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thirstytrashblogger · 8 days

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Chip Whistler x Reader

A/N: It's finally here! Well, the part I wrote and got sick of looking at. Sending this abomination out into the world. It's been here for months and I just don't know how to bring all my juicy bits into the story yet. Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but not pressured.

Minors DNI!!

A/N: I don't control the hyper-focus, it controls me. I love pathetic men as you can see. Got into watching BCG and once again I have a soft spot for the asshole of the series but wait he has LORE? And a cute ass?! Sign me the fuck up! Enjoy this SUPER self-indulgent AU to Chipped Off. It takes a long time to be happy and I wanna peg it into him. It's 2am and I can't sleep. I wanna grab him by the leg and beat him against a wall but I also wanna wrap him in a blanket and kiss him on the head. He’s still evil in this one, just a little less lost and alone I think.

Warnings: long fic, slow burn, blood, smut, tears, he cries eyeliner steaks confirmed, femdom reader, Chip being an ass, Chip's kinda a perv, injuries from the helicopter crash, mentions of violence and violent thoughts, angst, weed, character development, unhinged 20-something reader, y/n doesn’t put up with his shit

Reader features because this one, in particular, is for me: reader is short, feisty, and absolutely nuts. She had long beautiful wavy hair and cottage core/feral vibes. Pet rats!! __________________________

Y/n was foraging for wild mushrooms in the forest near her little cottage home in the night. Her sleep schedule may be fucked but her foraging skills shall improve. The crickets were chirping, the night was calm, and she had just spotted a nice bright orange patch of chanterelle mushrooms. She crouched down with her basket to collect a few.

“You're gonna look amazing in my omelet tomorrow.”

She said to them proud of her discovery when she suddenly heard a whirling sound that was getting closer and closer. Looking up in the starry night sky, y/n saw a spinning helicopter hurling towards the ground not in a path to hit her but pass her by, as she ran to duck for cover behind a large tree root she could hear the close whirling accompanied by a scream before crashing with an explosion in the distance.

After the initial shock of the situation wore off y/n thought “A scream. A person. A person in trouble, maybe dead, I'm the only one around to help!” And ran toward the site of the crash.

Upon finding the burning remains of the helicopter, y/n also saw a man barely conscious crawling from the thorn bush he had landed in. He had blood running down his face and a seemingly injured leg. She ran to help him as he looked up to her from the ground before passing out.

Y/n assessed him quickly for injuries using her scarf to apply pressure to the bleeding, dragging him away from the wreckage. It was then that she realized she had left her phone at the cabin. Searching his person for a phone she was able to find one in his blazer pocket, screen totally shattered from the fall. Guess she’ll just have to hope someone from the nearby town would call in the fire. With that, she got to work carrying his limp body as quickly as possible back to her cabin. She looked at the man's face, familiar somehow even with the blood and scapes. His mouth fell open and she could see he chipped his front tooth pretty badly upon the crash.

Once she finally returned to her cabin she put him on the couch before going to find her phone that was charging. Upon reaching the phone she saw it had not been properly plugged in and was at 1%

“Aghh! Come on. I don't want a guy dying on my couch!” She panicked quickly trying to dial 911 when the phone went black just as she was about to press call.

“Great. Well, I guess it's up to my repressed years of nursing school to come to use,” she said, rolling up her sleeves to do the best she could at helping this poor unfortunate soul. First, she had to remove the burnt and bloody clothing to find some kind of ID. His clothes looked expensive, and felt expensive, even with the damage. She found a driver's license in his pants pocket. “Chip Whistler” the name read with a smug photo to match. She got to work bandaging him up. She gave him some of her old clothes and then went to make the call. After a few jarring phone calls, she sat in her armchair watching him as if trying to check that he was still breathing before falling asleep herself.

Chip woke up a few hours later groaning from the pain he lifted a hand to his head to discover half his face had been wrapped in gauss, a bag of frozen sweet corn sat on his head, and he was wearing different clothes (trashy ones in his opinion) (a hoodie and gray sweats) his left leg was propped up on a pillow with another bag of frozen corn on it, he could feel his chest was also wrapped in gauss and the rest of his body was littered with various bandages. He licked the inside of his mouth thirsty to re-discover his chipped tooth. He looked around the sad little hovel he now found himself in, adorned with whimsical and woodsy decorations.

“You gotta be kidding me!” He yelled in frustration at the situation and tried sitting up only to feel the extent of his injuries and once again turn into a whining mess.

“Aghhh!” He groaned in pain.

Suddenly a young woman shot up hidden under a blanket in the chair next to the couch.

“You're awake!” She exclaimed.

“Aghhhh!” He yelled again, surprised.

Just then, because God hates Chip, a loose nail fell from the ceiling hitting him in the head.

“AGHHHHH!!” He screamed.

“Alright, gimme a second.” she said getting up.

He looked over to her, turning his neck as best he could. She had bad eyebags, scruffy hair, and not to mention those awful cottage core clothes but all together she was somehow… cute? Pretty even as her hips swayed and hair bounced as she walked. She sauntered over to him with a small flashlight in her hand. He looked her up and down before flashing a smoldering smile “Hey” he said attempting to be smooth in his condition.

She peeled his eyelid up to shine the light in his eyes. “Hi, I'm y/n. You've been in a helicopter crash. Try not to move. You have some bruising and stitches. Do you remember what happened?” She asked not noticing his attempt at flirting.

“Yeah, I remember! Those damn Greens ruined my life and launched me into space!” He yelled trying to stretch his limbs to express his anger before being met with more pain. He whined “Owie”.

Y/n went to grab a glass of water and some painkillers from the kitchen before coming back to the couch and taking a seat in the small spot near the edge that was unoccupied.

“Here. This should help. It's only Tylenol but it's all I have until help can get here.” she said hoping what little she could offer would help.

Chip opens his mouth to accept the pills and sips the water, choking briefly before swallowing the medicine. Y/n smiles at him. The first genuine smile he'd received in a while. It felt weird, maybe it was just the pain his body felt, much worse than the usual scaps he'd been getting into since the Greens moved to the city.

“Where the heck am I? You said help was coming?” He asked, looking up at her from their close proximity. The edge of her dress was raised to show a little thigh from her seated position. Chip could feel the heat of her body on the side of his lower torso. At least his inner perv can enjoy this cute bumpkin while he is in this mess.

“Uhh yeah. Eventually so when I found you I didn't have my phone so I brought you back here to my house and then I saw my phone was dead I did what I could to help you myself then I tried calling for help but the operator only said they would send a squad to handle the fire and no medical assistance. I thought that was odd but I was able to call a doctor from the country and they said they might come out here in a couple of days… if they remember.” She half smiled trying to give him some kind of hope in this awful situation.

“Ugggg! Banishment! Those stupid Greens will pay for this!” He yelled, his eyes looked crazed and his face turned red.

“Wow, okay try to relax. Getting worked up is not good for your health right now. I gave you some stitches you do not want to pop. I'm sorry this happened to you but right now you need to focus your energy on recovering. I'll make us something to eat.” She spoke gently, placing her hands on his shoulders to calm him, taking a deep breath almost to show him how. His anger softens. She was so.. kind but blunt. It reminded him of those dumb Greens and maybe his dad. He didn't like the weird feeling in his chest from her soft smile and kind eyes. He let out an annoyed sigh before laying back down reaching to pull the crocheted blanket draped on the couch onto himself and wrap up into an angry and defeated little burrito.

She had gotten up to go to the kitchen. As he lay there hearing the clutter of pots and pans, the chopping of vegetables, and her sweet humming of a song he didn't know he felt his rage lessen for now. The painkillers were starting to work. For now, he'll rest and recover. Revenge can wait. He was tired. He eventually fell asleep.

Chip awoke to the air smelling like warm spices and mushrooms. It was nice, comforting. He opened his eyes back to the bleak situation he got himself into, broken and bruised on some hillbilly stranger's couch. He looked around to see she was back in the armchair, now crocheting something.

“Oh hi. How're you feeling?” She asked, barely looking up from her project.

Chip moved to sit slightly only to hear a crunch and fall back in dull pain.

“Still crappy.” He answered,

“Maybe some soup would help.” She consoled, getting up to grab two bowls of fresh mushroom soup. She handed him one of the wooden bowls with a piece of fresh bread before sitting down in her chair and digging into her bowl.

“What is this?” He asked, seemingly disgusted.

“Portabella mushroom soup.”

Chip was still skeptical of the gray soup, hesitantly grabbing a spoonful and taking a small bite. It was soft and warm and a little spicy but so good. She turned on the radio to add some noise to their meal.

“So what's your name, stranger?” She asked.

“Chip Whistler, CEO of… oh yeah, former CEO of Wholesome Foods.”

“Wow, that explains the suit. That's folded up over there btw, couldn't find your other shoe though.”

“Not my Prada loafers!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Haha, those won’t do you any good out here anyway. So what exactly happened? It doesn’t usually rain CEOs in these parts.”

“Haha well, it’s a long and vengeful story. It all started when the Greens moved to Big City.” he began reciting his entire story of failed revenge toward the Greens and his descent to madness.

“Wow that was a long story but it sounds like it's been rough.”

“Thank you! Everyone always gets put off when I mention the plans of violence and arson.”

“Nah, I get ya. I have thoughts of violence, arson, torture, omnipotent god-like power all the time. Why do you think I put myself all the way out here? Keeps me away from all the stupid annoying people.” She stated.

“Finally, someone gets it!” He exclaimed

Just then the radio chimed in with breaking news.

“Following his lifetime ban from Big City, local pariah, Chip Whistler is presumed dead after the wreckage from his helicopter has been found.”

Chip drops his spoon into the bowl in disbelief.

“Dead?” he questioned softly. Another voice came out.

“And if for some strange reason, he's not dead, he's still banned from Big City forever.” Cheers could be heard from the background.

“Woooo! We beat the baddie! Chip’s dead! Chip’s dead!”

“Dead?” he spoke again. Now feeling even more desolate than ever looking deep in thought.

She didn’t know what to say to sound comforting in this situation but offered a kind extended hand to his shoulder.

“Oh man, “ she started.

“Where's the bathroom?” he asked.

“Just through that door. Here let me hel-”

But before she could finish offering him help to stand, Chip threw himself onto the floor and quickly dragged himself to the bathroom shutting the door.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, Chip reached for the sink counter to pull himself up, every muscle aching again. He felt like he got hit by a truck, worse by a tree and some branches, and a thorn bush. He was able to look in the mirror, finally able to feel the gravity of his situation.

“Look at yourself. The bar just gets lower and lower for you, doesn't it Whistler? I've lost everything! And I'm just stuck out here in the middle of nowhere with some rando weirdo, what am I gonna do?”

He looked down at the plain hoodie he was wearing

“This isn't even a name brand!” he broke down sobbing before laughing maniacally then sobbing again.

“Everyone thinks you're dead and now what!?” he yelled to his reflection.

“You start again.” he heard from the other side of the door.

He turned to open the door, weight on the counter and his good leg.

“Sorry to eavesdrop on your conversation with yourself. It’s a small cottage.”

*sigh* “What do you mean start again?”

“Well it’s pretty clear the whole city kinda hated you and you did some pretty shady and illegal stuff while you were there but now that you’re “dead” you can be whoever you want to be, plus you've avoided legal charges. Hopefully, you'll have a nicer alignment this time around. I'm chaotic neutral myself.”

“Oh my god, you're so weird.”

“Yeah, I am, but I live my truth and I live it proudly. Now you gotta find yours. You might be surprised to find you're happier in life when you're not overwhelmed with a need for petty revenge.”

“My happiness is based on gaining that petty revenge!”

“Uh huh, and how'd that go the first time?”

“...bad” he replied.

He looked down overwhelmed with his own cloud of self-pity.

“Hey what do you say we take our minds off it for a little while. I can check your bandages again. It looks like you’re starting to leak through your face wrappings.”

Chip raised his hand to his eye “ow” he looked down to see a small patch of blood on his hand. “Ew ew”. He stumbled back onto the floor, back against the sink cabinet. Y/n giggled and went to retrieve some supplies before coming back to his seated position on the bathroom floor.

Y/n sat close once again gently taking the bandage off his face. She grabbed a wet rag from a bucket and wrung it out to clean the dried blood from his face. From this angle, Chip could see down the front of her dress. She could feel him staring before snapping her fingers in his face.

“Eyes up here” she said, not giving away any emotion besides mild annoyance still gently wiping his eye.

Chip felt his face redden at being caught, looking away and around avoiding her cleavage and eye contact at all costs.

“Is it bad?” He asked, referring to his damaged face.

“Uh, no I wouldn't say so. You will probably have a little scarring but nothing too major” She half smiled

“Scars!?” He yelped. Not his perfect face!

“Are you… wearing eyeliner?” She asks, confused.

“No. Maybe” he replies.

Y/n could only laugh looking at how the bandages, Chip's crying, and the blood caused a black eye stain of makeup to surround his eye as he tried to deny it. Chip would've usually felt embarrassed, appalled at being mocked but this time he oddly felt there was no ill will, no true disgust or hatred. He always told himself he was likable and cool, but lately, he had been more defensive and self-aware of himself since everything came crumbling down. Her laugh was nice, not just noise like everything else.

“You never told me where I am exactly.” Changing the subject instead. Ignoring his deepening thoughts.

“I did. You're at my home. I'm the only one around for a couple of miles. There's a small town west of here but they avoid these woods. You're about half a day's drive back to the city.”

Another sigh left his mouth. She could feel his warm breath on her neck as she applied cream to the scrapes on his face.

“How did you know everyone hated me in the City?”

“I researched you right after I first patched you up.”

She pulled his driver's license out of her dress pocket.

“Yeah, the goatee wasn't your best look.” She commented on his picture before handing the card back to him.

“hmm, If you know everything, then why are you cleaning me up instead of throwing me out too?”

“Out there in the woods in your condition? You'll certainly get eaten by wolves if not die of hypothermia. I'm not so sure you really deserve a second chance but for whatever reason you got one and for whatever reason I was around to help so I'm gonna try because I'm a darn good hostess and it gets boring out here all alone.”

Her words struck him. A second chance. For whatever reason he got one and now he has to figure out what to do with it.

“Also, I realized I'd seen you before. First I thought it was from that meme where you threw tomatoes at a child. Btw, not cool, then I realized I saw you when I was working as a janitor at Farm Con last year. I remember you got hit in the face with a sack and all of your teeth fell out. Kinda hard to forget then they were just left there. I was sweeping up and literally found a nearly full set of human teeth. Not something you find every day. I did keep 'em if you want them back.”

Chip looked at her with shock and disgust.

“Sorry, that was weird of me. I’ve been kinda isolated out here by myself for a while. Kinda forget how human interaction works.”

“Oh, this is just perfect! I’m stuck out in the middle of nowhere with the whole world thinking I’m dead and the only one who can help me is a complete and total psycho!”

“Mhm. Sounds like God really hates you.” she joked.

She finishes cleaning him up and applying smaller bandages before grabbing some clean gauss to rewrap his face.

“Wait, I want a mirror.” He demanded making grabby hands.

“*sigh* okay” she reluctantly agreed, handing him a mirror.

Chip met his reflection. A large red scar slashed down the right side of his face going all the way down his cheek and to his chin, the chipped tooth back to mock him, even his perfect hair was disheveled and still littered with bits of twigs and leaves hidden deep inside. A small slice of hair was slashed out with the new scar, and his eyes were stained with mascara and bags.

He was ugly. He was a monster. He was hateful and vain. He knew deep down his unhappiness was his own doing but couldn't accept it even looking in the face of defeat. He still wanted revenge but now he only had the energy to cry and scream and so he did. He sobbed into his hands, tired and broken.

Y/n reached a hand slowly to his face. He looked up, slowing his sobs to look at her. She couldn't help but want to comfort him in such a pathetic state. Eyes shining, hair messy, that little tooth gap making his shaky breaths whistle as he exhaled.

She moved her hand further up his cheek, wiping the tears from his eyes and reaching around his head to hug him gently.

He hesitated at first before accepting the hug. Sobbing once again on shoulder in these ratty clothes on the bathroom floor she stroked his back and cradled his head. They stayed like that for a few minutes. Once Chip had calmed down some, he returned to faking confidence and evened his voice down to no longer shake.

“Better?” She asked.

He just gave a single nod, avoiding her gaze.

“We're almost done. I just need to check your leg now that you're conscious” She started moving down to his injured foot.

“It's probably fine” He said dismissively like he didn't throw himself onto the floor and shuffle his way to the bathroom like a salmon crossing a flooded road 15 minutes ago.

“Hm. Does it hurt when I bend your foot like this?” She asked, bending it forward.

“Nope.” He said smugly.

“mhm and how about this?” She asked, bending it backward toward him.

“Aghhh!!” He yelled, pulling his foot away.

“Yeah, I guess you were right. It's fine, just a bad sprain. I would get them all the time as a kid. You should be fine in a couple of weeks.”

“A couple weeks?!” He groaned.

“You could use a crutch in the meantime but no running or like contact sports for a while.”

��So I'm really stuck out in the middle of nowhere with you until help comes?”

“I'd offer to take you to a town nearby but I don't have a car and you couldn't get that far on foot right now.” She stated while wrapping his foot with a compression band.

“Give it some time. It's pretty peaceful out here. A perfect place to rest and recover.” she added standing up.

She reached a hand out to help him try to stand. He looked up seeing the light halo around her head as he accepted her hand. On wobbly legs and leaning on her, he was able to stand. She helped him limp back to the couch, arm around his waist as they both plopped onto the couch and he was able to lay down.

"Oh yeah! I have to see if you're chest is healing." She remembered helping him remove the hoodie for one last bit of medical examination.

The bruise on his ribs was darkening a deep orange as it had oxidized since last seeing it. It didn't seem to be too deep or concerning though.

Hugging his sore body to help him into a sitting position. It was a bit awkward with his lack of a top and wrapped chest. He smelt of expensive cologne and aftershave. She could feel the scratchy brush on his cheek against hers as she pulled away from the hug.

Hiding a blush, he looked away. She was so warm and soft. Gentle not to hurt his tender body and her soft hair tickled his neck and shoulder. She smelt of warm baked bread and sweet fresh herbs. Something unfamiliar to him but so inviting.

She applied a healing ointment to his bruises before wrapping him up again. Lost in thought, Chip looked up to the ceiling of the cottage wondering who he might be in this new life.

__________________

A/N: I have so many more ideas for this fic including a lot of fun witty banter but no motivation to write it. Let me know what ya think! Thanks for reading!

#big city greens chip #big city greens #chip whistler #chip whistler x reader #fluff #long fic #ongoing #cottage aesthetic #blorbo #I said i would write #Please don't let this go under #chipped off #healing au

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minyukine04 · 24 days

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Healing Batfamily AU

Min Yoshine is an interesting unique character and newly adopted of the batfamily. she is a multi talenter. she has several hobbies such as craft crochet knitting, a great cook, a theraphy of the family, dancer, singer, actress, does creative educational play-baes approach tools for children to learn better, a theatre kid, a anime comic cosplayer artist, and a yaoi fan, ice skating, playing instruments especially guitar, piano, and violin and animal lover 100%, especially cats and baby animals, does scenery and floral photography. she mainly uses dancing and singing to express herself in a theartric ways while saying a tale that relates to the family depending how specific of she mentions in her songs with meaningful songs for them to understand the message behind the songs.

How will Dick, Jason, Barbara, Tim, Damian, Duke, Stephanie, Cassandra, Bruce, Alfred reacted to Min Yoshine when she uses her hobbies, mainly, crochet knitting craft, singing with instruments like guiar and piano, making creative play based approach educational tools to sell and donate to preschools and underprivileged children and orphanages, and cosplaying her favourite characters to together and using her knowledge expereince on therapy from her dead parents on bruce while helping him to heal, bond, mend with his family while being supportive all of them to understand each other better

i wanna hear your opinions on this cause i really not entirely familiar their family dynamics and history since i read some of the dc comics. so any one willing to share their opinions I'm wide open for anyone's perspectives since I'm going to write it on ao3.

#my ocs #batfamily #healing #healing au #batkids #chaos #fluff #shenanigans #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer

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elendiliel · 2 years

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Oya Manda

This follows on from this fic, but hopefully it can stand alone. It's also the longest piece in this AU to date (one reason it's taken so long for me to finish it), so be warned.

There are also more references to @itsstrangelypermanent's OC Nuts and @imrowanartist's Yara, made with their authors' kind permission. I recommend reading more about them (medical logs and Deference for Darkness, respectively, are good starting points).

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“And you can confirm that Maul is currently in Sundari?”

“It’s not something about which one can be mistaken, if one has a shred of Force-sensitivity.” Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi conceded Jedi Knight Helli Abbasa’s point. He had a long history with the ex-Sith. “He’s holed up in the Mand’alor’s residence. My guess would be that he comes and goes via the sewer network. It’s extensive enough, and nobody in their right mind would go down there unnecessarily.” Maul was not in his right mind, if Helli were any judge. She had only sensed him from several rooms and an outer wall away, relying on passive scans so as to conceal her own presence, but was pretty sure he wasn’t playing with a full deck.

“A reasonable deduction. We’ll have to find some way to seal them off if we do stage an attack. Which, thanks to you four, is looking quite likely. Between the evidence you gathered,” meaning Helli and her new riduur Torrent, aided and abetted by Doctor Mij Gilamar, “Bo-Katan addressing the Senate as both her sister’s heir and the spokesperson for multiple factions, and Senator Amidala and her allies doing what they do best,” appealing as much to emotion as to logic, “I’d say the odds are in our favour.” (Helli wondered briefly how Padmé was still in the Senate after her Jedi husband’s dramatic announcement of their marriage – at her wedding breakfast. Maybe the news hadn’t got out yet. Helli hadn’t exactly been able to pay much attention.)

“That was a good idea of yours, allying with the other factions.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze spoke casually, but Helli knew that was high praise, coming from the Mandalorian woman.

“Just rational.” Unity and diversity equalled the good kind of strength; every youngling knew that. It may have helped that Helli also came from a clan-based society, and a species with a long race-memory. The last rising of the clans on Alba had nearly defeated the occupying Sassenachs – could have done so, given better leadership and thus better tactics.

The three-way holographic conference soon became a logistical one, working through the details of the planned joint Mandalorian-Republic assault, especially those pertaining to the alliance’s men and woman on the inside. There was a lot to discuss. Maul was too slippery a customer for anyone to want to leave anything to chance.

It would take a little while for the Senate, Jedi and Mandalorians to get all their waterfowl in a row. Helli, Torrent and Mij made the most of that time, exploring Sundari, seeing the sights, investigating the restaurants and bars – and scouting out the territory in which they would soon be fighting. (The newlyweds also found themselves enjoying the kind of long, lazy lie-ins neither of them had ever really experienced before, counterbalanced by late but active nights.)

But it couldn’t last, of course. Five days after the conference, just as the party returned to their hotel after latemeal, a prearranged coded signal informed them that the invasion fleet was well on its way, and they had just enough time to start running the program they had been sent, which would slowly and insidiously take down Sundari’s outer defences and lock off Maul’s most likely escape route. It should by rights have been installed in the city’s security centre, but any incident there would alert Maul’s forces, and the team was already walking on eggshells after a dust-up with a few “Mauldalorians” (as Torrent’s shieldmate Spark, one of the program’s architects, called them). Helli had blurred their memories as best she could, but still didn’t want to take any chances. Instead, a variant on standard remote-desktop and virtual private network protocols fooled the relevant terminals into thinking the program had originated there – and concealed its real origin.

While it ran, the party used the time to dress for the occasion. Mij, a relatively traditional Mandalorian despite being cin vhetin, routinely wore his armour, but augmented it with his helmet, blasters and jetpack, which had been smuggled in to him by the same contact of Bo-Katan’s who had delivered Torrent’s new armour. Real beskar’gam, painted just like his plastoid suit. Every clone who fought to liberate Mandalore would be offered a place in a Mandalorian clan, and the armour to go with that status; Torrent happened to be the first to receive it.

Mij having tactfully made himself scarce, Helli helped her cyare don the more complicated beskar gear over the armourweave full-body kute and boots that went with it, as best she could while he insisted on helping her with the outer layers of her Jedi robes (the inner tunic, trousers and boots constituting her civilian attire). As ever, it didn’t take long for them to find the right rhythm. Upper body armour; outer tunic; shoulder bells, rerebraces, vambraces and gloves; tabard; cuisses and greaves; obi; jetpack, belt and holsters; tool belt, headset, vambrace and lightsabres; helmet. It was only when her beloved’s face was hidden that Hel fully realised that they were about to take part in a full-scale battle, not a skirmish, for the first time since she had admitted that she loved him. One or both of them might not come back, and the idea hurt.

Picking up on her almost-concealed disquiet (and somewhat disquieted himself), Torrent held her close, resting his forehead against hers as he had at their wedding. “Mhi solus tome,” the riduure said together, quoting the Mandalorian marriage vow, “mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an. Ib’tuur mhi verde.” We are one together, we are one apart, we share all. Today, we are warriors.

She clung to him for just a moment longer, before they both found the strength to draw apart, just as the second signal arrived. The invasion fleet had engaged the enemy. That was the cue for Mij to run another program, hijacking the public address system to broadcast a single message on repeat, in both Basic and Mando’a. There is no cause for alarm. Please remain in your homes. You will be safe there. Normal service will be resumed shortly. Oya manda.

“I think our work here is done,” the doctor remarked. “Shall we see what’s going on outside?”

“Let’s.” Hel led the way out onto the balcony attached to Tor’s and her room. The view was spectacular – if one liked battles. Bo-Katan’s Mandalorians and jetpack-wearing clones – a mix of 104th, 212th and 501st, Hel thought, though it was hard to tell the last apart from Clan Kryze while they were all moving so fast – were fighting Maul’s loyalists in the skies above Sundari, and blaster fire lit up the streets below. Hel’s attention, though, was drawn to a knot of blue lightsabre blades a few blocks away. The two orbiting each other like stars in the most complicated system ever modelled had to be Master Kenobi’s and Anakin Skywalker’s; the pair moving in perfect unison, clearly wielded by the same person, looked to be Ahsoka Tano’s. Someone, probably Anakin, had changed their colour while she was away. And the darker blue one was Fives’, of course. Hel couldn’t see Master Koon’s single blade anywhere, but where the Wolfpack were, their alpha wouldn’t be far ahead.

Hel activated the comm in her vambrace, tuning it to Master Kenobi’s channel. (She’d use her headset once she joined the battle, but the others couldn't hear it.) “Recon team awaiting orders.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.” As expected, there was plenty of blaster fire in the background, some deflected by sabres, and the occasional explosion. “We’d like you three to join us as soon as possible. Can you see where we are from there?”

“Perfectly. ETA ten minutes.” Hel signed off and looked at Torrent and Mij. “You two take the high road; I’ll take the slightly lower road.”

“And you’ll probably be at the RV before us.” Torrent knew the song she was misquoting. “Ready when you are, general.”

Once Mij had concurred, there was no point wasting any more time. Nor did Hel give herself time to think before stepping up onto the top of the balcony railing and jumping to the roof of the building across the street, a leap that would have been impossible without the Force. She just let herself enjoy the race, sprinting, sliding, clambering across the trickier obstacles – and occasionally dodging blaster fire, which wasn’t usually a hazard back on Coruscant. The others kept up with her pretty well, despite Torrent’s being a little rusty with respect to the use of a jetpack and the odd airborne skirmish that crossed their path, but she was still the first one to reach the ground at the rendezvous point – the Peace Park, of all places.

Close to, she could see that the combatants were more spread out than she had initially thought, a mixture of Bo-Katan’s loyalists and 212th and 501st clones holding off Maul’s forces at multiple entrances to the (mercifully seemingly unharmed) park. Quite a mixture. Hel had read up on the various Mandalorian factions beforehand; she spotted Bo-Katan’s Nite Owls, Clan Kryze and Clan Wren prominent among them, the Protectors of Concord Dawn and a fair few others – Ka’ra, were those Children of the Watch? How in blazes had Bo-Katan managed that? They made Death Watch look positively liberal. Mij greeted some of the apparently independent fighters by name, including Skirata and Vau, whom Hel knew to be members of the Cuy’val Dar and trainers of the first generations of clones. Among the decent or somewhat decent ones. All of them were fighting side by side with volunteers from two of the best battalions in the Grand Army of the Republic.

(All the vode there were volunteers, Hel knew; things had changed since the last Chancellor’s fall from grace. While major military operations still needed Senate approval, the fine details were left officially to the Jedi, and unofficially to a committee composed of equal numbers of Jedi and clones, mostly but not entirely Council members and CCs. Everyone had an equal voice and an equal vote, except for Commander Cody, who had eventually been prevailed upon to accept the casting vote as well. The result was a far more democratic army, less efficient perhaps, but soon to be phased out in any case.)

“Me’vaar ti gar?,” Hel asked Kenobi without thinking, her lightsabres already arcs of turquoise and blue in the darkness, batting away incoming fire. (Not all of it from the enemy; a few allies didn’t react to her arrival in time to avoid her.) He, Anakin and their respective seconds-in-command, Cody and Captain Rex, were, predictably, in the thick of the fiercest battle along with Bo-Katan and a number of other Mandalorians and clones. On her way there, Hel had seen her own unit, Lightning Squadron, now reunited with Torrent, embedded with the Mando’ade and other vode guarding another potential entry point, and Ahsoka and Lieutenant Jesse helping to protect a third; all three groups were holding their own, and slowly gaining ground, especially with the three new additions to their number. (Mij had chosen to reinforce Ahsoka’s group.)

“The program worked perfectly, but Maul’s forces mobilised a little more quickly than we anticipated. The 104th and some of Bo-Katan’s fighters are creating a perimeter around the city centre and clearing out any opposition soldiers in the suburbs, while we make for the Mand’alor’s residence and capture Maul. And by the way, I know undercover work can be difficult, but please try not to go completely native.” Master Kenobi knew what he was talking about, Hel was well aware. He’d faked his own death for an undercover assignment, which hadn’t gone down well with Anakin.

“There are worse fates,” she shot back. “The drink here isn’t bad, and I’m getting used to the food.” Mandalorian black ale was good, in moderation, but she was finding the cuisine an acquired taste. It tended to bite back. “What’s so funny?” That was to Anakin, now smiling as at something amusing.

“Just thinking of the little mouse I used to spar with, who wouldn’t say two words she didn’t have to.” He was describing her twelve-year-old self, who would never have been so forward to a Council member. “You’ve really grown up.”

“Happens to us all.” Hel used the Force to send a grenade sailing away, imagining that she was just punching a thrown rubber ball (a standard accuracy drill for Alban children). “Well, most of us.”

“Fair point. Anyway, a few commando squads are here as well, tasked with taking down major military assets – the armoury, the security centre and so on. Delta, Omega and the Bad Batch.”

“Stars! Scorch, Darman and Wrecker on one mission? Stand by for fireworks!” Hel had worked with all three units before, and had a healthy respect for them – especially the demo men.

There wasn’t time for much more discussion. The opposition line had started to buckle under the increased pressure, and the alliance had to drive its advantage home. Which it duly did, until all the Mauldalorians were unconscious, too badly wounded to pose a threat or gone.

The other groups had met with similar success by that point and were ready to press on, but Bo-Katan wanted to be sure they wouldn’t be ambushed on the way to their goal. Hel had thought of that over the previous few days, and reeled off the details of a couple of likely opposition staging posts and the best places to set up defensive lines between them and the alliance’s quickest and safest route to their destination. She’d noted them down while pretending to be a normal tourist, without even thinking about it. She was becoming a soldier in truth as well as in name, and the thought alarmed her.

Bo-Katan didn’t argue with Hel’s advice (presumably she wasn’t as familiar with Sundari, or at least with Sundari under Maul’s rule), but designated two squads from her own men and women to do as she said. Each would be reinforced by a clone detachment, one led by Anakin and Rex, the other by Ahsoka and Jesse. Precautions taken, the motley army set off, alert for any and all surprises. It wasn’t even the right time to catch up properly with the rest of Lightning Squadron, though Hel did manage to comment on Echo’s new armour – designed to account for the injuries he had sustained at the Citadel and the legacy of his subsequent captivity, but still recognisably a 501st shell – before Bo-Katan glared at her for getting distracted. Hel gave almost as good as she got.

“I didn’t know jetiise could have mandokar,” one of Bo-Katan’s lieutenants commented in Hel’s ear. Her armour and Nite Owl helmet were painted grey and yellow, Clan Wren’s colours, and the way the woman carried herself – and fought – suggested high rank. Almost certainly the clan leader, Countess Ursa Wren. Hel remembered her from her Mandalorian intel file – a long-term ally of Bo-Katan, and a staunch supporter of Death Watch until Maul’s takeover, but married to a New Mandalorian artist named Alrich, who had taken his wife’s clan name (as Torrent had). They had a two-year-old daughter, Sabine, safe at the clan holdings on Krownest. No wonder Ursa had fought so fiercely earlier. She had a great deal to lose if the invasion failed.

“Your sample size isn’t big enough, then.” Hel acknowledged the compliment with a smile. “Given the variation within the Order, that’s not surprising.” It didn’t help that Hel was at least two standard deviations from the mean in many respects. When most people thought of Jedi, they imagined a calm, tranquil, inhumanly graceful being, remote, emotionless, a wielder of awesome powers, an artist with a laser sword. Not a creature made of fire and steel, as gifted with her fists and boots as with her sabre, who loved fiercely and recklessly but would break her own heart to do her duty, who struggled to lift a stone but could sense the cosmos around her in remarkable detail. Who climbed almost as well as a Suli high-wire walker, schemed like a Ketterdam gang leader and could probably beat a Ravkan Grisha, a Fjerdan drüskelle or a Shu khergud in single combat. Not that Hel ever wanted to test that.

That conversation, too, had to be cut short. Maul’s ground forces had apparently fallen back, but his snipers hadn’t. At least two of them opened fire on the advancing invaders; most of their shots missed completely, but Hel saw a vod from the 212th – she made a mental note to learn his name as soon as possible – fall back, clutching his wounded arm and probably cursing, blood already seeping between his fingers. Another round barrelled towards Hel’s head; recognising the sound of the snipers’ guns, she deflected it with her vambrace, not a sabre. Which was just as well. What had just ruined the paintwork on the piece of Torrent’s old armour clearly wasn’t a laser, but a lead bullet.

“Slugthrowers!,” she called out, cursing herself for not foreseeing that move. “Get to cover!”

The men and women around and behind her scattered, diving for whatever shelter they could find. Most of them made it unscathed, and most of the rest could be fixed up on the spot. Hel couldn’t let herself think about the others yet. As Master Kenobi warned the other units about the new threat (Maul would surely have other snipers around the city), she did her best to trace the incoming fire back to its origin, looking for the gunners. She wasn’t the only one – Fives and Echo were doing the same thing either side of her, as were some of the Mandalorians – but the snipers were well hidden. Getting past them was going to be tricky.

“Are you all right?” Torrent, having finished tending to the more seriously wounded, had joined the rest of the squad. Hel could picture his concerned expression behind his helmet. They had encountered slugthrowers before; she still had the scar.

“A bit bruised, but otherwise fine. The vambrace held.” The skin below it already ached, but was intact. That had only been a glancing blow, though. While the other clones’ plastoid armour might stand up to a direct hit, and the Mandalorians’ and Torrent’s beskar definitely would, the impact trauma underneath would not be pretty. And lightsabres were no use against slugthrowers. In the best-case scenario, they might slow and deflect the bullets; in the worst-case one, they would fill the air with vaporised lead. Not something anyone should be breathing.

“Thank you for the warning.” Master Koon sounded as calm as ever over the comms, despite the rifle fire in the background. More slugthrowers. “I believe we have encountered similar opposition here.”

Hel had also heard a very familiar, though faint, voice behind the Jedi Master. On a hunch, she tuned her headset to one of the Wolfpack’s internal frequencies. Sure enough, Captain Keeli was shouting at his medic partner Nuts, telling him to come down from there, di’kut, you’re crazy, all right, crazier, it’s not worth the risk… Hel smiled to herself. Nuts was almost as good a sniper as he was a medic, and had access to commando-level gear, but his real talent was for causing chaos. His name – bestowed by Keeli – didn’t just refer to his liking for warru nuts. And he usually got away with his antics, on the battlefield or off. Hel heard a single blaster-rifle stun-shot, and one of the slugthrowers fell silent.

She retuned her headset to the general channel just as Commander Wolffe reported that, “We’ve taken out one of their snipers, but don’t have a line of sight on any of the others.”

“It’s progress,” Hel reassured him. “Tell Nuts to get his shebs back down to safety sharpish. Just because you can’t see a sniper, it doesn’t mean they can’t see you.”

“Oh, Keeli’s ahead of you there.” The commander was almost laughing. “How did you know it was Nuts?”

“Who else would it be?” Without waiting for Wolffe to answer her mostly rhetorical question, Hel asked, “Crosshair, any luck your end?”

“Working on it.” The Bad Batch’s sniper sounded as calm as ever. Somehow.

“I’ll take that as a no. Sev?”

“Likewise,” was all Delta’s long gunner had to say. Neither Bo-Katan’s snipers nor Cody’s had had any luck, either. Master Kenobi was still studying the situation. “Helli, how easy is it to deflect bullets with the Force?”

“Doable, but far from trivial.” As Kenobi knew, Hel had done it herself, on an unofficial mission to Arkanis; it had taken all her focus and so much effort that she’d fallen asleep straight afterwards. “It looks like our best option, though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Spark countered. He activated his own comm. “Tech, is everything ready?”

“Technically, but I would prefer to have more time to test-”

“I know, vod, but there isn’t time. This’ll have to be the test. Switch on as soon as you can.” Time was running out, Hel knew all too well; every minute they wasted, Maul’s army could be regrouping, and Maul himself could be getting away. She realised that as far as he was concerned, locking down the sewers had been pointless. He could just cut his way in. They were gambling on his obsession with Kenobi keeping him in the city. She decided she liked those odds, but had seen better.

“Affirmative. Switching on.” Hel heard an electrical hum (as well as a worried-sounding GNK), increasing in volume, in the background of Tech’s transmission. As it stabilised, the slugthrowers stopped firing – not just the ones pinning their group in place, but others all around the city.

“It seems we have a clear run, at least to the next nasty surprise,” Bo-Katan said. “On to the palace, then. Ib’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur.”

“Ib’tuur jatne tuur naasade kyr’amur,” Hel almost agreed. Today is a good day for nobody to die.

“Okeyday, what have you and Tech been up to?,” she added to Spark as they moved on, blessedly and no doubt temporarily unhindered. (Crosshair, Sev and maybe Nuts had probably had something to do with that.)

“Believe it or not, you’re not the only one around here who does their homework. I read up on the last war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians, trying to figure out what sort of weapons we’d be up against. Slugthrowers were pretty popular, for obvious reasons. I know lightsabres are useless against them, but I remembered the Doctor jamming the ones on Arkanis, and I… might have overheard her telling you how to contact her. I gave her a call – she and Yaz send their congratulations, by the way – she explained the basic principles of a cordolaine signal, and from there it was just a question of roping in a few friends – Tech, Atin, Fixer, Yara from Halo, Crys from the 212th, a couple of others – and turning theory into reality. I’m afraid I had to use your clearance to requisition the parts we needed, but it’s all on Palpatine’s account – Yara managed to unfreeze enough of it. He’s a good kid, but his curiosity knows no bounds.”

“As that’s just saved I don’t know how many lives, I’m hardly about to complain. By the way, just how many all-nighters did you lot have to pull to get your contraption ready in time?”

Spark probably looked sheepish under his helmet. “One or two.” The sheepishness was short-lived. “While you’re a model of good practice.” His words dripped sarcasm.

“Fair point.” She really wasn’t, though proper all-nighters were rare for her. Her vode saw to that.

They lapsed into companionable silence, everyone alert for surprise attacks. Of which there were none, right up until their goal was in sight. One minute, all seemed clear; the next, there were Mauldalorians everywhere. If the Force hadn’t shouted a warning in Hel’s ear, and she hadn’t passed the message on, just in time, things would have been even worse. As it was, an ordered advance had suddenly become a complete and utter mêlée.

In the confined space of a city street, the fighting was not just fierce but concentrated. Hel didn’t have room to use her sabres a lot of the time, falling back on her fists, boots and knife, finding nerve clusters, major blood vessels to compress, tendons she could cut without doing any other damage (she’d learned well from Mij). Her vod’ikase flanked her in their usual formation (with Echo in his old position for the first time in months), moving as one as they cut a swathe through the press of bodies, stunning anyone in the wrong armour. (The rest of the alliance was also using stun-bolts where practical; minimal casualties had been one of the Jedi’s conditions when they agreed to help Bo-Katan.) The would-be Mand’alor and Ursa, fighting side by side, kept pace with them, as did Kenobi and Cody, complementing one another perfectly. Kar’ta’vode, Hel thought, finally able to categorise their relationship. Heart-brothers.

“We have to keep going,” Kenobi said as they reached the other side of the battle. His tone was Jedi-neutral, but Hel could sense how much it pained him to have to leave his and Anakin’s men behind. It hurt her almost as much, but she knew why even before he put the reason into words. “The sooner we capture Maul, the sooner this is all over.”

Nobody argued with that. Partly because they had to save their breath for the guards at each door that lay between them and the former Sith. Hel, as ever, tried diplomacy first when they reached the outer entrance. Her own brand, tailored to the situation. “I suppose you two would rather die than betray your Mand’alor?”

“Of course.” The guards spoke almost as one.

Hel looked briefly at Bo-Katan, who seemed to have cottoned on, and had drawn herself up to her full height, glaring regally at the guards through her visor. “Then let her in.”

“Lord Maul is our ruler,” one of the guards shot back. “And you’re all traitors.” He and his colleague drew their blasters.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Kenobi remarked when the men lay unconscious, having neither died for their false Mand’alor nor betrayed him. “But we can’t waste any more time trying that again.”

With Cody and Ursa left behind on guard, the rest of the party carried on. The Mand’alor’s residence was designed to channel any attacker making for the throne room through three sets of doors (not counting the outer pair), each of which was barred by two sentries. The first such pair put up a pretty decent fight – good enough that one of them had time to send an alert to his comrades before being stunned.

“You two had better stay here,” Hel told Torrent and Spark. “And I expect to find you in one living piece each when we’re done. Especially you.” She gave her riduur a somewhat inappropriate smile. “Preferably a good-looking piece.”

“You will, and I expect the same of you.” Torrent, ignoring protocol and an exasperated Bo-Katan, pulled her in for the quickest of hugs and keldabes. “K’oyacyi, cyar’ika.”

“K’oyacyi, ner cyare.” Aware that they were on the clock, Hel broke away and turned back to the others. The next set of guards went down about as easily as their comrades, and were replaced by Fives and Echo. And not even the ones on duty right outside the Mand’alor’s throne room could stand against two talented Jedi and a high-ranking Mandalorian. Kenobi insisted on facing his old adversary alone, at least at first, leaving the women to hold the door against any reinforcements while he confronted the young spider lounging at the centre of a web partly of another’s weaving.

It was the right call. The door had hardly shut on Maul’s whispered greeting – if one could call “Kenobi” a greeting – when Hel heard running footsteps and the clank of beskar’gam. “Incoming.”

“You block, I’ll shoot.” Bo-Katan had barely holstered her pistols since the invasion had begun.

“Fair enough.” The Mandalorian and the Jedi soon proved to be a near-deadly combination even by themselves. Nobody even got within two metres of them without being stunned or hit by a deflected laser from a comrade’s blaster, and subsequently sedated. But there had been enough counter-attackers for Hel to have grown uneasy about Master Kenobi in the time it took to subdue them.

With Bo-Katan keeping watch, she eased open the door to the throne room. As expected, the long-term opponents were duelling once again. It was an unnervingly evenly matched fight. Kenobi was more skilled, and far more focused, despite the memories that room surely held for him. (Hel was certain that Duchess Satine, the love of Kenobi’s life, had been murdered there in front of her cyare. The fierce, kind, clever, passionate woman’s presence lingered in that place even more strongly than it did around her beloved Jedi.) But Maul hadn’t just been through at least two battles and a few skirmishes, and he was fuelled by rage and the desire for revenge. It could go either way.

And neither is right, Hel realised. If Maul won, that would severely damage the invasion’s prospects of success, and rob the galaxy of a brilliant Jedi and a good man. But if Kenobi won – Hel knew enough about Mandalorian law and customs to work out how that would end. Not well. Why had nobody seen that before?

As she racked her brains for a third way, her eye fell on an object in a glass case beside the throne. Interesting… Almost as soon as she reached out to it through the Force, she knew what she had to do.

She sheathed her own sabre and held it out to Bo-Katan. “You have to be the one to defeat Maul. This is your fight; you have to finish it.”

Bo-Katan’s body language indicated utter bemusement. Hel sighed, and bit back a rather colourful Gungan curse-word. (Another unusual thing about her; she could, if she so chose, swear in more languages and dialects than most Jedi spoke.) “Look. To many Mandalorians, the one who wields the Darksabre is the Mand’alor, right? And it can only be won in combat. Whoever next defeats Maul will, to a lot of people, take his place. That should be you, as the legal ruler, and it can’t be a Jedi. That really would cause problems, and make this whole mess even worse.”

Bo-Katan still wasn’t convinced, so Hel pressed on. “Besides, Maul isn’t using the Darksabre, even though it would give him a significant advantage. He’s skilled enough to use it alongside his own blades, but he isn’t. I don’t think he can. I don’t think it’s chosen him.”

“Chosen him?” The concept didn’t make sense to the Mando’ad, but to the jetii it was suddenly obvious.

“Our sabres aren’t just weapons. In a sense, they’re alive. And the Darksabre is no different. In all the centuries people have been fighting over it, do you think anyone’s stopped to ask it what it wants?”

“And what do you think it wants?”

“I don’t have to think. It just told me. It wants an end. It was a Jedi’s weapon originally, remember, forged to protect and bring peace. It wants the killing to stop, and it wants to rest. I doubt it chose Vizla; it may have chosen Satine, but she can’t wield it now. I believe it’s chosen you – a warrior open to the idea of change.” Hel offered her own lightsabre again. “So win the blade properly, and end this.”

Bo-Katan took the weapon, slowly and carefully, weighing it in her hand, familiarising herself with the controls. “Will you be all right, if more reinforcements arrive?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m never really unarmed.” Hel drew Nahdar’s sabre and her knife. Bo-Katan was probably smiling. “You’d make a good Mandalorian.”

“That I doubt, but thank you. I can’t honestly say you’d make a good Jedi, but I think you’ll be a good Mand’alor – if you get on with what you have to do.”

Bo-Katan took the hint, darting through the still-open doors to the throne room, where the two combatants had reached a stalemate, blades locked together. Hel watched, senses alert for any ambushes from behind, as the other woman challenged the pretender to her throne, and as Maul accepted the challenge, using the Force to throw Kenobi across the room. The Jedi’s head hit the wall with a nasty-sounding thud (though, mercifully, not a crack), and he fell to the floor, totally still.

Maul was too focused on his new opponent (who, Hel absently noted, had adopted not the Soresu opening stance Kenobi favoured, but her own favourite, a textbook Niman one, which she hadn’t used that day; her sabre must be teaching its new wielder) to notice the young woman climbing along the walls to reach her ori’vod. Her medical scanner informed her that the head injury was serious, but no permanent damage had yet been done; she used the last of her bacta spray to maintain that state of affairs. There were several other wounds all over his body, but nothing that needed urgent treatment – thank goodness. She just had to wait for him to wake up.

Which he did less than a minute later, his eyes focusing first on her, then on the battle in the centre of the room. Against all odds, Bo-Katan was winning, using the weapons hidden in her armour as well as Hel’s sabre, but Maul was fighting back well. “Helli, what have you done now?”

“What I had to do. If you’d claimed the Darksabre, even unintentionally, Bo-Katan’s support would have splintered, and who knows what the Mauldalorians would do. This was the best way around that. How do you feel, by the way?”

“Like a military academy.” Hel’s heart rate spiked; was he more badly hurt than she’d thought? “Bits of me keep passing out.”

She managed to laugh at the weak joke. He was going to be all right – probably. “Well, do you think you can stop everything graduating at once? I need to monitor your condition.”

“I’ll do my best.” He contrived to sit up, leaning against the wall, to watch the duel. Bo-Katan really was doing well, using the rage Hel could sense rolling off her – she was fighting her sister’s killer, after all – without letting it control her. It must have helped that Maul was tired and injured from his fight with Kenobi, his legs sparking, a burn mark on one arm, his movements slower and jerkier than before, while Bo-Katan had had just enough time to rest and treat her wounds since the previous battle. And she had tricks up her sleeve – literally. As the Jedi watched, a grappling line from Bo-Katan’s vambrace wrapped around Maul, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling him to his metal knees. His vanquisher raised Hel’s sabre to end the fight – and his life.

“Don’t!” Hel was on her feet in a heartbeat. “Stun him with my blessing, but don’t kill him.”

“Why not?” Bo-Katan didn’t lower the blade, but she didn’t strike, either. “Because there’s still hope for him?”

“That, and my lightsabre will probably shock you if you try. It is mine, after all. And you’re wearing an awful lot of metal.” Bo-Katan accepted that, handed the weapon back to its owner and gave the grappling line a vicious tug. “Get up.”

Whatever Maul intended to say to that was cut off when Hel tied a bandage from her med-kit around his mouth. As Kenobi cuffed him, just to be on the safe side, she headed over to the Darksabre and examined its case. The locking mechanism looked pretty complicated, but there was a slight crack between the lid and one side. She inserted her sgian dubh into the crack and twisted it, popping the lid right off.

“That’s one way to do it,” Kenobi remarked. He reached into the case and withdrew the beskar lightsabre hilt, holding it out to Bo-Katan. “Yours, I believe.”

Hel wished she could see Bo-Katan’s face as she took the ancient weapon. She could guess the expression on it, though – triumph, shot through with sorrow. Her sister had died by that blade. But Bo-Katan was one large step closer to giving Satine and many others the justice they deserved.

The new Mand’alor led the way out of the palace, her captive in tow, her allies trailing behind, the soldiers they had left on guard falling into step with them along the route. When the procession emerged into the grey light before dawn and Bo-Katan ignited the Darksabre, holding it aloft for all to see, the still-ongoing battle stopped as though a spell had been cast. Every Mandalorian fell to his or her knees, followed by the clones; Anakin and Ahsoka, whose units had reinforced the main contingent, bowed low.

“Oya manda!,” Bo-Katan called. There is no direct translation of that phrase into Basic, but it expresses Mandalorian solidarity and endurance. A fitting cry for the end of a civil war.

“Oya manda!,” a host of voices, Mandalorian, clone, even Jedi, called back. Hel’s hand automatically found Torrent’s, her sunburst of a smile echoing his armour paint. They had done it. Yes, there was still a lot of work to do, but for one shining moment, they could enjoy the fact that Mandalore was truly at peace.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Riduur(e): spouse(s).

Cin vhetin: literally, white field; colloquially refers to adoption into a Mandalorian clan (regarded as a fresh start, a clean slate).

Beskar'gam: armour, especially Mandalorian steel armour.

Kute: undergarments of any kind (including the body glove under armour).

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Vod(e): brother(s), sister(s), sibling(s); often refers to clones (and honorary clones). 'Ika is an affectionate diminutive.

Me'vaar ti gar?: what's new with you? What's the situation?

Mando'ad(e): Mandalorian(s).

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Mandokar: "the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life" (from mandoa.org).

Di'kut: idiot (lit. without underclothes).

Shebs: rear (in any sense).

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur: today is a good day for someone else to die. (To quote mandoa.org again, "Mando saying (because they're not daft...)"; here on Terra, this was originally a Sioux/Lacotah war cry. Not Klingon.)

K'oyacyi: literally, "stay alive"; colloquial meanings include "cheers", "hang in there" and, as here, "come back safely".

Cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart.

Ner cyare: my love. (Cyare means beloved.)

More Grishaverse references worked their way in; in the books, Grisha are people who can manipulate certain types of matter (their equivalents here are probably some sort of Force-sensitive or magick user), and druskelle and khergud are Grisha hunters - the former are "just" highly trained humans, while the latter have been artificially altered, cyborg-style.

Any and all comments are always welcome.

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shyranno · 3 months

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Here, have more Dad Maul--i hope it helps the dopamine because it for sure helped mine ;u;;

#star wars #fan art #darth maul #maul #jedi au maul #happy au #dad maul #ive been drawing an inordinate amount of him #i just dont post all of my junk #he makes me happy #not me healing my childhood wounds through fiction

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dreemurr-skelememer · 4 months

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whoa crazy what if i was evil

this was fun!!! thank you to everyone under the cut who helped me figure out my art style :p

#more art possibly soon when im not busy. huion updated their drivers and it healed my crops #undertale #sans #ink sans #undertale au #utmv #evil art style challenge #kia doodles shit

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starheavenly · 5 days

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Zenith Pharma's memories.

#ok so when i first made zenithpharma it was a very shallow interpretation so I'm fixing it #He's really trying to heal #tf zenith au #maccadam #transformers zenith #fanart #my art #artists on tumblr #transformers #mtmte #ratchet #pharma

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ryemackerel · 6 months

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OH MY GOD HOW ITS BEEN SO SO LONG SINCE IVE DRAWN MY THREE FAVORITE BOYS??? i miss benchtrio so much. oh my god they would go on sleepovers and hangout and and. collect rocks and look at frogs like a bunch of dumb kids. healing au benchtrio.. they are all happy and sillay 🫶🫶🫶

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westwing19 · 1 month

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Here's an idea; Kirby sneaking to Meta Knight's bedroom at night because he doesn't want to sleep alone

Ahhh that's adorable 💖

The cure for insomnia is a comforting presence 🌙

Imagined this taking place the first night after MK first finds Kirby ^^

#ask #kirby #meta knight #adopted AU #oops it turned into a comic again #hope I did this idea justice #drawing cuddling orbs will be forever healing ✨#finally done all the asks from like three months ago OTL #meart

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mariako-750 · 1 month

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TDL's Revival.

After The Showdown happened, in which he died, TDL was confronted by Victim who, aside from saying how "surprised" they were that TDL was defeated so easily, revealed they were his ancestor.

TDL pushed Victim for more answers, but when they slip out a bit of their past with Alan, TDL immediately offers to work together to come back to life and take down Alan, which Victim politely declines.

Victim goes on to say that they already have a life and a whole corporation to take care of which confuses TDL even more. He is confused as to why Victim won't let their anger out after Alan took away a life they didn't even get to have.

But Victim explains howz in their perspective, truly getting revenge on someone who's hurt you is by living your best life. They then go on to say that TDL should join them at ROCKET Corp and help around the building, how it would be so much better to help do good and be congratulated than do evil and be hated.

Especially now since TDL is sure TCO hates him, so there's no one who loves him anymore. Everyone else either hates or fears him, so if he joined ROCKET, TDL might get the appreciation and approval that he desperately wants. He was created to fulfill orders after all. So TDL agrees.

Victim met again with The Scientist and he made TDL a new body to live in, in exchange for some money that Victim's corporation was making since he hadn't done many sales on the black market. Victim instead offered a job at ROCKET as head scientist and he agreed immediately.

And so, TDL joins ROCKET and works as head technician for repairs around the facility. Though after a while, he began missing TCO, guilt building up over the years, so Victim began spreading wanted posters for TCO to find him so the two could reunite and finally fucking talk.

#ava #animator vs animation #ava victim #ava tdl #ava the dark lord #Healing AU

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oifaaa · 3 months

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Is clone Jason aware he's a clone?

Nope which is probably for the best he's gonna be pissed when he finds out

#ask #plotbunny-bundle #dc #dc comics #jason todd #two jasons au #batman #oifaaadoodles #in ras defence #he was bases his jason off the version that died in a firey explosion #not one healed by the pit

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bbc-trolls · 1 month

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No no I know but wouldn't it just make so much sense if while the Funk Royal parents are searching for their missing egg they instead find a wandering grey Pop trolling in the wilderness they would be like "cool, the universe sent a free son"

#i mean obviously they keep searching for Cooper but #they never find him #an dthen Branch ends up in the big brother role for Darnell and it #Heals him?????? spiritually????#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls branch #trolls prince d #funk trolls #trolls au #funk branch

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elendiliel · 2 years

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New Friends

Disclaimer: I have not read any Republic Commandos books, so my characterisation of Mij owes a great deal to other fics (notably those of or shared by @itsstrangelypermanent and @imrowanartist), a little to Wookieepedia and quite a bit to my imagination. I hope it's OK.

---

Nothing could have prepared Mij for Coruscant traffic. He’d known, intellectually, that a planet-spanning city meant more people, and thus more speeders, than there were on Mandalore and Alderaan put together, but there was a big difference between theory and the reality of the three-dimensional insanity that was Galactic City. At least his taxi driver seemed to know what he was doing, and things were a bit calmer in the Temple district, his unlikely destination.

His heart rate was definitely elevated as, having paid the driver, he made his way to the entrance to the Jedi Temple, but he hid his emotions well. So, naturally, did the masked Temple guardians, even though he was obviously a Mando’ad, and thus a hereditary enemy. He could, he supposed, have left his armour behind, but he’d been a Mandalorian too long to feel properly dressed without it.

Besides, these jetiise at least didn’t object to his presence. He gave his name and was told he was expected; when the main doors swung open, they revealed a dark-complexioned human male in Jedi robes, who greeted the newcomer with perfect courtesy, introducing himself as Master Mace Windu. Mij had heard of him – a high-ranking member of the Jedi Council and a famous duellist (and, incidentally, Jango Fett’s killer, not that Mij held that against him; it was surely self-defence), but taking the time to welcome his guest personally. A born Mando, especially one of the more traditional kind, might have been suspicious; Mij, being cin vhetin, merely appreciated the gesture, and the architecture of the graceful, elegant building through which Windu led him. The Jedi evidently valued beauty a great deal, as he’d suspected. He had only met one Jedi before – Shaak Ti, the one who took over the training of the clone cadets after Jango’s death. The Cuy’val Dar had mostly already gone by the time she arrived, but Mij had wanted to be sure his students were in safe hands before returning to his clan holdings. Having met her, he definitely had been. She might not wear her heart on her sleeve, but he hadn’t had to try hard to see her compassion towards her new charges.

He didn’t see her around, though. Windu, probably sensing his curiosity, told him she was overseeing the winding-down of the clone training program on Kamino and the cadets’ transfer to better homes. (And keeping them out of the longnecks’ hands, he didn’t have to add.) The few Jedi they did pass were mostly on their way somewhere else, probably somewhere important. Knowing the Order’s reputation, Mij wasn’t surprised. The war was over, but the Jedi weren’t going to rest until the galaxy was at peace in reality as well as in law, and all the survivors were being looked after as far as possible.

Windu finally led him to what looked like a standard briefing room, containing three more human men – one auburn-haired, bearded, pale and not far short of middle age, one dark-haired, slightly tanned and little more than a boy, and one (the only non-Jedi) a clone, a veteran to judge by his eyes, though the rest of his face looked younger – a near-human young female with a passing resemblance to Tani and a small green being of a species Mij had never seen before, leaning on a wooden cane. All but the last were seated as Windu and Mij entered (the clone and the woman were quite openly holding hands; presumably they were the ones he was supposed to be working with on the upcoming mission, and getting into character already), but rose to their feet with varying degrees of grace to greet them.

The woman spoke first. “Olarom, Doctor Gilamar. Ijaat urcir gar.” Welcome, Doctor Gilamar. It is an honour to meet you. Her Mando’a was good, heavily accented but grammatically sound (not that Mando’a grammar was hard, for a speaker of the linguistic mongrel called Basic), without a trace of hesitation. Where, and why, would a jetii learn it so well?

Mij couldn’t help but return her friendly smile. “Balyc ijaat urcir gar. And Basic is fine.” It was his mother tongue, after all. He’d become bilingual over the years, retaining a distinct Alderaan accent, but still preferred his first language for most purposes.

Windu cut in as a faint blush spread over the young woman’s face (Ka’ra, was she even twenty-two?), introducing Mij to Master Yoda (the green one), Master Obi-Wan Kenobi (the auburn one), Anakin Skywalker (the dark one), Helli Abbasa (the woman) and Sergeant Torrent (the clone). Torrent had apparently trained as a medic under one of Mij’s pupils, alongside the standard infantry track, but Mij forced himself not to let the meeting dissolve into reminiscences. “I assume Lady Kryze briefed you on her plan?” He addressed Torrent and Abbasa in particular, though the question was also directed at the others.

“Brief would be an understatement,” Abbasa commented. She seemed annoyed about something, but was mostly keeping her feelings in check, as a good Jedi should. “Tirade would be nearer the mark. But yes, she did explain it to us.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, heiress to her sister, the late Duchess Satine of Mandalore, was determined to dislodge the ex-Sith Lord Maul and his puppet Almec from their stolen positions of power, but she needed the Republic’s help, and the Republic and the Jedi needed proof of wrongdoing. Lady Kryze’s idea was that a clone and a Jedi, posing as an off-world Mandalorian, a son of Jango Fett, and his new bride visiting his ancestral homeworld, could both gather intelligence and confirm Maul’s presence and intentions. Mij, the most reasonable of Jango’s old circle, had been recruited to help maintain their cover and show them around – and perhaps, though she hadn’t said so, keep an eye on the Republic agents. “It’s not a bad idea, not by a long way.”

“I believe even Satine would approve,” Kenobi added. Mij just saw a shadow of pain in the Jedi’s eyes as he named the fallen Mand’alor (Mij felt she had earned the title; it took a great deal of courage to try to reshape a whole society as the Duchess had done). He must have known her, and cared about her – perhaps cared for her.

“And it’ll help that everyone thinks neither Jedi nor clones can get married,” Skywalker put in. “You two already have a perfect cover.”

“We are married,” Torrent clarified. His left hand was still entwined with Abbasa’s right; Mij now saw a durasteel band on his fourth finger, and a matching one on the young woman’s. Not just props, then. He blinked in surprise. “Since when?”

“Yesterday.” Abbasa gave her husband a look full of love, even adoration, which he returned with interest. “But if you mean since when have Jedi been allowed to marry, the general rule does still apply. Though apparently spectacular acts of idiocy masquerading as courage are grounds for exceptions to be granted. I was the idiot in this case, I hasten to add.”

“And pointless to keep these two apart, it is,” Yoda remarked, adroitly changing the course of the conversation. “Destined for each other, they are, as friends or otherwise. The only ones, they are not.” As the Jedi exchanged meaningful but, to anyone else, unreadable glances, Torrent caught Mij’s eye, clearly just as baffled by jetiise at times, despite being married to one. Mij hadn’t expected that, but it would surely make their lives easier if the couple didn’t have to pretend so much. (And it explained why Abbasa was not in a good mood. Being dragged from one’s marriage bed, even with one’s spouse in tow, the morning after one’s wedding would annoy anybody.)

There wasn’t much point in delaying; Abbasa was even packed already, and Torrent’s few belongings were either in her bag or at his barracks, where they would stop off on the way to the spaceport where Mij’s ship was berthed. As Mij followed his new friends to the communal garage to find a speeder to take them there, he found himself eager to discover what else this “working honeymoon”, as Helli (she invited him to use her first name as soon as they were away from her superiors) called it, had in store for them.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Mando'ad (may be shortened to Mando in either language): Mandalorian.

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Cin vhetin: lit. white field; often indicates adoption into a Mandalorian clan, regarded as a totally fresh start, a clean slate.

Balyc: also.

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Mand'alor: ruler of Mandalore.

#star wars #the clone wars #mij gilamar #mace windu #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #clone trooper oc #original clone characters #jedi oc #original jedi character #yoda #fanfic #healing au

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alleiwentcrazy · 1 year

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Eddie hates it when people don’t answer his calls. He hates it with passion.

It reminds him of too many things. It reminds him of manhunts and abandoned sheds, and no one on the other side of the line. It reminds him of cold, clammy hands, of hunger, of fear. Breaking bones and eldritch horrors he’d thought existed solely in cheap movies, not in real life, until he was brutally made aware of the fact that when people say everything’s possible, everything is possible.

Every time someone doesn’t answer the phone when he calls, panic starts to boil inside his veins and his brain immediately makes at least a dozen painful scenarios for him to dwell on. He knows that technically, they just don’t know that it’s him. But it doesn’t make him worry any less, so everyone’s learned to respect the rule. They just have to pick up. No matter what. Or he’ll freak out, drop everything he’s doing and come unexpectedly to check if everything’s alright.

There hasn’t been a single situation when things were actually bad—people go get groceries, take solid, deep naps, or they’re simply too lazy to pick up sometimes—but he always does that. Always.

Especially if it’s Steve who doesn’t answer. What if he fell? Or someone mugged him? Or he got into a fight? This brain can’t take any more damage. What if he’s in the hospital now, waiting to be anesthetized before surgery, and no one’s called Eddie yet, because to society they’re just some dudes living together?

There are too many options. Eddie doesn’t like taking chances anymore, so he slaps the “I’ll be back in a few” sign on the door, closes the shop and speeds through the town like he has nothing to lose. (And it’s quite stupid, because he has too many things to lose now—but he’s allowed to freak out once in a while.)

When he gets there and sees Steve pacing and gesturing animatedly in front of the window of their tiny but awfully cluttered kitchen, he finds out exactly what it means to have the whole world on your shoulders. Or, rather, to be finally freed from the pressure it creates.

It’s okay. It’s just a stupid phone call. It wasn’t even important, anyway.

Despite that, he takes his helmet off. Won’t hurt to remind Steve of the rule. And maybe kiss his pretty face a little while he’s here.

He doesn’t even have to enter their apartment to know that Steve’s not alone. First off – if Steve’s pacing and rambling, an anxious trait he’s picked up from Robin, wasn’t a hint enough – it’s loud. Their paper walls can barely hold back a normal conversation, let alone something resemblant of a heated discussion. Honestly, Eddie has no idea how their neighbors can stand them sometimes, with his metal, their late-night conversations and non-conversations alike, with the kids visiting so often. Although Steve is optimistic (they have some lovely neighbors, like sweet Gran Fran, but don’t ever let Eddie express his opinions about that old hag from across the hallway, Miss Hermans), he’s still waiting for that complaint to be filed.

Second, he smells coffee. Steve never makes coffee for just himself.

Eddie opens the door gingerly, remembering how easy it is to completely unhinge them by accident, and is about to scream something about getting home, when none other than Dustin Henderson cuts him off with a shriek.

“—because it’s actually pathetic, that’s why! Get a grip, man, just do it!”

“Oh, it’s so easy for you to say, because you’ve never actually tried—”

“And maybe I never will! If you won’t do it, how can I learn how to do it myself? You know that you guys are the closest thing to father figures!”

“Hey, don’t make it about yourself for once, maybe? Some humility?”

Dustin’s quiet for a second, but Eddie knows he’s not about to admit full defeat. “Yes, sorry,” he chokes out, finally. “But you’ve tried so many times, you should know that it doesn’t get any easier on another try. Just do it, it doesn’t matter how.”

“It does, though! To me, it—it does. It matters,” Steve mumbles back, and Eddie can picture his face in perfect detail. It’s Steve’s small voice, which means he’s worried about something, even though his worry doesn’t make any sense in everyone else’s eyes. He’s unsure: his brows are pinched, lips pursed, stare skittering around the room, never focusing on anything. Dustin knows this face too, because his tone gets softer.

“Okay, then walk me through it.”

“What?”

“Walk me through it. You’ll know what you want, how you want it, when and where, and it’ll be easier when you try it next time.”

“Dustin, I really don’t—I’m not sure it can get easier, ever.”

“Because you’re scared.”

Steve sighs deeply before he responds. “Yes. Because I’m scared.”

“It’s been eight years, Steve. What are you scared of?” Dustin’s voice is gentle, curious. He’s not judging, he genuinely wants to know the reasons, and so does Eddie. He leans against the wall, trying to sneak a peek of the kitchen unsuccessfully, and listens. A while passes before Steve speaks again.

“I think—There are so many things I’m afraid of. But the main one… It’s still rejection. Not being enough. Because it’s not like it’s anything formal, right? It’s only a promise, and if it ends up turned down…”

Chair legs scrape the floor and Eddie can hear two soft slaps – hands on shoulders, probably.

“Steve Harrington. Calm down. You know it’s not going to happen—no, don’t argue. I know it, and this alone should be enough. You are an amazing person. You’re great with people, you’re bright, you’re sweet, caring, you have so many talents. I love you, Steve,” the pause that follows is filled with something so heavy there’s a shift in the air. It has a different smell now. A little salty, a little warm. “And he loves you. More than you can imagine, probably. So just pop the question, Steve. And don’t back out with some stupid excuse like this morning.”

“Pop the question,” Steve says, his voice firm, only a little timid. “Yes, I think—I think I can do that.”

Eddie bounces off the wall and takes quiet, slow steps backwards. He can’t hear anything else, even though the conversation continues. He bites his tongue hard enough to make it bleed a little. A coppery taste floods his mouth as he closes the door.

Oh, it’s just so, so stupid. He would have said yes. Each and every time, he would have said yes.

Later that day, when they’re lying in bed together, with the sheets rumpled, their bodies warm and mushy from the nap, with Eddie’s lips on Steve’s and Steve’s hands in Eddie’s hair, Eddie remembers the overheard conversation.

Well, no. That’s a lie. Because he hasn’t stopped thinking about it ever since.

Every single second of what, at first, seemed to be yet another annoying Monday, has been filled with reverie and anticipation. Dustin’s right – Eddie loves Steve. He loves him enough to risk hell for him, enough to argue with anyone who’s in any way mean to him. Enough to take his hand and say “You don’t have to be afraid when I’m with you”, even though Eddie’s the biggest coward in the whole wide world.

Eddie loves him. Loves his goofy smiles and scrunched happy faces, loves his moles and the uneven mustache he grows out sometimes when he’s bored. Eddie loves how gentle Steve is, how thoughtful and kind-hearted he is. How he helps Gran Fran replant her flowers each month with more enthusiasm than Eddie’s ever shown to anyone. How he talks to children, how much respect he has for those undermined by everyone else.

Eddie loves how he’s learned to stand up for himself. He’s proud of Steve, of how much he’s grown, of how he knows how to express what he needs and what he wants now. Eddie’s loved him for ages, maybe even longer than he’s aware of, but every single significant and insignificant change in Steve’s behavior and point of view makes him fall a little bit harder, every time. In any shape, in any form, there’s one constant in Eddie’s life: his love for Steve.

He likes to think that they do that to each other, both of them. That they help each other through inevitable changes, painful regressions and euphoric victories alike. He likes to think that together, they make one, healthy, living being – and apart they’re good, because they’ve grown to be good people thanks to the connections they’ve made overall. He likes this idea of just being good, together and apart. And he loves Steve for giving him the opportunity to be just that.

Eddie wants it to last. Desperately, intensely, madly. He wants it to last and he needs it to keep happening – he knows that, and he knows he has the capacity to do that. To be there, to stay. His hands touch Steve’s thigh, not in the slightest covered by those silly Hawkins Tigers shorts he’s kept, then they touch Steve’s soft, scarred belly, then they touch his chest, where his heart is beating steadily and peacefully, and he keeps kissing him and Steve keeps clingling back to him, and Eddie’s so sure.

He wants this. He wants to experience growing old together, he wants them to get all wrinkly and bald together, he wants the fights over who gets the most comfortable chair in their grandkids’ living room. He wants them to experience the highs and the lows of the family that they already have, and the one they’re going to build someday.

Eddie wants this. He wants Steve. The whole deal; the promised forever. And he doesn’t want to wait another second.

“Steve,” Eddie says, cutting the kiss short so suddenly Steve actually pulls him closer, chasing after the warmth of his lips. “I’m saying yes.”

“Mm. Okay,” he mumbles back, too kiss- and sleep-hazy to catch Eddie’s intention right away. He tries to bump their noses together—which is adorable, really, but Eddie can’t let him hijack and self-sabotage this proposal too.

“No, Steve,” he squeezes Steve’s side until he looks at him properly. “I love you. I’m saying yes.”

In awe, Eddie watches as Steve’s face goes through confusion, true bewilderment, a bit of fear and fleeting exhilaration, to finally settle on disbelief.

“How did you—”

Eddie laughs a little at that. “I called and you didn’t pick up.” Steve makes a little oh sound, already looking like a kicked puppy. “But it’s okay, doesn’t matter, not the point,” Eddie jumps in, anticipating an unnecessary apology. “The point is, I love you, and I’m saying yes.”

Steve stares at him for a long second, his eyes wide and earnest. His fingers slide from Eddie’s hair to finally settle on both of his cheeks, cradling them lovingly. Eddie kinda wants to cry.

“You’ll marry me?” Steve asks, incredulous, his voice only a bit louder than a whisper. The way he accentuates the word “marry” gives yet another layer of meaning to such a simple question. You’ll love me? Forever?

“I’ll marry you,” he replies without hesitation. “You’ll marry me?” You’ll love me? With my flaws?

“I’ll marry you,” Steve says back. Then he grins with his eyes glistening in the bedside light, and squishes Eddie’s cheeks so hard it squeezes the unshed tear right from his eye. “We’ll get married!”

Steve giggles happily, and Eddie laughs with him. There’s so much joy inside him—them, the whole room seems to get bigger. “We will,” he adds through a smile, already peppering his fiancé’s face with kisses.

“Oh gosh, I have to call Robin,” Steve manages through his giggles and Eddie loves him so much. “And Dustin!”

So, so much.

#steve harrignton #eddie munson #steddie #dustin henderson #stranger things #st4 fanfic #i've had SUCH a shit and busy month. i'm using them to heal myself lol #i wanted to make them so pathetically in love i accidentally made my eyes fall out of my skull bc of the cheesiness #proposal au #hehe #short and sweet #excuse me if i got too silly. my hand slipped

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