier with your presence than without. So he'll keep you no matter what, he decides. You'll come around eventually. And gradually, even if it's ever so slow, you will. You will, no matter how hard you may fight it, the effects of such isolation are ultimately inevitable.

Some yanderes might be upset by the notion that they have to mentally deteriorate their darling to obtain love - they want you to love them "organically" and feel like love born from mindbreak and isolation isn't "real." You might think he'd be like that, due to his tendency to be prideful, but he's actually not. Xiao doesn't understand emotions well enough to distinguish little differences like that. Sure he had to use a strategy, but it's still love, isn't it? It's the same thing, so why should how it came about matter? It took a little bit of extra work, is all. And although he won't say so, he thinks you're worth it.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Is somewhat reluctant to confess to you and may try to come up with some other reason as to why he did it, but it's kinda obvious when he's so concerned about you, so blushy and flustered in the beginning and the way he runs his hands through your hair when he thinks you're asleep. But yeah, initially he might try to think up some way to explain why your kidnapping is for some other weird complex reason he made up, and not just because he really REALLY wants you all to himself.

He's also very matter-of-fact about things. He says things with a straight face, no matter how horrifying, sweet, or inappropriate they may be. Doesn't matter if he's finally confessing his love, talking about how he wants to keep you locked away forever, or threatening to break your legs, it'll all generally be carried with the same facial expression and tone of voice. The only difference is the eye contact and slight blush if it's one of the former.

You may be able to catch moments of vulnerability, especially late-stage, months into your new life. If you've been highly affectionate, and he trusts you, he might seek some reassurance every now and then, in a soft, quiet voice, for a few precious moments of gentleness that don't come very often.

As aforementioned, Xiao has little to no sense of empathy nor guilt when it comes to obtaining the things he desires. What he does feel is wanting you to be happy... because it makes him feel good inside. In a way, you could say his love is incredibly selfish, because it's entirely about his happiness when it comes down to it. Normally, seeing you happy makes him happy, so your imperatives line up. And he's willing to maybe change some things to make you happier -- ok, fine, sure, he won't torture them to death, he'll just kill them. But he has limits to how much he'll compromise for you. Ultimately, when your imperatives don't align with his, he won't even consider yours for a mere moment. His brain just can't really consider anything but acting for his own desires. When he gets mad at people for hurting you, it's because it's an insult to him. It's part of why he's one that will settle for having you - ultimately, what he wants matters more than your happiness... but that's because he wants you, and loves you so, so much, you know? Don't think it's not love, though. It's incredibly selfish, self-serving, and inconsiderate, but it's hard to say it's not love.

Somewhat relating to the above, he realizes pretty quickly you're likely afraid of him, especially after what you've undoubtedly witnessed by that point. He doesn't want that, really. He wants a healthy level of fear, just enough to avoid running away, but he doesn't like seeing you cry and tremble because you're so afraid of his brutality. He doesn't help, though, because he thinks you fear death, and death alone, and in his lack of understanding, he will go through a very specific list of exactly what he will do, which frankly would only serve to make things worse.

"It's alright... I won't kill you, you know. You're foolish if you don't understand the difference... They only died because they wanted to take you away from me. You're the reason they died, so, I wouldn't kill you... I've already decided what to do at certain points. If you try to run away once or twice, I'll just break your legs, and if you try a third time, I can just take your legs off. That should prevent any further attempts, so I have no reason to kill you. So you shouldn't be so upset... don't look so afraid all the time. What? No, I don't mean your whole legs... just at the feet. Why are you still crying? I can just take off one if it's that upsetting... It's only if you run away."

You should probably know that he doesn't make empty promises, either.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Boy has no idea what to do. He's only ever jerked off and always feels disgusted when he does, he only has anatomical knowledge of female bodies from medical diagrams he's seen once or twice.  Not that he'll tell you that. But you'll know, I mean, once he forces your legs open he's just staring in both awe and confusion, probably just sits there for a moment slightly flustered because?? Where's he supposed to put it in?? How does he do this? He'll figure it out, but it might take a few rough thrusts of him just rutting against you.

Drive goes from non existent to highish, he's got what you call a reactive sexuality. Really, he used to just jerk off only to relieve the buildup, because he found it gross whenever it would happen in his sleep. Reactive sexualities are when a person doesn't have a super high drive on their own, but will react to stimuli from persons or sights around them, and will get significantly higher when around someone they love. Before, he never had anything to react to, so he rarely got horny, but now? He has you. And you... Trigger some reactions.

And that being said, he's so unfamiliar with horniness and sex that it's constantly an exploration process for him too. He'll spend some time just... learning. Touching here and there, figuring out what makes your breath hitch and toes curl. It's a fascinating thing to him, really.

He doesn't talk about it much, nor during, he just kind of... acts. You don't get much of a verbal warning, he'll just kind of pick you up and move you around to however he wants.

Pretty decently sized, but isn't aware of it. He hasn't had the opportunity to be around too many other people to know. If you try to tell him it's too big for you, he'll just be incredibly confused, isn't your body literally made to be able to do this? He's actually not going to get particularly smug or anything, he just sees it as an irritation that you're so reluctant and try to fight because of it, but he does like watching you convulse and squirm once he's already in you.

He's actually not that much of a sadist, so much as he likes power. Pain is par for the course, it's a part of every aspect of life and he's essentially desensitized to it. But power and control, now that does something for him.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Not particularly concerned with it. Once again, he's decided to utilize what he knows to maximize your acceptance and love. He knows that orgasms release a bunch of feel-good chemicals, that they cause bonding, that they make you more complacent, and, for the sake of submission, that it'll humiliate you and make you unable to really defy him, as he can hold it over your head, and with time you'll accept him. Over time, he knows, you'll come to crave any physical touch you can get. And while he's more than willing to hold you and sleep curled up with you, he'd be lying if he said this wasn't his favorite and preferred form of physical affection.

Besides, he's been fighting off the urges for forever at this point, he's not going to wait around. Pretty much will be ready to do it as soon as you wake up, and you'll probably already be bound up and lacking any clothes by the time you do. He's not very hesitant. It's yet another case of wanting what he wants and getting what he wants. He's one that will bound you up pretty heavily, hands tied above your head, legs pulled back and tied to the headboard, so it's not like you can do much against it anyway. He understands your hesitancy, be it out of anger or fear, but he's also hard and fast enough that you can't really form a lot of words, so it's not too discouraging.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He's not really familiar with any at first, and he has to experiment around. You would think normally an inexperienced boy would want the female to take the lead, but noooo, he's way too proud for that.

Oral fixation

The most shameful one to him. It's disgusting, he thinks, it's unnatural, it goes against the very purpose of sex to procreate, but he knows it exists, he's heard of how it goes and God when you talk and smile he desperately wants to see your mouth wrapped around his dick. When you're laying under him he just has an uncontrollable urge to just buy his face between your legs and lick at everything he can, and eventually he'll cave to both of those urges. The latter will be very unprompted and unanticipated, probably you're not even getting it on at the moment - something like you're sleeping, you're just laying there, your legs open a bit and he just rips off whatever you have on and stuffs his head between your legs - he's not skilled by any means, but works with such an intensity and speed that you'll cum on his face anyway.

If he's mad, he can get rough with the former. Hearing you gag and choke, watching the tears run down your face helps satisfy his anger quite a bit. Unfortunately for you, he can last quite a while, and will grab your hair and force your face down, or really, he's one to lay you on the edge of a bed on your back and really fuck your throat out. And he won't let you spit it out either -- he'll hold your mouth shut with his hands and force you to swallow every little bit.

Finger-fucking

He was once told the trick of putting your fingers inside and curling them, and that's an easy instruction to follow. He'll try it out, and once he watches how it makes you gasp and whimper, he'll get addicted to it, moving his fingers harsh and fast. He likes it because he's not too distracted by his own physical sensations, other than the throbbing hard-on, and can really take in your faces, noises, and really watch you come undone. As an added bonus, he's definitely not going to just leave it at that, no, and he discovers very quickly you're particularly sensitive immediately after one orgasm, reacting with extra loud squeals and harsh clenching when he presses against your extremely sensitive insides. And he likes that quite a bit.

D/S dynamic / bondage

It helps him restore his damaged pride from his embarrassment over the fact that he even has sexual urges in the first place. He deserves to be worshipped, he deserves to have you on your knees in front of him. In particular, he loves to give you commands, see you follow through with them. It's empowering. It's reassuring. Probably the type to want to be called master. He feels its appropriate. And he'd definitely be one to make it an all-the-time, 24/7 sort of dynamic too. He can be gentle about it, too, and will reward you for being well-behaved. The dynamic, the rewards, the praise, all makes you all the more slowly, but surely, succumbing to him, giving in, and finally accepting him.

Tying you up prevents you from moving around too much, and that's the initial reason for it, but he realizes very very quickly that something about seeing you that way is very, very pleasing to him. It gives him a sense of power and control in addition to what he already has established. It also helps alleviate a bit of his nervousness surrounding the whole thing. When you're all tied up, probably blindfolded too, he can just run his hands up and down, stare at your body, figure out what's where and see everything without you squirming around.

Masturbation instruction/voyeurism

Something about just watching you touch yourself drives him up the wall with horniness. It also helps give him an idea of what the fuck he’s supposed to do (again, not that he’ll tell you that). But more importantly, it’s yet another control thing. He won’t just let you go at it, no, he’ll be very specific with his instructions, and expects you to follow them perfectly. He’ll make you edge yourself and even overstimulate yourself, demanding you keep going even after you cum, and even if you can’t, he’ll just swat your hand aside and do it himself.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He's... Not sure if it's even possible? If so, the whole idea makes him feel a bit odd. Small little beings, ones that look like him, ones that share his blood? The whole concept is so strange. He'd probably want to find out if such a thing is even possible, considering your differences, but he would likely be somewhat opposed to it, as it feels weird to him. He would become more accustomed to the idea with time, though. And one thing he neglects to remember, even if he knows, is that you have to pull out to avoid that, and he definitely doesn't.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Overstimulation is a go-to, as is forced orgasms. Tying back to his finger-fucking tendencies, he learns how sensitive orgasms make you, and how torturous it can be. Even if he can't keep going, after he fucks you a few times, he can still go with his mouth, fingers, over and over and over again, until you're sobbing and begging from the overstimulation. He thinks there's something weirdly beautiful about how something can bring you so much pleasure and pain, be so good yet so unbearable. Seeing you cry while you convulse, hiss from the pain when you're so sensitive that even the lightest touches are painful. Just watching it gives him an electrifying feeling. As a bonus, it will just make you more bonded, the overload of the positive chemicals in your body will bind you to the very person inflicting such a torture on your body. How ironic.

He'd be one for impact pain too, potentially with his hands, but he's one that's more likely to invest in something like a riding crop, or just a belt. He likes the fear of it, too, seeing how you wince and whimper just by hearing it crack before he even does anything to you.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Hips and thighs. He likes grabbing, pulling you back onto him. Running his hands over them. He likes that when he's rough enough, his hands leave bruises on them. It's really pretty to him, and just an ever so blatant reminder of your place... to him, and, he knows, to you.

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere xiao #tw: non/con #tw: dark content #tw: misogyny

[scuttle-buttle]

What's One More?

WC: 3204

Rated: M

Tags: brief mentions of crime/mental illness/child abuse and neglect/substance addiction/theft, fluff, family dynamics, mentions of aging, mentions of difficult pregnancy, softness, anxiety attack

🧠

The harsh vibrating of a phone on the nightstand breaks your slumber. Still half asleep you toss your arm back to thump against your sleeping husband's side. With a groan he answers. You try to settle back into your pillow and the warmth of the blanket. Whoever has the balls to call at this hour has another thing coming - but later because your priority is going back to sleep.

He can't have been on the call more than fifteen seconds before he sits up in bed suddenly, turning on the bedside lamp; his movements grab your attention. You roll over. The light blinds you and you rub at your eyes to adjust. You can't make out what's being said. Looking at the clock to see that it's barely 4 am you know something bad has happened. Quietly you slip out from the covers.

Making your way down the hall you peek into your daughter's room, grateful that she's still fast asleep. Her soft snores punctuate the calm. Your nerves abate knowing she’s safe. By the time you get back to the bedroom Laszlo is up and getting dressed. "What's going on?"

He doesn't answer at first. You wait until he's finished buttoning his shirt to ask again. "Sara was called to consult on a triple homicide case - she's asked for me to come down to the police station. I don't know much yet, but it's something involving a young boy and she wants me to speak with him."

“Did he…?”

“No. He was not directly involved, that much we know.”

You nod, leaning against the door frame. This wasn't the first time that Laszlo had been called in by law enforcement and social services to assist with children and teens that needed psychological help. He had become more active around the time you graduated with your doctorate. After Sophia was born Laszlo helped fund an after school program for kids that focused on support for mental health and behavioral issues. He was so passionate about being able to help these kids. But it was never at this ungodly hour. "You'll call or something when you know what's up?" you ask through a yawn.

"Of course, Bärchen." He gives you a chaste peck. Gently he guides you back towards your bed and sits you down. "Go back to sleep, there's no need to worry. I love you." With that he left.

Your sleep is fitful with him gone. You worry over things that you aren't even aware of, over who is hurt, over how severe a situation it could be to have been called in the middle of the night, over the poor boy that needs Laszlo’s help. When your daughter tiptoes into the room around 6 you welcome her into the bed with open arms.

"Why are you up, baby bug?"

"Where's Papa?" She climbs up on his side of the bed and rubs his cold pillow. On her face is a deep frown.

"He had to go help some very important people early this morning. He'll be back to see you soon, I promise."

"I miss him. He always helps me with my shoes."

You can't help the smile that crosses your face. "I know, baby. But it's still early so let's take a nap before we have to get ready, hmm?" The two of you snuggle under the covers. With her curled into your side you do find rest, even for the short time before your alarm chimes.

The day moves sluggish as you wait for word from your husband. Little work was to be done today at the museum, so there wasn't much to keep your mind off the wondering. You considered calling. You considered texting. But you knew that when the time was right he would let you know. No news is good news, you think.

Finally the day came to a close. You picked up Sophia and stopped by the store on the way home to grab supplies for dinner. She insisted that she carry one of the bags inside - little miss independent that she was. “Careful not to drop it, okay? Use those muscles of yours to hold the bag tight.”

“Mama I know, I help Papa carry all the time,” she explains matter-of-factly.

The townhouse is quiet as you begin to unpack. You do a quick glance into the dining room and parlor to no avail. "Laz, honey? You home?" A few seconds later you hear movement from the stairs.

Your husband rounds the corner into the kitchen, swooping down to scoop your daughter into his left arm, peppering her face in exaggerated smooches. Her giggles light up the room from the dim atmosphere. He perches her on his hip. “How was your day my little dove?”

“So good Papa - I practiced my counting today at school. I can get the biggest in the class! Mommy said I must be the most smartest," she prattles on.

“Wunderbar!” he praises her before turning to you. “I didn't hear you come in." Laszlo kisses you.

Pinning him with a look you say "you also didn't call me today? You said you would and I've been worried all day."

Sophia crosses her arms and harrumphs from her father's hip; "me too Papa." He quirks an eyebrow at her before speaking.

"Yes… there is something I wished to speak with you on but didn't think it was suitable for the phone." You raise your own brows but continue to put away groceries. "I do not wish to discuss certain aspects of the case in present company-" he nods towards Sophia minutely "-but we do have a houseguest for the foreseeable future."

"Oh?" Your brows dip in confusion. This is not what you were expecting.

Laszlo peeks around the doorway and calls out "Stevie, would you come join us in the kitchen please."

Stevie? You don't know a Stevie...

A moment later a lanky boy with scruffy dark blond hair shuffles into the room. He can't be anymore than 15. His clothes are too big on him and his shoes are worn beyond belief; nevertheless he gives you a slight smile. “This is Stevie Taggert, he’s going to be staying here with us in the guest room for now.”

“Good evening Mrs. Kreizler,” the boy says nervously, his voice cracking.

You spare a look at your husband before turning to the teenager with a smile. “Ah, no need for that, kid. You can just call me by my name instead. And welcome to our home. You like spaghetti?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Awesome! And I’m certainly not old enough to be a ma’am,” you give him a wink. You set up a pot to boil the water for the pasta. Laszlo excused himself to spend some time with Sophia, leaving you and Stevie in the kitchen.

He clears his throat behind you. “Would um… is there anything I can do to help?”

"I would love that, thank you."

The two of you get to work on making dinner. Stevie doesn’t say too much, but he is very polite and does his best to be useful. Once the food is nearly finished your family has returned ready to eat. You send Stevie and Sophia to set the table.

“Should I be worried?” you ask Laszlo quietly, watching the doorway the two left through.

“I don’t think so. I just felt that I would rather he have a familiar face to adjust with instead of being placed in a group home like many end up.”

You study his face. “You’ve taken a liking to him haven’t you?”

“Well…" his face reddens at your question. "He reminds me a bit of myself when I was his age.” The conversation is cut short by the kids returning.

The rest of dinner and the evening goes smoothly. You make it a point to not bring up any questions that could trigger the teenager, especially before you’ve spoken with Laszlo about the situation at hand. When Stevie nearly eats his weight in pasta you say nothing, wondering how long it's been since he's had a good home cooked meal. He insists on helping clean up the dishes afterwards. Without even knowing what the boy has gone through your heart aches for him.

You set him up in the small renovated basement downstairs while Laszlo puts Sophia to bed. Handing him one of your husband’s old Harvard t-shirts to sleep in you tell him “I’m sorry you’ll be down here by yourself, but if you need us for anything don’t be afraid to come get us - no matter what time it is, okay? And if you get cold there’s an extra blanket right here for you. I know it's July but….” you shrug. “Tomorrow after I get home from work we can go to the store and get you some stuff to use, some more clothes, that kinda thing.”

“Yes ma’am.” At the teasing look you give him his ears burn red with his mumbled “right sorry.”

“Alright Stevie. We’ll see you in the morning, sleep well.”

Laszlo is in bed reading when you enter the room. Nothing is said as you ready yourself for bed. Slipping under the covers you face him. He sighs and closes his book.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I became caught up in the day and only arrived home with Stevie maybe half an hour before you did.” He sighs a second time. “Most of the case I cannot talk about, but what I can say is he was living with his mentally ill father, whom was also an addict. He missed the last few weeks of the school year and has been regularly stealing food to get by. He has no other family. I just… it didn’t feel right to let him process his experiences away from someone properly trained to deal with these sorts of things, in addition to how traumatic entering foster care at his age can be. I spoke with those in social services and was granted temporary custody until we find another more permanent solution.”

“Of course.”

He takes hold of your hand. “You aren’t upset with me?”

“I mean it would’ve been nice to have a bit more warning… but I get it. He can stay as long as he needs to. He’s a sweet kid,” you reassure him. “I told him that I would take him shopping after work tomorrow, so if you could pick up Soph from preschool that would be great.”

“Perhaps instead we can all go? I was thinking that I would bring him to the university with me so that he’s not alone all day. You could get her and then we could meet somewhere, get dinner afterwards?”

You lean closer to him to curl around his arm and rest your head on his shoulder. He always thought so much about others, especially children. Laszlo had such a heart of gold and it honestly left you in awe of just how much he was willing to give so that others could find peace and happiness. Like the older he got the more he had to give. The thought warms you. “How are you literally the best person I know? And to think you used to be so worried about being able to be a good father and now you’re the best of all of us.” He huffs a little as you nuzzle into his chest.

“I have you to thank for that, Bärchen.” He drops a kiss to your head. “But it’s getting late and I’ve been up all day. We should get some sleep.”

Soon after you're both dreaming.

___

Stevie had been with you for three weeks. It only took him a few days to start to settle in, and you discovered that he was quick with his wit and far smarter than he let on. He was a little bit of a sarcastic smart-ass at times, but all in good nature. He was endlessly entertaining. Laszlo sat down with him almost everyday to talk about what he was feeling, the things he experienced, and ways to deal with the loss of his family. Already you both saw improvement.

Even Sophia got on well with him. Most teenage boys wanted nothing to do with little kids, let alone a 4 year old that loved playing 'spaceship barbie'. But not Stevie. On his fifth day you'd found him sat on the floor playing with her and going along with her childlike imagination. When she insisted he play the barbie that needed saving he went along with it, high pitched voice and everything. He even encouraged her to pick up her toys before bed - a feat you and your husband struggled with at times. It struck you how much Stevie became a big brother of sorts to her.

Laszlo grew even more fond of the boy. He wasn't really one for TV, but every evening he sat and watched some show on Netflix about racing with the teen and didn't complain once. Laszlo had tried to explain the role of adrenaline in racing drivers as a psychological function, but Stevie just brushed it off and said it was the driving so fast that made it "cool".

The two did bond over an unlikely subject - punk rock. When you got home from work two weeks into his stay and heard the music blasting in the parlor you worried someone had broken in. Whipping into the room you saw Laszlo in his chair tapping his foot to the intense guitar and singing; Stevie nodded along to the music as he held an old album cover. It didn't take long for Sophia to start jumping along to the music too.

"What is this?" You yelled out over the bass - you couldn't recognize it and it clearly wasn't English.

"Die Toten Hosen, a band I listened to growing up in Germany. Stevie found the record and asked to listen."

"Listen? I think you mean blow out your eardrums!" Even with needing to shout to be heard you had to laugh at the situation. How your husband had a secret love for German punk you'll never know; yet you would never let him live it down.

And when Stevie came and woke you both up in tears three nights ago you made him hot chocolate while Laszlo sat down with him. He confessed that he had never been treated or cared for like he was in your home. How he wished he could stay because he felt wanted. Your heart broke for the boy. To be so young and so lost, craving someone to simply be there for him.

Yet everyday he grew more open. He broke out of his shell. He had goals and ambitions; he wanted to amount to something bigger than he had thought he ever could. It almost shocked you at how much fire was within him.

At how much he fit in with your little family.

At how it was like he was meant to be there.

___

Laszlo was oddly quiet when you got home. Sophia had run off to find Stevie, and you tracked your husband down to his office. He listened as you talked about your day for a good ten minutes; he said almost nothing the whole conversation.

You move closer to him. Placing the back of your hand to his forehead you check to see if he's feverish or sick. He didn't feel warm. "Laz, are you feeling okay?"

He gently pulls your hand down and leaves a kiss on your palm. "The department of social services called this morning to inquire about what we want to do with Stevie. This would be the third time they have asked."

He hadn't mentioned it to you at all that they were calling already. "Okay. What do you think we should do?" You pause for him to continue.

"I told them I would need to speak with you before any further decisions were made regarding him…" His fingers tap against the wood of his desk. "I'm not sure I have an answer for them. Nor for you." He swallows. "I'm afraid of what might become of him should he go into the system. Or that he will not get the support he needs given his past. Any option involving allowing him to stay for a bit longer is a commitment I won't make without your full support, of course. I could never ask that of you." As he speaks you can hear the frustration pouring from him, feel the irritation radiating through the room. "I refuse to give up on him- I- I just don't have the answers on what to do without them hounding me and he deserves better than this, dammit."

"He does… Do you remember on your 50th birthday, what you told me?" Laszlo looks up at you confused. "You said that you had wished you were ten years younger so you had the energy and time to do all of it again. That if you were younger we would've had a whole gaggle of kids - brothers and sisters for Sophia."

"Wishing I was younger doesn't make a difference in helping Stevie-"

"Laszlo - let's adopt him." Your words stop him in his tracks. You had decided not to have any more after your daughter was born. Laszlo was nearing 50 and the pregnancy had been hard on you. But regardless you knew that you both had the means and the love to give another child, probably five or ten more children if you really wanted to. So why not start with one that's already wormed his way in to the family? "I've seen how fond you are of him already. You've taken him under your wing as if he was your own. And how good he is with Sophia? Hell I couldn't ask for a better older sibling for her - and she loves him already. And honestly, Laz, I do too."

"You think we should adopt Stevie?"

"I think we should ask, yeah. He deserves a good home and a strong father figure that's going to put him first. He looks at you like you hung the stars, Laszlo. He needs us, and truthfully I think we need him. So yeah - what's one more added to this little shindig we've got going for us?"

"Have you-"

"-thought it through? Yes. Completely."

You can see the smile he fights to hold back. "We should call tomorrow and see what the protocol is for stating our intent to adopt and getting the paperwork."

"Um…" You shuffle your feet. Nose scrunched, you confess "I may have already called them. On the way from work I asked about what would need to be done if we wanted to pursue that route, but since they already know who we are from you working with them for years it can be fast tracked." You pull him out of his chair to stand before you. "All we have to do is say 'go'."

He has no hesitation.

"Go."

Laszlo doesn't hold back his smile or his laughter as he spins you around his office floor. You're certain your children downstairs can hear your giggles.

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