#and regardless! i want the commissioned pieces to look cool! of course i want to try to go a step further and learn some more stuff! ;0;

[echonidae]

Eïdjar my beloved... a cellshaded commission for Escapado-draw over on dA!! Esca proposed a challenge to work with interior decor/furniture, hence the more elaborate background — learned a lot working on this c: also just overjoyed to draw this lad again (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[bountyhaunter]

TIMING: A day or two after ‘What If…’ LOCATION: Ball & Chain Forge PARTIES: Rhett @ironcladrhett & Daiyu @bountyhaunter SUMMARY: Daiyu goes to see Rhett at the forge to talk about a custom knife order. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

It was important for her to buy her own weapons. This wasn’t something Daiyu examined closely — she just knew that the need was there and that she answered it. She did understand her desire for financial freedom, however, and that this probably tied into it. The Volkovs were the rich type, after all. Upper class. Made rich through the exploitation of beasts and shifters and any other shady thing alike, fingers stained with blood money. Family money was a collar and leash, though, a way to yank and keep people close.

Because money bought happiness. Money bought knives, handmade and silver. Money bought independence, autonomy. And so Daiyu was determined, if not gleeful, when she set foot into the forge. When she met the warden called Rhett who looked like he’d known better days. Regardless, they shook hand and exchanged pleasantries (not many, neither of them the type) and got to the meat of the meeting. Daiyu tried hard to not get distracted by all that surrounded her. It was a cool place. It almost made her drool. She was already thinking about what other things she’d like to commission. 

Daiyu got bored easily, after all. New weapons were a good way to keep the hunt (and with that life) exciting. “Alright, alright,” she grinned, “I’m curious to see this prototype.” She held up a hand, that soon disappeared into her jacket where her favored knife was sheathed. Custom-made, too, both the knife and sheath. “This is the one I prefer to work with now. But I want something smaller — preferable ones I can double wield, ya know?” Her eyes flicked around. “This place fucking rocks, by the way.”

—

Rhett lacked the usual spring in his step when it came to weapon design, and that wasn’t just on account of the iron leg. This was going to be his last one, and that understanding tasted bitter on his tongue. He’d have to give the young hunter a good reference for one of the other blacksmiths so she could keep patronizing this place in his absence, but he’d make sure this piece was one she truly loved before kicking off. He was a man of his word, after all. 

Taking the knife she’d brought from her, unsheathing it and turning it over in his hands to give it a careful inspection, he nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, can do that.” He ran his fingers along the blade, his gaze raking over the weapon. It was quality, a nice piece. He could do better, of course, but it was very excellent besides. Passing it back as ideas started to form in his mind, he leaned back on his stool and reached for a leather pouch on the work table beside him, flipping it open and pulling out a hunk of silver that was dagger-shaped, but lacked any detailing or a grip. 

“Can work this down into somethin’ smaller, like ya want. Here, I got some hilt options…” He started pulling out other finished knives that all had different styles to them. “Pick ‘em up, give ‘em a few swings, aye? See what feels good for weight n’ the grip. Can work out the details to make it unique to ya after that.” He sniffed, nodding his head over toward the corner of the room. “There’s a dummy back that way, if ya wanna see how it feels in action. Take yer time.”

—

Maybe she should try to get into weapon making. It was the other hunter who’d told her, even if it was indirectly, that perhaps she needed to add another skill to her arsenal. Besides, Daiyu liked custom weapons. She had turned a regular shotgun into a sawed off one before she’d turned eighteen, so who knew — maybe there was something to gain there. But for now, she was just antsy to try a few knives. Her eyes kept passing to the Warden who did have quite the reputation, it turned out. Daiyu preferred to go off what she was given at face value rather than whispers at a hunter bar, though. 

She eyed the options with wide eyes, lips curling up, “These are awesome, did you make all of ‘em?” Greedy fingers reached for two knives, both hands wrapped around their hilts, testing their weight. “Nice.” She put them to the left, tried two more. One was discarded immediately, the other joined the other two. Daiyu knew what she was looking for, though she was making a mental wishlist in her mind at the same time. She’d have to ask Rhett if he had any references for bows.

After a quick selection, she moved over to the dummy, turning the knives in her hands and launching them into the dummy’s neck. It wasn’t often she fought humanoid creatures, admittedly — she preferred to hunt shifters when they were shifted and besides, she was most often on the tail of various beasts. Daiyu released the knives, mimed the gushing of blood and grinned at the warden over her shoulder. She spent a short while retrieving the knives and slashing a few times, but it didn’t take her long. She was made for impulse decisions and purchases. Returning to the table, she extended one of them, hilt towards the warden. “This might be a good one to go off. I dig the look of it. Slips nice and easy in the palm, but also offers enough of a grip, y’know?” 

—

“Aye, over the years… decided if I was gonna start takin’ custom orders, oughtta have a few things fer the ol’ portfolio.” Rhett watched her pick them up and test how they felt in her hands, making note of which ones she seemed to prefer and parsing out why that was based on how she held them. His gaze followed the young hunter when she went over to the dummy, and watching her mimic a few attacks and subsequent blood spurts actually brought a slight smile to his face. He couldn't help but remember when he'd been as young and full of vim and vigor as she was now, and it was comforting, in a way. He was a relic, but there'd always be more hunters to pick up the mantle. 

Still wearing the smirk, the old warden accepted the blade of choice back from her, nodding in agreement. “Thought ya might prefer this one.” From there, he reached for his sketchbook and flipped it open, starting with a rough drawing of the hilt of choice. “What kinda blade shape you want? Hawksbill, tanto, guthook…? Here's a few, in case ya ain't familiar with the names.” He flipped back to the beginning of the book and produced two pages full of different knife blade styles, pushing it toward her. 

—

The concept of a retired hunter was a rare one, but Daiyu found it a comforting thought. It wasn’t quite like she wanted to leave this life behind, but the concept of perhaps retiring towards something else after years of fight was something she might like. Maybe not even for herself, but at the very least for her uncle who always seemed so weighed down. (She didn’t expect to live to an age of retirement, anyhow.) “That makes sense, yeah. So you’ve been doing this a long time, then?”

She had never been the best at retaining knowledge and learning, but when it came to these things Daiyu had been quite good at remembering. She knew the fight, the grit, the violence and the tools it took. Sometimes it seemed it was all she was good for. And so she didn’t have to look at the book of blades to answer the question, “Hawksbill would be perfect,” she said. “Might have to step by for another set or something soon. Got some nice shit here. And this town, well… Crawling with stuff.”

—

Her question was answered with a slow nod, and after a moment of thought, a few words. “Grew up on it. Trainin’ under masters’ah the craft while I hopped from town to town. Huntin’ didn’t always pay well, ya see… needed a skill I could use anyplace.” Chuckling approvingly at the swift decision, Rhett flipped back to his concept drawing and started to sketch. “That it is, that it is… won’t never run outta quarry, it seems. Good to have folks like you in places like this.” He sucked in a sharp breath, pressing harder on the pencil as he made the stroke for the edge of the blade. “Afraid I won’t be around after I finish this for ya… but the folks what own this place, the twins, they’re damn good smiths. Can make ya anythin’ ya like, won’t balk at no kinda requests. I’ll let ‘em know to give ya a discount.” He lifted his head, cocking it to the side as he looked at the drawing so far. Next was the hilt style, which he started in on as he spoke. “Which, speakin’ of… this order’s on the house.” It wasn’t like he needed her money—any that he already had had been left in a place in Emilio’s apartment where he might find it someday, or maybe whoever moved into that shithole after him. Didn’t matter, so long as someone had it. 

—

Hunting had always paid her family quite well, but then they’d had ties in all kinds of murky corners. Daiyu didn’t want to know how her father and the men before him had acquired their riches. It’d make her feel too much like them. She did wish she’d learned a practical skill like this, though. “So you moved around a lot? Cool. We didn’t stray very far, mostly stuck around in Washington. Lotsa woods to protect there.” They’d flown to other corners of the world where family lived, but her world had mostly been those pines and mountains.

She watched the other at his work, a little envious. She supposed she could try and pick something like this up, but Daiyu hated learning things she wasn’t immediately good at which was why her skillset remained limited. “Ah, hopping town again? Can’t blame ya, this place is a little bonkers.” She liked the chaos though, so far. “I get it, I don’t stick around long places either. And hey, I’ll take those discount tips.” Her lips curled into a grin and it almost faltered when he said it was on the house. A kindness. Those always got lodged in her throat. “Whoa, man. You don’t have to. Are you sure?”

—

“Aye. Was born on the water, didn’t have much of a home fer a while that weren’t the inside’ah that boat. Instilled me with the need to migrate, I guess. Weren’t a bad life.” 

The finished product was coming together on the page, and Rhett’s gaze lifted from the drawing to meet hers. “Don’t need money where I’m goin’, kid. Got no use fer it. You might as well keep it.” He cleared his throat and pushed the drawing her way, tapping the pencil on the paper. “Pick a material for the hilt, n’ if there’s any personal flares ya want—engravin’, a replaceable scale, whatever, lemme know now so I can work it into the design. All said, she’ll take ‘bout… mm, twelve more hours or so to make. Can do it all in one.” Wasn’t like he was sleeping, anyway. “Have the order ready for ya by tomorrow.”

—

“What?” The word was drawn out as she was genuinely intrigued, not having met many hunters who were based at sea. “That’s cool. Way more original than being born on regular schmegular land, that’s for sure.”

She was looking at the drawing with an eager, growing interest. Daiyu had tried drawing but as she lacked natural talent (if that even existed), she’d given up in frustration. She didn’t like failure, but she could appreciate another person’s skill. Most of the time. “Alright, cool. Thanks.” She hit her head, then pointed. “Am only saying that ‘cus I know you’re not fae.” She gave a shit-eating grin. “Wood handle, something dark. Don’t need any special things beside it, ‘tis the blade that matters most.” She doodled on her weapons when she was younger, which had been considered a personal affront to her neat father and not just because she was a shit drawer. “Tomorrow, cool! I’ll be here.”

—

The thanks and subsequent joke earned her a good-natured scoff, and the man leaned back on his stool. “Perish the thought,” he muttered with a smirk, marking down her request for a dark wood for the handle. 

Reaching out a hand to shake, Rhett cleared his throat. “You ever get a hankerin’ for somethin’ else’ah mine, I do got a few pieces put up in Chet’s shop, Fable Blades. He buys products from this forge pretty often, can just ask him to show ya ol’ Rhett’s work n’ he’ll set ya up. He’s a retired warden too, so, y’know. Good people.” Rising to his feet, the man showed Daiyu back toward the exit, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Seeya tomorrow, kid. N’ be careful out there, aye? Don’t fly too close to the sun.”

—

She decided she liked this Rhett. He looked like the very image of a withered, alive against all odds hunter and yet he still humored her yapping. Daiyu liked her hunters with a bit of humor. “Awesome, I’m gonna do that. If your piece satisfies, you know.” She missed the innuendo for a beat, then let out a ha as if to make it seem like it had always been her intention to make a dirty joke. Bravado came easy these days. “Got no doubt about that, though.”

She grinned at him as she moved out of the shop, giving him a salute. And people dared say she didn’t respect her elders! “See you tomorrow. I’ll try my very best not to. You too, aye?” 

[intheticklecloset]

☕ coffee shop update ☕

This post will talk about supporting me financially, which is absolutely NOT REQUIRED to continue enjoying my content. So if it's something you have no interest in or cannot do, I completely understand, and you're welcome to skip the details. But if you want to know more, it's below the cut.

Thank you for your continued patience and support. 💖

~~~

For those who have been keeping up with my life updates, you know that I'm currently seeking a major career change due to some unfortunate workplace circumstances. I'm still on the lookout for a new position, but the search has not been going as smoothly as I'd hoped, and until I can find something secure, I need to stay where I'm at for the moment, which is taking its toll on my mental health.

As I've considered other options, doing paid commissions again came up as an idea, but I don't want to (at least right now) for a couple of reasons that I won't bore you with. The point is that, after some consideration, I've come up with something that I like better and I think may work better for everyone.

I've added the option for monthly donations on Ko-Fi, starting at $5/mo. That's $60/year, for those who don't want to math (I got you). One-time donations are still an option as well.

Think of this working like Patreon, only on Ko-Fi, because that's what we're used to, and it's a lot more practical for what I'm going for here. I'm still going to create content right here on Tumblr (what exactly that looks like idk yet; I may have to just stick with coffee shots for a while), and I'm still going to share with EVERYONE and include everyone, both financially supportive and morally supportive. Any time I want input on something, I'll ask everyone here. But if you WANT to and/or are able to, donations are open and very much appreciated.

The benefit goes both ways. For me, less stress about money makes it easier for me to find another position without having to worry about the layover time or whether I'm making exactly what I used to before (based on what I've seen so far, I won't be), and less stress about work means more creative energy, which means I can focus more time on creating content, which is what I really want to do. I've had so much fun the last couple of weekends filling coffee shot orders, and it would be so cool to be able to do that more frequently in the future.

The benefit for you is, hopefully, more content. More fics, drabbles, etc., that I will retain creative freedom over. Rather than paid commissions, where I write what others want me to, I will continue to write what I want to and share it with you more often as time goes on. When my heart is really behind a piece of writing, I feel like it shows, and I want everything I share here to be of heart-was-in-it quality. (This isn't to say I'll NEVER do commissions again; I may be open to doing them again, just under different parameters. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)

Plus, the less I have to worry about finances, the more time I can devote not only to writing, but to discovering new things to write ABOUT, which will lead to new fandoms and shippings and whatnot that we can get excited about together.

Once again, financial support is NOT REQUIRED to continue to enjoy the content I create and share here. I'll do it regardless. The pacing may be slow and the road a bit rocky, but I'll do it. I love creating fun stories for you; it's always been my biggest passion to write, and helping me out a bit while I figure out life circumstances would be extremely helpful for me to get the ball rolling a little faster. But of course I understand not everyone can or may even want to do Ko-Fi support, and I got you. I won't be upset about it.

Worst case scenario, I'll keep doing what I've been doing and post when I can, when I have the time and mental energy to do so. I'll find a new position one way or another, and life will continue on. I fully understand that nothing may come of this. I just figured it couldn't hurt to try. It's not like it can make life circumstances worse.

Thank you all for your patience, understanding, and support as I navigate this new season of my life. I never thought a career change would be necessary, but alas, crap happens. Whether you support me through Ko-Fi or just cheering me on right here on Tumblr, I appreciate you very much. All of you good beans are the reason I decided to give this platform a second chance. Here's to making the most of it. 💖

[shadowcatzone]

"Bite me," he said. Angry as the master craftsman was, he really only meant for dan feng to back off for a while. Unfortunately, the latter would nothing if not deliver. So when the high elder asked "where?" And the craftsman, still upset, answered, although under his breath, "my fucking ass", naturally, his husband would fucking deliver.

The commission was near empty. Yingxing should've long since returned home- if only he didn't get stuck on one of the blueprints that should've also already gone to construction. Hence why he was so upset.

After ensuring nobody was nearby - the high elder reached around the waist of his beloved. "No," yingxing sighed, "regardless, i will return home to you later JUST-!" He yelped - before he could finish the sentence, within the same second his trousers hit the floor, he also had, well- a sharp set of teeth on his behind. "Y-yOU! Dan feng! Do you have no- ah- no shame!?" "I am merely doing what my beloved husband asked of me," he murmured, in between bites- "...maybe this, too, can be cut short, if only my. beloved. husband. agrees to come home and rest."

The craftsman glared at the high elder. Then he glanced at the blueprint. "...do what you want." Slight surprise written over his face, dan feng stopped. And continued. While yingxing tried to concentrate on the blueprint, not paying attention to dan feng. The circuit of the machine - the cooling agents used - the tongue of the high elder on his thighs - the materials per layer - dan feng moving in between his legs - the missing pieces that are giving him a headache - his husbands nails, scraping over the inside of his legs - loving, slender but strong fingers, slowly moving to the front, grasping his-

"Yingxing, are you still here?" He was so glad for all the scattered equipment, obstructing the view- "the high elder was looking for you," jing yuan came towards- before stopping dead in his tracks, averting his gaze, "...i see he found you at last"

Beet red, yingxing opted to just throw a handful of bolts at the man, but he dodged them all, running out "then, i'm going back! Good night you two!!"

With jing yuan gone, he was once again left to his lovers' antics. Sighing, he pried the high elders head off his legs. "...let's just go home." "Of course, love~"

Blade: bite me.

Dan heng: where?

Jing yuan: i would like to remind you, the answer to that question has gotten you in hot water before, blade.

_____

Whatever. Former master craftsman learned absolutely nothing from his mistakes. And probably gets his ass bitten. Again. Literally.

[babycharmander]

If you think you have never stolen artwork, read this post.

So, art theft. If you've been a follower of mine, you've heard my barely-coherent rants about this before, but I thought it might be more productive to make a more coherent post on the subject.

If you're wondering about the title of the post here, it's because I feel like a lot of people aren't really grasping what exactly art theft is, and a LOT of people, even well-meaning ones, do it without even realizing it.

"But wait," you say. "I would never STEAL from an artist!! I never claim it as my own!" And that's all fine and good, but you're missing something here.

To start things off, what IS art theft? (It's not what deviantART said it was several years back, I'll tell you that much. *cough*)

We all know what art is, so let's talk about theft. Dictionary.com defines "theft" as "the act of stealing; the wrongful taking and carrying away of the personal goods or property of another; larceny." Okay, makes sense, but what about that other word there, stealing? Dictionary.com defines "steal" as "to take (the property of another or others) without permission or right, especially secretly or by force."

From those definitions, we can go on to define art theft as, specifically, "taking art without permission or right." In the context of art, that typically involves reposting it (not reblogging--reblogging is different) or using it for other things.

And there, my friends, is the issue.

If something is taken or used without permission, it is stolen. Permission is the important thing here--if an artist says "oh yeah, you can go ahead and use this!" then it's not stolen. You have their permission. But if you DON'T have that, then it IS stolen. It IS theft.

"But I'm not claiming it as my own!" you say. But you don't have to claim it as your own--the act of taking it in and of itself is an act of theft.

"But I said 'credit to the artist!'" The "credit" thing is a whole other conversation, but here's the short of it: The entire point of credit is to direct people to the source of something. If you are not directly linking to where you got the art from, you are not giving credit. "Credit to the artist" is not actually credit of any kind whatsoever. (Also, Google and Pinterest are not sources.)

"But I DID link back to the artist!" Okay, now this is where it may get confusing, because you may think you're covered because you actually did give credit. Here's the problem: if you reposted it or used it without permission, regardless of whether you gave credit or not, it's still stealing.

I'm bolding this because it's a point that a lot of people get tripped up on. Let me explain it this way: If you went into your neighbor's house and took something of theirs without their permission, but you told people "oh yeah, I got this from [neighbor]'s house!" that that would still, of course, be stealing, and it's no different for art.

Another thing is that even when you credit, people don't always check the source. Very recently I found a case where someone had reposted a piece of artwork of mine to Pinterest that was deliberately made to look like it came from the source material (it wasn't meant to confuse anyone, though--the description of my original post made it very clear that it was fanart). The person who reposted had linked back to my original post. The problem? The comments had people asking if this was official, where it happened in the source material, etc. Despite the fact that the source was right there, no one thought to look at it.

Even if you link back to the source, if you did it without the artist's permission, it's still stealing, and still causes problems for us artists.

"But I just posted it to my Pinterest--" DO NOT DO THIS. DO NOT POST AN ARTIST'S WORK TO PINTEREST IF YOU DO NOT HAVE THEIR EXPLICIT PERMISSION TO DO SO.

"But this artist friend of mine says they're okay if I post their work to my Pinterest so long as I link back to them!" Good for your friend! But the fact that your friend is okay with it doesn't mean that all artists are okay with it. For me, personally, I am very not okay with my work being posted to Pinterest, and say as much on my art blog description and posts (which people tend to ignore).

The problem with Pinterest--and reposting art in general--is that we artists don't know when it happens unless we're told, or unless we find it ourselves. It causes us to lose control of our art. And because of this, our art can spiral further out of our control, because when our works get posted to Pinterest or other similar websites, people who have no grasp whatsoever on how art works will just take it as "free art" and then use it for whatever they want.

That's how a piece I spent 20+ hours on was used as a poster for a paid event, without my permission, and without any payment or credit to me.

If an artist has said nothing about Pinterest (or other similar image sharing sites), your default should be to assume that they don't want their artwork posted there.

"Well I didn't repost someone's art, but I did use it for my avatar/RPing icon/video/fic cover/photo edit--" That's still stealing. If you're using it without their permission for any reason, that is stealing. Not to mention, the artist may not be cool with what you're using their art for anyway. (Looking at you, people who use platonic art in your shipping videos.)

“I MEANT to ask them for permission, but I forgot!” This can ONLY happen if you used the artwork BEFORE you asked for permission. You can resolve this by asking for permission BEFORE you use it, rather than assuming the answer will be “yes” and using it before asking.

"But it took me a really long time to make that icon/video/cover/edit!!" How long do you think it took the original artist to draw their piece? It doesn't matter how much work you put into modifying someone else's art--if you're doing it without their permission, you're still stealing.

"But I couldn't find the original artist! I tried to find them, I really did, but I couldn't. Is it okay to use their art then?" No, because you still don't have permission, and by reposting it anyway, you’re continuing to make the artwork spiral out of their control.

"What if I found the artist, but they speak a different language from mine? I can't ask them for permission, so is it okay if I repost their art anyway?" NO!! DO NOT DO THIS!! If there is a language barrier, use Google translate or find someone to translate for you and get a hold of the artist that way to ask them for their permission. The language barrier is NEVER an excuse to steal artwork. There are plenty of non-English-speaking artists who have taken ALL OF THEIR ARTWORK OFFLINE because the art theft was completely out of control. (And this isn't just exclusive to English-speakers stealing art from people who don't speak their language. It happens artists who don't speak English stealing art from English-speakers, too, but as this post is written in English it doesn't do much good for me to rant about this here.) If you can’t ask their permission, do not use it!!

"But what about reblogging?! Isn't that the same as reposting?? Should we not reblog art at all then?" No, reblogging (or retweeting) is not the same as reposting. If you reblog art, you keep all the information that we attached to the art, including our blog name and the description attached to the art. Reblogging/retweeting actually helps us artists A LOT, so as long as you're reblogging from the original artist (and not someone who's reposting their art), by all means, reblog our art!

"What if I just want to share someone else's artwork on Discord or show it to a friend?" This one's a bit different and is not actually as problematic. If you want to share our work on Discord or whatever, just link directly to where we posted it. Please don't post the art itself, unless you're doing it alongside a link because Discord won't show a preview or something.

"What about a forum or a site like Reddit?" This one's a bit different, since due to the way Reddit functions, if you LINK to the art, you have to go directly to the artist's original page to view it. (At least, that’s what it’s like the last time I was active there.) In a way it's roughly the same as with Discord--be sure you're linking directly to the actual post rather than just uploading the art on its own--but I would also ask the artist if they're okay with it, because they may be a member of the subreddit or forum and want to post it themselves, or they might not want their work shared to specific communities. (Some communities have a function where a bot will repost the artwork to Imgur, and some artists don't want that done with their art.)

"What if I'm saving it to my computer/phone to look at later, or making it into my desktop/phone wallpaper?" IMO this is fine, since your computer/phone files aren't public, and neither is your wallpaper. It's only a problem when you post it to public places without our permission.

"What if it's art I commissioned?" Well... like... in that case, it's art you paid for, so unless the artist you commissioned laid out very specific terms for you, you should be good to use that art. Like, at most, the artist may ask you to credit them somewhere in your blog description if they drew your icon or something, or credit them in a fic description if you commissioned a fic illustration from them, or something to that effect. It's really something you should have already worked out with the artist beforehand, but for the most part you should probably be fine to use art you paid for however you like.

"What about art I requested?" This is a bit different from commissioned work. Just because the art was drawn at your request doesn't mean it's explicitly yours (unless it's like, a drawing of your original character or something). Some artists take requests more as suggestions, so the art they draw in response to a suggestion or request is still theirs. Treat this as you would any other artwork and ask the artist for permission first before you do anything with the artwork you requested from them.

“What about NFTs?” ... Okay this one I can’t really go over too much because I barely understand it in the first place, but NFTs are BAD for artists and are a form of art theft. Do not turn people’s art into NFTs. This is a crappy thing to do. (If you want more information on this one, you’ll have to look it up yourself. It’s a form of cryptocurrency and it’s confusing.)

“If you don’t want your art stolen you shouldn’t post it in the first place.” This is fascinating logic. Try applying it to something else and see how it holds up. “If you don’t want your merchandise stolen, you shouldn’t open a booth.” “If you don’t want to get poisoned you shouldn’t eat food.” “If you don’t want to get punched in the face, don’t walk outside.” Yes. Flawless logic. Truly.

"Why do you care so much, anyway?! I'm sharing your art because I like it! That's a compliment! Shouldn't you be happy?" Well, we're certainly glad you like our art, but the problem is... as I've said before, reposting our art causes us to lose our control over it. When we lose control of our art, that damages our livelihood. As I said before, other people have made money off of my artwork. As well, some artists lose jobs because when their potential employers check out their portfolio, they may find artwork that's been reposted everywhere online, so they cannot hire the artist because they believe they may have stolen the artwork in their own portfolio.

Your reposting an image you thought was cute to Facebook or Pinterest could cost an artist their job. Think about that.

So, tl;dr, keep this in mind: you need the artist's permission to repost or use their artwork. If you do not have it, it is stealing, even if you credit the artist.

I know this post is really harsh in places, but this is such an important thing for all artists, and there's so many misconceptions about art theft online. And I feel like one of the biggest problems is that when some people see posts on art theft, they ignore them, because they think they've never done it or would never do it, so that's why I worded this post the way I did. I'm not trying to hurt anyone--I just want people to understand what art theft is, how it affects us artists, and how you can avoid it. Thank you for reading.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”

[anotherloganstan]

The Hurt - DRLAMP

Summary: Janus has become to feel a little more left out of the group, it hurts him so much but perhaps he’s hurting himself more than the others are hurting him after all.

A/N: Thanks to @treeni for commissioning this piece and also to @candied-peach who this is written for as well, enjoy! 

Warnings: angst, self-hatred, pining, hurt/comfort, getting together (with the others already in an established relationship)

Word count: 3k

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

Janus is a lot of things, sarcastic, harsh, a liar, a little mean when he needs to be, but also emotional. But those walls were built up so high they even rival Logan’s own, well, before the somewhat recent development that is. And Janus was hurt. Painfully, deeply so. It hurt to see them together. To see them all together. The way Patton pulls each one of them into a hug only to hesitate when it came to Janus, that hurt. The way Virgil would make each and every one their signature drink only to ‘forget’ Janus’, that hurt. The way Roman would ruffle their hair, place the most delicate kiss onto a forehead – aside from his brother who more often than not got an affectionate slap over the head and a laugh – it still hurt. The way Logan will sit curled up close to another, holding hands while he reads, that hurt. And the way Remus, he closest friend, took off and left him for them, perhaps that hurt the most.

But he could not show that, could he? He was strong, a force to be reckoned with, spiteful, petty, and yet still hurt.

Many nights he spent alone, listening to giggles and laughs, loud conversations between the thin walls, sharp tears stinging his eyes and sniffles muffled by his pillows. It really, really hurt. The deep pain in his chest stabbing, aching, irrational, absurd. He was jealous. So very painfully jealous. Not of any of them in particular, no, he was jealous that he wasn’t a part of whatever they had, this closer, more intimate relationship that clearly, he was not worthy of. They did not want him, they did not need him, he was nothing to them, nothing but someone, something, to use, a convenience, to be there whenever they needed him to be of service and nothing else.

He could not help those painful, poisonous thoughts from plaguing his brain, his thoughts, his dreams. It got him down.

*

It’s a movie night, Janus is certain, the loud singing from the twins and Patton, the boisterous giggling, even the undignified screeches of ‘hey!’ from Virgil and Logan every so often. Janus is missing out but then again, he wasn’t invited. It is late anyway, too late to join them. Maybe he should simply go to bed, he won’t sleep but he’s not doing anything else either, other than wallowing in his own self-pity and depressing thoughts.

He gets up, puts on one of his favourite silk robes and decides that he looks decent enough to be seen and walks downstairs, even just to see what’s going on. Even just, for a moment, to feel like he’s involved.

But it is a bad idea. Seeing Roman sat on the floor between Patton’s legs, the other man playing with his hair in a way that must be soothing as Roman’s eyes are closed blissfully, yet a smile on his lips and giggles still slip past. Beside Patton is Logan, leaning against him but talking lowly with Virgil beside him – probably about something that set them all off laughing in the first place. Remus then beside him, well, half atop of Virgil who simply chooses to ignore him and his maniacal laughter for the most part.

“Shh, be quiet, we don’t want to wake Janus up,” Patton scolded the seemingly endless giggles from the others but unable to stop himself from snickering as Remus unceremoniously falls off the couch and onto the floor between his fit of laughter.

“Don’t worry, I’m already awake,” he says, deadpan and serious, if only to mask the slight hurt of once again not being invited nor included to one of their group hangouts.

“Oh, Janus, we’re sorry!” Patton apologises immediately, hand over his mouth to cover the remnants of his laughter. And Virgil at least has the decency to kick at both of the twins to get their attention, giving them ‘a look’ which they must understand as ‘shut the fuck up immediately’ because they fall almost completely silent.

Great, now he’s ruined their fun.

“It’s alright, Patton, I was awake already, continue, it seems like you were all having a good time,” he says, unable to stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice. God, he is such a bitch.

“Ah, we apologise, Janus, we assumed you were having a ‘self-care’ day as we hadn’t seen you all morning and this afternoon,” Logan explains from his position half on Virgil’s lap and half on the couch leaning against Patton.

“Right,” Janus responds, unsure of what else to say, should they not have assumed? Should they have come to him to ask if he was busy? Maybe that would have been nice, but he knows he would have been intruding much like he is now.

So, he lies. Again. Like he always does.

“Quite right, Logan,” he continues, at least attempting to sound somewhat unfazed and confident and content, “I have just come for a glass of water then I think a bubble bath and face mask is in order. Please do enjoy your movie.”

They do. Or at least Janus assumes they do. He gets his unnecessary glass of water from the kitchen and takes it back to his room, listening as they resume their movie, and the giggles start up almost as soon as he leaves. That only stings a little. He tries to brush off the feeling that maybe they are laughing at him. They would not, he knows, but the voice in his head tells him that anyway. He takes a bath regardless to keep up appearances and not to seem like such the filthy liar he actually is. They all hate his lies anyway.

*

He catches them again a few nights later. Perhaps they are not caught, after all this is all their kitchen, but Janus, again, feels as if he is intruding on something intimate. Date night, he presumes. Virgil on his usual place atop the countertop, in a slightly more formal purple jumper and jeans, sticking his fingers into something sweet whenever Patton, in the adorable pink apron, turns his back to scold at Remus for touching the hot trays. Roman sits at the table, poised and as beautiful as ever, clearly dressed up for the event, adding garnish to what must be their starter course. Logan sits beside him, stirring together some sort of dressing for the salad, listening but not participating to the conversation Roman and Virgil are having from across the kitchen.

“Janus, come in,” Logan says, having clocked him the moment he came to be at the doorway.

Janus flushes, unable to stop himself, the hurt and guilt combining, yet the invitation warms him just a little.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” he responds, almost sheepishly. He feels very underdressed in front of them all, even Logan seems to have made an effort (though he doubts of his own free will).

“You wouldn’t be imposing, we’ve made enough for all six of us,” Logan says, the barest hint of a smile gracing his features and Janus is sure he wants to make Logan smile like that and more in the future.

“I shouldn’t, you all should be able to enjoy your date night without the need to babysit me, I would merely get in the way,” he tries, hoping that his raw emotion is not slithering through his somewhat humorous words.

Logan sighs. And Janus cannot help feeling as though he is the source of this disappointment, this frustration. But he does not say anything.

“What our nerd is trying to say is we want you here,” Roman interrupts, voice as loud as before, bringing the attention of others onto Janus who merely wishes he had not come at this point, “you can’t be imposing if you have an invitation, sorry, you’re not even cool enough to gate crash anyway.”

The good-natured insult makes Janus almost reconsider. Almost. Lost for a moment in thought, barely a smile on his face until it drops suddenly. He shouldn’t let himself feel too comfortable around them, especially on their date night, least he fall victim and break his own heart with false hope.

“I shan’t tonight, boys,” he says after a moment, all eyes on him, and he avoids looking at their faces – hoping to not see a look of disappointment or even more so a look of relief at his departure – “have a lovely night though.”

With that he is gone.

*

It is a few days later that he breaks. All the feelings trapped inside of him, festering inside of his soul and willing to break free. It was the glimpses of kisses, becoming the background for sensual touches and too long hugs, of soft whispers he definitely was not supposed to overhear, to the sounds of shrieked laughter from down the hall and loud conversations he had no part it. Their own little lives he had- has no part in.

*

They are in the living room again, music on low and the bursts of chatter flowing down the corridor and Janus’ curiosity gets the better of him. Sticky notes stuck to all their foreheads and smiles on their faces – that he tries to tell himself they all do not drop when he enters – playing some sort of silly game.

“Janus!” Patton exclaims at the same time Remus shrieks “I’m not a chicken?”

“Sorry for interrupting, I’ll just go.”

“Wait!” Roman raises his voice from between the grumbling amongst Remus and Virgil with Logan as a somewhat bored mediator.

Roman is at his side in an instant, having no issue manhandling Janus to face him, his smile big and infectious, almost making Janus believe he wants him there, but he knows he’s just being polite.

The other goes to say something before his face changes and what comes out instead is, “are you okay?”

And they have not asked that for a while. And Janus is not sure for the real answer. So, he lies. As always.

“I’m fine.”

It came out harsh, clipped, angry.

“You don’t seem it, are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine, leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Roman relents, “I mean, you don’t have to go just because we’re all in here, we do realise that you don’t spend so much time with us anymore, and that’s okay! Just, you don’t have to go because we’re in here too.”

“Yes, Roman, I do. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?”

“Any of it. I just… I can’t be around you all, it’s too much.”

He stops just short of telling Roman that it hurts. It pains him.

“Janus,” Roman begins, voice soft and gentle, not wanting to spook Janus, “you know you can tell me anything and I’m here for you, right?”

And Janus is sure if Roman held out his arms now that he would merely fall into the hug, cry and collapse against the romantic and let everything out.

Instead, he responds, “of course, Roman,” and takes his leave despite everything telling him to stay.

*

Alone, again, once more. You would think he has become used to the silence and the loneliness, sadly not. He lies on his bed, lights out aside from the small lamp on his bedside table, dressed for bed yet not tired, no, merely exhausted. He considers getting up for a glass of water (and telling himself he definitely will not change his mind and reach for the wine once in the kitchen) but then there is a knock at the door. A sharp, pristine, calculated knock.

Had it been anyone else Janus may not have opened the door, not in the mood for a loud, over exertive interaction. But he knows Logan stands on the other side of the door, perhaps alone, perhaps not. Janus does not know which he would prefer in all honestly.

He gets up and unlocks the door all the same, opening it to reveal Logan as he assumed, in his navy sleep shirt and shorts, and Virgil, looking a tad more tired and sheepish than the other, in a black tank top and joggers.

And Janus does not know what persuades him, but he opens the door further and says, “do come in, it’s not at all late.”

Virgil falters for a moment before trailing behind the seemingly oblivious Logan. And, well, Janus could make a joke about how he never anticipated these boys in his bed, but he decides against it.

“Janus, we are sorry for the late interruption but we thought it best to come and talk to you regarding, uh, the other day and we assumed that you would not appreciate being cornered by all of us so myself and Virgil thought it wise to approach you alone, apologies if this is an uncomfortable subject matter for you but we deem it necessary,” Logan explains, eyes on Janus as Virgil seems to be suddenly very interested in the black silk sheets.

Janus all but forces a casual smirk and wills his tone to remain calm as he closes the door and stays standing as far away from the others as possible, “I understand, my outburst the other day was most certainly uncalled for and will never happen again, forgive me.”

“That is not at all what we mean, Janus,” Logan responds after a beat, “and I think you know that deep down.”

Another pause.

“What exactly do you mean then?” Maybe his tone is too harsh, volatile, defensive. He can tell by the way Virgil flinches ever so slightly.

Logan opens his mouth to say something but clearly thinks best of it and closes it again. And Janus has never been more angry with himself than now.

“What Logan is trying to say is, well, you’ve noticed that we’re all kind of, uh, together-ish, well, mostly and we want to say that… we’d like to, I don’t know, extend the invitation to you too, fuck, that sounds really fucking formal,” Virgil finally grits out, voice quiet and rough, clearly nervous as his fingers pick at the sheets and he meets neither of their gazes, “we like you a lot, Janus, and we realised that we’ve kind of been dicks to you without even realising it and, well, that’s shitty of us and we’re sorry but we want you in this fucked up little relationship of ours too, it’s not the same without you.”

Janus, well, he laughs. He can’t help it, a short, sharp laugh escaping him before he can stop himself. He is sure Virgil is overly anxious especially now and he would not be surprised if Logan got up any moment and punched him in the face.

“Sorry, I just- it is kind of funny how I always thought you all never wanted me, you never needed me, I just assumed that, well, you were all doing just fine without me and you made that all very fucking clear,” he says, voice wavering, “I felt so, so excluded and you all just did nothing. I was so fucking alone, I had no one, you left me Virgil, you left us, and- well, fuck, Remus left and then I had no one. So, excuse me for feeling a little pissed off at you all.”

He sighs, runs a hand through his messy bed-head before coming to sit at the bottom of his bed across from the other two.

“I love you all, I do, individually and in some ways different to others but I loved you all and it hurt me so much to see you all go, it broke my fucking heart, and I don’t know if it’s fixable.”

They’re both looking at him now, softly, gently, beautifully.

“But I was jealous, so very jealous.”

He lets himself cry, silently, wiping away the tear trails with his bare hands. That is until each of his hands in captured by either man on his bed with him. Virgil’s hand is soft and warm, comforting, and familiar. Logan’s is cold, his fingers longer and able to touch more of Janus’ own, it makes him feel secure in a new way.

“We’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

*

They talk. All of them. Sometimes together, sometimes just two or three of them. Janus is slowly opened up to their relationship dynamic that is far more complex than he would have imagined. And he realises he does not want to kiss all of them in that way, only wants to hold some of them, touch some of them more intimately. But he wants all of them in their own special ways. He becomes closer to them all over time.

He kisses Patton on the forehead for the first time and the father figure bursts into tears and does not let him out of a hug for at least an hour when the others find them. He’s fond of holding Virgil’s hand, it is almost how they used to be but different, more open and accepting of their emotions, it is nice in a way Janus would never have thought of before. He enjoys kissing Roman, gently on his mouth, or even just catching his cheek, it is soft and the romantic flushes before offering a sweet kiss in return or, heaven forbid, a kiss on his hand. As for Logan he enjoys his presence, leaning up against one another late at night or early in the morning when the others are still in bed or occupied, reading or listening to music, there is a soft, unspoken love and gentleness between them.

Then there is Remus. For a while, the other does not dare come near him alone out of fear. And Janus understands the same feeling. Regret, guilt, abandonment. But when he finally gets Remus alone, gets his arms around the other’s torso and buries his head into the crook of his neck. He never wants to let him go again.

He never wants to let any of them go.

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

Please reblog if you enjoyed this fic! I am still open for commissions, DM me :)

[yeojaa]

( TO THE MOON AND BACK. )

You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  kth x (named) f!reader.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre +  rating.   non-idol!au.  there’s some fluff and there’s definitely some angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  none, except for a lot of emotion. 😐😐

wc.  4.9k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as per usual (i owe you my life) and @yeoldontknow​ for tolerating me when i came crying into our messages.

author note.  this was a commission for the endlessly lovely @1088x1088​.  thank you so, so much for loving this series enough to support it.  it was a ton of fun to write (even though this chapter did really hurt).  finding my voice again was a bit of a struggle, but i hope you enjoy it!  i’m sorry this was late! 

chapter 12. 

You can feel the difference in the air the moment you step out of the building and into the arms of your bouncing, bubbly boyfriend.  There’s something about him today - an intensity that radiates out of him, refracts off his edges like an aureate coin.  He’s got the biggest grin on his face - so wide and unabashed you think he doesn’t even need the umbrella he’s brought along - that the sheer power of his joy might be enough to push the rain clouds back.  It stretches wide, brighter than the summer sun, and spills light into darkness, chasing away all the spiders.  It warms you from your toes through to the tips of your fingers, filling your veins with lovely golden thread, dust that settles in shades of yellow. 

“Did you win the lottery or something?”  The question is paired with a sweet kiss to his cheek, your entire body sagging comfortably against his as he wraps his free arm tightly around your shoulders and mirrors the gesture.  Your cheek tingles where his lips land.  You think he might be a wizard, magicking away all the hardships of your day.

“No, even better.”  The excitement is nearly bursting out of him, seeping out at the seams that hardly hold him together.  How he hasn’t simply told you yet is beyond you but you know Taehyung’s a bit dramatic - loves the build up as much as the climax - so you wait patiently, linking your hand through his elbow when you move onto the sidewalk.  It’s easy to fall into this routine:  the one you’ve perfected over the last few months.  It never feels stagnant, never anything less than a warm hug on a cold day.  You find comfort in that.

The sun sits low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street.  They throw shapes across Taehyung’s face, bathing his features in darkness when you step beneath an awning and out of the downpour.  His eyes never stop twinkling - like stars against the night sky, lighting up even the places where the rays can’t reach. 

“We’re hosting an exhibit for local artists.”  He’s trying to be careful, hold himself together.  Still, you can hear the way he speaks a little too fast, too quick to be nonchalant.  Bite back a laugh when the words tumble into each other, failing under their restraints.  “The director asked me to curate it.”

He stops and looks at you then, hopeful and bright and so brilliant you imagine the sun’s disappeared behind the clouds and found a new home in his smile.  You know how much this means to him - how long he’s worked for this, how it’s cost him his parents’ affection and long hours that he’ll never get back.  It goes without saying he deserves this, this incredible opportunity. 

It doesn’t do it justice, but you offer your congratulations regardless, slipping support seamlessly between syllables.  Blending the words with a squeeze of his arm, a delighted little giggle that spirals into the air like a Christmas orange, tart and sweet.  “That’s amazing, Tae!”  

He’s a million miles over the moon, eyes waning, lost to a flood of emotion as he beams down at you.  

“I did all the research and she was happy with it and—”  A twinkling laugh breaks up the excitement, steeping it heavily in the sound as he exhales a big breath that seems to steal a little bit more of his coherence.  “I just—it’s huge.  It’s next month but the director’s given me the go-ahead.  Me!”  

You decide you’d really like to bottle this moment forever, to keep it on a shelf in your thoughts.  You think it’d be the best cure for a bad day, better than any chocolate, more comforting than an afternoon nap.

“Of course you, Tae.”  You’re matching his smile, cradling his jaw in the small of your palms.  Thumbs brush over the seam of his bottom lip, the freckle that dots the edge of his nose.  “I’m so, so proud of you.  You’ve worked so hard for this.”  You know the words aren’t possibly enough but you gift them anyway because it’s still nice to hear.  Everyone deserves that recognition, kindness to hold you up like ribbons, to keep your head held high. 

“Thank you, jagi.”  He sighs a soft sound, all rounded edges and a deep, abiding satisfaction that fills every inch of his expression.  It’s still there when he begins walking again, guiding you back to his favourite place with you at his side.  You fit exactly as you should, tucked under his arm, the tips of his fingers brushing over the teddy bear fabric of your coat.  

“Have you told the others yet?”  

“No, I’m going to tell them at dinner.”  The pride that colours his tone is shades of yellow - marigolds sprouting between vowels, sunflowers encapsulating consonants.  “I want Jungkookie to show his work in it.”  

He must not feel the way you stiffen at his side, how the blood runs cold in your veins and sticks you to the spot like an icicle.  You play it off well enough, tripping over your own two feet and righting yourself as if it were all just a matter of misplaced steps.  

(In truth, you could’ve sworn your heart had plummeted through your feet, all the way to the molten core.  You can feel it burning to a crisp, setting every nerve aflame at the mere thought.)

“I don’t want him to feel like… it’s a handout though.”  

“He won’t,”  you reassure around the strange, familiarly silhouetted lump in your throat.  You are intimately familiar with Jungkook’s work - what spreads over canvas in lovely lilac shapes, stark ink bringing relief to watercolour.  You know who inspires the evening skylines, the immaculate and yet effortless scenes he brings to life with strokes of pen, paint, charcoal. (Or, rather, you knew.  Things could be different now.)  Who graces - had graced - the rolls of film, painted in sepia tones until brought to life by a careful hand.

(You have a feeling they aren’t - that they’re just as they’ve always been.  Too much the same to be safe.  It’d be impossible to miss, even with blinders on.  You and Jungkook would always be complicated.) 

“He’s worked really hard.”  Taehyung’s more or less speaking to himself, carrying a one-sided conversation as you duck back beneath sheets of rain, droplets rolling off the umbrella he carries and splashing all over your toes.  Suddenly, the torrential downpour feels fitting, as if the skies have opened up to soothe the burn beneath your skin.  “It’d be nice if he just caught a break, you know?  Something to give him more confidence.”

He, as well as you, knows just how much of himself the youngest puts into his work.  How every canvas, every roll of film, represents a corner of his heart.  Offers a glimpse into his thoughts.  

You, possibly more than anyone.  But Taehyung doesn’t know that and it certainly isn’t your place to say, so you simply nod along, humming in agreement as you wander the quiet Seoul street.  (It’ll be busy soon, once you pass from the residential area into the bustle of nighttime and exploration.  Not even the rain can keep people away, everyone far too eager to catch up amidst a crowd of smoke and drinking games.  You’re used to it though - used to being dragged out by the ragtag group for their impromptu yet regular weekly dinner dates.) 

“I’m sure he’ll say yes.”  It’s all you can offer as your boyfriend rambles on, lost in his own world

“Really?” 

The amount of hope - strung up on fairy lights, dim and yet somehow so full - rings crystal clear in Jungkook’s voice, tearing your thoughts from the piece of pork belly you’re carefully grilling.  You do your best not to jerk your head up, already all too aware of the topic.  You remind yourself it’s not your place and you flip the slab, gaze trained on the fat that renders out and slides over the metal grill.

It’s hard to do but you weather the storm, quietly observant as the excitement level at the table turns to eleven.  With a group of four it’d be boisterous;  with a table of nine, it’s a cacophony of sound, rising above the din of the bustling restaurant.  It kicks above the chorus of cheers and clattering utensils, as if this moment means so much more.  (It does.)

“You think I’d joke about something like this?”  Taehyung’s doing his best to play it cool, to convey something suave and reassured, but there’s the tell-tale wobble of his words, the way his knee bounces beside yours, nervous energy thrumming through his frame like a livewire.  It practically pours from his fingertips, shooting out past his teeth as his mouth shapes into that familiar boxy grin that belies his delight.

Not that Jungkook’s any better.  

On your other side, his hand’s tensing and relaxing over the tabletop, lips pulling and pursing around thoughts he hasn’t fully formulated.  He’d always been someone who had to be moving - tapping his toes, shaking his leg, simply shimmying in his seat - but this is something else.  It’s as if he’s on the precipice of a realisation, of diving headfirst into his lifelong dream.

(Which, you suppose he is.  He’s wanted this forever, just like Taehyung.  The break he so wholly deserved.  It warms your heart even as it stills it, stutters it uncomfortably in the small of your chest.)

“I’m just—”  Speechless seems to be the appropriate word, because Jungkook simply trails off, wonder in his eyes, his expression that of a child on Christmas.  “Thanks, hyung.”  It’s a rare occurrence, usually offered with that sly bunny smile of his, but it’s dressed in gratitude now, year’s worth of tenderness occupying the spaces between each syllable.

“Don’t thank me.”  It comes, dismissive and yet still just as soft.  Rounded by an awareness that exists only within this group, a tenderness that blooms and blooms and never withers.  “Just make me look good.”

A teasing comment echoes from across the table - that’s impossible from someone who looks and sounds suspiciously like Kim Seokjin - and your group dissolves into a puddle of laughter, the chorus of amusement dissolving above your heads.  

This is too good an opportunity, not the time for your selfish concern.  You swallow your worry with a dab of ssam and a crunch of lettuce.

You miss the look Jungkook shoots you.

He has two weeks.  

Two weeks to select five pieces he thinks will showcase the best parts of himself, the depth of his dedication, the quality of his passion.  Two weeks to go through his extensive portfolio, to rummage through harddrives and pick through his canvases.  Two weeks to determine what home means to him.

It’s certainly not the hardest thing in the world - Jungkook imagines it starts with the words Jeon and ends with a certain group of six idiots - but it still leaves him stumped, sitting at his desk for three long hours as he pours through folders, thankful he’d had the wherewithal to name things properly.  (None of the Aug17uuuuuuughfuck.raw files of his college days.)

It lightens his load, keeps him from upending his entire setup and throwing it out the window in frustration.  Not that he doesn’t still want to.  He very much does.

But perhaps it isn’t the hundreds of images that’s the issue.  Maybe it’s just one - the same one he’s been staring at for the better part of the evening, unable to move on even when he wants to, tapping over his mouse yet never actuating enough to pull him onto the next slide.

It sits front and centre on his screen and he can’t look away;  drinks his fill of it like a man drowning at sea;  savours it like a king at his final feast.  A photo developed with an accidental light leak and how fitting that is, as if all the sunshine has been captured in the single click, trapped behind the shutter for him and him only. 

You’ve always been that to him, though.  Crystalline and beautiful, with light catching off your edges, refracting from every angle to spell something like I love you; with fireflies at the tips of your fingers, guiding him home in the dark;  with the summer sun strung between your teeth, filling him with warmth.  

Could he use this?  Would it be too much?  

More importantly, how would you react?  Had your story ended, chapters of friendship folded between flat pages and tucked within a shelf to accumulate dust?  To sit among the tomes long forgotten, never reached for, barely worthy of a second read? 

Was this meant to disappear, just like you had?  What did that mean for him - for his future?  Were you meant to take all the possibilities with you, tucking them alongside your cotton candy laughter, the sly turn of your smile?  Were they lost to the tangle of your hair, braided into a knot he’d never been able to unravel?

Jungkook hates feeling like this - all the uncertainty swallowing him whole and spitting him out;  leaving him black and blue and bruised all over;  dressing him in shades of grey that only seem to fade with each pass through the wringer. 

A part of him wonders whether he should just ask.  Surely you’d answer the phone, sound so pretty carried over the airwaves he’d probably forget himself.  

Could he find the words?  Would you laugh in his face?

He stares at the photo and wishes it held all the answers, that the light would offer something more than beauty, more than memories that feel more like nightmares.  

Half your face glares back at him, a silhouette of the girl he’d been helplessly in love with.  Rays balance across your cheekbone and cut through him like a knife.  When he blinks, you’re still there but his heart’s all the worse for it, riddled with nicks and tears.

He’ll choose another, he decides. 

Finally, he finds the strength, skips to the next preview - and regrets it almost as much as the first.

(This was his fault, of course.  Jungkook had spent so long living in a world with you, saddled at your side, two pieces inexplicably interwoven.  Of course there’d be thread still, a red string of fate coiled all the way around his heart, hanging uselessly at his side, snipped by hands that weren’t his own, now gone to tatters.)

It wouldn’t matter so much if it were someone else, if the bits of you weren’t so stark, holding his attention like a star in the sky, endlessly bright and unrelenting.  Maybe if he could pretend it was someone else, his hands wouldn’t shake, a tremor in his chest from the way his heart bounces about, demands to be let out, to lay alongside yours.  

As it stands, it is you - brought to life by his hands, overlaid in watercolour and black and a blanket of regret.  The shapes are impossible to miss:  the curve of your hip, rounded and warm, peeking beneath a wash of colour;  the river of your hair, the wayward strands that curl across your cheek and tickle the stack of silver that lines your ear;  the peek of your tattoo, embossed across your ribs, hidden beneath thin layers of paint. 

The longer he looks, the worse it feels.  A white pith of a lemon, bitter on his tongue, stinging all the cuts he’s never taken the time to seal up.  That cry out now, echo the same sadness he’s felt for the last year.  

Was there anything you hadn’t touched?  Something that didn’t carry you in its hands?

He imagines there has to be.

And yet, as he goes along, clicks through image after image, he’s only left with reminders.  Figments of you with blood-stained teeth and scarred flesh, sharks that patrol his thoughts and bite chunks when he ventures too close.  He hadn’t meant to dive this deep - lost somewhere amongst the shipwreck of your friendship, a once beautiful thing now rotten and rusted, devoured by darkness.  The empty hulls aren’t where he wants to be, caught on broken anchors and torn flags, sinking deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know how to get out. 

It’s absolutely perfect, because of course it is.  Taehyung has put every waking hour into this, coordinating with vendors and artists and hardly sleeping a wink.  The walls are painted, artistry strung up for all to see, picturesque beneath an array of lights.  There’s not a thing out of place, each piece given their due, framed neatly with thoughtful text painstakingly written by your boyfriend.

There are dozens of people in attendance - the turnout the gallery had hoped for and yet still has Taehyung giddy, eyes wide like a child’s, wonderment written into every lovely facet of his expression.

You’re delighted for him, completely over the moon with how happy he is, pride rolling off him in waves that you’d gladly sink beneath.  You whisper words of affection - pride, support - purring them into the warmth of his palms when he sandwiches your face between them and laughs so loudly you swear there’s no other sound in the world.

“Can you believe it?”  This boy before you isn’t the Taehyung you know, carefully composed.  He’s a comet through the night sky, illuminating, fluorescent, lit from the inside out.  Glowing so bright it hurts your eyes, makes you blink once, then twice, then another time just to capture the moment against the backs of your eyelids.  (You wish you had your camera with you - something to allow you to remember this moment forever, process it and store it in your pocket for rainy days.)  

Your laughter comes in tandem, overjoyed for your love, for all he’s worked for and all he’s now achieved.  It spills forth in bell chimes, silver in your ears, and you catch his hands in your own, fingers caught together.  “Of course I can.”  The distance between you becomes nothing, barely a breath passing as you press your lips to his, offering as much affection as you can in the tiny gesture.  “I knew you could do it.”

“Really?”  He doesn’t doubt you.  Doesn’t even really doubt himself.  But he asks anyways and you don’t mind giving, folding your support into another kiss, another squeeze of his hand.  

“You can do anything, Kim Taehyung.”

He animates, a coin-operated boy whose sole currency is your words of affirmation.  Springs to life with adoration in his step, a giddy smile that eats up everything else and wanes his eyes into crescents.  Peaks like the sun above the clouds, endlessly bright - a supernova.  “I love you.”

“I know,”  you answer with your heart in your hands - in his - when they drop to his sides, fingers still intertwined.  

He stares at you expectantly, unabashedly, waiting for the words he wants to hear.  (A man with the world at his feet, whose heart still flutters for you.)  “And?”

“And?”  You parrot, cheeks round, a well of teasing growing in the dimple of your left cheek.  It spills forth when his mouth pouts, turns this way and that before settling into an expression that’s utterly undeniable, the perfect blend of endearing and infuriating.  When you relent, it’s with further laughter, a nudge of your hip against his as he pulls you close, cementing you to his side.  “I love you too.”

You’d been prepared for the people (the professionals, the journalists, all the friends and family, anyone who was anyone gathered to attend) and the chaos (your friends - all of them running amok while simultaneously on their best behaviour, biting back laughter, echoing words of encouragement). 

What you hadn’t been prepared for?  

This.

Standing before a painted portrait of yourself, blown up ten feet and hung in the centre of the gallery for all to see.  Full-lipped and grinning, with hands hiding half your face, dark hair piled atop your head and a bandana knotted below your ear.  A picture that you can hear - your laughter sounding off the page, reminiscent of that night so many months ago, standing at the edge of the water, the ocean calling you out to sea.  The sky streaked in colours you could never hope to replicate, hues that blend and bleed and build into something glorious, beautiful, ephemeral.  An arm that reaches for whoever has taken the photo, light reflecting off the sheen of silver, of gold, of the gems on your nails.  

You recognise it in a heartbeat - one that feels like it goes too long, as if it’s skipped not one, not two, but three beats - that thunders loudly in your ears the moment everything snaps into place.

(And oh, how it does.  A hundred memories that shudder into a single image and tell the story of an entire summer.

Afternoons at Jagalchi, amid the smell of fish and flesh, eating to the point of gluttony.  On the shores with sunshine at your fingertips and a hand in yours, endless possibilities stretching as far as the eye could see.  Staring up into the sky night after night, admiring the stars packed against the dark and yet always drawn back to the brightest one at your side, a heavenly body hidden within the silhouette of your closest friend.

Your head on his shoulder during the train ride there and back, the quiet offered by his presence, the comfort found in his form.  All the little pieces of himself that had somehow found their way to you:  your pinkies intertwined, his dark hair spilling over yours, his breath that came low and slow, condensing between you and turning your cheeks ruddy.

What had felt like a lifetime away - seven hundred galaxies apart, never to be found again, engulfed by a black hole of your own creation.  

What now feels like it’s right at your feet, so close you might touch it.  That echoes in your chest, a spectre living within your bones come back to haunt you.)

“Pretty, huh?”  Hums the voice at your side, filled with too much pride - for himself and his friend, for all they’ve accomplished.  Taehyung has no idea, blissfully unaware, heartbreakingly handsome as he studies the image alongside you, lets his stare rove across the contours of the woman’s cheekbones, the shape of her mouth, pulled wide in a smile that might as well carry the world in it.

There’s something familiar about the girl in the painting, something that calls to him, draws him in and keeps him anchored.  He wonders what it is, makes a note to ask once Jungkook arrives.  

Your answer comes belated, disconnected and strange, a voice too far away to be picked up clearly.  (You don’t mean it to - try to swallow down the emotion that crests and crests like a terrifying wave above your head.)  “Very.”

“Kook mentioned a girl a few years ago, so I think it’s her.”  How he speaks is thoughtful, as if he isn’t sure how much to say.  Doesn’t want to overstep even as he offers these tiny bits of information - things he thinks you have no idea about, that’s the same thing that lives within your bones, settled like bedrock that cannot be eroded.  (Guilt gnaws at you, turns its teeth cruel and unrelenting and licks the salt from your wounds like the back of a spoon.  You swallow it down, listen quietly, quietly, quietly and try to slow the discomfort growing like weeds, the blooming of tiger lilies in the small of your chest.)  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  Taehyung’s conversational, adoring, indulgent.  He hooks his arm around your shoulders and holds you close, unaware of the turmoil that turns your insides to ash.  He holds you like you’re precious - a sunbeam caught in his hands, just for him.  

If only he knew.

“Do you want to see the rest?”  There’s an eagerness that spills forth, tacks his words to one another and turns them into a single breath.  He inhales all the bad and dresses you in nothing but good, pins stars into your hair when he fixes you with that smile and pulls you along, further into the gallery with a hop in his step.

You should say no;  you can’t find the words.

So you follow him to his next destination - to another version of you.  Another photo, grainy and overexposed, intimate in its detail.  A faceless blur, made alive by light, artificial and too white, casting long shadows where there should be none.  It’s easier to imagine this is someone else - a girl worthy of this love, of all the emotion captured within the single image.  (Someone who could carry the weight of Jungkook’s affection without dropping it, whose hands would be a suitable home for the heart he’s now offered up, laid out ripe for the picking.  Sugar sweet and saccharine, held aloft by a branch that threatens to give away.)

The truth is in the details, though, and you see them for all they are.  The dainty thread that loops your wrist - mirrored within the frame before you.  It sits evident in the freckles on your arms, the wayward beauty marks sprinkled upon your skin, constellations that should have names - do have names, whispered by the boy at your side. 

“He’s really got a good eye, right?”  There’s that pride again, full-bodied, like a parent with macaroni art stuck to the fridge.  It’s sticky and honeyed, bright with affection, lemon tart and yellow - sunshine streaming past like the warmest day in July.  It further cements the relationship he has - that they all have - one built upon years of friendship, of togetherness you cannot begin to fathom.

The guilt rears its head again, roars like an angry beast.  You bite it back, catch its tail between your teeth and nod along, unfocus your eyes as best you can.  The longer you look, the more it grows, spiny and angry and demanding of attention.

“He really does.”

Taehyung’s satisfied with that, too caught up in his own delight to notice the stillness, the quiet.  It’s a silence he overlooks, sweeps past without a backwards glance.  “There’s one more I want to show you.” The joy is unbridled, eating up every part of him, and your heart thumps feebly in your chest, kicked around by two pairs of feet.  “I saw it and it made me think of you.”

You’re surprised this time - because it isn’t you.  It’s not the shape of your shoulders or the turn of your wrist.  It’s not a half-hidden smile, the dozens of tell-tale signs that would give you away.  It’s something far worse, that sticks to your lungs and makes it hard to breathe, wet paper towels plastered over your airways like papier-mâché. 

It pains you when you step forward to drink in the colours, the texture that lays everything in nostalgia.  An image you recognise because you have the same one in your home, hung upon your wall, taken by your own hand.  

Jungkook in an infinity room, bathed in a million little lights.  

Except this is a painting, painstakingly recreated, with shadows deepened and white ink spread throughout.  One of your most precious memories laid in gouache.

“I swear I’ve seen it before.”  It’s a throwaway thought, more for himself than for you, but it breaks you apart, crumbles the foundation you’ve been carefully laying.  It kicks your knees right out from beneath you and you swear you’d fall if not for the comfort of his side, the way he holds you up and inspects you curiously.  “Are you okay?”

He looks at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes;  you unwind beneath his stare, sinew and bone unfurling, realigning, forming into someone worthy of his love.  You tell yourself nothing else matters, that all the what ifs pale in comparison to this - how he looks at you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky;  as if you’re more than just a girl who has his heart;  as if you hold all the answers to the universe.   

“Fine,”  you answer, even as you aren’t, as the ground beneath your feet threatens to give way and send you to an early grave.  Even as you cannot tear your eyes from the painting, terrified and awestruck, too many emotions turning your senses to nonsense.

You wonder if Taehyung can hear the tremble of your breath, feel it all the way through into the centre of his own chest.  You wonder what he reads into it, whether he worries for you.  You wonder if he can love a monster like you, who has kept these secrets under lock and key, tucked away into a far corner riddled with cobwebs and spiders and a fine layer of dust. 

You wonder and wonder and then you have your answer when he speaks again, something in his voice that steals your attention, pins it directly behind the light in his eyes.

“Don’t you have this in your house?”

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle​

[frostsinth]

Lost Time - Pt. 1

- MasterList -

Dear Gods; Its been a long time without having an active and open orc story. SIX WHOLE DAYS LORDS! So I decided to rectify that immediately. .. With a new orc story. Sincerely... Me.

I have... 3 open stories now, not including the Reptile Monster One-Shot and  the OctoMer One-Shot I was thinking to continue... But I missed my orcs. I need an orc story at all times. So enjoy!!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are my sustenance. Check out my MasterList up there ^^^ to read more of my stuff. Feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you’re there. Oh, and don’t forget to check out my Monster Match Giveaway! Closes 9/4! 

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The pounding in my head wouldn’t reside, despite how long I kept my eyes closed. I squeezed them tighter, finding my hand in the swirling, spinning pain that was my brain, and willing it to come up to palm my forehead. The smell of dirt filled my nostrils as I did, and I managed a groan. What the hell happened?

Last thing I remembered was… well, that was a blur. A foggy shadow clouding my thoughts. At least, what thoughts I could distinguish amid the blinding pain and dizziness.

I laid my head back against… something, and waited. Nothing else to do for it. Hopefully I wasn’t in any immediate peril, or someone was watching over me. My head hurt too much for me to even consider trying to differentiate between the different sounds assaulting my ears. 

The minutes ticked by like hours until slowly the throbbing and swirling subsided. There was still a dull ache behind my eyes, and a stabbing pain at the back of my head. But I found the courage to crack open one lid. Blinding light hit me square, but a few timid blinks had it clearing into a smooth wash of emerald green.

Trees, I realized. Or, more specifically, a canopy of leaves with sunlight splashing through them. As my brain took in that realization, it connected the sounds of rustling leaves it had previously dismissed. The smell of dirt now washed with the smell of greenery and bark. Pine, I thought, though I was sure there were others that were less distinct. The general expected rumblings and trappings of the forest filtered through as well; bird song, a squirrel chittering. And someplace distant, branches snapping.

I managed to sit up a minute or two later, but cradled my head in my lap as a fresh wave of dizziness struck me. I breathed in carefully, in through my nose, then out in a rush through my mouth. Felt the pain subside once more like a cool compress to the back of my head to allow me to look around.

As I might have guessed by the trees and birdsong, I appeared to be in a forest. Though I had absolutely no recollection how I got there. I tried to blink and fight my way through the fog in my brain, but the more I did, the less I could recall. And the more the back of my head throbbed.

I reached with tentative fingers, and found a damp patch in my hair near the base of my skull. I jerked at the touch, pulling my hand back to see the tips coated in drying blood. Well, that explained the pain then. Perhaps the memory loss too, if my limited understanding of such things was to be believed. I realized then that my hands were coated in dirt too. Looking down at myself, I found the rest of me equally disheveled. Had I fallen? I glanced around, but I seemed to be in a flat area. No hills. No rocks. I supposed it was possible I had fallen out of a tree, but didn’t seem particularly close enough to any to surmise that. And why would I be climbing a tree?

Had I been struck then? I gingerly touched the wound again, to see if it would yield any more clues. I winced, but managed to trace its edge. It ran about the length of my hand right at the back of my skull. It wasn’t deep, nor particularly wide. And as I certainly was no expert on wounds, or weapons for that matter, I found no reasonable response.

I dropped my hand, defeated, looking around again. Did I know this place? I asked myself. There was no strong answer if I had at some point been familiar with this wood, then again, there was no strong answer that I had never been here before either. Regardless, I found I was happy just to know the words “tree” and “forest”. I honestly otherwise couldn’t say much else about my time in the world. Nor, a few moments of quiet contemplation later told me, did I know where I was supposed to be.

I was surprised how calm I found myself. Looking around, turning things over in my still throbbing head. Trying to piece together the puzzle that was literally everything about me. It was… oddly comforting. The fact that I knew nothing about myself. I knew words, I knew my approximate age, I knew I had blue eyes and blonde hair without checking. And that was all I needed to know for the moment. I wondered if I had been missing patches and holes rather than the blanket of memory that was gone if I would have been more panicked. Because I would have enough reason to be.

Instead, I found my feet, brushing the forest floor off my pants, and looked around again. The sun overhead was bright. So probably about midday, I would hazard to guess. I didn’t seem to have any supplies with me, therefore I reasoned I couldn’t have come from far away. Right? I mean, hopefully I wasn’t the kind of stupid idiot who tended to go wandering deep into the woods without any overnight gear, food, water, or even a coat. But what direction to go? Picking the wrong way could send me further away from help. And there seemed to be no strong indication that one direction would be better than another.

The loud snap of a branch pulled me out of my contemplations and sent a shiver down my spine. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that it wasn’t just birds, squirrels, and myself that existed in the world. There were other, much larger, much more dangerous things as well…

I turned towards the sound, and found the hairs prickling on my arms. Warning me. A memory? No, it didn’t feel familiar. More like instinct. A response to the realization that something large was moving through the underbrush.

Another snap, this time from my left. I spun again, my heart now racing in my chest. I hoped it was just a deer. But not knowing for certain one way or the other put me on edge. I made up my mind quickly. I would head away from whatever was hiding amid the trees. It seemed a pretty safe bet overall.

I turned, practically running as fast as I dared between the trees in the opposite direction of the last snap. Making an effort to make as little sound as possible as I fled. I kept glancing over my shoulder, as if I would be able to tell if whatever had been snapping branches was following me. Which perhaps was not the productive way to move through a dense forest.

This point was accentuated as my foot caught an errant root, sending me blundering through a particularly large bush. And smacking straight into something quite large. I fell back from the impact, landing on my backside with a soft “oof!” My eyes shot to the warm body that I had crashed into.

He was much larger than anything I would have ever expected to see moving amid the loosely packed trunks of the forest. His torso was at least as thick as the largest of the trees, and I wasn’t entirely certain the dark hair piled on the top of his head and spilling down his back was not scrapping the canopy above. I craned my neck back to look up at him, my mouth inadvertently falling open. He had broad shoulders, armored with layered, plated leather whose thick straps ran across his muscled chest. His skin was a deep green, so dark I wouldn’t have been able to identify the color save for the sparks of emerald that flashed as the sunlight brushed over him. He turned to consider me, eyes narrowing beneath a thick, hooded brow. One side of his face was distorted by lighter scar tissue. It was knotted and torn, twisting his lip and eyebrow as it passed from his hairline, over his pronounced brow and temple, all the way down to his chin and thick neck. My eyes widened even more as they moved from his scars to his mouth, where four prominent tusks protruded from between thick lips.

I didn’t need my memory to decide that this was not a creature I wanted to mess with. I scrambled backwards, away from his great, lumbering form as he took one long stride towards me. He lifted a broadsword as big as I was tall as easily as a child might a stick, resting it on one muscular shoulder as he scowled down at me. He towered over me, looking me up and down with a look on his face that made my stomach lurch in fear.

Having seen more than enough, I managed to jump back to my feet and bolted back through the underbrush. I heard something from behind me, perhaps a growl, though it almost sounded like words. I didn’t pause to try to figure it out. Crashing back through the brush. My shoulder hit a tree painfully as I tried to dodge quickly between them, but I didn’t slow. Nor did I care to try and quiet my progression, favoring speed over grace. After all, I reasoned, he already knew I was there. I hoped my smaller size would allow me to navigate between the trees and brush quicker than he could pursue, and my pounding heart insisted that he would.

Once again, I made the fatal mistake of looking over my shoulder. Perhaps I would have learned my lesson had I not still been nursing a throbbing headache. But that was likely wishful thinking; it seemed to be becoming a character flaw. One which I considered heartily as the ground suddenly dropped out unseen from under my feet.

I gave a shout of alarm, then slid and tumbled down the broken ground. It seemed a storm had uprooted the trees, or perhaps it was an ancient riverbed. Either way, my hasty retreat had me careening off its edge and rolling through the dirt once more. I felt my foot catch on something as I fell, jerking me sharply off course. I smashed heavily into a large tree near the bottom of the incline, jarring my already sore head. I closed my eyes in defense against the sudden barrage of pain, my arms having instinctually curled up to protect myself during the fall.

A minute later, I shook my head, clearing it enough to come back to the present once more. My ankle thrummed now too, and a quick jerk found it painfully stuck between two roots. I wrapped my hands around my calf, trying to tug it free. But merely managing to send another wave of pain coursing through me.

I heard and felt the ground shudder beneath monstrous steps, and yanked harder. Barely stifling my cry of anguish at the sharp searing pain that shot through me again. Panicked eyes looked up, and I nearly swooned at the sight of the huge beast standing at the top of the hillock. For his part, he glared down at me for a moment, before bending to catch the edge of the drop in one big hand and jumping down. In that single movement, he had covered half the distance between us.

I struggled against the roots, trying to loosen their hold, my heart racing in my ears. Another stride and he was upon me. I jerked back, unsure if I should try to roll to the side or raise my arms in defense. A puny defense it would be; the man could likely snap through both of them and my spine with one single blow and still sink his sword into the ground behind me up to its hilt.

I jumped in surprise as he dropped down to one knee, tossing the broadsword to the damp leaves beside us instead of bringing it to bare down on my head. His big meaty hands grabbed either offending root, and with a sharp twist and a loud crack, my foot was freed.

I quickly tugged it backward, dragging myself away from his crouching form which still looked like it might be taller than my standing one. But I found the reaction more wary than fearful. After all, had he wanted to harm me, he certainly didn’t have to free my foot first. Perhaps he liked the challenge of an unbound prey? My heart skipped at the thought.

His eyes watched me, still narrowed and darkened by the shadow from his heavy brow. I could see now they were a brilliant copper, and I swallowed nervously as they appraised me. Again came that strange sound. Deep and guttural. Easily mistakable for a growl. But this time, I was sure they were words. I frowned at him, glancing over my shoulder as if checking he was actually talking to me. When I looked back at him, he seemed to be waiting patiently. Though for what, I couldn’t begin to fathom.

I shook my head, unsure what else to do. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I don’t understand.”

His big head cocked to the side, and his scowl deepened. I ascertained he also did not understand. Though the intelligence in those simmering copper eyes was now unmistakable. I suddenly felt incredibly foolish for being so frightened of him before; of thinking him some mindless monster or beast. I couldn’t help but remain wary though. After all, he could still mean me harm, and even if he was harmless, why had he pursued me? Why not just shrug and go on his merry way? Certainly it couldn’t be completely out of the goodness of his heart to follow up on me. Though, I wondered, perhaps he had been headed this way anyway. And it was simply coincidence he had come upon me again.

His eyes studied me for a moment longer, then he let out a loud snort. I jumped again as he put his hands on his knees and pushed off, straightening back up to his full height. I had had the impression that I was tall, at least of what I could remember (which granted, wasn’t much). But compared to him, I might as well have been a mouse.

Less panicked by his sudden appearance than before, I used the moment to appraise him further. His arms were thick and muscular, as was his exposed abdomen and chest. Despite his broad shoulders, he had a somewhat narrow waist, but his legs were as big as a tree trunk each. He had layered fur armor like a kilt around his hips that reached to his knees, and tough looking boots that seemed ready to break with each flex of his huge calves. Other than the armor, he was adorned with a huge belt around his hips, a small pouch on each side. My attention was once more drawn to the scar that took up most of one side of his face all the way down his neck, and I saw him turn slightly. Presenting more of his better side. As if sensing my eyes on it and seeking to hide the unsightly skin. I swallowed nervously again, not entirely soothed by my fresh assessment.

But he gave a grunt, then made a very obvious gesture that I should follow him. He reached down and picked up the broad sword, resting it on his plated shoulder once more as he looked down at me. It didn’t seem a demand; I certainly could just… refuse. I wasn’t sure if he would stop me, as he waited so patiently, and I felt my twisting nerves abate a little more. I hesitated, glancing around. Yet it seemed as good an option as any, even though the idea of going anywhere with him still made my knees knock together. What were my other options? Wander haplessly about the forest? Perhaps this creature at least could lead me to its edge. Bolstered by that thought, I worked to get my feet back beneath me and moved to stand.

I was promptly back on the ground, clutching my ankle in pain, as soon as I tried. It felt hot to the touch, and I could already feel it swelling. I heard him grunt, and then grumble something in his own tongue. He extended one hand, bending down a little. I glanced at it, unsure what to make of it, and after a moment he slowly pulled it back.  I gritted my teeth, gathering my good leg beneath me and carefully standing. Balancing all my weight on one side with my bad foot lifted. One hobbled, hopping step made me realize walking like this was not likely to be an option.

Another hearty growl preceded my soft “eep!” as I suddenly found myself hoisted into the air. My heart alternated between racing and skipping about frantically and my breath caught in my throat as my hands frantically searched for purchase instinctively. They latched to the straps of his shoulder plates, and I felt suddenly hot as I realized how tightly I clung to him. Tense for the fear of being dropped what seemed like quite a long way down and surprised at having been picked up at all. The man’s burly arm cradled me against his chest, as unbothered as if I were less than a feather to him. I didn’t doubt I was, but was unsettled by the proximity of him. He smelled heavily of pine, moist soil, and wood-smoke, as well as his own musky scent, and his skin was warm against me. I felt a flush rising to my face, and my mouth opened and closed useless. But a glance to his face made me realize he wasn’t looking at me anyway.

With surprising speed and grace, he turned and with a single flex of his thick legs scaled up the broken ground. Bringing us back to the top of the crater and reorienting himself to then follow along its edge. Certainly not the direction I had originally been travelling, though I couldn’t be quite sure where that had been. In my flight I had lost all sense of my positioning, and looked around to try and gather my bearings again.

“Where are we going?” I asked him quietly, unable to keep the nervousness from my voice.

I didn’t expect him to answer, and he didn’t, but it made me feel better to ask anyways. He carried me quietly with one arm, his other hand still holding the broadsword tucked against the shoulder opposite me. I wrung my hands nervously over the straps, feeling his skin brush against my knuckles lightly as I did. Perhaps he was bringing me back to civilization. I was certain he would do so quickly if that was an option, as he didn’t seem eager for my company based upon the deep scowl still on his face. It made the knots of his scar seem more prominent, and deepened the lines. Again, he turned as if he felt my eyes on it. The other side of his face suggested that perhaps he was not very old, not yet middle aged from what I could tell. Certainly an adult, though I had no basis for standards of what that would mean in regards to… whatever he was. I wondered if it was my lack of memory that I had no name for such a green skinned behemoth. Or if perhaps I simply had no experience or knowledge of them. The speed of my pulse suggested the latter, and there was certainly no familiarity about him.

A small, amused part of me wondered if we were of the same race. Perhaps I had just forgotten the gender dysmorphia due to the knock on my head. Which would make my actions prior seem quite ridiculous indeed. It almost made me smile to think that he was just a typical male, and I was the one acting the fool. Which led me to wondering if he found me attractive, and what exactly he meant to do with me.... I quickly pushed the notion aside, as it sent blood rushing to my already throbbing head and brought some sinful thoughts to my own consideration of him. Not to mention the improperness of him cradling me against his half bare chest if that were the case. He didn’t seem very interested in me though, other than a mild, annoyed concern for my existence. Perhaps escorting lost people was simply his job; maybe this happened to him all the time, which was why he seemed so familiar with the proximity.

I resolved to try not to worry too much, as I didn’t have much control over it anyways. The light between the trees was beginning to fade, suggesting a fast approaching night. And given the state of my ankle, I wasn’t exactly in a position to be traipsing off by myself again. Even if I did have some sense of where to go. The conscious decision was not enough to slow my heart though, and my breath still came in nervously shallow wisps.

My hopes that he would bring me to civilization (or at least someone who spoke the same language) were dashed after a long quiet walk as we approached what appeared to be a campsite. It was more permanent than that, I realized, based upon the perimeter of spiked sticks and the separate smoking and tanning racks set beside a stone fire pit. There was a cave, formed amid a copse of dense trees and a prominent pile of rocks. It didn’t look particularly deep, but it was tall enough that the man likely wouldn’t have to bow his head much to service it. A  thick fur was pulled back from the entrance like a curtain, and I could make out dark piles of things beyond. A house? I reasoned. Shelter at least, and with night almost upon us, it seemed as good a place as any.

He stomped through the small opening between the makeshift wall, and deposited me unceremoniously next to the fire pit. I opened my mouth to try to communicate with him again as I released the straps of his armor, but he was already off. Gathering logs from a huge pile beside the cave. He set his sword to lean against the rock and brought over an armful of the wood. Dropping it into the pit and crouching down. He drew a flint stone from somewhere beside the fireplace, and with a handful of dried leaves gathered from within reach, he quickly had a smoking flame beneath the pile.

I listened to the sound of the crackling and snapping build as the fire sparked. Watched it lick and bite at the first log hungrily. He bent low to blow some air onto the glow, fueling it’s growth.

“Excuse me,” I braved politely as he leaned back. His copper eyes turned to consider me at the words, even though his frown suggested he still didn’t know them, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but ah… what are we doing here?”

He watched my lips move, and his own thick lips scrunched together around his large tusks. He appeared to chew at the inside of his cheek, then shook his head and grumbled something in that foreign tongue. No luck then. Still not understanding each other. I sighed quietly, reaching down and rolling up my pant leg to take a better look at my ankle. I removed both of my shoes, rubbing my hand carefully over my foot and joint.

It was painfully swollen now, and I winced as I touched it. I didn’t suppose I was in enough pain for anything to be broken, but knew (somehow) that a sprain could be as bad as any break if not treated properly. I started slightly as the big man grunted and rose to his feet. I watched him out of the corner of my eye moving near the cave entrance, and glanced up at him as he came back over to my side. He dropped down to his knee again, and swatted my hands gently away with one of his. Surprised but wary, I leaned back. I jerked as a cold cloth dropped around my ankle, and I drew in a thin breath as his big fingers slowly eased it to wrap around my joint. A particularly rough movement had me instinctively grabbing at his hand in pain to stop him. I froze as his copper eyes jumped to my face and his movement paused. We stayed like that for a moment, until I couldn’t hold his curious gaze and dropped both my eyes and my hand from his. He began wrapping the cool cloth again shortly after. But I noticed he moved more gently, more cautious of the tenderness of it. He leaned back when he finished to admire his own handiwork.

He said something else in the strange, guttural tongue, then glanced at me again from the corner of his good side. I offered him a weak, thankful smile. Hoping the meaning would get across. He gave a grunt, shaking his head and standing once more.

As he went back to the cave, I was glad for the heat from the fire. The night was quickly forming around us; lengthening the shadows of the trees and bleeding the color from the forest. And with it came a chill that threatened to reach my bones. I eased a little closer to the flames, listening to him rustling amid his things in the cave.

He returned not long after, a piece of rolled up paper in his hands. He showed it to me as he crouched down next to me again, then swept one palm across the ground to clear away leaves and debris. Spreading out the parchment, he grunted again, gesturing to me then the page. I leaned over, frowning, until the dark lines and shapes registered to me.

“A map.” I exclaimed, understanding.

Another grunt, and he pointed to me with one big finger. Then to the map. Speaking in his own language. I looked down at the lines and ridges. I saw mountains and forests and rivers neatly marked. I could identify the names of each of these things, as well as the labels for what appeared to be villages and towns. But a pang of disappointment hit me as I realized I didn’t recognize any of it.

I looked up at him, waiting for me patiently, watching my face. He frowned as I shook my head, and I tried to look as apologetic as possible. He pointed to me again, then the map. I shook my head again, and he growled something in his language. I supposed perhaps he was getting frustrated. I sighed, disappointed, shaking my head a final time. Trying to figure how to explain to him that I wasn’t stupid (at least as far as I knew); I just couldn’t remember anything. He seemed to be getting increasingly impatient, and I shifted nervously as he gestured with one hand almost angrily at me.

He seemed to notice my unease as his mannerisms became more intense, and stilled himself. Instead, sitting back on his ankles and rubbing the back of his neck. His movement reminded me, and I reached my own hand back, touching the still throbbing, tender spot at the base of my skull. I winced, but found the dampness again and pulled my blood stained fingers around. I held them up in the firelight to show him, trying to look appropriately apologetic again.

His copper eyes widened slightly and his thick brows raised. He scooched closer and leaned his big bulk over me. His shoulders were so broad, I felt as though a ceiling had been drawn over my head. I drew in a sharp breath as he  reached out and caught my chin in one big palm. His hands were huge, each one bigger than my face, and rough to the touch. But despite the firmness of his grip, he moved gently. Turning my head to the side and down. He spoke as he moved, and the tone was softer. Soothing, almost. I felt the fingers of his opposite hand brush through my hair, and my skin tingled on my neck. I resisted the urge to wince as his thumb brushed the tender flesh around the wound. His nostrils flared and I heard him draw in a huffing breath.

He grumbled, releasing his hold and sitting back on his ankles again. I glanced up at him to see him rubbing at his chin, seeming to be thinking it over. He turned back to the map, and pointed to a forest there. Then gestured to around us, before pointing back at the same spot. I leaned closer, studying the area to see if anything sparked a memory. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad as well as disappointed as I had to shake my head again. I ran my fingertips over the spot, trying to concentrate, my brow furrowing. But my head merely throbbed with the effort, and I reached up with my opposite hand to palm my eye in an attempt to ease it.

I started as his big hand swallowed up my wrist, pulling my hand away from my face. I looked up at him again, swallowing nervously. But despite the heavy set curl of his brow and the deep grooves of the scarred half of his face, I decided he didn’t look too frightening right then. And I realized he never really had been. Every movement and gesture had been slow and careful. Every touch had been gentle... and kind. I had looked at him the first moment I saw him and scared myself, but he had never once given me a reason to justify that fear. He growled something I didn’t have a hope of understanding, then released my wrist to brush his fingers through my hair, pushing it back out of my eyes.

He froze suddenly, his big fingers lingering by my temple. I looked back and forth between his copper eyes, as he seemed to consider something he saw in mine. I saw him shuffle, then clear his throat. He mumbled something else in his language, then turned his head to the side. His long hair fell about his shoulders and I let out my breath as he dropped his hand. He cleared his throat again. Then planted his palm against his chest and gave a hearty grunt.

“Njord’roshan.” He rumbled. I looked at him in surprise. He smacked his breast. “Njord’roshan.” He said again, firmly.

“Neeyord-ro...?” I echoed uncertainly. 

He nodded, cocking his head to the side and chewing his lip. Then smacked his chest again. “Njord.” He offered instead.

 I smiled slightly as I realized his intent. “Oh! That’s your name. Njord.”

He grunted, nodding his big head as he recognized my understanding. Then gestured to me. I winced, and my face must have fallen again, because he titled his head slightly. Looking at me from the corner of his good side. I shook my own head, giving a little shrug of my shoulders.

“I-I don’t know…” I told him, the realization hitting me then as my hand went instinctively to the back of my skull. 

I dropped my eyes to the side, feeling a strange emotion welling in me for the first time since I had woken in the forest. It was… hollow. As if everything about me was wrong. As if I was somehow out of place; a missing piece in time. It made me feel almost suspended from the moment, like the body I was in wasn’t mine. I didn’t even have a name...

Perhaps it was this strange, ethereal concept of myself that kept me from starting as his hand came up again. Brushing thick fingers lightly along the edge of my jaw. His language came from his wide mouth again, and I strained my ears, longing to understand him.

It was a long string of the guttural words, thick and heavy. But softly spoken from between his thick lips, and I watched them move to form each sound. He tucked his knuckles lightly under my chin, and the corners of his lips curled upwards slightly. I found his touch oddly comforting then, and had to fight myself not to reach up and run my fingers over his knuckles. Even as my hands itched to do so. I felt a lump forming in my throat, and tried to swallow it away as my heart skipped a beat.

“Shikobakin.” He told me after a moment’s silence, tapping my chin with his thumb. His lips twitched at the corners again, and he brought his hand to his chest. “Njord’roshan... Njord.” Then reached back out, touching the tip of his large index finger back to my chin. “Shikobakin.”

I returned his smile, though it felt heavy by the time it reached my eyes. “Did you just name me?” I asked, my voice peppered with a hint of amusement.

I thought his returning expression might have been a small smirk, and his copper eyes seemed to glimmer. He patted his chest once more. “Njord.” Then tapped my chin again. “Shikobakin.”

I placed my hand on my own chest. “Shikobakin.” I echoed the strange word, but it felt warmer as I accepted it as my own. I smiled, then reached out and lightly touched his chin with the tips of my fingers, as he had mine. “Njord.”

He stiffened slightly at my touch, and his copper eyes darted down to my hand. He brought his own big hand up, wrapping it around and engulfing my tiny pale one. The big beast gave a pleased sounding grunt, soft and distracted, nodding as he gently pulled my hand from his face. He shifted, angling his head to the side. Turning his scar away again.

After a breath too long, he released my hand, then brought his pinched fingers to his mouth. “Di’chin yiya?” He asked softly, miming eating and patting his stomach.

He didn’t wait for an answer, standing and going over to the smoking rack. He returned a moment later, holding out a large piece of meat to me as he dropped back down next to me. I took it gingerly, offering him a small smile. Our fingers brushed as I took it, and I thought I saw him stiffen. But it must have been my imagination. After all, why would a small little human make such a big creature anxious.

I sniffed at the meat, taking a small bite. I quickly recognized it as fish, and seemed to find I liked it. I smiled up at him as I chewed, pleased I had learned at least two things about myself now. I had a name. And I knew I liked smoked fish. I saw his brows raise slightly as he considered me, and again he turned his head slightly to the side.

We finished the smoked meat in companionable silence, watching the fire bite and lick at the logs. I shivered as the darkness fully settled around us, and hunched up my shoulders against the chill of the night. My ankle and head throbbed in an offset rhythm, and I felt my eyes growing heavier with each passing minute. Especially as the salty fish settled in my stomach. 

He passed me a waterskin, which I drank from thankfully. When I lowered it back down, I noticed him watching me from the corner of his copper eye. I couldn’t read the expression on the untouched side of his face, but felt a strange tickling in the pit of my stomach that had me turning my attention to my bare feet. I shuffled them and shifted, kneading the skin gently between my palms before passing it back to him. He cleared his throat, placing the skin to the side. Then smacked his hands together and moved to a crouching position next to me.

He spoke more of his language, jerking his big head towards the cave. I looked up at him, surprised to find his hands reaching out to me. Waiting. I barely nodded my permission before he quickly scooped me back up in his arms and carried me over to the shallow cave. His chest brushed my shoulder, and I found his skin pleasantly warm after the chill of the night. I couldn’t help leaning into him slightly, even as my heart skipped in my breast.

The cave was too dark for me to see, but he seemed untroubled by it. The air tasted damp, though slightly warmer than the outside air. He moved purposefully, bringing me to what I could make out as the far back wall before crouching down once more. I started slightly as he lowered me into something soft and plush. A moment later, I recognized the furs for what they were, and shuffled amid them. I felt his big hands come around, dragging what appeared to be more furs and blankets, making a pile near the foot of the bed. Gingerly, he took my injured ankle and rested it on the elevated lump. I could barely make out his silhouette in the dark, but saw him reach out. Felt his hand brush my cold shoulder. He muttered something, then pulled more furs to wrap around me.

“Thank you…” I told him softly as his motions quieted.

His face turned towards me in the dark, and I tried to trace its outline. I couldn’t see his features, but imagined he must be peering back down at me. I felt a sudden bolt of electricity shoot down my spine as I wondered where he was going to sleep. My stomach twisted at the thought that perhaps we would share the furs…

After a moment though, he leaned back, giving a pleased grunt.

“Wet’hay tlee, Shikobakin.” He breathed, and I found his deep voice a pleasant comfort in the dark. I watched him stand, then turn and head back towards the cave opening.

“Goodnight, Njord.” I called softly after him. I saw him pause in the entrance, his huge, burly body carved out from the night air by the orange glow of the fire. His head turned, glancing over his shoulder at me. “And.. thank you again…”

I knew he couldn’t understand me, but I hoped he understood at least the meaning. He didn’t give a response, and after lingering a moment longer, walked back over to the fire. I couldn’t quite see him anymore, and relented to burrowing a little deeper into the furs.

The motion kicked up their scent, and I was suddenly washed in the deep odor of pine, wet earth, and wood-smoke. And another scent, one I had smelled on him each time he had carried me, though the musky, masculine smell was stronger here. My heart leapt again as I realized that I was, in fact, in his bed. A pang of guilt shot through me. I hoped he would not think me an imposing guest. I certainly would have been fine with just a mat and a fur in the corner. Though the memory of the chilly night air had me pulling the furs tighter about myself in denial of that silent offer. 

I brushed the soft fur against my nose, drawing in his thick scent. It soothed me, strangely, and my eyes felt heavier. Warm and feeling better than I ever had in what little time I could remember (which surmounted to that one day), I snuggled down. A few minutes later, I was fast asleep.

...

To Be Continued

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 9- Year 1: April

(ao3 link)

It was a dreadfully maudlin morning when it was revealed that Anakin Skywalker was missing. Aurors and other specialized authorities were once again on Hogwarts property in regards to the boy. This time, in hopes of finding him. Obi-Wan had been a mess when the news was given to him and he spent the early morning searching outside with Qui-Gon and Satine, despite how long the quest drew out. Nobody questioned their involvement despite being students and roaming the grounds so precariously.

Satine had been grateful they didn’t find him in the Forbidden Forest in any fashion, because if one was found there, it was rarely all in one piece. Obi-Wan had been painstakingly quiet, guilt eating away at him the longer they looked.

It pained both prefects to have to stop the search, but the logical parts of them understood it was doing little good acting like walking zombies. However, they also knew with sickly clarity that the longer he was gone, the farther he could be.

Several ghosts claimed he left the castle doors on his own authority, jumping from a secret entryway nearby and leaving with purpose. That really should have comforted all of them to a degree, but Anakin didn’t know how to apparate and he could only go as far as his legs could carry him.

All of the professors treated it like a kidnapping case, which was for the best. They weren’t necessarily on total lockdown procedures, but were encouraged to travel in packs throughout the castle and were only allowed in and out for classes. All meals were eaten in the common rooms. 

Cody had said that Gryffindor house was uncharacteristically quiet.

Unsurprisingly, Obi-Wan wasn’t destined to get a wink of sleep after returning, no matter how much Qui-Gon insisted he should. Satine knew it was pointless, but didn’t question the professor as she and Obi-Wan went back to Ravenclaw house with slumped shoulders. 

She didn’t have the proper words for him.

This isn’t your fault.

He’s going to be okay.

We’ll find him.

All of it seemed to ring inauthentic even to her own internal thought process. She wanted to tell him everything would be alright and she wanted more than anything, to mean it. She knew it was impossible to wipe the agony he was putting himself through beneath the cool exterior he held together. However, that didn’t change how badly she wanted to.

“We’ll keep looking.” She said numbly and unfortunately, the words seemed to fail her.

“Until when?” He asked quietly.

She sucked in a breath and placed what she hoped to be a reassuring hand on his shoulder to give it a good squeeze, “Until we find him.”

He met her eyes and stared at her for a moment. Even now, he seemed so calculative and contemplative of what would come next. He seemed to have an ongoing debate with himself whether he should refute what she said or not. 

Instead, he nodded sharply and ducked his head down to move past her. She paused before following him towards the stairs to Ravenclaw tower. The riddle had been exceptionally easy whether by luck or intent to spare both of them from unnecessary stress. She would have found it insulting if she wasn’t so tired.

“What has to be broken before you can use it?”

“An egg.” Obi-Wan mumbled at the same time she thought of it. 

Her heart currently felt like lead despite the equal weight of her eyes that were begging for sleep. She knew this was not going to be a peaceful slumber and until Anakin was found and was confirmed to be safe, she wasn’t sure when she’d sleep well.

Finally, as if sensing her absence, he turned to look at her with the full weight of exhaustion that seemed to overtake him. She moved to follow, but stopped abruptly in her tracks when her eyes caught a crumpled piece of parchment beside the stairwell.

She bent over and gently picked it up. Obi-Wan’s eyes followed her with mild curiosity that was dulled by the hard frown line wrinkling his forehead. She ignored his gaze and unwrinkled it, smoothing it over her knee before holding it up to the mid-afternoon sun that peeped through the large windows. 

“What is it?” He asked finally.

“It looks like homework.” She said around a yawn that got trapped in her throat when she skimmed the top of the page in shock, “Wait.”

He whirled around her, almost knocking her over in a desperate attempt to read over her shoulder. He was so impatient that he took it from her hands without asking and she couldn’t find it in her to be offended as he noticed what she did.

“This is from this morning.” He said. “For a test for tomorrow.”

Another test key? Now? Who could think like this?

“The handwriting is different.” She commented.

“Well, the copycat quill is out of commission.” He fired back eagerly, “This isn’t Anakin’s handwriting either.”

“Anakin couldn’t very well write it if he’s been missing.” She added.

“No one knew he was gone this morning.” He added and she didn’t comment how his voice caught a bit when he said “gone”. 

The writing was quite smudged and difficult to tell exactly who it belonged to and seemed to have been covered in some sort of beverage that smeared it. Still, the two prefects looked to each other in renewed vigor.

“He didn’t do it.” Obi-Wan released a breath that Satine couldn’t tell was from relief or exasperation, “And I… I doubted him.”

“Ben…” She offered lamely, once again angered that she couldn’t deduce a better thing to say in a time like this. 

“He told the truth and no one believed him.” He said with more fire to his tone. He crumpled the parchment in one hand around a fist. His eyes were burning and seemed to be glazed over, “And it might cost him his life.”

“Don’t talk like that.” She said as she gently pried his fingers one-by-one off the paper. She wouldn’t say it, but they needed to analyze this later. Much later. There were bigger priorities at stake at the moment regardless of whether Anakin was innocent or not.

It was looking to be the former more and more, of course, which didn’t ease Satine’s own guilt that had been tingling at her skin for the past week or so. This was damning proof of that. 

Obi-Wan moved up the stairs, letting the heels of his loafers hit the stairs with added purpose as he climbed and Satine had to hastily hurry behind him to catch up. She could understand why he was so upset, but really, Obi-Wan had believed him for as long as reason allowed. Someone was clearly out to get the kid.

She winced at the thought of harm befalling him at their own faults for not believing him.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to sleep, are you?” She called.

“How can I sleep when he’s out there?” He hissed as they reached the top, each leaning against the railing and facing each other.

“Because you’re not going to be much good to him if you’re dead tired.” She said, “At least try.”

He looked away, clearly not keen on doing that even if he had to acknowledge that it was for the best.

“This can wait.” She said as she gestured to the letter.

“No, it can’t!” He said, “It could all be connected.”

“Connected or not, finding him is the first priority.” She said.

“He’s out there cold and alone and thinking no one believes him!” He gritted, “And it’s all my fault.”

“No it isn’t.” She felt it was hers, in a way. What if she’d allowed Ben to go after him as he’d initially intended? That was clearly what had tipped him over the edge. Her heart hammered in her chest over the thought. 

“I failed him.” He finally said with a heavy swallow, “You don’t understand how that feels.”

“You didn’t.” She insisted. “You chose him when no one else did- when no one else would because you saw something in him, right?”

“Satine.” He sighed.

“And you continued to choose him despite what anyone else said.” She winced, “Despite what I said.”

“When he admitted to doing the prank I thought-”

“-I’m not going to pretend you weren’t wrong.” She said, “I was too and so were the professors and most of the student body. That being said, Anakin didn’t help his case by crying wolf a bit.”

“What?”

She shook her head, “Muggle-saying. What I mean is: whoever took advantage of him knew he would be an easy target because of his mischievous tendencies.”

“He thought I didn’t want him as my mentee! That I was stuck with him!”

“But I know that isn’t true.” She said, “And you’ll get your chance to prove him wrong when we find him and bring whoever did this to justice.”

“How can you be so sure?” He finally asked.

“Because I’m usually right.” She said logically, “And because I know you and that you are going to do right by him for this.”

He nodded again, “Alright.”

“So, you’ll try and rest?”

“I’ll try.” The ghost of a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth, “I’d tease you for trying to mother me but-”

“-I’m nothing like your mother.” She gave him a slight shove, “Now, off to bed with you.”

“I hope he’s okay.” He said gently.

Her own levity fell to the floor hard, “Me too.”

***

A long dark hallway.

Anakin had guessed it would have been the Zillo Beast’s prison, but the walls and floor were smooth as glass. There was someone watching him, but he couldn’t see them. No matter how far he moved down the hallway the feeling remained just the same. He tried a few doors as he passed by, but none of them opened and when he knocked, it was like sound no longer existed. Even if there had been people in those rooms who could help him, tell him where he was, they would not hear him.

He’d tried to call for help, called out for his mum, Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon, but it was like his voice wasn’t working. At the very end of the hall was a door cracked open and it seemed to be his only possible chance of escape. It was calling to him like a siren song.

“Vader,” It hissed, “He’s coming,” It repeated like a chant.

He felt if he could only get to that door that he’d have a chance against his stalker. Right as his hand outstretched for the door, it slammed shut, the whole hallway shook like an earthquake and Anakin felt himself falling. He reached his hand out, searching for a broom that wasn’t there or hoping for his wand to fall into his hand, but neither happened.

He landed on a sturdy slab of concrete. It hadn’t hurt as bad as he thought it should have. He could deal with a little bruising, but as he tried to stand, dark red glowing chains fastened themselves around his wrists and his ankles. He struggled frantically to get away, but with each thrash the chains just pulled themselves tighter. He was forced to still or else he’d soon be ripped apart.

Shoes clicked across the floor. A painfully slow pace and out of sight. What would become of him, Anakin wasn’t sure, but he felt fear like he’d never known. He desperately wanted anyone to come and save him, but he was too afraid to try his voice again.

“Through victory,” A voice whispered, far too close to him, “He will rise.”

A sword glinted above him, familiar and silver with inlaid gems. It was only then that Anakin tried his voice again, but as if he’d been silenced by magic his scream disappeared from his lips. The hooded figure had finally come into view enough for Anakin to see teeth bared in a snarl as the sword fell towards his heart.

***

Anakin woke up with a gasp and tried to sit up; only for him to realize that he wasn’t in the Gryffindor dormitories. In fact he wasn’t in a bed at all, but a cage. It was uncomfortable and too small for even Anakin to stretch out. He could sit up straight, but his head brushed the bars on top. He immediately looked around for his belongings. He’d learned alohomora for just such an occasion, but saw his school bag resting much too far away at the bottom of a tree. Thinking of only one possible way out of this, he opens his mouth to scream.

“Screaming would be useless,” It sounded like it was whispered and spoken at the same time, unrecognizable. Anakin managed to turn around and saw the cloaked figure standing in the shadows a few feet away, “I have already put a silencing charm around us.”

“What do you want from me?” His voice shook, much as he would hate to admit it, “If you’re planning to kill me, just do it already!”

“No need to rush into things,” The man stepped forward, now that he was standing in the weak light of dawn, Anakin could inspect him better, though he didn’t like what he saw. They were clearly Mace Windu’s robes, though they must have been an older pair as they fit a little oddly in places. Still, there was no mistaking that he had been right all along.

“They’ll find me,” Anakin tried, “Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. And Yoda. They’ll see that I’m gone and they’ll come to find me!”

“You think so?” The figure considered, “We could be anywhere, or nowhere. They won’t find us unless I want them too,” And the figure pulled out his wand very slowly from the inside of his robe, “And I don’t think I do. Not when you have something I want.”

“And what’s that?” Anakin’s eyes flicked towards his bag, he wasn’t sure what he could want, all he had to his name were a couple robes and some worn clothes.

“I won’t so carelessly spoil the surprise,” The man walked forward, his face still cloaked in darkness, “Petrificus Totalus,” He murmured the spell, dancing his wand elegantly through the air and Anakin felt his body lock up so that he could no longer move not even his pinkie. Cruelly, just his eyes were able to move, so he could witness a needle, rather large, being pulled from inside a cloak pocket. The man stuck him with it and Anakin could do nothing, but unlike any doctor's appointment, he wasn’t injecting anything, rather he extracted Anakin’s blood, transferring it neatly in a vial before going for more.

Anakin had assumed that Windu would have preferred to use the sword from his dreams, not a death as slow as draining his blood like a vampire. Anakin focused hard on trying to move, to shove the gloved hands away, but he could do nothing. He tried to remember Qui-Gon’s reminder that magic was not just in a wand, but inside a person and in the air. He tried to call on any of it at all, a desperate plea, but the only relief he was given was the man finally stepping away from him.

“No need for tears, boy,” The man scoffed. Anakin could barely even feel the tracks his tears were making down his face, “The jinx will wear off eventually,” And he set to work, building a small fire, before disappearing back into the woods.

Dawn slowly creeped towards noon before Anakin could finally move properly again. The man had not yet returned, but Anakin took the opportunity to wipe his tears and investigate his surroundings. The fire was still going, but the smoke seemed to not ever rise above the treeline, likely spelled not to give away their location. The cage was locked firmly. Anakin tried to break it open with force, but was unsuccessful. He even tried to use wandless magic again, but it yielded difficult to control and all he managed to do was cause the leaves to swirl around him for, but a moment.

In the end he could really do nothing, but curl up and sleep. Heart full of fear.

***

Yoda’s greatest fears had come true. The darkness that constantly loomed over the horizon and teased Hogwarts for so long was at last on their doorstep and in its midst, was a student- a small child- who did not deserve to be there. Should something happen to the boy, that blood was on their hands and unlike before when students had unfortunately lost their lives to unforeseen accidents or endangerments (which came with the territory of going to an ancient magical school), this was from continuous negligence. 

What was he missing? Clearly, this evil was coming from home. Someone on their faculty was not only lying about who they were, but actively hunting out children. And for what? The only explanation that held water was Qui-Gon’s prophetic leanings and bother Windu as it might, there was something to say about the clairvoyance of the ancients. 

So, in a moment of desperation, Yoda decided it was high time they utilize all of their resources.

“Professor Sifo-Dyas, glad I am that you could meet at such a late hour.” Yoda said quietly, even if no part of him felt very glad. As long as one of his students hurt, he too, felt that pain.

Sifo-Dyas was an odd man by the merit of most wizards in the community and was often brought into question at school board meetings when discussing the benefit of each professor. Many didn’t see divination as a worthwhile means of spending time. Many students felt this too, but there were the lot that loved the subject and saw its merits. Qui-Gon Jinn was one of those students years ago and Dooku even longer before that. 

“Given what’s going on, I suspect all of us must always be ready to be on high alert, Headmaster.” Sifo-Dyas said. Today, he wore his dark black hair in a bun on the top of his head as he normally did, with two long strays that fell at the front, framing his bronze cheekbones. 

“Indeed,” Yoda agreed, “A favor, I must ask of you.”

“Anything you need, Headmaster.” Sifo-Dyas sat criss-cross in the seat offered to him. It was not lost on Yoda that the man was not wearing any shoes or socks or that he’d taken to picking his toenails as he sat.

He shook his head of the distraction and sighed, “Try to look into Skywalker’s mind, I need you to. Ensure that he is alright, you must.”

***

Anakin woke up with a gasp, needles and swords and dark tunnels dancing behind his eyes in great clarity. He felt stiff from sleeping in a small space and he was hungry. The sky had darkened as they approached evening, and his captor was back sitting at the fire, likely waiting for him. He twisted a ring around his finger, but stopped once Anakin’s eyes laid on him.

“Enjoyed your nap?” The man asked, but clearly didn’t expect an answer. Anakin sat up and eyed him. He was still wearing the same robes, which wasn’t uncommon. Anakin was pretty sure Windu didn’t know how to do laundry.

“Some teacher you are,” Anakin spat hugging his knees to his chest, “You know they’ll find you out one of these days.”

“I’m no teacher,” The man poked at the fire, but he was watching Anakin, even though he still couldn’t see his face, he could tell.

“Yeah right,” Anakin continued, “As if I haven’t been right this whole year. No one but a teacher could have been at the school so much. I know who you are, Professor Windu!” He seemed surprised by Anakin’s knowledge, sitting up straighter. Still he laughed, a chilling sound as his voice was still being altered, whispered laughs echoing alongside louder ones.

“Clever,” He shook his head in disbelief, “How long have you known?”

“I’ve always known,” Anakin growled, “Maybe if you’d been any good at acting I wouldn’t have guessed it so easily!”

“Careful,” He warned, “A remark like that isn’t likely going to earn you dinner,” He moved to showcase a small plate, a piece of bread, cheese, and a glass of water sat atop it. Anakin moved towards it automatically, hunger driving him to try reaching through the bars towards it, but the Professor just set it out of reach.

“I thought you wanted me alive,” Anakin kept his voice steady as he tried desperately to reach the plate.

“For now,” He inspected the ring on his fingers as he ignored Anakin’s struggles, “You know a human could live for a few days without water, or even more without food,” Anakin felt panic bubble up inside his chest. Would his professor seriously let him starve, would he be so cruel?

“Alas,” He continued with tilt to the head, “I didn’t bring this here to torture you,” He pulled out his wand, muttering a spell that Anakin hadn’t yet learned and a dark red chain, like those that now haunted his dreams, wove it’s way through the air and fastened itself around Anakin’s neck. 

The door to the cage creaked open and Anakin wasted no time crawling out. It felt wonderful to stand and he did so as he tore into the bread. His eyes scanned the clearing, he still saw nothing familiar, but his bag was still sitting at the base of the tree. Maybe, just maybe he could find a way to get to it.

“Can I change?” Anakin asked, his captor just wrapped and unwrapped the chain around his hands.

“I suppose I could allow you to,” Anakin’s heart picked up in his chest, “If you’re quick about it.”

Anakin took it as a yes and walked swiftly towards his bag, opening it up carefully as to not draw attention. He shoved his hand deep inside. He felt clothes, plenty of them, but nothing to help him, not even one magical relic. Suddenly he wished he’d been a little less anti-magic when he’d run from the castle. There was a tug on his neck and he looked behind him.

“Hurry up,” He was commanded and he nodded before turning back towards his bag with shaky hands. Where was his wand? He knew he’d packed it. He’d been using it to light up his path so he hadn’t forgotten it. He pulled out a clean shirt and set it on the ground next to him. He had a sinking feeling suddenly. His wand was nowhere to be found, if he’d been holding it, then it likely wasn’t going to save him. Quietly he changed shirts, the fabric going through the ghostly chain in a way he couldn’t, but wished for all the same. A sock slipped out of his bag as he was jamming everything back inside and he had an idea. He rolled it up and tucked it under a tree root. If they’d move then there would be a sign that he had been there. He just hoped it would be enough to tip someone off if they were even out here looking.

Anakin walked back over to the robed man and sat next to him staring into the fire. As the flames licked close to his hands, he was reminded of the Gryffindor common room. He and Rex would occasionally sit by the fire when they could steal that spot from the older students. It reminded him of the warmth he felt when Padmé walked past him, of the reckless matches he played in Quidditch, of the courage of his best friend. Somewhere in his heart was that bravery, that fearlessness, or else that hat would have put him somewhere else. He wasn’t sure what would happen to him, but he would try to be brave.

***

“He’s alive.” Sifo-Dyas breathed, sweat gathering profusely on his face as he tried to center himself. He’d fallen to the floor during his efforts to channel Anakin and while he managed to derive some vague images: swords, dark cloaks, red chains, and the face of each of Anakin’s friends and mother, there was not much described on his location.

Strangely enough, Sifo-Dyas kept being drawn to the image of a sock. 

“Counts for something, that must.” Yoda said gravely, “For how long, we do not know?”

“I couldn’t see the kidnapper.” He said sadly but shuttered, “There’s something very familiar about the man, though, headmaster.”

“Works here, he does.” Yoda said and tapped his fingers to his desk before turning, “Go off to meet with the Minister of Magic, I must.”

“And what will he do?”

“If found, Anakin is not. Removed, I will be.” He said, “Care for that, I do not. The life of a child, the main priority is.”

“I’m coming with you.” Mace Windu’s voice boomed from the entryway, “If anyone should take the blame for Skywalker’s desire to leave the school, I’d say it’s most appropriate that it’s me.”

***

Obi-Wan was supposed to be in class. He’d already skipped his first and Dooku wasn’t the type to let something like a skipped class slide, but Obi-Wan couldn’t focus on something as trivial as school work when Anakin was missing. Spread out on the table before him, similar to every moment he was not actively searching the school or the grounds were documents, snippets of Anakin’s recent homework assignments, he had a couple of his textbooks, and perhaps most usefully, a map. He drew the map from memory and it was an exact scale replica of Anakins, with the exception that it hadn’t been enchanted with castle knowledge as such a thing wasn’t an easy task.

When he’d seen the map Anakin had been in class and it had been well over a month ago, so it wasn’t like it had any bearings to his current whereabouts. The tunnels however provided more useful. Many of them, he couldn’t tell how they opened, but he could tell where they led and he’d checked every last one of the entrances and exits for any clues. He couldn’t say it was all hopeless though, he’d been trying to figure out how to get into a few hidden rooms in case Anakin had just hidden away.

He moved to flip through Anakin’s charms textbook again. It had several notes shoved into it though many were pretty useless. There were a few crude drawings of Mace Windu with a silly face and one or two notes that clearly had been passed back and forth between him and Rex during class, but none of these held much investigative substance.

The clock tower rang out and he jumped at the sudden noise, snapping the book shut. So he was officially skipping his second class of the day. Satine would surely argue with him later, but she’d also likely share her notes so Obi-Wan shuffled his research together and shoved it into his school bag. If he was already planning on missing out, he supposed he may as well search the grounds again.

Leaving Ravenclaw tower, he wondered if it would have been more convenient to live closer to the ground floor like Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Though, he supposed he didn’t like the idea of living in the cold dark dungeons, as much as he had as a young child. His shoes clicked as he continued his march through the halls. He found walking with an air of confidence allowed him to be left alone by any stray professors or fellow prefects.

He passed by Bail Organa with a sharp nod and his friend simply smiled back, though it seemed sad and Obi-Wan moved swiftly on as to not dwell on it. He’d nearly managed to make it out the front doors when someone cleared their throat from behind him.

“Need I remind you that students are to be in their classes?” Qui-Gon stood tall, as always and Obi-Wan tried to match his stature even though he doubted he’d ever be eye to eye with his mentor.

“I’m a prefect,” Obi-Wan reminded him, “I’m investigating.”

“And when has either of those things exempt you from class?” Qui-Gon lectured, “A good prefect should be a shining example.”

“Anakin is missing,” Obi-Wan reminded him, gesturing through the open doors to the grounds, “He could be lost or injured or… Or worse,” He felt his voice catch, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to be upset in front of Qui-Gon, not when the professor was still mad at him, “A good prefect would keep everyone safe,” He didn’t say that he felt he’d failed at such a task.

“Well,” Qui-Gon did seem to hesitate, “I suppose you’re right. All that truly matters is Anakin’s safety,” Obi-Wan let his hands drop to his sides.

“Then can I go?” He asked, wanting to be out doing something that wasn’t being lectured at in the entryway. Though he couldn’t help how his heart sank at Qui-Gon’s words, was Anakin really the only important thing to his mentor? Then again, Anakin would need someone better than him when they returned.

“I’ll go with you,” Qui-Gon decided, “I don’t have a class at the moment anyways,” Obi-Wan felt himself bristle, if he wanted someone around he’d have asked Satine to come with him.

“If you insist, professor,” Obi-Wan gave him a stiff nod and turned exiting onto the grounds knowing Qui-Gon would follow.

There were Auror’s standing at the entrance, discussing something, but Obi-Wan tried not to spare them a glance, lest he seemed too interested. They on the other hand, watched him with scrutiny until they saw Qui-Gon following. Obi-Wan supposed he, too, would find a student loose on the grounds during class to be suspicious. Perhaps, it wasn’t as unfortunate as he thought it would be having Qui-Gon around.

“Well, where should we start,” Qui-Gon asked and Obi-Wan looked up at him through the corner of his eye. Yes indeed, where should they start? The grounds had been covered probably a thousand times, and he doubted Qui-Gon would let him venture into the forbidden forest, though that had also been sweeped and cleared. The Auror’s likely swept every possible location in the area, had he been an Auror with no other responsibilities, he’d likely have done the same already.

There hadn’t been a sign of a struggle, not that it was completely ruled out. Anakin had been dejected prior to his disappearance. If he hadn’t been taken, perhaps the thought to leave had been placed in his mind already. He looked up at the castle, tall like a fortress. He couldn’t quite see Ravenclaw’s tower from this spot. Gryffindor tower however…

“Is that the Gryffindor dorms?” Obi-Wan asked Qui-Gon for clarification, Qui-Gon joined him in squinting up at the windows, though he looked rather confused about the question.

“I believe so,” He turned to Obi-Wan with a frown, “I haven’t spent much time there, myself.”

“Neither have I,” Obi-Wan tried to recall his last excursion to Gryffindor. Their windows were always covered and it was hard to say what you could see from the common room. Anakin’s dormitory had been a little brighter, and Anakin had been looking out the window when they were searching his things.

“And windows are important, how exactly?” Qui-Gon asked and Obi-Wan turned to him.

“Anakin’s not-” Obi-Wan hesitated, “Well I don’t mean to say that he’s not a bright boy, but he’s young and thinks fairly straight forward. It’s why he has such a hard time writing essays,” Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, but let him continue, “He was looking out the window in his dormitory. If it was looking over the grounds and not the courtyard then he’d be looking at the gate,” He didn’t wait for Qui-Gon to respond before he started walking, sweeping the grounds fiercely as he did so.

“I’m impressed,” Qui-Gon admitted as he caught up to him, “You’ve really grown into mentoring Anakin,” Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon sharply.

“Did you expect me to fail?” Obi-Wan asked, “Though I suppose I have failed. I’ve failed myself, Anakin, and you.” He turned his head away quickly moving back to searching the ground.

“Obi-Wan...” Qui-Gon had stopped walking, but Obi-Wan picked up the pace.

He didn’t want to be reminded of his failures, not when he was actively trying to help. He hurried along, outpacing Qui-Gon until he paused at the gates. They were closed, and Qui-Gon grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Obi-Wan, you-”

“-Can you open this?” Obi-Wan interrupted. Qui-Gon didn’t move towards his wand so he moved towards his instead, “Then at least can I?”

“I- of course,” Whether he’d stunned his professor into the answer or not, he waved his wand and unlocked the great gates, then moved again to spell them open.

He felt odd stepping off of school property and he wasn’t sure he’d have done it if he didn’t have a second pair of eyes with him, but he moved forwards anyways. The grass was fairly trampled, clearly the Aurors and professor had come through to check this path as well. He tried to put himself in the mindset of Anakin.

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon caught him by the shoulder again and this time Obi-Wan didn’t have a reason to interrupt, “You don’t honestly think you’ve failed do you?”

“This is not the discussion I want to be having right now,” Obi-Wan gestured to the path with his wand, “We have bigger problems. Like you said, the only thing that matters is Anakin,” And though they clearly both meant the sentiment, Qui-Gon flinched.

“Obi-Wan, you haven’t failed. You’ve been an excellent mentor to Anakin,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, childish, but he didn’t feel he had to put on a mask.

“Yes some mentor I was, accused my mentee of a crime he didn’t commit and now he’s lost or been taken,” He argued, shaking off Qui-Gon’s hand, though it was quickly replaced with a hand on each of his shoulders. He was locked in place.

“You were doing your duty as a prefect,” Qui-Gon winced as he said it, “If anyone’s failed, perhaps it is I. I made you feel like you did something wrong when all you ever do is the right thing,” He sighed, “I’ve never been much for following the books to the letter, but I shouldn’t have expected you to mirror me in that regard. So I-” He’d been about to seal his apology, but Obi-Wan gasped, stooping down to further inspect a bush.

Had they not stopped here, he wouldn’t have noticed it. It blended in like a fallen stick, but as he pulled it out, it was so clearly a wand, Anakin’s wand that he must have dropped in shock.

“He’s without a wand then,” Obi-Wan took a sharp breath before gathering it up into his hands.

“So he was here,” Qui-Gon was suddenly on high alert. He pulled out his own wand. He was casting a handful of spells, only a few Obi-Wan could recall having learned thus far, but he perked up as he realized he was searching traces of a spell being cast.

The air seemed charged with magical imagery as if the air itself was recalling what had transpired. Ghosts of a lumos charm hung in the air at several places, but one spell, red and angry, appeared right in front of his nose.

“Stupify,” Obi-Wan glanced around as if he too would be the next victim, “He was attacked!”

“So he left school, on his own volition,” Qui-Gon mused.

“Do you think they apperated away?” Obi-Wan stroked his chin as he stared through the trees.

“It’s too risky,” Qui-Gon explained, “To apparate with another person who could come too at any moment? Not if they didn’t want to accidentally decapitate him,” The thought made Obi-Wan’s stomach flip.

“I hope you’re right then,” He glanced around, “He wouldn’t have gone towards the forbidden forest. That’s suicide,” Obi-Wan pointed towards Hogsmeade, “There’s plenty of forest at the end of the village.”

“We haven’t checked there yet,” Qui-Gon was already jogging as he said it and Obi-Wan chased after him.

The town was quiet, only a few local patrons around today. None of them expected a Hogwarts professor followed by a young student to come barrelling down the street. Obi-Wan barely managed to duck under a serving tray as he ran a bit too close to The Three Broomsticks.

“Do you think they’re still going to be so close to the school?” Obi-Wan called over.

“If they are, I’m going to be very suspicious of my colleagues,” Qui-Gon admitted. They both slowed down at the edge of the forest. Obi-Wan felt like he’d just run a race against Cody, but he tried to look less run down as Qui-Gon waved them forward.

“Oh, look here,” Obi-Wan pointed towards a rather large stick that looked like it had been broken in half, “It doesn’t seem to match up to where it fell from, that’s odd right?”

“Good eye,” Qui-Gon nodded, “Anything’s useful in an investigation, remember that.”

“Yes sir,” Obi-Wan acknowledged as he tightened his grip on his wand.

They moved farther in until they got to a clearing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but Qui-Gon stopped.

“I’m going to check the area, stay sharp,” He instructed, repeating the last set of spells. Obi-Wan muttered a spell of his own, a low level wind spell that swept debris out of the way wherever he pointed his wand. He swept around the perimeter, but wasn’t finding much except sticks. Obi-Wan knelt down and picked up one of the sticks, there wasn’t anything particularly exciting about it, but one end of it was a little charred which made his heart leap with both worry and excitement. He turned his head to yell to Qui-Gon when a flash of red caught his eye.

He scrambled over to the splash of color and his heart nearly beat out of his chest at the sight. Fabric, definitely not native to the woods. When he pulled it out he waved it like a flag to Qui-Gon, hardly needing to look at it to recognize who its owner was.

“He was here!” He called and Qui-Gon dropped his spell immediately to run over, “I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been knelt down,” He rambled breathlessly, “And this too,” He showed him the stick.

“I couldn’t get any spells to reveal themselves,” Qui-Gon’s eyes flashed with hope, “They must have been here recently if the wards are still fresh,” They both stood looking around.

“All we have to do is figure out which way they went and they’re as good as found!” Obi-Wan grinned, extending his arm, “I do believe all those charms books we read may come in handy yet.”

***

Rex couldn’t care less about charms right now. In fact, he couldn’t care less for any subject or any minute detail at this school that wasn’t figuring out where Anakin had gone off to. It was vastly approaching two days since he’d gone missing and despite accounts from ghosts saying Anakin left on his own accord, the fact that the Aurors couldn’t find a trace of him didn’t speak much confidence to his intended plan of freedom.

Anger coiled in his stomach in a manner that couldn’t be released. If he did, he might do something he’d later regret, like punch the smarmy grin off of Sebulba’s ugly face. Well, he wouldn’t regret that, but he knew none of his emotional impulses would bring Anakin back. 

Did that stop him from how mind-numbingly frustrated he grew when he remembered how unhappy Anakin was and how he’d essentially been driven to this point by everyone he was supposed to trust. Even Rex, who never doubted Anakin in the first place, felt he didn’t do quite enough to make Hogwarts feel enough like home for him. 

Not enough to stay, anyway.

He forced any self pity to roll off his shoulders, knowing he didn’t deserve it and that it wouldn’t do anyone any good at the end of the day. 

Today was a bit easier to breathe through without having to look at Windu’s unassumingly stoic features for a class period. He feared that if he did, Rex would spend the entire period mentally trying to uncrack whatever spell Windu placed on everyone to make him so believably innocent. Rex had his doubts when Anakin brought it up, but now that Windu was “sick” while Anakin just so happened to be missing, he knew with fire in his bones that this was the lead they needed, that Anakin was right and all the evil they needed was right there in Hogwarts.

He tried to reason with the Aurors when interviewed, but they all tried to strip away bias in order to look at facts and hunches based on those facts. To them, Windu didn’t seem like a possible threat for reasons they didn’t and wouldn’t explain to a 12 year old.

He rested his chin upon his forearms, watching as Ki-Adi Mundi took a crack at teaching the subject. Typically, Yoda would have been the natural substitute, since many moons ago he was the charms professor, but the headmaster was also conveniently indisposed. If it was possible, Rex was angriest with him for allowing his school to be dictated by such blind hypocrites. More than anything- more than the anger and the guilt and the dread for what was to come, Rex really just wanted his best friend back.

***

“As many of you have likely already gathered, this will be the last class period dedicated entirely to learning new content. For beyond this day, we will proceed in dedicating in-class time to strictly O.W.L. 's preparation.” Professor Dooku’s profoundly deep voice echoed off the classroom walls as each fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw alike regarded him with their sincere attention. The only of whom staring straight through him was none other than Satine Kryze.

And she knew it.

Despite her greatest efforts to remain focused, she couldn’t bring herself to drag her mind away from the glaringly empty seat beside her. It was a pity too, because as usual, Professor Dooku commanded the floor like a general going into battle and everyone seemed hung on his every last word.

“Homenum Revelio. What does that mean to you?” He asked, hands clasped behind him as they usually were and he fixed his fierce gaze on the class.

Bail Organa raised his hand from in front of her, “The latin translation is “to reveal the human”, right?”

“That is correct, Mr. Organa.” He nodded crisply, “And what do you believe it does?”

Bail seemed to think about that as he paused, biting down on his lip before bringing his uncertain dark eyes from his book back up to meet Dooku’s, “Could it possibly mean to reveal one’s true intentions? Or someone’s truest self should they be deceiving anyone?”

Dooku considered him, the beginnings of a smirk cracking at the corner of his mouth and lifting up ever-so-slightly in what could only be assumed as amusement, “You mistake this class for Professor Jinn’s again. You know I am not nearly as metaphorical.”

The class chuckled in good spirit, everyone knowing how Qui-Gon tended to speak in metaphors and philosophies that most did not comprehend in full. 

“As is it were, the true meaning is right there in the name.” Dooku said and turned to write on the chalkboard at the front of the room, “To reveal any human presence in the area.”

Satine fiddled with her quill, knowing that this was likely only going to get more interesting as time went on, but that her mind was only going to continue going faster than she could keep up. The least she could do was take avid notes for him. She knew why the chair was vacant, of course, but her nerves still rattled nearly enough to make her teeth chatter. Ben never skipped class in her entire time of knowing him. 

Hell, even when he was sick it was like pulling teeth to get him to properly take care of himself by taking the day. Of course, she was the exact same way and knew that now more than ever, they needed to be vigilant with their studies.

It hardly seemed fair, of course, to expect students to carry on as normal with a whole classmate missing and Aurors snooping around the school. The fact that it was Anakin and that Ben certainly held himself unreasonably accountable did not help matters in the slightest.

She was still cursing herself for being completely inept at providing any sense of comfort on the subject too, but that had everything to do with how unnerving the situation was. If something bad didn’t happen to him, why was he not found yet? The thought of little Anakin being kidnapped or worse made her feel ill, let alone what Ben was going through.

She knew he had to be looking for him. It’s what she would do for Viz. In fact, had Ben asked her, she would have assisted him too. As Satine shook her knee impatiently for time to proceed faster so she could hastily regroup with her friend and scold him for giving her the heart attack and leaving her out of the loop, she also debated what speech she would undoubtedly have to give Dooku after class in order for him to forgo Ben’s absence. 

After all, to pretend like everything was usual business felt unreasonably heartless when considering Ben’s proximity to the present circumstances. Surely, someone as wise and experienced as Dooku would understand. At least, she hoped so. Otherwise, she’d likely score both of them detention if executed improperly.

Before given the opportunity to mentally unpack her arguments for Ben’s case, class and subsequently, her thought process, was interrupted by an unexpected intrusion from the one and only, Asajj Ventress.

Dooku had been facing the board still, broad back taut and firm as he noticed the sound of an additional audience member. Without even bothering to turn, he sighed, “Ventress? I should hope if you would like for Slytherin house to remain in the running for the house cup that you’d have a decent excuse for interrupting my class.”

There were always rumors about some professors having eyes on the back of their heads, which was a phrase Satine had been amused came over from muggle linguistics, but Dooku was the primary target of most theories and for good reason. It seemed as though his Auror training had fine-tuned him into noticing any minutia of sound or change, making it impossible to sneak up on him. 

Ventress stuck her chin up and avoided the gaze from all the curious classmates as she dared to narrow her eyes with her vain brand of disinterest and glowered at the professor, “I just came to give you this note from Professor Palpatine.”

“Last I checked you were in Herbology.” He straightened.

“I got into a… Bit of a scuffle in the hallway.” She shrugged, “Do you want the note or not?”

Satine had never heard someone speak so brazenly to Dooku, let alone a student, and like everyone else in the room, wondered if he was going to retaliate in a way they knew him capable of.

He turned and looked at her with a scrutiny that Satine wished more people gave to Ventress and finally approached her to accept the note. Everyone eyed the exchange cautiously, as though their ex-Auror defense against the dark arts professor hadn’t faced worse than a 16 year old girl in his life.  

He unfolded the neat parchment and while the elderly professor rarely emoted beyond mild irritation or mute interest, anyone could make out the concern on his features.

“Class, read amongst yourselves. It appears the mandrakes have been engorged yet again.” He cleared his throat and practically ran out of the room.

Before he could entirely escape, Ventress stopped him, “And what of me?”

“Do stay out of trouble.” He said and strangely, Satine could have sworn she felt his gaze flicker to where she sat for the briefest of moments. It passed before she could sweat about it and was instead flooded with relief over having to explain Ben’s absence. Perhaps, she could be grateful to Ventress for the interruption just this once. 

***

Palpatine had been instructing his first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws on how to use a pensive when he, himself, was reminded of its potential use. While it could not analyze the present, it could no doubt observe the remnants of a dream.

He extracted the memory from his head and carefully deposited the silvery blurb into the pool of memories that currently encapsulated a very specific and professional aspect of Palpatine’s life. No one would find anything else but that of which was school appropriate here. Anything from his private life existed only in his mind’s eye.

“I’m sure you’re all quite aware that one of your classmates, Anakin Skywalker, is currently missing.�� He said, forlorn, “And that everyone is doing their utmost to bring him back to us. To do that, I’m going to try something and it might be a bit dark and a tad frightening, but not long ago, I assisted young Skywalker in navigating his nightmares. This, I hope, may prove useful.”

“But Professor,” A young Rodian named Lolo frowned, “I thought dreams didn’t hold any legitimate property.”

“They are not law, but with wizards, they can definitely mean something and hold properties of their own.”

That, and Professor Palpatine had skills most were not privy to. If he were to tap into some of his own knowledge as well, no one would be any the wiser. 

So, they watched as Anakin was surrounded by trees where the roots closed in on him and seemed to strangle him into a cage that was especially made to shove the boy to the dirt. Darkness surrounded him as he cried out in desperation, but with a growing paleness that was unusual to his bright features. The eyes of the Zillo Beast glowed behind him before fading back into obscurity as though just an overlay and even Anakin, himself, did not appear to take notice. And then, just before the darkness and life seemed to take Anakin Skywalker entirely, there was a beam of light from the upper righthand corner. The sense of familiarity and warmth filled the scene as well as the distinct sound of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon calling out his name.

“Anakin! Anakin!” 

However, Anakin didn’t stir, but the voices drew closer and closer.

In the background, there was a brief flicker he wished he could pause over, in the top right corner through the trees, where he could make out the top of the castle. 

Could they truly be that close?

“Pardon me, class.” He grabbed for his wand and nearly dropped it into the pensive, “I must seek out Professor Dooku.”

Palpatine was relieved he’d run into that troublesome Ventress girl in the hallway when he did. He was in a rush and didn’t have time to consider his errand-runner too deeply. She’d been nosy, of course, but he enchanted the letter to only be readable from Dooku as insurance that she wouldn’t try and involve herself in any unnecessary danger. 

Time was of the essence and whoever took Anakin Skywalker would need to be dealt with.

***

Anakin found that the worst part of being captured was the waiting. Sleeping was difficult on the hard and lumpy ground beneath him in the cage forged specifically by his attacker. Eating was never hard, though his mouth always felt a bit like he was inhaling sand along with the food and hated how unsure he was for another meal. Maintaining remnants of his dignity was growing harder as time did or didn’t pass. He couldn’t even tell the time of day from the bubble Windu had created for them.

And worst of all? He wasn’t quite sure what it was he was even waiting for. Sure, he definitely waited for his next meal or to allow the day to pass him by with more sleep. But despite how his kidnapper’s plans were clearly not bright for Anakin’s future, he still couldn’t quite tamper out the hope that bubbled inside of him every now and then. Surely, someone had to look for him, right?

At the very least, Rex would ask, right?

Though Anakin feared he might have burned that bridge by failing to say goodbye. Despite his previous insistence to desert Hogwarts and run home, he yearned to be back within the safety of the castle walls and with his friends again. All of his problems suddenly felt exponentially small in comparison to this.

But Obi-Wan would still look for him. Yes, even if he had been upset with Anakin and Anakin had been upset with him, Obi-Wan was the most law-abiding and noble young wizard at their school. He would never let a student fall through the cracks if he could help it. And he would try.

Anakin believed that.

He did wonder how much time had passed since he’d been gone. The lack of proper lighting made it impossible to tell when the days and nights began and ended. He hadn’t even seen his kidnapper all day to bother him with such questions, though last time he’d asked he received an answer about how disillusionment was good for him. Anakin didn’t know what that meant, but was wise for not providing further questioning. It was far from the time for any of that.

He supposed it could be worse. The only physical harm done to him was when his blood was taken and that still only made him feel a bit sleepy more than anything. It was scarier in the moment, but frankly, Anakin never quite liked shots to begin with. He did drink the warm tea provided to him twice, which if he had to guess, meant it happened at night. He never took Windu as an Early Grey sort of man in terms of tea, but it was definitely one of the miniscule surprises offered to him.

The first of which was how long it took him to fear for his mum. Was she out there looking for him? Was she terrified? Did she even know he was gone? He didn’t know what he quite preferred. On one hand, he knew she would want to know, even if it was the worst of news. On the other, the image of her frantic and crying in his little bedroom at home made his heart sag so heavy that he laid down.

Even if it was a promise he couldn’t keep, he silently vowed to return to her again, to see things through. This was only but a test for him somehow. For them, regardless of how unfair that was.

He would apologize to Obi-Wan for ever giving him reason to doubt him. 

He would prove Windu guilty so that nothing like this ever happened to anyone else. 

He would grow to become the strongest wizard who ever lived. 

It was these motivating goals that didn’t make him feel like he was at risk of melting into the ground and submitting to whatever else Windu had lined up for him. It still irked him beyond measure that he didn’t even know what the plan was. Weren’t villains supposed to monologue? That was how he remembered it on his Saturday morning cartoons, anyway. Clearly, it had something to do with his blood since the creep couldn’t seem to get enough of that.

Then, Anakin gasped, surprising even himself with his own voice for the first time that day,

What if Mace Windu was a vampire?

Surely, such creatures existed in the magical world too. Windu had alluded to werewolves before in the form of animagi and what if he’d been discreetly describing his own species? What if Anakin was a specific blood type that he required and this was to be his century-lasting “feeding”? 

Would Anakin become a vampire?

That question never received an answer when a beam of red light ricocheted off of an unseen barrier and exploded into the disarming display of shattering glass- each previously picturesque view of the spooky wood splintering and falling to the wet grass beneath it.  

A blinding flash emerged from where the centrifugal force of power had previously burst out, eclipsing his view of the two figures that faced one another- looking nothing more like hazy shadows. One dominated over the other in height, but that didn’t seem to delude the smaller figure’s determination.

Between them, red met purple in an ugly spider-web of magical disagreement- one going for the kill and the other, fighting for Anakin’s life.  

Anakin didn’t allow himself to feel excitement just yet, still recovering from the simultaneous burning and warming sensation from sun-exposure and debating if this was all some theatrical dream.  

“I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.” A kind, familiar voice spoke and it evoked the feeling of safety for the first time since this nightmare began, “Or shall I say, someone.”

“That would be a matter of perspective.” Windu, donned heavily in robes that billowed in a wind that was only created by the clash of the two wizard’s streams of power that erupted from their wands. His voice, despite being in a whispered tone, still could be heard as they struggled for dominance. 

As the sun became bearable to handle once again and the shorter figure’s gentle yet steadfast face came into focus when positioned directly in front of the sun, Anakin could no longer prevent his heart from exploring hope and resolve.

“Professor Palpatine!” He chirped.

“My my, Anakin, someone never told this one to pick on someone their own size, hm?” Palpatine winked at him without breaking his focus on deflecting the purple current of electricity zigzagging his way. It reminded Anakin acutely of the lightning bolts that were used on the Zillo Beast. He shuddered to think what they might have felt like.

Anakin decided not to remind Palpatine that he was also substantially shorter than Windu, even if Anakin was also positive Windu made himself a bit taller in this dark persona.

“The boy must die.” He hissed and began to strain under Palpatine’s sheer power.

Despite holding out strong, the potions professor also appeared to be whittling down as the duel endured. He shook his head slowly and took a deep breath.

“You know nothing.” Palpatine assured, “He will grow good and strong and embrace his own destiny… Not whatever perversion you’ve concocted.”

Anakin felt as though his soul was singing at the sound of that. He’d thought about it and pledged to see it through, but it was a whole other concept hearing it from someone he looked up to. 

He felt seen. He’d never felt that before. 

“Says who?” He hissed. “You grow weak, old man.”

“Says us.” Another resolute voice boomed and Anakin had to strain his head from inside the cage to turn towards the voice, but was once again bombarded with an array of blue and green light hurdling this time, towards him. The cage shattered and Anakin stood, stretching his legs and arms for the first time in what felt like years.

“Anakin! Hide!” Qui-Gon’s voice shouted this time and he took his place next to Palpatine, who together, in a combined effort, overpowered the sinister phantom, who was quivering in retaliation to their onslaught. 

Anakin did as he was told and jumped behind a nearby rock, but still allowed himself a proper view of the unfolding battle before him. A hand settled on Anakin’s shoulder and he flinched, but quickly relaxed when he turned to a familiar set of worried blue eyes that were currently trying to assess him for any physical damage.

“We’ve got to get you out of here.” Obi-Wan said.

“Not without them!” Anakin insisted.

“Anakin, look!” Slowly, but surely, the green and red magic consumed the purple and the cloaked figure was sent spiraling backwards against the tree behind him. As soon as he slumped, Obi-Wan yanked on Anakin’s arm to tug him in the direction out of the woods and for something beyond reason, Anakin felt his weight go dead. He should want to flee, to escape, to be free again. However, he was inexplicably drawn to what brought him here and wanted to look his attacker in the light of day.

Maybe that was the Gryffindor in him.

Palpatine lowered his wand and nodded at Qui-Gon, “That should show him to trifle with our students- AGH!”

The burst of sporadic purple lightning happened quicker than Anakin could even blink or process his newfound freedom or the fact that Obi-Wan’s hold on him had evolved to essentially throwing him over his shoulder and tumbling them through the clearing, ignoring Anakin’s screams as they ripped through the otherwise tranquil spring afternoon. 

The last thing Anakin saw inside the clearing was the grandiose exit of the black ghost- leaving nothing but a sharp bolt of electricity following them in his wake.

They hit the ground and rolled for a second before Obi-Wan stabilized him and once again looked for any immediate wounds. When he seemed satisfied with this, he sagged back in relief. The powerful outburst scorched the ground a meter or so away, proving to show just how narrow their escape had been.

Yet Anakin could not revel in it just yet. 

Anakin struggled to his feet, nearly toppling over from the adrenaline that was coming in waves that piqued and crescendoed in the most unsettling manner of unpredictability. He was centered only by Obi-Wan, who placed two firm hands on his shoulders and in the broader daylight, looked more disheveled than Anakin had ever seen him all year. 

“We have to go back for Palpatine! He’s hurt!”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, surely to argue, since it was one of the things he was best at, but was cut short by the burst of smoke that seeped instantly from the clearing and more prominently, an emerging Qui-Gon and Palpatine, the ladder of which had an arm slung around the former. 

“Professor!” Anakin cried and was waved weakly at.

“No worries, it’s just a scratch.” His smile faded, “I’m more concerned about you.”

“I’m not hurt.” Anakin answered.

“That’s not the only part I’m concerned about.” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan rushed forward and took the other arm for added support.

Palpatine winced, “Thank you, Mr. Kenobi, though I’m really not worth the fuss.”

“On the contrary, Professor Palpatine, that wound looks nasty. We’ll need to get you looked at by Madame Nema pronto.” Qui-Gon said, but cast his shining gaze over to Anakin, “I think we would all like to get back to Hogwarts.”

***

It wasn’t until they were safely within the castle walls again that Anakin really allowed himself to breathe properly. He knew he was safe with Qui-Gon and Palpatine in theory, but it was unsettling to know that the phantom Windu had gotten away. 

Nobody said anything about “I told you so” or gave any scathing lectures on leaving school grounds. Nobody blamed Anakin for what happened to Palpatine nor did they grill him for details on the phantom man. For a while, nobody really spoke at all, which was fine by Anakin, seeing as he felt he might slump over into a long sleep at any moment.

Still, it felt prudent that they know just what their sacrifice meant to him. 

“Thank you all for saving me.” He said quietly, when he felt they were alone enough for it to not draw too much attention. Though, he didn’t miss how when they drifted through the halls all the curious and relieved glances that came to light when they saw him. Even Sebulba looked happy to have his favorite little victim back in the castle- not that Anakin would ever allow himself to be his victim. 

“Don’t mention it, Anakin, my boy.” Palpatine chuckled from his hospital cot, “We are just happy to have you back.”

“I’ll say,” Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder and was looking at him as though if he didn’t maintain focus, Anakin would float away, “We were worried sick.”

“I didn’t mean to be a bother.” He said and looked down. “I’m sorry I-”

“I am so sorry.” Obi-Wan cut him off and then his eyes grew wide, “You’re sorry? Anakin, I should have believed you were telling the truth.”

“I didn’t give you much reason to.”

“But I should know you better.” Obi-Wan amended and poked him in the chest. “Because I do believe in you and not from some misplaced obligation, but because I just do, even if I struggle sometimes with the irrationality of that. I just let my perceived duties cloud my judgment.”

“And he’s not just saying that because I suggested you two pair up.” Qui-Gon added with a warm and knowing smile, “I suggested you pair up, because I knew you would be a dynamic fit that could grow from one another. And judging by Obi-Wan’s relentlessness at finding you and how he’d single-handedly succeeded in doing so-”

“-I wouldn’t say single-handedly.” Obi-Wan flushed and scratched the back of his neck.

“-You wouldn’t, but you should.” Qui-Gon added enthusiastically, “Seeing as you found every clue that even the Aurors could not and pieced together where Anakin could be by wit and guile alone.”

“I agree.” Palpatine smiled weakly, but began to fade from the drowsy potion Madame Nema had given him to sleep off his wounds, “But what matters, is that young Skywalker is safe.”

“And wanted here.” Obi-Wan said gently before reaching into his robe, “Which reminds me, I think you dropped this… If you’ll still have it.”

Anakin gaped as Obi-Wan outstretched his wand to him carefully and despite the theatrics of the first time he held it being a memory that he felt would always be intrinsic to how he connected to magic, this felt just as meaningful. Immediately after grasping it, he lunged into Obi-Wan’s arms, who hesitated before patting Anakin on the back awkwardly. Anakin didn’t mind though. He really didn’t take Obi-Wan for a hugger in the first place.

***

Everyone could breathe a little easier since Anakin had been miraculously saved by the brave endeavors of Professor Palpatine. It only took about a week’s time for things to start gradually returning to normal. While Anakin’s detentions had been lifted, they had been replaced with wellness checks to ensure that emotionally, the boy was recovering from his traumatic experience. 

How, something of that magnitude could be measured, Satine was unsure, but she supposed the sentiment was of the right mindset. Wizards seemed less keen on properly addressing or acknowledging mental health than muggles, which was saying something, but even they could not deny the possible long term effects a kidnapping could have on a young child.

That being said, Anakin seemed to be as bouncy and spirited as ever- certainly better off than before he was taken. He and Obi-Wan had made up, which repaired both of their moods tremendously. It was obvious they were conspiring on figuring out how to bring Anakin’s kidnapper to justice and were very tight-lipped about the whole ordeal, which Satine didn’t mind. It left her to her own devices and her own burgeoning questions.

Like, who has been cheating this entire damn time if not Anakin?

It honestly hadn’t poked at her mind until the week after the incident (which was how the student body had taken to referencing Anakin’s kidnapping). However, it did rightfully take a back seat to the insidious villain that lurked in the shadows and kidnapped little boys in the dead of the night. 

Hogwarts was really building its own volume of horror stories this year, alone.

But this person was still working and despite how long this had gone on, they were losing their touch. 

No, this cheating prank was indubitably committed by a child. While seemingly brilliant in a mastermind sort of way, the mistake of continuing the ruse even after Anakin had been caught was foolish and with the pompousness of someone who felt they were too good to be had.

As though despite the chaos that had been distracting most, that someone wouldn’t be watching. 

How had this person eluded all of the prefects? Hondo has insisted on multiple occasions that he was able to bribe some of them, but not all. 

Well, Anakin had eluded the prefects for his Sebulba prank, so she felt it best to go to a familiar source.

“Am I in trouble?” Rex asked as he joined her in Obi-Wan’s usual seat across from her. His eyes flickered to Vizsla in curiosity, who was taking notes for Satine at her right. His arm healed up the week before, which was certainly to her advantage. She hadn’t even needed to approach him about assisting with the investigation. He’d just appeared at her side, determined to help. She admired that about him.

“Of course not.” Satine said gently, “I want to figure out who is actually responsible for the cheating scandal.”

Rex leaned forward on his forearms in a way that inadvertently mimicked Cody perfectly. Were it not for the bleached hair, he could have been Cody’s twin from when he was in first year. 

“Honestly, I was afraid everyone had forgotten all about that.” He said.

“I haven’t.” She said tactly, “I found an essay template this afternoon.”

Rex’s eyes widened, “Wait, they’re still happening? Even after Anakin was supposedly caught.”

“I was surprised too.” She said, “But I feel this person deems themselves untouchable and has gotten a little… Sloppy.”

“Or, there’s a copycat running amuck.” Viz offered, “That could explain the multiple robes found from different houses.”

Satine paused and looked at him, “I… Hadn’t considered that.”

“It is possible.” Rex mused, “But it requires passage through the tunnels to work, since that’s how the answers are getting stolen, right?”

“Indeed.” Satine said and uncrinkled the piece of parchment she and Obi-Wan had found the day Anakin went missing, “But once that was discovered, professors began enchanting the answer keys to only appear with the use of their wands. Whereas before, they’d only cast security spells on their physical classrooms. So now, these answer keys are imperfect and have errors.”

“Really? I bet people don’t like that.” Rex answered. 

“Whether or not they do is not my problem,” Satine said, “But you know the tunnels well enough, correct?”

“Well,” Rex shifted, “Are you sure I’m not in trouble?”

“You’re not in trouble, Rex.” She said calmly, “I just need to know one thing: is there a tunnel that goes through Ravenclaw tower?”

Rex frowned and paused to think before shaking his head, “No, actually. Anakin said it’s the one common room we can’t access since the tunnel would have to go directly vertical. Said something about there needing to be a secret escalator? Whatever that is.”

“Well, don’t I feel safer from your mischievous pranks.” She snorted.

Rex smiled in spite of himself, “I don’t think he’d dare try and prank you, to be fair.”

“Good.” She smiled and crossed her arms and looked over at Viz, “You’re getting this, right?”

“Trying to get it in writing that Anakin Skywalker will never sneak into Ravenclaw tower?” He asked with a smirk.

“Something like that.” She crossed her arms, “Trying to prove the point that no one can simply sneak into Ravenclaw tower.”

***

Late at night, if she couldn’t sleep, Satine always found the best course of action was exercising her mind until she exhausted herself. Whether or not this was a proper means of falling asleep, she couldn’t say, but it always worked for her. She felt as though her thoughts were racing too far ahead to keep up and needed an outlet for them.

So, she pulled out the cheat sheets that she’d found and compared them to one she’d pieced together months ago. The handwriting of the first could be explained as written by the copycat quill. It was generic and lacked any real personality. However, the newest addition was very calculated and familiar. It was trying incredibly hard to be neutral, which gave it identity. 

She crawled out of bed and drifted down the common room for better lighting and to avoid waking any of her peers. 

She was surprised to find Obi-Wan, who’d promised hours ago that he was going to bed and wouldn’t be burning the candle at both ends studying all night. She knew it wasn’t the truth when he’d said it, but hardly expected to find him passed out on the couch, still dressed in his uniform. 

His head was cushioned over the top of the couch, tilted slightly to the side with one cheek a bit squashed from his positioning. It was one of those moments that she desperately wished she had a camera, though nothing about the scene was funny, per say, just… Charming?

When he abruptly snuffled and muttered something incoherent, she resisted the urge to laugh. Okay, perhaps it was a little funny. Upon closer inspection, he had a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Instead of waking him, she opted to sit next to him as though intending on looping him into her spontaneous investigation. She sat pretzel-legged beside him and pulled out the newest answer key. There was something incredibly familiar about it now that she was looking at it under more scrutiny in broader lighting. 

Or was that because she was staring at it hard enough to burn a whole through the page?

The page was smudged as though someone was dragging their hand as they wrote, making it clear to Satine that the person was writing left-handed. Could it really have just been another copycat?

Then, Satine jolted up and realized, with dawning alertness, that the handwriting on the new answer key matched another critical piece of evidence: the robe.

Anakin Skywalker’s name had been written on “his” robe in a way that Obi-Wan had previously insisted was not his handwriting. It was much too neat and even. They’d saved the tag at Headmaster Yoda’s approval for future reference and she was glad they did. 

Low and behold, it was a clear match. This was the same person the entire time. True to her suspicions, the handwriting only changed because of the copycat quill. Of course, this individual wouldn’t use the quill on Anakin’s cloak, because that was likely done in a quick attempt to “helpfully” suggest his guilt.  

The displeasure in Satine’s gut settled heavy and she contemplated what this may mean. Well, it seemed clear to her that the only way to confirm her already nagging suspicions was to finally catch this cheater in the act. 

She peered her head at Obi-Wan’s wrist to catch a glimpse of his watch. She certainly couldn’t do it now. It was well past 1 in the morning and she really should have been asleep long before. Her eyes lingered briefly on his sleeping figure and a small smile crept to her face. She gently removed the textbook that lay on his lap and placed it on the floor. She resisted the sudden desire to brush the hair away from his forehead and felt her cheeks glow at the intruding thought. 

Her mind was racing and she was positive she wouldn’t be able to properly sleep, but still slouched beside him on the couch and tried to mentally craft her plan. Somewhere, in this process, she must have drifted, because when she awoke in the morning to the sounds of giggling students that passed by, she was on her side, cheek on the armrest, but with a heavy presence on her back.

She turned her head and noticed Obi-Wan’s head rested in the center of her back, an arm strewn loosely over the both of them.

She gave the passing students her best glare and tried to desperately stomp down the fluttering in her chest. It was too early for this nonsense. 

Besides, she had a cheater to catch. 

*** 

It was in potions that Satine was finally able to reconvene with Obi-Wan. Albeit, they couldn’t just simply have a chat in the middle of Professor Palpatine’s lecture on Everlasting Elixirs and the properties behind their longevity. Both were thoroughly versed on the source material thanks in part to their competitive desire to read ahead of the class, but a professor’s context was always useful.

It didn’t stop her from the childish act of passing notes.

Or more useful: vanishing text. 

If Obi-Wan appeared annoyed by her disturbance, he didn’t give any indication. Last she checked, the small smile that tugged on the corner of his mouth was more of a sign of amusement rather than the contrary.

“How do you feel about setting a trap for our cheater?” She scrawled.

The smile on his face, to the outside observer, seemed almost completely neutral and focused, as though he was purely invested in the lesson plan that the professor had detailed for the day. He didn’t even look down at the parchment as he responded.

“I could use a study break.”

This was absolutely fair, considering it felt that all of their time that wasn’t delegated to prefect duties was spent burying their noses into just about every book related to their core subjects. Obi-Wan seemed set on settling for no less than straight O’s and she, herself, was hoping for a similar result. She’d always prided herself on being well-rounded after all. 

“It’s a date.” She wrote without thinking much of it, but from the corners of her eyes did take private satisfaction in how bright his ears got.

Maybe, she’d prove some of her other theories in the near future.

***

In reality, the plan she and Obi-Wan had devised was the farthest thing from a date. Not that Satine would have anything to compare it to, but she was fairly certain that dates didn’t typically involve dragging along your 11 year old mentees on evening patrol. Particularly, when one of those mentees wouldn’t stop trying to burp the alphabet the entire walk through the school.

“I almost had it that time!” Anakin chirped excitedly. “Did you hear? I got all the way to V!” 

“Oh yes, the epitome of true talent.” Vizsla muttered under his breath.

Despite the unpleasantness of that situation, she really didn’t mind considering her thoughts were busied by each intricate step of their plan. She tried her best not to seem unsettled. After all, this was far from the most pressing investigation at play. Every now and then, she’d catch Obi-Wan’s glance, which while she never wanted him to be unhappy, there was something comforting about shared reluctance in a situation such as these. 

“You’ve yet to really detail the plan.” Viz broke her thoughts by holding back to walk in tandem with Satine. He seemed slightly frustrated that Anakin followed suit. 

“Of course,” She said, “I’m sure you’re both wondering why you are here.”

“I’ve sort of learned to stop questioning this kind of thing.” Anakin said casually, “Worst case scenario has basically already happened to me.”

“Still, it will be useful for us to know what to do.” He offered, “Especially should we come in contact with the cheater.”

Pulling all of them aside, Obi-Wan placed a placating hand on both of the first year’s shoulders. His face was firm but not without warmth as he considered them patiently. She didn’t say it, but Satine couldn’t help but admire how good he was with younger children, especially for someone who never had any younger siblings.

She felt that had been somewhat of a hindrance for her in the end.

“You are both very important for this operation.” He said in a low tone, “Unsurprisingly, no cheater in their right mind would believe that Satine or myself would ever be soliciting test information.”

“Because you’re prefects!” Viz answered at the same time Anakin enthusiastically said “Because you’re big geeks!” and Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched in something that was caught between a smile and a frown.

“Whichever you prefer.” Satine drawled with a shrug, “It is much more convincing that first years like yourselves would be invested in this information.”

“Hm,” Her mentee tapped his chin doubtfully, “But I’m not sure they’d believe that I would be doing such a thing. Seeing as you are my mentor and you’d never allow such a lapse in character.”

“And yet the school believed Anakin was capable.” Obi-Wan offered with a shrug and Anakin nodded in agreement, “Never underestimate the presumptions of the masses.” 

“Exactly,” Satine said, “Plus, having Rex and Anakin together would be a bit too obvious that the two were planning something.”

“True, we usually are.” Anakin flashed her a grin and smacked Viz on the back, making the thinner boy grimace at the rough contact, “Come on, Vizzy, we’ve got this!”

He looked at Satine as if unsure, but she nodded encouragingly, so he took that as a sign that this plan was something she’d given a lot of consideration. Besides, they wouldn’t be too far away in case anything got out of control. To prove this, Satine handed Anakin the first half of an extendable ear and took the earpiece. 

“Gross!” He said excitedly as he played with the floppy ear, “Feels real too.”

“Please don’t put it in plain sight,” Obi-Wan sighed. “It’s not the most discrete tool.”

“Thankfully they had wireless models.” Satine commented as she waved the little earbud around. It wasn’t something she had an extensive amount of experience with, but figured it wouldn’t be that different to a music player.

They hadn’t had much time to test the range of the ear, so she held the earpiece close as they walked as far as they could while also able to listen to Anakin’s idle chatter about Quidditch. The farthest they were able to traverse was a broom closet just outside of the library, which was the perfect spot.

***

Anakin really didn’t understand this plan. Then again, he supposed it wasn’t shocking that the prefects’ plans were “safer” in comparison to what he would have conjured up. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure they were being told all of it. It seemed a little simple to try and use them to lure in the cheater when Vizsla had a good point. Both were mentees to some of the most fearsome prefects in the school. And, Anakin had just been proven innocent of such a task, which the cheater likely did not enjoy. Surely, they’d lay low, right?

Viz also didn’t seem keen that this would work. He did a better job appearing busier than Anakin did, likely because of how used to being in the library he was. He just flipped through his book and kept his eyes down.

“You’re being obvious.” He muttered, breath ghosting hotly over the pages in front of him.

Anakin rolled his eyes, “And you’re not? Nobody reads that close to the page unless they can’t see.”

“I’m far-sighted.” Viz bit back.

“Oh.” Anakin scratched the back of his neck, “Tough break there, mate.”

“I’m not your mate.” He grumbled. 

“Yeah, why is that?”

“Because you’re one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met.” Viz answered quickly, “Any other questions?”

Anakin shrugged, “Sure, why are you such a stick in the mud?”

“Some of us are here to learn.” He said. 

He shook his head and kept reading while Anakin took that as his cue to continue scanning the crowd for someone to approach them. He couldn’t help but feel a little antsy. He trusted that Obi-Wan wouldn’t put him in harm’s way and knew this was completely different from when he’d been held captive, but being bait was still a bit unsettling even on a small scale. 

Still, he wanted to figure this out too. After all, this person had been the reason he’d been suspended from the Quidditch team, which ultimately resulted in his ill-fated attempt at running away from school.

“Why are you so into solving this, anyway?” Anakin asked. “Even I’m not taking notes on who it could be.”

Realizing that they were not going to just sit in silence, he sighed and ran a hand over his blond hair, which was shaved on the sides and had a slight curled swoop at the front. It looked significantly more manicured than it had at the beginning of the year, which Anakin guessed had to do with Viz’s rise in popularity. 

“Maybe because I exercise critical thinking more than you do?” 

“Or because I’ve been busy almost being killed.” Anakin fired back.

The other boy relented at that, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Oh, so you don’t totally hate me.” He leaned forward.

“Not enough to see you dead.” Viz said plainly, “Hating you would be caring a bit too much than what it’s worth.”

“I can’t believe I tried being friends with you.” Anakin huffed and leaned back, feeling as though he’d really gotten him for a moment,

“You weren’t trying to be my friend!” He snapped, “You were using me, because I’m smart. You had no interest in me until I could help you.”

That wounded Anakin, because well, it had been true. He hadn’t realized it then, but he really didn’t think to invite Vizsla along until he’d thought up his plan to possibly explore the tunnels. He just didn’t expect to be seen so quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He said genuinely.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Viz said.

“I don’t think they’re going to show.” Anakin said with a sigh, “Which means all this waiting is going to be for nothing.”

He fixed Anakin with an exasperated stare, “We’ve been here for 10 minutes.”

Anakin just wasn’t sure when enough was enough. That was, of course, until none other than Sebulba came stalking over and he didn’t look pleased.

***

Obi-Wan and Satine sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the broom closet, listening to their mentees bicker back and forth periodically. Only one earpiece came with the set, so she had no choice but to hold it closely between them. If she made any sudden movements at the same time he did, it could create a very awkward situation.

“I had no idea Vizsla felt so strongly against Anakin.” Satine whispered.

“Me neither.” Obi-Wan said, “Perhaps he was trying to be a good sport for you.”

“Maybe.” She said, but it still disappointed her that their mentees didn’t get along. Kids could obviously befriend whoever they so pleased, but it was tough to ignore the undercurrent of disdain in either boys’ voice. It felt a bit like two best friends whose kids grew up and disliked each other.

“You really think this will work?” He asked in a hushed tone that brushed against her ear.

Truthfully, she didn’t know, and moreover, had the nagging feeling that it wasn’t going to go well if it did. 

“Are you doubting my capabilities of drawing a plan?” She deflected easily, but even without being able to see the hard lines of his scowl that she’d memorized perfectly, she knew it was still there.

“Of course not, but we are weighing a lot on the boys.” He said.

“I know,” She said a bit too harshly and sighed, “Hopefully, they prove themselves capable.”

“Doesn’t change that it’s a bit dull from this position.” He muttered and she elbowed him in the ribs.

“Hey!”

“If you don’t hush up, we’re going to be caught.” She hissed.

Admittedly, it was quite boring sitting in the dark for a while. She knew either of them could use their wands to light up the room, but didn’t want anyone to notice they were just sitting in the closet. They’d caught two excitable sixth years playing tonsil hockey; both of which seemed intent on scoring a goal by coming into the closet themselves. Quickly, Satine turned down the volume of the extendable ear. 

Upon seeing the two prefects sitting on the floor, the girl scowled.

“This closet’s taken.” She grumbled.

Satine felt Obi-Wan shift away from her a bit uncomfortably, but the glow of sunlight from behind them showed that his face was stern. She hoped she looked as calm at the offhand comment.

The boy looked much more uneasy, seeing as he knew they were prefects and not just two lovebirds trying to escape for a quick snog. 

“Uh, Obi-Wan, Satine…” He winced.

“Dengar. Aurra Sing.” Satine frowned, unimpressed.

“And what of it?” The Palliduvan girl bristled at the disrespect from a younger student, still not realizing that she was leering down at someone with the power to get them into trouble. Even with minimal lighting, the girl’s skin was the color of bones and her eyes sharp as glass. Her hair was piled on the top of her head, giving the impression that she had no hair on the remainder of her scalp. Dengar, always wrapped in a white turban, while usually characterized as a randy brute, seemed to recognize that this would not end well for them should they continue.

“Detention, maybe.” Obi-Wan offered evenly while gesturing to his and Satine’s prefect buttons.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.” Dengar said.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Aurra asked in a low voice that was surely meant to be seductive. Seeing as she looked more like a praying mantis going in for the kill, Satine didn’t see how. The Slytherin reminded her of Ventress, actually.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, “No broad is worth a howler from mum.” 

Aurra rolled her eyes and pushed the shorter man back with a long pointed finger that looked meant to jab right through him.

“You’re a damn scrub, Dengar.” She shoved him the rest of the way back and disappeared into the hall. He didn’t seem to care enough to chase after her and gave Obi-Wan and Satine a lazy smile.

“Have fun, kids.” He shrugged and the Hufflepuff walked in the opposite direction, likely to find an easier conquest.

After the door was closed and they were entrenched in darkness once again, Obi-Wan found the words to speak.

“Well, that was awkward.” He said.

She flared, “How do you figure? We weren’t the ones trying to play hanky panky in the closet!”

“I didn’t- Not about- I- ugh.” He scowled, “I just meant it’s never comfortable walking in on couples, especially when they’re older.”

“Oh.” She eased back, “To be fair, they sort of walked in on themselves.”

“You know what I mean,” He snorted, “I’m sure we’ll get an earful later.”

“The ear!” She gasped and hastily fumbled to turn up the volume again.

On the other end, all that could be heard was rumpled static, which at first made her wonder if they’d somehow gotten crosswired with another set. However, when she listened more intently, it was clear that Anakin’s high-pitched and desperate voice yelped in the background.

“Stop it, Sebulba!”

***

Logically, it made sense that it was Sebulba, at least to Anakin. He’d never had anything but trouble with the Dug since he arrived at Hogwarts. To be frank, Anakin had also retaliated with his own brand of trouble in response, but that was only because fair was fair. He was a slimy little weasel, who was quite smug when Anakin had been originally punished as the leader of the cheating ring.

But when Sebulba came around the corner with fire in his beady little eyes and a snarl on his long brown snout, which exposed razor sharp teeth, he didn’t go for Anakin. With a swift movement only capable of someone whose feet also could operate as arms, Sebulba snatched Pre Vizsla by the shirt and tossed him across the room into the bookshelf, sending books everywhere.

Despite their previous bickering, Anakin decided immediately that his dislike for Sebulba vastly outweighed any quarrel with Viz. So, he leapt to his feet and jumped between them.

“Move it, Skytalker.” He shoved him aside, which knocked Anakin to the ground. 

“Stop it, Sebulba!” He cried, “It’s me you want, not him.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response and went right back for Vizsla, who was still very flustered from being flung as though he were weightless. He came to when a clawed hand grasped him from the front of the shirt again and held him so they were nose to nose. Fear filled in the young Ravenclaw’s eyes as he took in Sebulba’s seething anger from up close. 

“You promised results!” He tightened his grip a little more. “And you failed.”

“Well,” Vizsla swallowed heavily, “Technically, we failed.”

“What?” Anakin interjected.

“Shut-up.” He spat at him and Viz winced and blinked a few times to try and get the salty goop out of his eye.

“I’m sorry!” He insisted. “I didn’t have access to the keys after you requested a-”

“-Sorry doesn’t fix the fact that I might have to repeat Charms over the summer!” Sebulba growled. “You will pay.” 

He pressed him against the bookshelf and held him there for a moment, “With interest.”

“Wait a minute,” Anakin’s eyes widened as he looked at Sebulba with shock, “You’re not the cheater?”

“You told him I was cheating?” Sebulba hissed with venom in his voice. “That’s a mistake you will not forget. I broke your arm once. I’ll just have to break something else.”

“No! Of course not! It was me! It was all me!” Viz whimpered. 

“Viz!” Anakin’s jaw dropped, “How could you?”

“Tell him, Pissla. Tell him all about your little schemes and all the money you were supposed to make me.”

“I think we’ve heard enough, thank you, Sebulba.” Came the calm and clipped tone of Obi-Wan Kenobi, who when Anakin whirled around, had his wand outstretched and pointed directly at Sebulba with purpose. Satine stood beside him, steel in her eyes as she kept her focus on the Dug and didn’t dare glance at her mentee. Both seemed to be catching their breaths as though they were just running.”

Still, Sebulba’s poisonous rage didn’t deplete and he kept his hold on the first year Ravenclaw without so much as looking back at them.

“I’d hardly call this worth the trouble, Sebulba.” Obi-Wan said sternly. “Put him down.”

“Yeah, you were probably going to fail anyway, right?” Anakin tried, which earned him a glare of his own.

“Stop helping, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sighed, but never lowered his wand.

Finally, as if weighing the true consequences of killing a student in front of two prefects, Sebulba finally relented and carefully dropped Pre Vizsla to his feet and took a few careful steps backwards to separate himself from the issue.

“As promised, you will receive immunity for purchasing a test key.” Obi-Wan said, “Though I cannot overlook the way you manhandled the boy.” 

“I got into character.” He barked.

“Anger management counseling. And detention.” He said stiffly, “For the rest of term.”

Anakin was once again very happy he no longer had detention any longer. That being said, the reminder of why he had detention originally sparked him as he twisted around to look at the shaken Viz, who simultaneously looked as though he was about to be sick or bite someone’s head off. Anakin was a bit too close for comfort for either reaction, but it didn’t stop his own brand of anger.

“You framed me!” He shouted, not caring they were in a library and drawing attention. Neither prefect stopped him either. 

“You were an easy target.” He snapped and gone was any show of remorse or quiet concern that he put on for the grownups. “I should have gotten away with it.”

“But you didn’t.” Satine’s voice startled Anakin, namely because of the uncompromising nature at which her entire demeanor seemed set on piercing straight through Vizsla. There was hurt there, yes, but most prominently was fury and disappointment through her ice blue eyes. He did notice that she didn’t seem surprised.

Viz, however, was surprised, “You set me up.”  

“You got greedy.” She said as she stalked forward, chin held high and seeming inexplicably tall with confidence and disapproval. “Not to mention careless.”

He knew Satine was a stickler for the rules, but if Anakin didn’t know better, it sounded like she was more upset by how Vizsla had fallen into her trap vs. the actual deed that had been done. She hadn’t yet looked towards Anakin, but he really didn’t want her to in this state of mood.

“Careful enough to fool you into believing I was some dull and quiet pacifist with no ambition or ability to take care of myself!” He fired, but it was futile, because he looked like he was at risk of being sucked up by Satine’s orbit of acrimony.

“You’re right.” She said plainly and for a moment, didn’t blink, “However, the truth always manages a way to come out and expose deceivers. Even if it does take a minute.”

Uncomfortable with being seen so thoroughly, he shifted, “What gave it away?”

Obi-Wan stepped beside Satine, “What? Taking notes for next time?”

“Had you quit after the copycat quill was confiscated, you might have gotten away with it.” She offered, “However, that didn’t change the crucial mistake you made early on.”

“And what’s that?” He asked with crossed arms.

“The robe.” Obi-Wan finished with knowing eyes that weren’t as fiery as Satine’s at the moment. “The handwriting on the robe was different.”

“And it wasn’t mine!” Anakin said proudly, “Mine is… What did you say about it, Obi-Wan?”

“Barely legible.” He offered.

“Exactly!” He bragged.

Vizsla rolled his eyes and Satine continued, “Not to mention the detail that both Slytherin and Gryffindor robes were found in the secret tunnel system.”

“Meaning it would need to be someone not in those houses.” Obi-Wan said. “How did you gain access to the tunnels in the first place if not by Anakin?”

Anakin’s eyes widened and snapped his fingers before Viz could come up with a retort, “You were the one who stole the map from me on Halloween! I knew I dropped it when I fell through the trap door.”

“There’s no tunnel leading to Ravenclaw tower.” Satine said firmly and finally looked to Anakin for confirmation.

“No, there isn’t.” He said, “Which is a shame, because I really had a good idea for a pra- And this is not the time.”

If Satine was frustrated by that comment, she didn’t give any indication of it. Obi-Wan seemed a bit withered by it, but still didn’t say much, both prefects only had time to admonish one first year at the moment. 

“So, when the piece of a test key was found on the floor of the tower, that meant the individual at question would have to be in Ravenclaw.”

“Or the person who purchased it was a Ravenclaw.” He argued boldly, but Anakin could see it was clearly a front.

“Maybe so.” She said stiffly, “But that does not change the fact that you broke your right arm not long ago and were unable to write with it. I remember I was impressed at how easily you took up writing with your left hand. However, you’d been practicing for quite some time, evidently.”

She held up two papers. One was a copy of homework that clearly belonged to Viz and the other was a wrinkled answer key. There were some differences that were made purposefully for stylistic choices and to throw someone off, but upon closer look, there were obvious similarities that could not be avoided.

“I analyze ancient handwriting in my spare time.” Obi-Wan said with a casual shrug. “And there are no doubts that this was written with your hand.”

“And,” Satine added tactly, as though that were not enough, “Had you not placed the robe in the tunnel near Gryffindor common room, you never would have known of it.”

Viz paled at that and said nothing, only staring at his mentor with a confusing combination of indignation mixed with the draining sensation of being caught. Anakin knew it well, but it was nice for his own integrity to gain a boost at this moment.

“It is with great disappointment that I say that Pre Vizsla, we’ve no choice but to escort you straight to the Headmaster’s office.”

“Satine!” He gritted, “I-”

“-As Obi-Wan said earlier, I’ve heard enough.” She snapped and looked away from him, turning on her heels to lead the way.

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a slight nod after stopping Vizsla from following. “I think you owe someone an apology.”

The boy looked set on puking at the thought, but after a sharper look from Ravenclaw’s fifth year prefect boy, he sighed and turned.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered before moving around Obi-Wan to follow Satine.

“Oh, don’t mention it, you cheating little snake.” He said with the wave of a hand. “But you might want to get rid of that goofy haircut.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan shook his head, a smile playing at his lips even though he was trying to relay disapproval at such a comment, “I’m also sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He grinned, relieved that finally, it was over. 

***

“We really must stop meeting like this.” Cody quipped as he slipped next to Satine. Before she could answer, Obi-Wan appeared on the other side of her. They leaned their forearms on the wet stone railing in front of them, allowing each to extend forward to enjoy the view the clock tower allotted.

“If I wanted to be found, I would have elected to hide in the astronomy tower again.” She replied without sparing either of them a glance.

“Funny, because I’m certain there isn’t a spot in this castle we wouldn’t look.” Obi-Wan said and slipped his own robe onto her shoulders, reminding her with the warmth of the gesture that she’d been standing near the chilled rain for quite some time.

“The girl’s bathroom.” She still countered after a moment’s thought.

“Okay, fine, but should you ever become moody enough to hide there, we’ll simply send Aayla and Stass in after you.” Cody said and placed a placating hand on her shoulder, “You know how this works. We talk, you feel better, friends stuff!”

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t think I deserve that this time.”

Obi-Wan frowned, “Why not?”

“Because I’ve been a bloody fool all year!” She boiled over as she looked at him and his eternally kind and understanding eyes that currently matched the ambiguous gray sky, “I was too busy on my high horse to take notice of what was going on right in front of me. I mean, of course Vizsla is behind it all! He was able to operate perfectly with a daft know-it-all such as myself as his mentor.”

“You are anything but daft.” Cody shook his head, “The kid played all of us, Satine.”

“But he shouldn’t have been able to play me.” She asserted. “I should have known.”

“And how would you have?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You said something months ago!” She shrieked.

“Sure, but that was merely a shot in the dark!” He said. “I wasn’t being serious. I was just upset you were accusing Anakin. I had no real idea of Vizsla’s involvement.”

“Thank you for reminding me!” She said sardonically, “Because that is quite possibly number one on my list of foolishness and cruelty.”

“No, number one is the way you’re beating yourself up.” Cody said with a nudge, “You Ravenclaws are so intense. Aren’t you ever allowed to make a mistake and move on?”

“Maybe when that mistake didn’t lead to Anakin running away and almost getting himself killed!” She cried, almost pleading with her two best friends to just agree with her on this. She was wrong and she deserved to wallow in it.

“When that happened, you assured me that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known about the culprit.” Obi-Wan said severely, now placing two hands on her shoulders to steady her and force her to focus on him, “Surely, you can heed to your own words.”

She deflated at that, “That’s different.”

“How so?” Cody asked.

“It just… Is.” She sighed and shrugged, “I just feel so stupid.”

“We’re all a little stupid some- ow!” He complained as Obi-Wan gave him a swift smack on the arm and a glare to match. 

“You were too close to the issue.” Obi-Wan said kindly as he turned back to her, “And in the end, you were the one to set things right. That’s got to count for something.”

She swallowed, “Yes, well, I still probably deserve the failing grade that will come my way for this failed mentorship.”

“It’s extra credit, Satine.” Obi-Wan said.

“And it’s still an edge.” She pointed out, “One that someone like myself could have needed.”

Even though both boys looked at her like she was mad, they didn’t understand and she didn’t expect them too. Purebloods, even the best of them, did not and would not grasp the biases that stretched against muggle-borns even nowadays. She was too exhausted to explain the intricacies and frankly, she didn’t deserve the edge.

“Nothing of what Vizsla has done is a reflection of you.” Obi-Wan insisted instead of questioning her, “He made his own choices in spite of everything you taught him, not because of them.”

“Really? Because I’m not the best with younger children.” She said, “I mean, just look at my sister.”

“Eh, that doesn’t count.” Cody said with the wave of a hand, “You’ve seen my little brothers.”

“They’re good boys.” She said.

“Yeah and no thanks to our oldest brother, Boba.” He said with a huff and the roll of his eyes, “I’ve always been on the nature as opposed to nurture side of the argument.”

Satine wasn’t so sure how much of that she believed. Sure, Vizsla and Bo were very different people, but if Satine had been better, the results would have been different, right?

“It was out of your control, Satine.” Obi-Wan said gently, reeling her back into the real world with his kind voice. “No one in their right mind would fault you for that.”

“Yeah, if Headmaster Yoda tries to dock you in any way for the little creep, he’s going to have to go through me.” Cody added and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Besides, I didn’t even know I could get extra credit for helping my own brother.”

“Should he pass yours and his finals, and yes, you just might.” 

“Well, ask Vizsla how he managed the OWLS answers and we’ll talk.” Cody said.

She sighed, “His parents are high-ranking politicians. While a muggle-born, they already had magical connections. You might want to talk to them, if they even let him see the light of day ever again.”

“Wizards would never consider that muggles were essentially helping him cheat.” Obi-Wan said.

“Wizards don’t even know how to use a phone, so yeah, I’d say it’s not difficult for him to figure out a way to hack himself into the system.”

“Phone?” Cody and Obi-Wan asked dumbfounded at the same time.

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “Nevermind.”

“I think that was a laugh, Kenobi.” Cody nudged Obi-Wan, who also shared his wry grin.

“Yes, I think that was.” He said. “Perhaps, we are getting to her after all.”

“And we didn’t even have to bust into the girl’s room to do it!”

“You two are idiots!” She laughed fully this time, but looked at them both with a warmth that fought off the storm that lingered in the distance, “But… You’re my idiots.”

“We wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s, my dear.” Obi-Wan said coyly.

***

Obi-Wan stood patiently as the spiral staircase formed to lead him to Yoda’s office. He was here to make a decision and although the person he was at any point earlier in his life would have been nervous he really only felt calm. He was assured in this being the right decision, it was something he was doing for himself, which was an odd concept as he so often was trying to live up to a bigger picture he could never fully see.

He climbed the staircase.

Each step only made him more determined for the next, winding his way up into the Headmaster’s office. Yoda wasn’t yet in the room and Obi-Wan watched the portraits of the former headmasters blink awake and watch him with curiosity. He regarded them with a nod as he instead made his way further into the room to inspect a curious set of magical instruments shelved on the far wall. He was often called a know-it-all, but really there was always so much he found he didn’t know. Thinking about all he could learn in the future gave him more of a thrill than even racing through the castle halls in pursuit of the Zillo Beast.

“Come to see me, have you?” The headmaster’s voice had him turning back around. Yoda slowly descended the stairs from what Obi-Wan could only assume was his private quarters.

“Yes, Headmaster,” Obi-Wan took a seat in one of the chairs across from the rather tall and intimidating one that Yoda made his way towards.

“About you, this is, for once,” Obi-Wan blinked, he hadn’t expected the headmaster as one to joke around much, but Yoda chuckled as he settled himself in his chair, “Yes. Noticed your selflessness, I have. On your shoulders an imaginary weight, there is,” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to dispute such a notion, but Yoda smacked his cane on the desk, “Careful. A wrong answer, you don’t want to give.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to say, but luckily he didn’t seem to need too.

“A request, you have?” Yoda prompted, pulling out a yellowed stack of parchments.

“I-” And this was the moment, suddenly he felt unable to say it. He was sure, this is what he wanted. The constant feeling of a looming presence hovering above his life gave him pause. If he did this he’d surely face more obstacles.

He thought back through the year, truly one filled with all sorts of trials. He’d helped take down a monstrous creature, he’d help catch a common criminal, and he’d been able to keep his mentor alive despite how much the boy got into all sorts of dire straits. He’d been able to find Anakin, when many had not.

“I’d like to make a few changes to my upcoming schedule,” He found himself saying, voice filled with determination. Yes, he certainly could deal with a few more obstacles, “I’ve decided to become an Auror.”

[thistangledbrain]

Autism Awareness/Acceptance Month

Day 5!

“Special Interests”

Have a quiet Autie in your life? That won’t last long if you tap into their special interest. We can’t shut UP when we find someone who’s genuinely curious about what lights us up.

Every older Autie I know has at least one special interest, sometimes several.

Mine? Dogs. Primarily.

And I mean EVERYTHING dog, but starting with behavior. Then in no particular order, health/genetics, various breeds and their traits, training....literally everything. Even the genes that define coat color & pattern, and what physical genetics are tied to behavior (if you’re curious about that, start with the Russian studies about domesticated foxes and what happened to their red coats, the more tame they became). It was horses when I was younger, but I soon moved to dogs when getting into my late teens (more affordable and accessible I guess lol). And if I don’t know the answer to your questions, we find out together, because I *need* to know, too. 😉 I can talk dogs with you literally all day and never get bored...which helps socially, too (I’ve mentioned that most of my closest friends are dog people) - I have a larger network of friends than most other auties I know, and it’s because of a shared passion for all things dog. 
Then there’s the sciences, but particularly quantum & theoretical physics. I. Fucking. Love. Physics. LOVE IT. Unfortunately, my brain hits a wall with more advanced mathematics, so I can’t “do” physics on the level I want to. Luckily for me, my oldest son is also pretty obsessed with it, and he is now pursuing a degree in physics....so when he comes home, we sit down with his notes and he breaks it down for me (the language behind the experiment or action). I have pictures of his notes saved on my phone, for simply the silly reason that I like the patterns of the math (it’s the “universal language”, if you didn’t know), and like to daydream about understanding it. (He struggles with the math as well...we are both HEAVILY right brained...but he manages.) If there’s a documentary out there about physics (plus many lectures), I’ve probably seen it multiple times. Idk why quantum physics in particular interests me...maybe because it’s almost like magic. ☺️ Quantum entanglement fascinates me, and the theory that things aren’t what they are unless/until you observe them...I can get stuck absolutely obsessing over these things.

Nature/animals are the big background special interest that the specifics tie into, though (and this ranges from astrophysics to the life cycle and structure of an ant colony - and even human psychology). Concerning observable animal/plant nature though (and this is a big one for me), Sir David Attenborough is my hero lol- no one else answers the questions I have, and opens up the natural world for me, like that dude. It was Mutual of Omaha’s nature shows when I was a kid, now it’s him. Sorry not sorry, but a doc on the secret life of plants is *fucking riveting* to me. Science is my JAM! 😆 I am happy to recommend any docs to any other fellow science nerds (Through the Wormhole, The Elegant Universe, and Cosmos are all MUST SEE - if you’re a nature nerd, of course Blue Planet, Our Planet, Life...gosh. So many great series). When I get on a science kick, I get the same feelings I get when I’ve tapped into a difficult dog’s psyche, and we start to figure things out. It’s an absolute thrilling obsession, and I am very restless until all my “why/how” is answered. It’s never enough - I never know enough, and I never will.

It’s also an area where my perpetual 2-3 year old is consistently mostly satisfied. I mean that’s the whole scientific community in a nutshell LOL! “WHY?” “HOW?!” When I was a kid, I’d have to write down all my questions that weren’t answered by our Encyclopedias, and wait till the weekly library trip to find the answers I sought. Now, I have a smartphone and Google LOL....and I cannot even begin to describe how consciously thankful I am for that quick access to answers!! Questions will *eat me alive* sometimes, so answering them in a timely fashion is sooooo satisfying 😆

I guess I’m a bit of an artist/creative personality. I’m unhappy when I don’t have space to create....but that space is pretty damn large, because I’m into almost all of it (you can’t exactly fit a miter and bandsaw into your apartment studio, so I’m very grateful I have the space for the power tools LOL...)

From building things to fabric crafts, I love it all. I get way burned out if one of those things become a “job”, though (ehh except being paid as a regular employee of a historic renovation construction firm LOL) - something I HAVE to do. Then it’s not enjoyable anymore. I had started down a path of marketable creations, and they were in high demand...but then it became something I HAD to do for money, instead of wanting to do for enjoyment - and I haven’t touched that particular craft in 8 years or more now (which frustrates people, because I was good at it). 🤷🏻‍♀️ That’s one of those things I really can’t help. My oldest son seems to be sort of similar....he’s commissioned several pieces (and secured his first few at a VERY young age), but he also tends to get a little frustrated when he’s expected to create something, instead of the urge naturally striking him. The whole beauty and satisfaction from art - for me anyway - stems from pure imagination without constraints. When you’re doing something to please someone, it ceases being art, and turns into just...a skilled task you completed. That’s how I look at it, anyway. So even though I could actually make my art into a career (at least supplementary income), it ceases to be enjoyable for me *at all*, unless I’m creating something for someone who means a lot to me. That, and I really just prefer to give my stuff as gifts. It makes me feel good to see people light up with joy over what I’ve made for them, whatever it was. (I also do a shitload of remote training with people and their dogs, for free. I point folks towards the trainers I respect if they need extensive in person work, but lots of folks don’t have several hundred bucks to sink into understanding their dogs better...so...I just help where I can, now. I think it *used to* frustrate my husband, but he absolutely understands now & is cool with it.)

Oh. And rocks and minerals. I’m an obsessive rockhound LOL - and a cousin is a geologist, so he can break down how and why each is so unique, how it formed & why, etc. I’m actually currently converting a large yard sale antique wardrobe into a piece that can showcase Sir Tommy on one side, and my extensive rock and mineral collection on the other (waaaay not extensive enough, but you might be surprised how expensive quality specimens are. Take moldavite for example...fascinating thing...little chip of it about the size of your pinky nail will run you $20 +, because it’s rare. And yes I am fascinated by the metaphysical value attached to these minerals, and why that’s even a thing.) The way minerals form - let’s cite Aragonite as an example - just captivates me.

So I guess those are my main special interests! If you have a *young* Autie in your life, try to expose them to various things. To find a “special interest” is to find a way to ground ourselves. Special interests are a bit different than...well, I’m not sure what words work for stim interests that you can escape into for NT’s, but it’s less of an interest, and more of an obsession for us. It consumes us.

So anyway, EVERY Autie has a special interest. It could be science, it could be gaming (that’s a big one with lots of males, and not a small one for Autie women either, because it’s an escape you actually have to engage your brain in) or computers; it could be mathematics or art. It could be animals and nature. But eventually (for those of you with wee Auties), Your Pet Autie ™️ will find something that they absolutely obsess over & gets them excited to share their knowledge or creations with you. I encourage parents of auties to help them explore the world and find their niche. It helps us navigate your world, and find a way to be at home in it. It also gives us something to fixate on other than our bumbling attempts at fitting in to a world not built for us.

Circling back - if you know an autistic in your life that you want an “in” to get to know, start with their special interest. (Of course we recognize when you’re doing it just for the merits, versus when you actually want to learn something from us, but we appreciate both, really. It gives us a chance to ...idk. Feel important, maybe. At least that’s what it is to me, and my boys. We love to feel needed for our knowledge!)

Special interests are truly your “in” to an Autie, regardless of what their subject is.

So that’s MY take on the special interests. What lights your beloved Autie up?

[lutrain2020]

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Seeking7 or Seeking!

Commission:  I don't offer writing commissions at the moment, mostly because I'm not sure how to conduct or present myself in the market. If anyone would like to request a certain fic or short story from me, however, I'd be glad to work out details with them. :)

Social Media: A03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7 FFnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/

Tell us a little bit about you!

Hiya! I'm Seeking7, or Seeking. I was born in Alabama and raised in California to a pair of the most hardworking Egyptian immigrants you've ever met, and the mixture of Arabic and American influence over the course of my life has had a profound influence on the way I look at the world. My favorite subjects are biology and english, and I aspire to become either an EMT or military medic after I graduate. In regards to hobbies (aside from playing copious amounts of Zelda), I love studying American and Ancient Israelite history, and I hope to one day learn ancient Hebrew and Greek so I can read the original biblical manuscripts for myself!

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

While my own brain can usually come up with a certain scene or idea that would inspire me to put paper to pen, it's the people I have around me that encourage me to keep writing. The people on FFN and AO3 who comment and leave kudos on my work mean the world to me (shout out to JoSeBach on FFN and MyWritingisMeh on Ao3 for leaving comments/reviews on each chapter of my fic "Mephibosheth"). The LU fans who come to my livewrites on the discord are so ridiculously encouraging and always let me know that my writing can actually be interesting to some people -- a fact that never ceases to astound me. But most credit goes to my younger sister. Even when I don't show her a work because it might be a little bit extreme or intense for her age, she always lets me know that she's sure it's good regardless. Her unconditional, unreasonable support inspires me to be that kind of person to other fic writers!

What got you into writing?

Three books in particular encouraged me to take writing seriously. "Crime and Punishment" was the first in this process, showcasing just how intense, beautiful, and profound a book with actually very little plot can be. The entire book takes place more or less in the head of a man wracked to pieces by guilt, and Dostoevsky's decision to focus on internal instead of external conflict changed the way I looked at literature. "East of Eden" was next. It wasn't just the book's allegorical nature or the Cain and Abel motif that astounded me - Steinbeck's vivid descriptions of everything from the human mind to sunrise in Salinas has had a profound impact on my own writing. I still reference the first few pages when I write! (actually, if you look at my fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie," the opening paragraph is heavily inspired by the first page of East of Eden!) Finally, the biblical Book of Job changed the way I look at dialogue and interactions between flawed characters. The whole book is almost written like an ancient screenplay and deals with heavy questions like the meaning of pain and the meaning of meaninglessness without offering direct answers - which inspired me to try and include those questions in my own writing and handle them in a similar, vague, interperative way.

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

After outlining a fic, I usually start out by writing them like a screenplay with all dialogue tags and action notes written off to the side. When sarcastic banter,  silly, lighthearted interactions, or intense conversations with a deeper meaning behind them start to come together, I can't help but smile. That usually gives the the extra inspirational boost I need to go back and flesh everything out so it becomes a story! (if you struggle with writing dialogue, message me on the discord and I'll be glad to tell you everything I know and send you the multitude of resources I have on the subject)

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

Vetting works for grammatical mistakes turns writing fics into homework! I can't stand posting something and later reading just to find out that I forgot to capitalize a character's name, or that a comma is missing, or that Ao3 or FFN messed up the page breaks and I have to go back in and fix it. I'm not a perfectionist most of the time, but when I come to writing, I absolutely am.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

Intense philosophical debates and serious heart-to-heart conversations are by far my favorite kind of scenes to write, and that's because they're my favorite kind of scenes to observe and read! I always leave them feeling like I've gained something intellectually and emotionally, and it's my constant hope and dream to be able to impart the same kind of introspective thoughtfulness on the reader.  

What's the hardest for you to write?

Allowing or even plotting for a character to go off the deep end is always such a hard thing to write. Not for them to die, necessarily, but for them to completely lose their morals, priorities, and relationships in search for something selfish or temporary. Writing them making the same mistakes over and over not because they're stupid but because they don't care about the consequences is always hard -- it's like killing off a character and replacing them with the darkest, nastiest version of themselves. Basically, writing the opposite of character development is the opposite of fun. :(

What's your favorite genre to write?

Whatever the hybrid child of angst and fluff is called, that's my baby. I find that a combination of the two can make for a really interesting experience and give me more space to explore different faucets of each character's personality. It's also the perfect breeding ground for some intense, sincere conversations.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

I don't write for a lot of fandoms, just Linked Universe, Undertale, and occasionally LoZ stuff not tied directly to our nine precious boys.

What's the work you are most proud of?

I've only gotten into LU very recently, so at the time of writing this I don't have anything from the fandom that's ready to showcase. I do have some cool Undertale stuff though, at least in my opinion! If you're interested in that, there are two fics I've poured (and am currently pouring) my heart and soul into that I'm extremely proud of. The first one is 'The Reason,' which is just a quick oneshot focused on Grillby being an amazing, hardworking dad, (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354130) and the second is Mephibosheth,' my multi-chapter pre-canon fic about the lives of Asriel and Chara. '(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804797)

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

Going again off the works I referenced earlier, a particular scene in the ninth chapter of 'Mephibosheth' had me patting myself on the back. I can't tell you what it is, though, because it's a massive spoiler. ;)

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

At the beginning of my junior year of high school I submitted two works into a competition I was confident I would win. No, not just win, I was sure I would get first place nationally. The competition never had many submissions and I knew that the works I submitted were pretty darn good. As you can probably guess, I didn't win anything. No medal or mention, nothing. I was in shock for a good few days and considering giving up writing completely. Then I realized how stupid I was being for assuming I was entitled to an award, for writing something only for recognition, and for thinking that I should give up on something I love so much just because it didn't supply me with the endorphin rush I thought it would. I made it a goal to improve as much as humanly possible afterwards, and I'm happy to say that I think I'm making progress towards that!

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Every gremlin-like thing the boys do in my WIP LU fic "The Most Sincere Kind of Lie" (by the time this is up, it'll probably be on Ao3) is based off something I've seen my brother and sister do. They're the embodiment of utter chaos and the manifestation of the primal urge to destroy, so they're great inspiration for Link shenanigans. Also, almost all of the banter in 'Mephibosheth' has taken inspiration from one of three places; conversations I've had with my grandparents, conversations I've had with my siblings, or interviews I've watched online. Inspiration for thought-provoking dialogue has to come somewhere that's not my own brain - there aren't enough brain cells to bear the brunt of that creative burden!

Where do you post your finished works?

I post on FFN and Ao3, both under the alias Seeking7. What's that, you say? You want a link to my profile? Well, who am I to refuse?? (AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking7) (FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/13334645/)

[theonceoverthinker]

Make a Secret Out of That! (Fair Game)

Summary: Atlesians may not tend to make secrets out of things, but Qrow's no Atlesian. And when a chance encounter happens between Clover and his bird form, Qrow strives to keep it that way!

AO3

A/N: Here’s my Day 3 submission for Fair Game Week!!! @fair-game-week

Not a lot to say this time, so let’s jump right in! Enjoy!!!!

()()()()()()()() The people of Atlas tended to not make secrets of much of anything – that was something Qrow learned very quickly after arriving there. Atlesians were chatterboxes first and people second far more often than not. And of the many topics they always made their viewpoints about known, one of the biggest was their overwhelming disdain for the Atlesian winds.

While Qrow went about 50/50 with what things he agreed with the Atlesian consensus about and not, he strongly found himself on the opposite end with this one.

Qrow loved the winds Atlas so generously provided. They were strong, sure, but while they could be annoying -- something Qrow knew very well thanks to a semblance that never quite knew when to shut up -- they were also freeing thanks to that same strength. 

But Qrow couldn’t exactly blame Atlesians for their problems with the wind. 

After all, unlike himself, they couldn’t fly.

The skies of Atlas provided Qrow with miles upon miles of uncluttered skies to swirl across, and with Qrow’s exercises in his bird form having the added bonus of strengthening him as a human, Qrow liked to take to those skies whenever possible.

It was during the late afternoons that he flew the most. Because most of his companions were out on missions during those times, Qrow could soar to his heart’s content without having to worry about being away should anyone call upon him and by that time, his missions for the day were often done. 

Qrow was never gone long – just an hour here and there – but compared to the confining and militant Atlesian Academy compound, that time and freedom was a godsend.

God, he’d never know how Clover -- another fan of the winds, by his own admission -- managed to stand spending so much of his life all cooped up there, sometimes days at a time from what he’d told him.

Clover…

His was a name that, regardless of his form or location, tended to show up a lot in Qrow’s thoughts lately.

He was a good guy, and he was starting to make Qrow feel like he himself was one too.

Qrow never believed he’d be able to deal with Clover Ebi, let alone actually get along with him after their awful first meeting.

But time had a funny way about changing his mind about a lot of things, and if he was grateful for that in regards to anything, it was about how much he now enjoyed Clover’s presence.

And speaking of…

“Qrow!”

Qrow was certain of few things in this world, but one of those few things that he was sure of was that because of a personality he could only describe as ‘loud,’ he’d never lose Clover in a crowd, much less a hallway where they were the only two around.

Apparently, the same could be said for Clover with him.

A kind smirk grew on Qrow’s face as he turned around to greet Clover, something that was quite common for him during their encounters now.

“You seem more chipper than usual,” Qrow said. “Didn’t even think that was possible.”

Clover flashed him a smile.

“Neither did I,” Clover teased, “but this morning, I saw something incredible, and I just can’t believe I got to see it.”

“Oh? What was that?”

“A crow!” 

It took all that Qrow had in him to keep his shock from betraying him.

Clover didn’t seem to notice, and continued. “Can you imagine it? A crow just sailing through the arctic like it was just any old piece of farmland. It was beautiful.” Wistfully, Clover sighed. In that moment, he looked for all the world like a lovestruck prince from one of those animated movies.

For a moment, Qrow found himself at a loss for how to proceed. Of course, he knew he wasn’t bound to secrecy over his alternate form’s existence. He never really had been. Ozpin had only suggested he keep quiet about it in the past, but any loyalty he had to Ozpin to keep that or any secret for that matter had long since expired.

He could tell Clover if he wanted to.

...It’s just that Qrow didn’t KNOW if he wanted to.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Clover. Hell, friends and allies he already knew included, he trusted Clover more than he trusted anyone in Atlas that wasn’t already part of his group.

No, what held Qrow’s tongue was the fact that frankly, he had not a damn clue just how to tell him the truth about it.

‘Oh yeah, that crow you saw? That was me. What? I didn’t tell you? I can turn into a bird!’

Clover was cool-headed, but Qrow had a feeling that no temperament could make news like that anything short of mindblowing, and Qrow was just not ready to have that or any kind of mindblowing conversation with Clover just yet.

And hey, just because Atlesians tended to not make secrets of things didn’t mean he couldn’t. 

So instead, Qrow swallowed that very secret with a chuckle. 

“Didn’t realize you were such a bird nerd.”

“I birdwatch a bit to relax,” Clover said. “They’re so graceful and adaptive. They’re just wonderful to watch. But never in all my years did I imagine I’d see a crow this far up north.”

Qrow bit his cheek. “Do you even get birds this high up?”

“A few, but there’s never been anything like a crow up here before. I can hardly believe my luck.” Clover looked at him and released a small chuckle, one that persisted for quite a long moment, one far longer than made sense even with all the wistfulness in the world.

“What up?” Qrow asked, unable to hold his curiosity back.

 “It’s just that I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re the one to thank for this.”

“Oh?”

“Well, your name IS Qrow, is it not? And just as you come to Atlas, a crow of all things takes to Atlas’ skies? That’s one hell of an amazing coincidence, and semblance or no, I try not to delude myself in putting much stake in coincidences.”

“You know,” Qrow pointed out, “crows are supposed to be a symbol of bad luck.”

Clover merely shrugged, which Qrow both loved and hated him for. “Where you see bad luck, I simply see life happening, and a crow in the arctic is a pretty wonderful example of life happening, if you ask me. Honestly, I’ve always wanted to study a crow. I just wish I could get closer to it.” Clover paused for a moment, and then clicked his tongue. “I’ve got an idea!” he continued. “I should set up a birdhouse for it. If it wants to stay in Atlas, it might like a nice little home to call its own. After all, it gets so cold up here.”

Qrow couldn’t help the smirk on his face from growing wider. “Says the guy with the sleeve allergy.”

“Not everyone shares my resistance to the elements, Qrow.” In that expectedly unexpected way that he did basically everything, Clover then flexed one of his sleeveless biceps in Qrow’s direction. Qrow waved it off, prompting the both of them to start laughing, but appreciated the firmness of it as his fingers made contact with his skin.

The memory of the point of contact stuck with him for seconds after it ended -- not long enough for Clover to take notice because of their laughter -- thank the Gods, but long enough that Qrow certainly did.

In all fairness though, how could it not?

Qrow forced himself to blink and get back to the conversation before Clover DID notice. After all, their laughter was dying down, and there were many things Qrow knew he could make a secret of.

Flirting was not one of those things, not with Clover, in any event.

“So,” Qrow said, “are you going to build one?”

Clover shook his head. “Power tools and I have never gotten on. You should’ve seen me when I was making Kingfisher. I did a great job, don’t get me wrong, but never again. How those metal shears didn’t take off more than an inch of my hair is something that for once I can only attribute to my semblance.” Qrow laughed at the comment, and Clover gave him a not-at-all serious glare, a first for them in reverse. “No,” he huffed, though only for that word, “there’s a gardening store in Mantle that is supposed to have a nice selection of things that will be perfect for our little friend. I’ll just go there. They should have everything I need. A birdhouse, birdseed, a water dispenser.”

“You should get blankets, too,” Qrow interjected. 

“Blankets?”

Qrow shrugged. “You said it yourself – it’s cold up here. The crow might not be warm enough there with just the wood protecting it. Don’t they normally live in warmer climates, after all?”

Clover nodded, biting the inside of his cheek and wagged his finger in a praising fashion. 

“Good point,” he said, giving way to a smile. “You know, you should come and help me set it up. You’re not bad with this kind of stuff.”

“Trying to butter me up?”

“Depends – is it working?”

Yes, it was.

Qrow didn’t answer, just groaning in a way that he hoped would be taken as genuine, though Clover’s face told him point blank that it wasn’t.

Oh jeez, what did he just sign himself up for?

Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell the truth now...someday, but not on the day he basically commissioned a second home for himself.

Looks like he and Clover were even more opposited than Qrow thought.

But all the same, opposites did attract, and Qrow found himself still grateful for that.

“Let’s just get the stupid birdhouse,” he mumbled, walking towards the closest exit with Clover happily following behind.

()()()()()()()()()

Semblances weren’t magic.

Maiden powers weren’t magic.

Whatever abilities Ozpin and Salem had weren’t magic.

Naps, now THOSE were magic.

Who knew an after-fly nap could be so nice?

Well, Qrow DID know, but his schedule had lately not given time for such naps, so he forgot just how much they could do for his tired, tired body.

But that birdhouse of Clover’s just gave him a very pleasant reminder.

He’d have to find a way to say thanks...a way that didn’t involve revealing himself because BOY was he even less ready now to have that conversation with Clover than he was the day he had first been spotted.

‘Thanks for building me a birdhouse! Yeah, you didn’t know? I’m that crow you just spent an afternoon perching that birdhouse on your windowsill for! Funny, right?’

...Qrow was going to pass on that for now.

...In his defense, there were worse things to make secrets of.

“Qrow!”

Clover’s call had Qrow spin around to greet him, his breath somewhat hitched.

He had a funny feeling about what Clover was about to tell him, and it wasn’t funny in a ‘haha’ way.

“I was looking all over for you! You missed the crow in the birdhouse! He took a nap, and it was so cute! And now he’s gone.”

Qrow smirked apologetically. “Sorry, I was…otherwise occupied. But I know you took a million pictures on your scroll, so show me those. I’ll get the idea.”

Clover pouted, muttering about how Qrow was a total spoilsport, but the pout dissolved as he obliged Qrow’s request.

As Qrow looked at the pictures of himself nestling within the birdhouse’s blankets, he found that it was a struggle not to blush. He didn’t know why – after all, Clover didn’t know it was Qrow who was the subject of his little pet project. 

But someone watching him sleep, even for reasons as innocent as Clover’s were, was so embarrassing.

However, he could admit that he did look pretty cute sleeping in that birdhouse…

And the fact that Clover found it equally cute was nice as well…

Maybe this was a secret kept for the best after all.

()()()()()()

“We’re talking. Now.”

Qrow blinked. Clover had been a lot of things towards him, but forceful was never one of them. But as he stomped into the room Qrow was relaxing in and glared at him while insisting upon this conversation, seemingly argumentative than Qrow ever believed Clover was able to be argumentative at anything, ‘forceful’ was the only real way Qrow could put it.

He felt cornered -- not in danger by any means, but cornered nonetheless.

And in all honesty, he knew this conversation was coming, and after their last battle had finally exposed the one thing he hoped would be in no hurry to be exposed, it was coming fast.

Karma was a bitch.

“You...that crow...the one I’ve been watching and buying things for...was you?”

It was a simple accusation, one with an even simpler answer, one that Qrow wanted nothing more than to not give.

But the jig was up, and he’d already digged himself into a deep enough hole as it was already.

Now was the time to start climbing himself out.

“Yeah.” Qrow elongating through the word as if it would bore Clover into dropping the subject.

Of course, he knew Clover better than that, but he couldn’t be blamed for trying, right?

...Right?

“You can turn into a bird?” Clover asked, his tone far more neutral now.

Qrow simply nodded this time.

“No.”

His tone was still strangely neutral.

“Yeah,” Qrow eased, his voice stuck somewhere between embarrassed and guilty.

“No.”

“Yeah.” This time, he let himself take a bit more pride.

Finally, Clover seemed to have had enough.

“I can’t believe it! It was you! All along, it was you, and you lied to me about it!”

Despite the fact that it was true, Qrow couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never seen Clover’s face so red, but here it was, its shade as crimson as Qrow’s eyes.. 

“You suck!” Clover cried. But even as he spoke, Qrow could see his face betraying him, his glare and frown threatening to crumble.

Maybe he could use that to his advantage…

Qrow made a face filled to the brim with mock hurt and placed his hand to his heart. “Is that any way to talk to the brave bird who saved your life? Those Grimm would’ve killed you if I hadn’t distracted them! You should consider yourself lucky.” To add a finishing blow, Qrow sent a smirk Clover’s way, and before Clover could truly start this confrontation, he was done in.

Noiseless breaths of laughter heaved out of Clover’s chest. He placed his hand to his face. 

“You’re the worst,” he groaned, words muffled through his hand.

Placing a hand on Clover’s defeated shoulder, Qrow rubbed away.

“Nah,” he said. “I’m just a bit better at keeping a secret than you Atlesians. You’re just not used to someone as sly and cool as me hanging around here. Takes time.”

After a long pause filled with more noiseless laughs, Clover separated his face and hand, now smiling and conspicuously calm. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, shrugging. “I’ll just have to learn to be as cool. And hey, maybe you can teach me. You are after all my favorite little birdie.”

Instantly, any satisfaction or pride Qrow took from his confrontation less victory was wiped away.

No one had ever called him ‘birdie.’ Even Raven -- the one person he could always count on for insults -- wasn’t that cruel.

But apparently Clover was.

And Qrow would be lying if he said that it wasn’t a fitting punishment.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t an annoying one, and Qrow couldn’t even try to make a secret out of that.

He groaned, and now it was his turn to bridge the gap between his own hand and face.

“That is awful, and I hate you for using it,” he grumbled. 

Clover let out a hearty laugh at his pain, prompting him to squeeze his shoulders against his ears in a failed attempt to drown the laughter out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, playing far too innocent. “What’s so awful, birdie?”

Qrow’s expression and tone grew deadpan. “I suddenly regret saving your life. You’re not seriously gonna keep using that, are you?”

While Qrow couldn’t see Clover, he could feel Clover’s heat radiating off of him stronger than he had ever felt it before. While he could only take a guess as to where Clover was, a whisper against his left ear put any doubt to bed.

“I think you know. After all, you know us Atlesians hardly make secrets out of anything, birdie.”

[crqstalite]

in autumn.

OCtober prompt ‘autumn’.  yes! i am four days late as of publishing this 10.4.2020 at one in the morning but i digress. the prompt wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is lol. just a fluff piece about a bit of reflection and one cold elf girlfriend.

ship: marzeyna lavellan/cullen rutherford word count: 2,060

-

Skyhold in autumn.

Creators, it was beautiful. 

Or at least, Marzeyna thought so. Sure, she’d experienced it year after year with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, but it made her smile at the fortress they’d moved into earlier this year. The shades of red and orange and the hues of yellow that had slowly taken over the trees as the year wore on, she couldn’t think of any other place that she’d want to be. Other than back in Wycome to assist with rebuilding, sure, but she was happy enough to wander the place on an off day.

Of course, nothing ever just lasted forever did it? She’d also be ripped away from it in favor of visiting Halamshiral -- damned place within the next few weeks to prevent an assassination. Beyond the fact she would be the first of her living Clan to be there in their lifetimes, she would also have to endure nobles.

Plenty of human nobles. With all their fancy dresses, and all their fancy wines and the Games they liked to play with the people who attended the event, and their distaste for elves.

To say the least, she wasn’t particularly excited. 

Evidence of their impending trip being the overly complicated ‘art’ Vivienne had done to her hair earlier this afternoon. She trusted the woman with anything and everything presentation (the dress she’d commissioned from Val Royeaux was nothing short of show-stopping, something Marzeyna would have to get used to the idea of but was still drooling over hours later), but she’s still picking the glitzy pins out of her hair nearly three hours after the afternoon spent bathing in the cooling sun in Vivienne’s loft. Relaxing, sure. She rarely had time to talk about the mundane with anyone.

By the time they got back from Orlais, chances are the snow would start to set in and it’d be Haven all over again. No more crunching leaves under boots or the off-chance she’d see a stray cat lounging on a window sill, just the freezing cold (well, more than usual at least) starting to set in to her bones and making her grateful she could get out of the mountains.

Then again, there’s also the impending doom of Corypheus.

But for now, she could enjoy the cool and crisp air whipping around the battlements, playing with her hair like flames fanned by the wind. She loves it, and there haven’t been enough moments as of late to take solace in what she likes. For the first time in weeks she’s actually sat down in her own desk, and for the first time in other weeks, she’s sat down with Josephine to go through every diplomatic issue she’d missed since she set out for the Arbor Wilds.

(They could not pay her enough to do that again, Inquisitor or not she did not have the attention span or willpower. There are still stacks of reports left for another date in her quarters. Under a paperweight, because she hasn’t gotten enough of the beautiful autumn breeze and has left the windows open. If a few blew away, well, nobody would be any the wiser.)

A door clicks open on her left, and she turns from scenic view of the snowy valley, pushing another rogue curl behind her ear and blowing another out of her face. Marzeyna had come up to the battlements mostly just to walk, but also to pull another diligent person away from his work, as she typically did whenever she was back in Skyhold. She smiles to herself anyway, as annoying as the rest of the world could be, at least she still had Cullen Rutherford by her side.

As tired as both of them have been as of late, it is still good to see him. Since they’d been decidedly moving further and further out from Skyhold, the more and more he had to deploy soldiers and the like. Another thing that not even Varric could pay her enough to do -- that wasn’t her favorite thing to do and she was not interested in learning.

“Long day?” She asks, leaning against the half wall while he runs a hand through his hair, “Looked like you could use a break.”

“I could, yes. Though--”

“Though nothing. Look how nice of a day it is out, it’s already autumn here.” Marzeyna replies, grinning.

That pulls a smile out of him, “That it is. I’d assume you like the change in weather?”

“Well, it’s no longer sweltering but it’s not freezing just yet either. Like a lull in the storm,” A leaf flutters up from one of the trees in the courtyard, dancing in the wind before disappearing back down the wall, “Relish in this, I’m sure we’ll come back to snow by the time Orlais has had it’s way with us.”

She nearly pouts at the smirk he gives her, mildly offended he’s taking amusement in her dislike of the coming snowfall, “Then the Inquisitor isn’t a fan of the winter months?”

“Just because you have the fluffy mantle and heavy armor doesn’t mean the rest of us can compensate nearly as easily,” She teases, just barely holding herself back from crossing her arms, “It gets so cold at night, there’s no using a fireplace to offset it.”

“Didn’t Josephine requisition more of the down blankets?” Genuine concern, that was sweet the way he asked.

“She did. But it’s also been weeks since I’ve been back in Skyhold. I got used to the warmth in the Wilds and the Plains,” She pulls at her overcoat as if to wrap it tighter around her. It wasn’t like she could drag them around the fortress either, collecting dirt and who knew what else on the tail of it. She really needed to find a proper coat that didn’t hinder her magic if she intended to make it through the winter, “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” Her look must be that sour that it’s at least amusing, “Fine then.”

Marzeyna pauses again, letting them bask in the quiet for a bit, admiring the changing colors of the leaves and wind blustering around them. It’s been nothing but fighting Venatori for the last few weeks, that and the undead and whatever giants they can imagine. No more running for now, and she’s not kept to Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian for company anymore (not that she doesn’t adore them, but...well). It’s good to just sit and acknowledge how much they’ve gotten done, how much things have changed. 

Cullen looks at peace at least, a far improvement from how he’d been just before she left the last time. He notices her smiling directly at him, and visibly flushes.

“I did...miss you,” She offers, pointedly looking up at him. She pulls her hair over her shoulder, standing properly again, “Were things okay while I was gone?”

He knows what she’s referring to -- more withdrawal symptoms, “Not as many, no. A minor improvement, I assure you. You needn’t worry.”

“I will worry regardless, Cullen, I don’t want you in pain,” Another pause, “But...that is good to hear.”

“Most likely only because you pushed to keep me off of it.”

“That was all you, and you know it. I can’t fight that battle for you, but you’re still winning it.” She offers. That much was true, she may have been another opinion in the situation, but he was recovering, little by little.

He sighs, glancing out to the horizon for just a moment, “Yes. I suppose you’re right, and I thank you for the strength to go on.”

“I do what I can,” She steps closer, gauging his reaction, “And yet? No one can quite replace you, as I’m finding. I was wanting to be back sooner than this -- letters are just not the same. Surely you understand?”

“As much as you love to write them.” He responds, surely referring to her inability to write the shorter reports than the others of the Inquisition are capable of. She likes to go on and on and doesn’t even realize it until she’s run out of parchment paper. Usually she only has enough room to squeeze in her own name at the bottom of the page in the loopiest handwriting.

“You read them?” She asks, surprised, and maybe a tad embarassed now -- considering they aren’t always the most academic. She would’ve thought they’d go directly to Leliana, considering just how much sneaking around they’ve done as of late, “I thought you were only getting the shorter ones.”

“The ones you send to me directly?” He smiles to himself, “Yes, I read those as well.”

An arm snakes around her waist, careful, tentative as she goes on, gently leaning into the touch and placing her hands on his chestplate, “You know it’s almost been a year, Cullen. Since all of this started, and now we’re here. Could you have imagined we got all of this done in such a short time?”

“It has been an experience, yes. Demons, Venatori, among other things. I don’t believe my past experiences would’ve prepared me exactly for that.” He responds, only slightly flinching when she leans her head against his chest.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything on what to do if demons started falling out the sky in the Templar instruction book?” She’s got such a stupid grin on her face again, but he chuckles anyway at her joke, “I’m surprised, they really didn’t teach you enough to be effective.”

“I don’t believe such a manual exists, but should you wish it, I’ll write one and distribute it to our Templar allies,” And now she’s chuckling herself, as halfway serious as he sounds. 

Oh why does she care for him so? A mage and a Templar, for Creators’ sake.

The humans’ Maker is probably throwing some sort of fit right now, wherever up in the sky He is.

“I’m serious though, Cullen. It seems like just yesterday Cassandra was content to yank me out of the chantry’s dungeon to force me to answer for the Divine’s death,” That was one downside to the mostly...interesting memories, “And here we are, such an international power that we’re being invited to make an appearance at the Winter Palace.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” He muses, “You’re a very capable leader, Lavellan.”

“I didn’t do half of this -- you know the Inquisition would simply fall apart if any of you just walked away,” She rolls her eyes, sighing, “I just close the rifts with the glowing hand, not much else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “You act as if this isn’t a result of your determination to save the world. It is. I would say you’re doing an admirable job.”

She highly doubts she would get the same flood of affection with anyone else, or that anyone else’s compliment would feel nearly as genuine as his does.

“Thank you, Cullen. We made it to Kingsway, I can’t say anything else about the rest of the year though. That’s decidedly still up in the air.”

Marzeyna feels distinctly...tingly. The good kind, like just before her magic would flare again during a fight, except the fight or flight response doesn’t accompany it. She’s just undeniably happy, and if anything arcane flickers under her fingertips, she doesn’t notice. Her ears are twitching though, probably moreso than usual when he presses a tentative kiss to her forehead.

It was much too pretty a day out, but she was content to rest her for just a moment, letting the world continue on. 

The wind gusts around them again, and she shivers, audibly chilled by the cold and trying to press herself further into his embrace, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek, “It’s much too cold out here.” Marzeyna barely keeps the whine out of her voice, she wasn’t a child, but she also didn’t feel as if she had to hide the fact she was having no fun dealing with the change in seasons from him either.

“Would you like to go inside then? You...could come and sit for while, there isn’t much work to be done this evening.” He offers.

“I...would like that. As long as you don’t want me reading any reports,” She makes a face, “I would be happy to spend the evening in your presence.”

[thdorkmagnet]

Movie Night

Just a quick fluffy Starco idea I had for Valentine’s Day, taking place in my “Light of the Sun and Stars” universe. This is also kinda a prequal to this. Hope you enjoy!

“Is it ready?!” a very excited voice squeaked from inside Star's room, followed by an infectious giggle.

“Hold on, Marco, it's still booting up,” came the joyful reply, as Star Butterfly watched her mirror screen slowly turning on, a loading bar currently the one thing occupying the bright screen. She held up the small remote that was supposed to somehow connect to her mirror and allow her to surf through the Mirror webs options from a short distance away. Star had her doubts about this though, sure she had heard rumors about humans being able to do this back on Earth but that was just one of those myths, like the superstitious Bigfoot... or indoor plumbing. Still, when Ferguson had personally given her one of Pixtopia's patented new technology to test out, she hadn't said no... though that was partially because Marco had snatched it out of the chubby king's hand faster than lightening, examining the device with his typical childlike wonder. So yeah, long story short, she had accepted Ferguson's gift without a word, anything to make her boyfriend happy.

And now was the perfect time to test the device out, the best night of the entire week: date night! Or “Friendship Thursdays” as the two sometimes called it. Regardless, Star was glad they had decided to form a regular routine of spending time together, life could get so hectic sometimes with her new commission up and going but knowing she had this to look forward to every week, kept her going and Star was sure Marco felt that way, too.

This week, the two had decided to just spend a quiet evening in Star's room, marathoning a bunch of movies and just enjoying some time alone, just the two of them. And everything was already prepared, snacks were made by Marco (Star was impressed, he was getting really good at cooking), the two were in their fluffiest and most comfortable pajamas they owned (Star in her pink bunny onesie and Marco in matching blue dog onesie), and they had even made a small pile of blankets and pillows, ready for the two to sink into and lose themselves to its warm embrace. That was if Star could ever get this stupid remote to work right!

She frowned, staring at the blinking red light on the device in confusion, turning to Marco (and ignoring how absolutely adorable he looked in his pjs) as she asked, “Did Ferguson say it's on when the light is blue or red?”

Marco shrugged. “He didn't say either, actually,” the boy replied thoughtfully. “Here let me look it up,” he added, before pulling out the small slip of paper Ferguson had given them, which was apparently supposed to be their instructions but Marco was having trouble deciphering the multiple diagrams that coated the paper, cocking his head to the side as he tried to read the tiny print on the sheet. “Um, I think if it turns blue your connected.”

Both teens eyes switched to the remote that was still brightly flashing red and the girl let out a frustrated groan. “Ugh, stupid remote! Why won't you work?!” She then slammed it down on her desk, crossing her arms in frustration before saying to the boy, “Let's just try something else, okay? This things clearly just a piece of junk.”

But that was when the remote miraculously decided to light up blue and the mirror screen's image switched to that of a selection screen, waiting for their input. The two turned back to the remote in both shock and awe, the two leaning closer and closer to it until their eyes were level with the desk. “It worked,” Marco whispered.

“Huh, how about that?” Star said still in slight disbelief, before locking eyes with Marco.

The boy just shrugged again. “Guess it just needed a little force?”

“Well whatever happened, it's working now,” Star said, picking the remote up off the desk, waving it around in her hands while saying dramatically, “So let date night officially begin!”

“Yeah!” Marco screamed, before immediately running over and plopping down onto the soft pile of cushions, his body looking small amidst the depths of fluff he was currently drowning in and Star couldn't help but gush over how cute her boyfriend looked in that moment. She quickly joined him, the couple's arms touching as they leaned in close to one another, soaking in the other's presence. “Okay, so what are we watching first?” Marco asked giddily, his eyes shining as they stared over at the magic mirror.

Star stared at her bestie for a moment in silence, taking in his joy and enthusiasm before he eventually turned to her with a look of surprise on his face. “Star?” he asked, wondering why she had frozen up like that. “Is everything okay?”

Star shook her head, giving him a loving smile which made her hearts glow a little bit brighter. “Yeah, I was just thinking that you should decide what we watch,” she explained before holding the remote out for him to take.

The boy's eyes widened, staring down at the remote with hesitation and awe, acting as if she was bestowing some ancient relic or great power onto him, instead of just some device that made searching through her magic mirror possible. He looked up at her and then back to the remote and then back to her, as if making sure it was alright. “Really?” he finally breathed out, his eyes shimmering like Star's namesake.

The girl nodded, holding in her giggle. “Of course, Marco,” she said flirtingly. “I trust you.”

That caused the boy to blush beat red and grin ear to ear, as he finally accepted the small device, his eyes examining the smooth surface in wonderment. Star just watched his every movement in fascination and love, finding her Marco's every action infinitely more entertaining than any movie. Finally, though the boy snapped to his sense, as he actually trying to figure out how to work this strange, new device, squinting in intense concentration, determined not to mess up his task. Luckily, these buttons were labeled which made it easy to figure out, the boy (fairly) confidently pressing buttons on the remote, his eyes on the screen as he scrolled through their list of options.

Okay, what to watch? He thought to himself, his eyes never leaving the screen as he read the titles of the many movies there. But the sheer number of names quickly overwhelmed him and he decided to switch instead to list of movie genres to help make it easier. Let's see... dramas? No pass. Animal movies? No way, the last one of those he had watched had left him in tears for weeks after the dog died at the end. Horror? Marco shuddered. Definitely no! Action? The boy paused, before clicking on this file, curious to see if they had what he was looking for. And after less than a minute of scrolling the boy's eyes lit up with joy as he spotted a whole list of Mackie Hand movies. He had seen one of two of them before with the girls and had quickly fallen in love with these movies. They were incredible and action-packed and just everything he ever wanted out of a movie! And now there were so many to choose from. “How about one of these?” he asked his girlfriend, hoping she would approve of his pick.

Star turned her attention onto the screen, giving it a quizzical look. “'Hand to Hand', 'The Spy Who Punched Me', 'Talk to the Hand',” she read, before turning to her boyfriend with a raised brow. “What are all of these?”

“They're Mackie Hand movies,” Marco explained. But seeing her look of confusion, quickly added, “Y'know Star, the super cool Earth fighter from that one movie we watched where he punched a shark out of the water-”

“Ahhh,” Star said, nodding her head now. “Right, almost forgot about that.” She gave her boyfriend a loving smile as she said, “Well I'm up for whatever you want.”

Marco grinned goofily, before selecting the first movie on the list, placing the remote to his side  before settling down closer to Star, the two cuddling close as the opening scene of the movie started up, their cheekmarks glowing bright with both anticipation and joy at just being able to spend time together.

…

A little while later, the two were snacking on popcorn as they watched Mackie Hand quickly defending himself from thirty angry thugs, the karate master making quick work of his opponents without even breaking a sweat. “Wow, he's so amazing,” Marco muttered in awe, snuggling a little bit closer to Star, his head now resting on her shoulder and her arm wrapped around his waist.

“Yeah, this is pretty good,” Star agreed, surprised by how much she was enjoying herself. I mean, sure spending time with Marco was always a plus but the movie was actually surprisingly entertaining in its own right, finding it pretty exciting as the main character beat down hordes of opponents with nothing but his bare fists. It was a bit cheesy but it kinda gave it a very unique style that made it a fun watch.

“You will never defeat me, Mackie Hand!” the one-dimensional villain of this movie said, pointing an accusing finger at the title character. “I will soon have the power crystal and will turn the whole world into a new ice age!”  He then laughed evilly as cheesy, movie villains tended to do but Mackie Hand didn't even flinch before saying triumphantly, “Not today, Ice King!” The hero then jumped at his opponent, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Tiiiigggger Kick!” before smashing his foot hard into his enemies gut, the man falling back, gasping for breath and clutching his stomach.

“Ugh, you. Have. Defeated. Me.” the man said before falling unconscious, Mackie Hand now standing triumphantly over him.

“Looks like I just put your plans, on ice,” Mackie Hand said, causing Marco to burst out into laughter. Then the credits began scrolling onto the screen and the young couple shared a look, Marco asking, “So next one?”

“Go for it.”

…

“Yeah, get 'em Mackie!” Star screamed, pumping her fists into the air as she watched the action movie hero, deep in a brawl with a highly trained ninja assassin, narrowly dodging the swinging katana in the fiend's hands.

“Take him down!” Marco cheered alongside his girlfriend, equally as excited by the fight as his blond bestie. But the two gasped as they saw the villain of this movie holding Mackie Hand's love interest over the edge of the building, the woman releasing a loud scream and fighting to escape the roped bound around her. “Oh no Maria!” the two screamed as one, clutching onto each other with fear.

“Oh no Maria, my love!” Mackie Hand exclaimed.

“Give up now, Hand,” the villain sneered. “Or your love dies!”

“No, I will never surrender to the likes of you!” Mackie screamed, before leaping forward and swiftly knocking his opponent out before jumping off the building and catching the woman out of mid-air, landing gracefully landing on the ground with her in his arms.

The two teens cheered, hugging each other tight as they watched Mackie Hand making out with the love of his life. “Awww,” the two cooed as one, their cheeks squished up against one another.

…

Marco was now almost in Star's lap, the girl's arms wrapped around him, as he watched in fear as his hero stood in front of an alleyway, where a group of ninja watched him, just out of sight. All of them held a pair of ninja stars ready to be rid of their opponent before he even knew what was coming. “Don't do it, Mackie,” Marco whispered, his body shaking in fear. “It's a trap.”

Star just smiled at her boyfriend's cuteness but kept her eyes on the screen. The man slowly began walking down the alley and Marco's shaking grew worse, his eyes in capable of growing any wider.

That was when a pair of ninja jumped out of the shadows out of nowhere, flying toward Mackie Hand, swords raised in strike, and Marco screamed, jumping in surprise as he was now fully in Star's lap, his arms wrapped around her neck and his legs tucked up to his chest.

Star tried to hold back her giggle at the boy's adorable reaction but failed to, laughing to herself as she held the boy in a tight, comforting embrace, Marco's eyes never leaving the screen as he watched Mackie Hand make quick work of his opponents.

…

“Come on! Come on!” Marco screamed, leaning forward in anticipation as he watched his favorite character of all time trying and failing to fight off his opponent, nothing working at all to stop him not even his famous 'Tiger Kick' capable of breaking through his enemie's massive armor. He was in a rough spot, probably the roughest he had ever been in and Marco couldn't help but bit his lip in fear that his hero wasn't going to make it through. Star was busy eating the remains of their popcorn, her eyes shimmering with intrigue but otherwise staying pretty calm. After all, she doubted they would kill off Mackie Hand, it just didn't seem likely.

Finally in one last desperate attack, Mackie Hand charged forward with a loud yell, drawing his fist back before slamming it hard into his opponent the guy going flying backward, before the screen was consumed by a massive explosion, the karate master standing in a dramatic pose as the bright flash of flames rained down around him. Marco screamed and flew to his feet, knocking Star's popcorn over in his haste and sending it flying. But Star didn't notice nor care, laughing her head off as her bestie began cheering and jumping around the room, doing little fist pumps and imitating the action hero with his own weak little punches. “Aw, man that was so awesome! Mackie Hand is the best!”

“Hang on, Marco, there's still more,” the girl managed to choke out around fists of laughter and the boy gasped before falling back onto the pile of cushions, his eyes already shimmering with joy and his cheek marks spinning with excitement. “Play it, play it!” he screamed.

And Star did just that.

…

The sun was beginning to rise on Mewni, signaling a new day, as the sleepy Mewmans slowly began to awaken and go about their day. Jackie and Janna walked side by side through the hallway, heading toward Star's room, as the skater asked her friend , “So how do you think date night went?”

“Well considering all the screaming and cheering I could hear from my room, I would say pretty well,” the creepy teen replied.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “You could not hear if from our room. You just snuck out and listened in again, didn't you?” the skater asked accusingly.

Janna shrugged, not denying it. “Maybe,” was all she replied, before adding, “But they were pretty loud.”

“What do you think they were watching?” Jackie asked curiously.

“I don't know, let's ask them,” Janna said, the two now at their friends door. They slowly cracked it open, sticking their heads inside, taking in the scene before them. The magic mirror was still on, a scene of some muscular guy punching people playing on the screen. And sprawled out on a pile of pillows and blankets were Star and Marco, the two curled up around each other in a comfortable and protective embrace, cuddling each other with looks of pure joy on their faces.

Jackie and Janna smiled and shared a look, before closing the door, leaving the two alone to finish the rest of their date in peace.

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 4, Part 5

Table of Contents | Previous: Chapter 4, Part 4

“Yui, let’s go take a look outside.”

“...Yeah, good idea.”

The quickest way outside would be through the double doors, but since our shoes were in the entryway, we had to circle back through the mansion. Leaving the crime scene, we passed through the hallway to the main building.

Numerous pairs of leather shoes were lined up in the entryway, all belonging to the police officers. Finding my own shoes wasn’t a walk in the park.

Before grabbing her own pair, Kyoko peeked inside the shoes of the five guests.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking their shoe sizes.”

Yadorigi - 11.5 in Yaki - 11 in Shirasu - 10.5 in Kakitsubata - 9.5 in Mizuiyama - 8.5 in

“Are shoe sizes that important? You’ve been oddly interested in them.”

“They may be one of the few pieces of evidence that will help us corner the killer.”

She sounded steadfast in her belief, but I couldn’t possibly imagine how shoes were related to the case.

We grabbed our shoes and headed towards a separate door to the courtyard. The moment we opened it, a piercing chill assailed us while flakes of snow fluttered in. Although the snowfall was fairly light, the frigid weather had caused it to slowly accumulate.

I pulled out a flashlight from my backpack and turned it on. A pale circle of light shined onto the snow.

“It’s freezing... Kyoko, come closer.” I latched onto her right arm and we braved the snow together.

We walked down the narrow path between the main building and the dojo. The police had left behind countless footprints over the course of the investigation.

I peeked in the barred windows of the dojo. It would be impossible to make out anything if the lights were off, so nobody could have seen anything when the victim was being killed. On the other hand, the culprit would be forced to commit the murder while deprived of sight...

We continued down the path to the backyard. Like in the courtyard, multiple sets of footprints dotted the snow. Before the police arrived, however, we confirmed that the snow was undisturbed.

The temperature steadily dropped. The howl of the wind was accompanied by the sound of flowing water coming from somewhere beyond the dense bamboo thicket surrounding the backyard.

We hopped over the waist-high fence and followed the sound of the water through the bamboo until we reached the edge of a perilous cliff. My legs froze up as I stared down the steep cliff face.

“One wrong step and I could’ve fallen in...”

It was about a 15 to 20 foot drop into the ravine. I shined my flashlight downwards, revealing a swiftly flowing river at the bottom. Anyone who fell in would surely meet their doom.

We reversed course through the bamboo and went back over the fence.

“Yui, look.” Kyoko pointed to one of the fence’s horizontal planks. I shined the light on it.

There was a fresh scratch on the top of the plank, probably left behind by a wire of some sort. No other part of the fence had snow shaved off.

“Maybe this is related to the murder,” I commented.

Kyoko turned towards the mansion. Straight across the backyard was the dojo entrance. Minutes earlier, we had tried pushing open those double doors. They were completely shut now. Although the doors opened outwards, the small elevated covered porch outside would prevent them from disturbing the snow. Still, anyone hoping to reach the main building from there would leave a trail of footprints.

We moved onto the porch and turned around to face the backyard. To our right was the main building and the path leading to the courtyard.

I shined the flashlight to our left, illuminating a stream and a water mill.

“Wow, it’s a water wheel!” The old-fashioned machine astonished me. The darkness had prevented me from noticing it before.

The stream stretched through the bamboo thicket down to the ravine, but in the middle of winter, the water was frozen solid. The water wheel stood perfectly still. Judging from the thick icicles hanging from it, it was probably out of commission for the entire winter.

“Let’s look inside the mill,” Kyoko suggested, narrowing her eyes to protect them from the wind.

“Huh...? Is there something in there?”

“We’re going to find out.”

We huddled together and headed for the mill. The entrance was across a small bridge, on the other side of the stream. The stream was no more than three feet wide, so it wasn’t impossible to jump across.

Flanked by bamboo, the thatched-roof water mill would look suspicious even in daytime. Yet, under the veil of night, it appeared more likely to house profound secrets.

“It’s not like an assassin will ambush us... right?”

“Don’t say scary things,” Kyoko said with a blank expression.

I opened the rickety wooden door and swung the light around like a weapon. A millstone normally powered by the water wheel rested in the center of the room. Shovels, brooms, and other garden tools were stowed away in a corner. Nothing stood out as particularly dangerous.

However, one object caught my eye. A jack resembling a giant spring, a tool that people would use to lift up a car when changing tires.

Kyoko pulled it out from the corner. It was light enough for her to carry by herself. Something like that would ordinarily be stored in the trunk of a car, but it didn’t seem particularly out of place here.

“Figure something out?”

“Yes, this seems usable.”

She walked out of the mill with jack in hand and went to investigate the water wheel.

“It’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it?” I trudged up to Kyoko while exhaling warm air onto my numb fingers. “Snow, a water wheel, and a katana are three perfect tools to concoct a murder trick with.”

“...Right.” She sounded uninterested and changed the topic. “Look at these giant icicles.”

“Want one? I’ll break off the biggest one for you.”

“No need.”

“Come on, I’ll grab the second biggest for myself and we can have a fencing match.”

“Don’t.” She shook her head. “These icicles are important pieces of evidence.”

“Huh...? These icicles?”

“Yes.” Kyoko had on her usual look of pride. I bet she had wanted to hide it, but it was plainly visible on her face.

“Does that mean you’ve solved the locked room trick?”

“Yes. The answer is clear,” she replied with a composed expression.

Even though we had witnessed the exact same things, I had absolutely nothing figured out. I was supposed to be the detective for this case...

“Look carefully at this icicle. Notice the white line running across the middle?”

“Oh, I see it!”

“This is immovable evidence of the trick.”

“...R-Really?”

The line could have resulted from reattaching the separated faces of an icicle that was snapped off horizontally. But I had no idea what that could mean. The water wheel wasn’t moving, and the stream was frozen over.

Seeking refuge from the cold, we crossed the yard and returned to the mansion. Although the interior wasn’t warm by any means, it was substantially more comfortable than being outside. We walked down the hallway with our shoes in hand.

“I’ve figured out the trick behind the locked room, but it’ll take quite some time to identify the culprit.”

“How long?”

“To hear and corroborate everyone’s complete accounts, three days, at the very least...”

“We don’t have that kind of time!”

“I know. I wanted to solve this case entirely with logic, but considering the time limit, taking shortcuts is inevitable,” she said, narrowing her determined eyes.

We gathered Yadorigi, Yaki, Kakitsubata, Mizuiyama, and several officers in the dojo.

The clock had struck two in the morning. Everyone looked exhausted aside from Kyoko, who managed to look as cool and composed as usual.

“Now... What did Mr. Ryuuzouji say?” one of the officers asked politely, still viewing us as Ryuuzouji’s messengers.

Kyoko started to speak. “This case appears fairly complex, but the murder trick was actually quite simple.”

“Is that Mr. Ryuuzouji’s assessment, or your own?”

Kyoko ignored the interruption and continued. “All doors leading here were sealed from the inside with rubber bands. This severely restricted them from opening—it took the full strength of a grown man to create a small gap.”

“Yes, and we used that gap to sever the rubber bands and enter the room,” Yadorigi added.

“That begs the question—why did the killer use rubber bands, instead of a sturdy chain or wire? When you dive into that, the mystery of the locked room begins to unravel.”

“Hmm... Why don’t you show us how it was done?” an officer requested.

Giving Kyoko free rein over the scene, the police officers stepped away from the door. In her hand were the previously severed rubber bands, now restored to their original condition.

“The illusion of the locked room is reinforced by making everyone believe the doors were sealed firmly shut. But in reality, by employing the properties of rubber, the killer created a very flimsy locked room.”

“A flimsy locked room—I see.”

The officers nodded in understanding, swiftly scribbling down notes into their handbooks.

The four suspects remained silent, watching attentively as Kyoko continued her demonstration.

“First, sometime after three in the afternoon, the killer called Suntetsu Shirasu into this dojo. I don’t know how they invited him here, but once the two of them were alone, the killer put the victim to sleep. We can only hypothesize what might have happened. The victim may have been offered some food or drink laced with drugs, or forced to inhale an anesthetic or laughing gas. Regardless, the killer needed to render the victim unconscious.”

“Would that really work?” Yaki crossed his arms. “Why jump through so many hoops? Why not off the guy then and there?”

“That would draw unwanted suspicion. The killer devised the locked room trick to deflect suspicion away from themselves.”

“The hell was this trick they used?”

“Here’s how it happened.” Kyoko linked her hands behind her back and faced the double doors in the back of the room. “First, the killer sealed off the doors to the backyard with rubber bands. They could have simply locked the door, but they used rubber bands to not make the other sealed door look out of place—in other words, to make the locked room feel consistent.”

“So the door to the hallway is the key to the trick, right?” I asked.

She nodded. “Next, the killer moved the two suits of armor to the center of the room. They were no more than red herrings, meant to redirect the police into investigating the death as a suicide. In fact, the police had fallen for that trap.”

“Considering the facts, we had no reason to believe otherwise,” one of the officers said with a look of shame.

“Everything went according to the killer’s plan. As long as the locked room remained a locked room, none of the suspects could be thought guilty. Additionally, no outsider could possibly exist. The theory of suicide naturally arose, and it was plausible enough.”

“There have been cases where suicides were disguised as murders for life insurance fraud, though it’s rare for a victim to set up the scene themselves. But none of that applies to this case, right?”

“Correct. Besides, assuming the victim wished to disguise his death as a homicide, there would be no reason to turn this into a locked room. Doing so would make murder appear less likely. Indeed, this case is not one of those cases.”

“Then was this really a locked room murder?” I asked. “I can’t see how anyone could’ve done it...”

“Nope. It’s possible for one person among us.”

The police officers instantly turned towards the four suspects. Yadorigi, Yaki, Kakitsubata, and Mizuiyama glanced at each other with panicked faces.

“There’s nothing difficult about it. The killer simply took advantage of the flimsy locked room. First, between ten and eleven, they stabbed the unconscious victim, making sure some blood splattered onto the armor as evidence supporting the theory of suicide. Next, they placed this jack in the doorway before wrapping rubber bands around the doorknob and a hook on the wall.”

She inserted the jack we found in the mill into the gap of the slightly ajar door. The gap was about the width of a fist.

“They wound the rubber bands as tightly as possible and then used the jack to pry open the door.”

She operated the jack, and the gap slowly widened. The rubber bands were stretched thin, but they didn’t snap. Once the gap had gotten quite big, she stopped.

“This is the limit.”

“But that’s only big enough for a child to fit through...”

Kyoko could probably squeeze through. It didn’t seem possible for me.

Out of the four suspects, only one person was small enough.

“Ms. Mizuiyama, please try squeezing through the gap,” one of the officers urged, grabbing her elbow.

She refused, frantically shaking her head and yelling in a shrill voice, “N-No, it wasn’t me!”

“Come on, it’s just an experiment. See if you fit.”

“This is nonsense,” she wailed, drawing closer to Kyoko with a look of frenzy. “Are you trying to frame me? Even if I’m the only one who could use the jack to leave the room, I was with everyone during the murder! If you’re accusing me, how do you explain the noise we heard?”

“That noise could easily be faked.” Kyoko rebutted. She gave me a small nod.

As I had been instructed, I took out my cell phone and dialed a number. Not a moment later, a phone lying on the floor by the armor started vibrating.

“For example, if you had two phones, you could leave one here and trigger its ringtone by calling it. By setting the ringtone as that noise ahead of time, you could make it sound like the victim was being killed at that moment. While we were distracted by the corpse, you could retrieve the phone.”

“N-No... It wasn’t me!”

“Save it for the station.” Two officers grabbed Mizuiyama’s arms and led her out of the room.

As if still in disbelief, Yadorigi, Yaki, and Kakitsubata stared dumbfoundedly as Mizuiyama disappeared through the door.

“I can’t believe it was her...” Yaki looked flustered. “Didn’t seem like that kinda person at all. Man, women are scary.”

And thus, the locked room murder at the Takeda Haunted Mansion came to an end.

Immediately afterwards, the police demanded that everyone leave the mansion. Two policemen remained at the front gate to stand guard, but the other officers left with us.

The police offered a lift to anyone without a way of getting back. Kyoko and I rode in one police car, while Yaki rode in another. Although the police reassured him they weren’t bringing him to the station to be questioned, Yaki was so shaken that he wouldn’t stop talking.

“Hey, Kyoko, is Mizuiyama really the killer?” I asked as we sat in the back of the police car. “I feel like there’s a lot that hasn’t been explained...”

“The police should be finishing up their questioning and releasing her right about now.”

“Huh?”

“I asked the police to help me put on an act. She’s not the culprit. I believe the true killer intentionally prepared the jack as a trap to mislead the detective into thinking it was used.”

No doubt, that was the theory I had jumped to. Actually, I had been ready to wrap up the case before even stumbling upon that trap, and I was summoned as the detective. Moving forward, would I really be okay?

“It isn’t usually my style, but I set a trap of my own. Without the time to gather evidence to properly reason things through, I had no other choice.”

Moments later, our police car made a U-turn and headed back to the mansion.

Next: Chapter 4, Part 6