#for me crossing the Hate line seems to come with active yearning to see these people suffer violent consequences for being so evil

[kobbers]

I was raised under the mantra of "we don't say HATE, we DISLIKE [thing, person, etc]." And my whole life I've never butted up against this much, because I'm naturally very laid back and enjoy feeling in control emotionally. I'm much more open to extreme joy than extreme sadness or anger, though I have trouble expressing any of them effectively outside of art.

Lately something has given way inside me and I've truly begun to Hate a smattering of very stupid, very evil, very powerful men. It's an ugly feeling I don't like at all, but I also concede it's probably the most correct one.

The fact that Raph is invading my sketches again lately is a coincidence, I'm sure.

[shootingstarwritings]

Eight Pleas on a Starry Night

Eight Cups a Day

Eight Memories a Minute

All that this creature knew from the moment of its "birth," was to consume. The moment it first began to understand "itself" and "the world," it absorbed whatever was in front of it. Just as babes from the womb yearn for their mother's womb, these slimes feast upon segments of their host's brains. There was no thought and no malice behind; instead, it was pure instinct. Consume and assimilate as much as the host's brain would allow until complete takeover.

The moment this creature, now male due to his host, opened his eyes, he saw the sight of another looking at him with emotion the creature couldn't quite understand just yet. However, through pure instinct and the slight connection they shared as a species, he knew that this was his brother. “Ah, hello,” he greeted with pure innocence.

“H-Hey,” his brother responded, sounding not unlike the people the creature saw in his host’s memories. How skillful was he at hiding amongst these humans? “D-Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? What’s your name?” Now, he spoke aggressively, but alongside another set of emotions.

Not wanting to disappoint his brother, the creature said, “I do not recall,” with complete assurance. “I seem to be quite adept at assimilating my host’s memories, unfortunately. It looks as though I cannot be a unit that can infiltrate any of these people.”

His brother shut his eyes, as though he had swallowed something harsh, before saying, “You are Nolan. Your name is Nolan.”

“Nolan. Understood.”

“And I’m F-Forde. My name is Forde.” Forde took a deep breath, his hand brushing up against Nolan’s. Then, he intertwined their fingers together. “Do you really not remember me? When we looked at the stars together?"

Nolan shook his head. “Am I supposed to? I am sorry if I am not up to your standards, brother.” Squeezing Forde’s hand—was it his host’s natural response?—Nolan said, “I will do better in the future. Do not worry.”

Forde nodded as he drew his hand back to his chest. There was an emotion on Forde’s face that Nolan did not recognize, so he ignored it.

The creature inside of Alan stared up at the summer night. He had a fleeting thought of the few stars that shined despite the town's light pollution and wondered if that was where he and his kin came from. However, he quickly dismissed that line of thought. It was not important for their invasion, so it was unnecessary. He was reeling from these useless thoughts that continued to plague him ever since the day he emerged from the sea.

Most of his brothers had perished when he had managed to infect Forde. He could only convert one person and implant his sole offspring before his brothers, unable to speak to him and cry for help, dried up. All he could do now was ignore any sort of sentimentalism that burdened him and press on forward.

“I am an invader,” the invader said to himself, floating naked on the surface of the pool. “Then, why do I have these regrets?”

Regret was a sentiment that his host, Alan, was familiar with. Words left unsaid, arguments he couldn't take back, and a life that was snuffed due to a misunderstanding. The list was long but also faded. By now, the invader had engulfed most of Alan's memories, so there was very little he could recall with any clarity. All he could see was a series of faded images.

It mattered little, the invader decided. The lingering feelings didn’t matter. All that was important was to breed and infect. That was the final purpose they had.

“Alan, there’s someone at the door.”

Ah, that was unexpected. Alan swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out. “Do you know who it is, brother?”

He nodded. “It’s your friend—or rather, it’s your host’s friend,” said Forde. “He texted you, and I responded, and one thing left to another...” he said, nonchalantly while pointing his thumb to the front of the house. “And now he’s here. You gonna…?”

“I’ll have to infect him,” said the invader as he dried himself off. “There’s nothing else that can be done.”

“Right, well Nolan is by the door if you need any assistance.”

The invader raised an eyebrow. “Will you not help me?”

“I'm sorta tired if we're being honest. Maybe some other time?" Forde said with a shrug and a grin.

The invader narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything in response. He walked past Forde, but stopped right before crossing the doorway. “You are my offspring, and yet you are so different from your brother and myself. Why is that?” There was far too much personality, whether from the host or from the possessor itself. It was odd.

Forde’s gaze grew distant. “I wonder why myself,” he muttered. “But never mind that. Your friend’s in the front, and Nolan’s in position to help you infect him.”

“And your family? The ones who own this home?”

“Won’t be back until Monday. We’ve got plenty of time.”

The invader had suspicions rise, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. There were more pressing matters to attend to. “Please, watch over your siblings.” The invader didn’t wait for a response. He processed the information carefully and he dried off and dressed.

“Alan, hey!” Forde was right. A friend of Alan, a great deal younger—about middle-aged—stood in front of the doorway. The invader could not access much of Alan's memories, so the man was a stranger to him. However, he was knowledgeable enough to recognize the glint in the man's eyes.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Came as soon as I could,” the man said, smiling brightly as he spoke to Alan. “Said you needed my help? Say, what’s this place anyway? How come you’re here?” With narrowed eyes, the man leaned in and whispered, “Ain’t that kid a li’l too young for you? Seems kinda weird if you ask me.”

Alan shook his head. “He’s a family friend. Said he needed help moving a couch. Could you help me?”

The suspicion in the man’s eyes cleared, and he eagerly nodded. “Sure! I’ll give you hand. Lead the way.”

[LINE BREAK]

Forde was panting by the time he entered the house again. What he walked into didn’t surprise him, but he still had to fight the urge to gag.

“Hello, nngg, Forde!” Nolan greeted him as he fucked Alan’s convulsing friend. “This one has almost finished his conversion. Would you like to assist me?"

“I think I’ll pass,” Forde said, grimacing. His eyes lingered on the man before turning over to the sleeping Alan on the couch. “Alan’s asleep?”

“Yes, mmm. He-fuck—s-said creating so many offspring has left him exhausted. Will probably sleep until the party tomorrow.”

The party…

Forde took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing. “Nolan, when you’re… finished, meet me in my room, all right?”

“Which—“

“The one closest to the bathroom. You can’t miss it.”

“Right."

Forde lied back on his bed, attempting to erase the image of Nolan happily plowing another man’s ass out of his head. There was no doubt that what he had seen was the truth, but it carried such wrongness to it that he couldn’t help to wind back to it. Nothing about Nolan seemed to have remained. The chipper friendliness and eagerness to please was something that would have disgusted Nolan and now it disgusted Forde. Not even the memories were there. At most, the one possessing Nolan could remember some family members, last name, and his street address.

Everything else, including that night under the stars, was gone.

“Is this my punishment?” asked Forde, unsure if God would answer the pleas of a parasite. “Is this what I deserve for killing Forde?" That sin would remain with him for the rest of his life. It didn't matter if he believed he was Forde and inherited the name, the body, and the memories, the original was gone. If Forde ever left this body, it would remain a hollow husk. The organs would function, but there would be no brain activity. It would be no different than a vegetable.

Yet, Forde could not deny his greedy nature—as a parasite and a man. I still want to be happy, he thought. God, Alan, and the world itself can shame and hate me for it, but I still want to live a happy life. He knew how shameless that desire was, but did not care. The pain and pleasure that he has known in his short time as a human only stroked the hungry flames that burned in his heart.

The door opened, and Nolan walked in, still naked. “I am here, brother,” he announced, as though it wasn’t obvious.

Forde drew the sheets back and scooted to the side of the bed. “Close the door, and lie with me.”

“Hmm? Will we be sleeping on the same bed?”

“Yeah. Keep me company for tonight, will ya?”

“I see no reason to decline.” Without any shame, Nolan lied right next Forde. Their bare shoulders were touching, but only one of them understood the implications,

“Nolan, do you remember what happened when we went camping that night?”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Forde, preparing himself. His hand was trembling, and he was sweating all over. Why couldn’t he calm himself? “Could you… Could you do me a favor, br-brother…?” When Nolan said yes, Forde nearly sobbed. After a deep, uneven breath, he said, “Please, gather yourself in your host’s mouth. I have to show you something.”

Unquestionably, Nolan did so. He opened his mouth, the blue slime lying on top of his tongue. Even in that form, he looked completely innocent.

Forde ripped over the packet of salt and poured it on his own tongue, cringing from the taste. Then, he leaned over and kissed Nolan’s lips before swiftly drawing back, the aftertaste of the salt lingering in his now empty mouth. The effect was immediate.

Nolan’s body began to violently convulse. “Wh-What did you d-do?!” Nolan cried out, spitting out the salt and now bits of foam. “Br-Brother?!” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and spat out more and more foam—the remains of his desiccated body. Forde shut his eyes and covered his ears.

Just like snails and slugs, their species would dry out when their real forms were exposed to concentrated amounts of salt due to osmosis. Even though they originated from the ocean, the intense amount of salt would still kill them. It only due to Forde’s biology degree that he could figure that out. And because of that, he knew that there was a chance Alan didn’t know that, either. This was his only weapon… the only thing he had to stop the invasion.

And yet…

Forde jumped as Nolan grabbed his arm in desperation. He opened his eyes and the image burned itself into his memory. He was dying. Nolan, the slime, whatever, was dying. Because of him. Because of what Forde did. He’s just a parasite, a murderer, Forde kept thinking as the convulsing began to cease. “I had to, I had to...” he kept muttering to himself, even as tears trailed down his cheeks.

He was a murderer just like me.

Now, he was staring at Nolan’s still-breathing body. There was no life in his eyes, but his chest still rose and fell, and his mouth was still agape. The slime, his brother, was gone. And Nolan was gone too. Two more lives that Forde had snuffed out, and tomorrow he would have to do it again.

He tried to smile. “Nolan...” he said, embracing the brain-dead husk. “Nolan, Nolan… Nolan… I love you,” he said, caressing Nolan’s unmoving face. “I saved you, I did it… you’re okay now.” Forde pressed his face on Nolan’s left pectoral. His heart continued to beat despite how empty it was. “You’re free, you’re okay. I k-killed the parasite, I did it for you…! So, you’ll forgive me, right?” There was no response, no matter how much Forde pleaded. However, he continued. "Please, please tell me you'll forgive me. You and Forde will forgive me, right? Please, please, for the love of God, please help me...”

Neither God nor Nolan answered him that night.

[angelictaehyun]

PAIRING: guardian angel!taehyun x fem!reader

GENRE: guardian angel au, soulmate au, fluff, angst

WC. 4,700+

WARNINGS: minor alcohol usage, mild language, recklessness, and illegal activity (egging an ex’s house because y/n’s a dumbass)

SYNOPSIS: Kang Taehyun, a sassy, young guardian angel, didn’t think anyone could be more of an absolute mess… boy, was he mistaken.

PART ONE || PART TWO || INTERLUDE || PART THREE

.

For an angel, Taehyun was quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass. It had been half a year since you first met him and despite your many, many impressive effort, you couldn’t escape him—his presence both overwhelming and never-ending. Much to your dismay, you were attached at the hip. It was simple, wherever you went, he followed. He constantly hovered over you, his beautiful, round eyes always filled with slight judgement and concern. 

It was always: “No, Y/N, you can’t keep drinking coffee as a meal replacement,” or “It’s pretty chilly outside, you should put something else on,” and of course, your favorite, “Don’t you think that’s too much butter to put on pasta?”

You didn’t ask for his opinion, not even once, yet he gave it to you anyways. 

But as much as you hated to admit, having him around wasn’t the absolute worst. 

You enjoyed living with someone else. You had been on your own for far too long and it was starting to get lonely. As annoying as he was, you began to feel very… comfortable. His incessant judgment was absolutely maddening but you couldn’t help notice the calm, blissful feeling that washed over you when he was in your presence. 

It was a feeling you welcomed with open arms. 

· ──────────────────── ·

It had been at least a month since you last gave your ex-boyfriend, Yeonjun, a proper thought. You were too busy trying to keep yourself from fighting a literal angel, an issue you never thought you’d ever have. You were happy to say that Yeonjun was becoming a mere, insignificant memory—until you went grocery shopping the following week. 

You were mindlessly hunched over the shopping cart as Taehyun diligently scanned the food label of a cereal box. 

“Are you sure you want Frosted Flakes? There’s so much sugar in just one serving, there is no way this can be good for you. And just look at the tiger on the box! Tony? Tony the Tiger? He seems suspicious and I don’t like his stance. If he were real, I’d definitely throw these han-” he promptly cut off as he saw your body still. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, waving his massive hand in front of your face.

When you didn’t respond, he followed your gaze only to be met with a tall mess of blond hair standing next to a much smaller girl. They seemed as if they were in their own little world, giggling and sharing shy smiles as they shopped. Taehyun knew it was Yeonjun, and he was almost positive the girl next to him was the same person he cheated on you with. Taehyun trained your eyes back onto your broken figure and saw the way you tried holding back a breakdown—the dull ache in his heart mirroring your own perfectly. 

The happy couple didn’t notice your presence and before they could, Taehyun was dragging you into the dairy aisle.

“Y/N, look at me,” he pleaded softly. 

His eyes searched your blank face for any sort of emotion but all he saw was the pain you held in your eyes. He reached for your hand and when you didn’t respond, he pulled you against his chest in a tight embrace. Over the past couple of months, you both had grown so incredibly close. Despite all the irritation you caused each other, you both slowly began to seek each other’s touch for comfort no matter how small. When you watched TV, your head would always be on his lap as he played with your hair. When he cooked, you were by his side, resting your head on his shoulder. When you grew tired, he would hold you against his chest and stroke your hair, lulling you to sleep. You don’t know when either of you crossed the unspoken line of love, but neither of you wanted to go back. 

At that moment though, he knew you needed comfort. You might not have loved Yeonjun anymore, but it still hurt. Taehyun pressed a kiss to the crown of head, the act feeling completely natural to him at this point in your confusing relationship. Your body relaxed, just slightly, as he ran his hand down your back. When you pulled away, he gave you a shy, dimpled smile, and your heart twitched, except it was with longing instead of pain. 

The car ride home was silent. He kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other above your knee. He didn’t say anything, fearing angering you further, so he just let you be. 

But the silence just allowed you to simmer in your rage. 

· ──────────────────── ·

Later that night, he sat on the opposite side of your couch as you nursed a bottle of tequila. He kept his distance, though every fiber of his immortal being wanted to hold you and drive off all your agony. 

Eventually, you spoke up. 

“I want revenge.” Your voice was hoarse from staying silent for so long. 

“Huh?”

“I said, I want revenge. He cheated on me, broke my heart… he didn’t even have the stomach to come clean about it after I caught him in the act. He’s a loser and a coward, and I want revenge,” you explained. Your flat, gravelly voice had Taehyun cringing. Your usual honeyed voice was his favorite sound, it hurt hearing you this way. 

He needed to raid your pantry though, the amount of alcohol you consumed whenever you were sad was extremely concerning. 

“Look, I understand, I hear you. However, revenge isn’t going to fix your hurt. Growing and allowing yourself to move on is the best revenge. You were so close to never thinking of him again, why can’t you just try to do that again?” 

You ignored his question. Your logic was simple, if you focused your attention on Yeonjun, you wouldn’t have to dwell on the fact that you fell in love with a certain, irritatingly smug angel. 

“That’s complete and utter bullshit, I want to do something. Be proactive. Spray paint his house, egg his car. Something. Anything.”

“You’re insanely drunk. And there’s absolutely no way I can let you do this. Not only is it illegal, it’s against moral code and as your  angel, I have make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” he cautioned softly. 

He could practically see the wheel in your brain churning slowly, your inebriated state hindering much of your cognitive ability. He continued, “Why don’t you get some rest, yeah?”

You huffed and turned away from his gaze. You were acting childish and of course you knew he was right, but you couldn’t help your anger. Obviously, you weren’t still hung up on Yeonjun; you were just outraged that he dared cheat on you, only to face absolutely no consequence. You peered up from your tequila bottle and flashed Taehyun a pleading gaze and small pout. His heart soared and he knew in that moment, he’d break every law on Earth to make you smile. 

He also knew at that moment that he was inexplicably screwed. 

“Fine. Nothing dangerous, though,” he unexpectedly blurted out. His eyes went wide, he had no idea where that came from but he immediately regretted it. 

You slammed your bottle on your coffee table and leaped up from your seat. You threw your arms around him, making him flinch. You reeked of alcohol but he paid no mind as he focused on having you in his arms again; all his regret trickled away as he felt the warmth of your body on his. 

“Thank you, Tae,” you giggled as you beamed up at him. 

He grinned as he glanced down at you making yourself comfortable on his chest, wrapping your legs around his torso, and resting your head in the crook of his neck. You fiddled with the hem of his sleeve as he circled an arm around your waist and embraced you tighter, placing his lips against his temple. Before you, he wasn’t one for such obvious affection (not that he had anyone to be affectionate with), but now he couldn’t help but always seek your touch, yearning to hold you. He rested his head on you and mindlessly traced his free hand along your back. 

Your breathing slowed almost instantly and he peered down to find you passed out across his lap, your lips parted and eyes glued shut. 

He smiled to himself. He picked you up slowly, so as to not wake you, and carried you to bed. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek and stroked the stray hair away from your forehead as he tucked you under your warm comforter. 

“Sleep soundly, my love.”

· ──────────────────── ·

You ended up sleeping through the entirety of the next day, not awakening until dinner. He had a glass of water and ibuprofen waiting by your bedside, all too prepared for your unavoidable hangover; he had spent most of his day pacing around your apartment, restlessly waiting for you to wake. 

He was also hoping you were too drunk to remember anything you had said the night before, especially after he so foolishly agreed to allow you to act on your rage. Unfortunately for him, you had a knack for keeping your memory intact, even in your most inebriated state. Needless to say, when you appeared in front of him with four dozen eggs and a “stealthy” all-black outfit, he was disappointed but definitely not surprised. 

“Get up. We’re going out tonight.”

He sulked behind you, knowing there wasn’t much stopping you, regardless of how much he tried. All he could do was join you and make sure you didn’t do anything dumb, which proved a challenge because your plan was insanely stupid. 

You were practically buzzing with excitement when you arrived at Yeonjun’s place. You thought egging his car was exactly what he deserved. You unloaded your duffle bag which was packed full of eggs, making Taehyun groan. 

“Hey, you’re lucky I’m not slashing his tires or breaking his windows,” you argued. 

“... Right, I’m so lucky.”

He rolled his eyes and  continued, “This is dumb. Are you sure you want to do this? We can head back home and I can make us dinner.”

“No, Tae. I want to do this, it’s the least I should do.”

He huffed and conceded, sitting back with crossed arms as you began to throw the eggs at Yeonjun’s expensive car. Taehyun was disappointed, hoping you’d make the right decision, but really, he also could’ve done far more to stop you: for example, literally duct taping you to your couch. It’s his job to keep you safe and from doing anything dangerous, but when you flashed him your gorgeous, sparkling eyes and kind smile, he knew he couldn’t ever possibly say no to you. He looked on with a pining gaze as you had the time of your life, your mischievous smile lighting up the dim road.

He just wished that smile was caused by something not illegal. 

The sudden wail of Yeonjun’s car alarm snapped him from his inner dilemma and he focused on your frozen figure, though his attention was quickly drawn to the light emanating from Yeonjun’s bedroom window. He appeared at your side and began ushering you away but you stayed motionless. 

“Time to go… NOW!” You could clearly hear the panic in his voice. 

You still didn’t move and the small smirk on your face told Taehyun you wanted to get caught. You wanted Yeonjun to open his door and find you beside his car; you wanted him to see the havoc you wreaked, the eggs doing slightly more damage than just dripping yolk all over.

Yeonjun’s porch light flickered on as a mop of neon yellow hair stepped out into the chilly darkness of the night. His eyes narrowed as he adjusted his vision to try and discern your shadow, “Who’s there? I-I’ll call the police!”

Taehyun couldn’t risk having you caught so he grabbed your hand and began sprinting. The brisk wind harshly blew by you as you tried keeping up with him, his legs carrying him a speed far beyond your capability. Call it the adrenaline of nearly getting caught but you began laughing; a light and airy sound, one which was usually a siren song to Taehyun, but this time he couldn’t believe it. You could’ve been arrested and tossed in jail, and you were laughing?

He pulled you behind a bush and gave you an enraged look as you tried catching your breath. He, on the other hand, had his breathing controlled and had barely broken a sweat. 

Perks of being an ethereal being.  

“Oh my God! I can’t believe I just did that… I- can you believe it?” you asked, giggling. 

“No,” he deadpanned.

You pressed your lips together and rolled your eyes, “God, lighten up Tae. Everything’s fine, I didn’t get caught.”

He scoffed. He couldn’t believe that was your threshold for fine. “And if you did, then what? Huh? You think I want to watch over you while you rot in jail? What you did was careless and stupid, and I shouldn’t have let you do it, I don’t know why I even said yes.”

You took his much larger hand in your own, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. You found the easiest way to shut him up was by initiating any sort of physical contact. He relaxed under your touch as you cupped his cheek and gave him a small smile, “I’m sorry.”

Something felt different, as if half a year of confusing feelings were finally becoming crystal clear. 

Still holding your gaze, he anxiously pulled you against him and leaned in, letting his puffy lips graze yours. You closed your eyes and awaited a kiss that never came. 

From the opposite side of the bush, a siren began blaring and you both pulled away to see a police car speeding down the street. Before you could even process anything, Taehyun began glowing. His wings appeared from thin air and draped over your small frame, hiding you from the world. After what felt like an hour, Taehyun deemed the coast clear, and any lingering moment from the near-kiss dissipated instantly. 

You believed he was finished scolding you but were sorely mistaken as the entire ride home was him chastising you for being reckless. You kept silent as you took in his colorful admonishing. 

It shocked you that an angel could even speak like that. 

“—And that's the stupidest thing you've ever done and you’ve done a lot of stupid shi—”

You knew he’d continue ranting so you tuned him out and stared at the glowing moon. 

You thought about his lips: the way they looked, the way they felt. His lips were something you thought about way more than you cared to admit, and just the thought of them made your heart race. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked monotonously. 

“N-nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than you know yourself.” You didn’t respond and continued watching the night pass by. 

He wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what you were thinking about; it was all he could ever think about, too. All he could ever think about was your lips and kissing you. He glanced over at your anxious frame and reluctantly placed a hand on your thigh in an attempt to ease your mind, but you just tensed, throwing him for a loop as you were usually so receptive to his touch. Now you just seemed uncomfortable. He removed his hand and placed it back on the wheel, keeping his eyes trained on the road. You didn’t hear another word from him. 

When you finally arrived home, you scrambled from the car and made a beeline to your bedroom, seeking space. He slowly trudged behind you, giving you the distance you desired. 

When he finally thought you were sleeping, he made his way into your room. It was dark but he could see your frame hunched over your knees as you nervously fiddled with your quilt. 

He placed himself on the edge of your bed, back facing you. Obvious tension filled the air as you both kept quiet, scared to say anything. He remained still and if it weren’t for the slight flutter of his wings, you would’ve assumed he was a statue. The silence was painful, eating away at you slowly. You climbed from your bed and headed to the living room, but as you placed your hand on your doorknob, you heard your bed rustle.

“Y/N,” he mumbled softly. 

You kept your back to him, hearing him shuffle as he approached you and stood with his chest against your back. He traced your arms lightly, making you swallow harshly as you blankly stared upon the wall ahead of you. 

“Please look at me,” he begged. 

He felt the hesitancy in your heart as if it were his own. He also felt your pulse quicken under his fingertips. You sighed and turned around slowly, keeping your head trained on the floor to avoid him. He lifted your chin with his index finger to meet your gaze but you still refused to look at him. 

“Please.”

It was the crack in his voice that broke you. You hesitantly met his eyes and your heart practically leaped from your chest. His gaze was always hard and piercing, but soft and longing when you were the subject of his attention. You wanted to look into those eyes for the rest of your life. 

He moved forward until your back was pressed against your cold bedroom door. His massive wings caged you in, almost acting like a protective barrier from the cruel world. He kept his hands on your waist as he rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. 

You positioned a hand on his chest and clutched the fabric of his hoodie, using your other hand to cup his face and caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch and sighed softly before tilting down to capture your lips on his. To him, your kiss was addicting, every single aspect of you was addicting. Your knees buckled under yourself but his grip held you in place, and you snaked a hand up to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer while his hand gently rubbed your waist. The room felt warmer, a sharp contrast to the brisk, winter air outside, but with his soft lips on yours, you paid no mind. 

When you let up for air, your head was spinning, especially as he intertwined your hands and brought them to rest against his lips. You placed a soft kiss on his jaw and then neck, and he closed his eyes once more, savoring the moment. The silence was no longer painful, rather soothing. 

Neither of you spoke. Nothing needed to be said, both of you knew exactly what the other felt. 

Pure, unadulterated love. 

· ──────────────────── ·

The following month was domestic bliss. Every morning you woke in his embrace, this particular morning was no different. 

“Good morning, my love.” He pressed his lips on your shoulder and began littering your face with kisses. 

“Morning, love.”

“Sleep well?”

You hummed. 

“We should’ve gotten up earlier. Don’t you have plans with Beomgyu?”

You hummed again, still half asleep. 

“The sooner you get out of bed and meet him, the sooner you can come home and sleep,” he tried arguing. 

A flawless argument, you couldn’t argue with that. You popped an eye open and faced him, “I guess you’re right. Maybe… just another minute?”

Unable to say no to you, he snaked an arm around your waist once more and entangled his legs with yours. You sighed contently, his warm embrace nearly lulling you back into dreamland until he lovingly woke you up... again. 

You eventually made your way out of bed, Taehyun promising kisses as coercion for every task finished. When you said goodbye, he placed a kiss on your temple, then nose, then jaw, before finally settling on your soft lips. 

“Have fun,” he mumbled against your lips. 

You pulled him in by his hoodie, initiating another kiss, and he slid his arm around your lower back, trying to hold you as close to him as possible. His kisses were heavenly and you knew if you didn’t leave then, you’d never leave. 

It took nearly everything in you to finally pull away. 

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you more, angel.”

You peaked behind your front door, flashing him a sweet smile before shutting it behind you, and the second you did, he couldn’t help the unsettling feeling that rested in his mind, as if something was going to go wrong. There was an unknown finality in the kiss but he shook it off as worry for your wellbeing. 

While you were out with Beomgyu, Taehyun chose to wander around the beach near your old home. He found the ocean’s beauty alluring, much like you. He kept his glamour on, hoping for some peace as he searched the shoreline for the prettiest seashell he could find and bring home to you. It was nice, he enjoyed his time, the quietness of the beach refreshing compared to the bustling city he was so familiar with. It was relaxing and peaceful until he spotted a familiar, lanky figure awkwardly standing in the sand a couple of feet over. The boy’s white shirt was crisp and wrinkle-free, and his iridescent wings glowed harshly under the sun. He looked extremely out of place—anyone with a set of wings would. 

“Hey, Soobin. What’s up? What are you doing here?” he questioned, approaching the elder casually. It wasn’t often he saw an old friend. 

“We need to talk. It’s about Y/N,” Soobin explained. 

Hearing your name, Taehyun’s expression grew visibly brighter, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Soobin. He sighed, “It’s time you were reassigned.”

He went straight for the kill and he didn’t miss the way Taehyun’s soul shattered. The younger flinched back, “This is a joke, right?”

“It’s not… your new assignment came in yesterday. You’ll like him, he’s a bit of an old soul, but he’s been going through a lot since his divorce with his wife.”

“No.”

“Taehyun… ”

“I said no.”

“Taehyun, it’s what’s best for her,” Soobin calmly explained. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. 

“Best for her? You don’t know what’s best for her, I do!”

“C’mon, are you serious? You fell in love with her and if you don’t leave, it’ll negatively affect her life… look what happened at Yeonjun’s house. You never stopped her. You call that doing what’s best for her?” Soobin argued. 

“This is the happiest she’s ever been and I’m the reason. You’re going to take that away from her? Her happiness?”

“Exactly, you’re the reason. Problem is, she can’t fall in love with someone who won’t be able to grow old with her or have a family with her. You can’t be her happiness. She has to have someone that will look out for her and can separate their job from love, a new guardian angel.”

Taehyun fell silent. He didn’t think this could happen, he fell in love with you never even considering the way it could hurt you in the inevitable end. Realistically, it could never work; you had a clock attached to your life and he didn’t. It was only a matter of time before he would leave you. Or the other way around. 

“I love her,” he whispered.

“Yeah, Tae. I know. Which is why you have to do this.”

“Can I say goodbye? In person?” he pleaded. 

Soobin patted him on the shoulder in a weak attempt to console him. 

“No, that’ll only hurt her more. And I don’t think you’d be able to leave if you did.”

Soobin stood helplessly as the light vanished from the younger’s eyes. 

· ──────────────────── ·

The door slammed behind you as you made your way into your apartment, shedding off your oversized hoodie, “Hi, love. I’m home!”

Nothing. 

“Taehyun? Love?”

Still, nothing.

“Love? Where are you?”

He always promised to be there when you arrived home and he never broke his promise, but you couldn’t find him… your apartment was devoid of him. The only trace of him was a folded piece of paper placed beside a yellow rose on your pillow. As you examined the paper, you perceived what you believed to be a water stain that hadn’t dried yet, making you tremble as you hesitantly opened it. 

My love,

I have to say goodbye. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love but I did, and now I’m facing the consequences… I’m getting reassigned. I’m so sorry this is how you had to find out, I wanted to see you one last time but I couldn’t… I was cautioned it would hurt you too much. You’re getting a new guardian angel. He’s kind, caring, and so excited to meet you. You’ll love him, I know you will. He’ll help put you back together. 

Y/N, my love… graduate school, travel the world, fall in love again, but most importantly, please be happy. I want you to experience everything this world has to offer, you deserve it all. You deserve a life with someone you can grow old beside, someone who can love you unconditionally. I want it to be me. I want to be the one you walk down the altar to one day, the one you raise children with, the one to greet you as you come home from a long day… I desperately want it to be me. 

You are the love of my life, the sun in my sky, the light that guided me through the dark. I’m so thankful I could be a part of your life, even if it was just for a fraction of it. 

I don’t know if I can fit everything I feel for you in this letter but if there’s one thing you take from this, let it be that I love you and I’m so sorry. 

Y/N, I will love you until my last dying breath. 

With everything I am,

Taehyun

Your body was nearly on fire. Your heart was ripped to nothing as your mind ran wild. A choked sob escaped you and in that moment, for a fleeting second, you wished you could cease to exist. 

You shakily sank down your bedroom wall, grasping his paper and rose against your chest, numbly crying. You spent half the day in that position; your body was so tired and overwhelmed. 

You were paralyzed.

You were angry with him. So, so angry. But you were angrier at yourself. You were so naive and hopeful. Of course he’d leave, you weren’t going to be his last assignment, as much as you hoped you’d be. You were foolish, believing you could have him unconditionally. 

When your mind eventually ran blank, you were so disoriented, you couldn’t even process the soft glow forming across from  you. The glow gradually grew brighter, nearly blinding you but you paid no mind until from thin air, a young, handsome boy appeared by your side. You lifted your head painfully slow, ignoring the thrumming ache in your mind, and scanned him emotionlessly. He looked the same age as Taehyun but seemed to hold a completely different aura. 

If you felt any shock, it didn’t show.

The young boy saw you the same way Taehyun first did—round face, puffy eyes, dull skin, and lifeless. Much like Taehyun, when the boy first looked at you, his gaze held nothing but sorrow and pity. 

Nonetheless, he gave you a warm, welcoming smile and extended a hand.

“I’m Kai, your guardian angel.”

· ──────────────────── ·

Interlude: Sun and Moon >

[turquoise-stones]

Watch Me.

Bakugou x MidoriyaSister!reader

Artist link

Request: Could you by any chance do one where the reader is midoriya's sister (who is not quirkless) and bakugo asks her out but she says no because she hasn't forgiven him for all the misery he put her brother through growing upI don't know if I explained that well sorry . But I feel like the more angsty the better

A/N: Your quirk is telekinesis, like a stronger version of Midoriya's mom's. And I made you and Izuku twins so that you'd be in the same year. There’s swearing, as per bakugou cause that’s how that boi rolls

. . .

Your very first memory was not a happy one.

You were sitting in a hospital room, watching through your own tears as your brother cried. The doctor had dispassionately announced that Izuku was quirkless. Something about percentages and bones in your toe, you were too young to understand what it meant back then, after all, your own quirk hadn't emerged either, but you knew that something terribly unlucky had befallen your brother. That night, he had clung onto you and cried until he fell asleep.

Your second memory was not much better.

You were staring at the juicebox in your hand, which had miraculously flown towards you when Izuku asked you for it. You had turned to him in wonder and shock, seeing the same gleeful face beaming back at you. Your mother had congratulated you on your quirk and the whole family was brimming with pride and happiness, but that night, Izuku sobbed again. He had hoped, selfishly, that you were quirkless too, just so he wouldn't be alone in this quirk dominated world. But after the initial joy had subsided, he was reminded that he was in that 20%, and you were very resolutely in the 80%.

Your third memory came a few months later.

. . .

"Play with me, (y/n)-chan."

You looked up from your coloring book of heroes to meet red eyes. Bakugou stood in front of you, hands on his hips and a fake sword held jauntily in his hand.

"I don't wanna." You said, scooting away with him to sit closer to your brother, who looked up from his All Might drawing to eye the two of you nervously. "I'm busy."

"No you're not! Let's play heroes!" He brandished his sword at you. At the word 'heroes', your face lit up, all apprehension disappearing almost entirely. There was nothing in the world you and your brother loved more than heroes: literally gods among men in your young, impressionable eyes.

"Okay! Izu-chan lets go!" You said happily, standing up and tugging at the fabric of your brother's shirt. His eyes widened and he sputtered something out frantically that you didn't quite catch.

"No! Not Deku, just you!" Bakugou said grumpily, small hand reaching out to grab your wrist. You looked at him in confusion, still not letting go of your brother's shirt.

"What? No we're all gonna be heroes!" You argued, confused why you couldn't all play together. Looking at the expression on Izuku's face though, you couldn't help but think you were missing something.

"He doesn't even have a quirk! He can't be a hero!" Bakugou argued back, pulling your wrist hard enough to jerk you away from Izuku.

"I-I-I..." Were the only words your brother could muster out, big tears already starting to form. Having just found out he was quirkless a couple months ago, the wound was still far too fresh. You gasped upon seeing the wetness on his cheeks, and wrenched yourself out of Bakugou's grip to dash to your brothers side.

"Kacchan don't say that!" You said angrily, hugging the sobbing boy tightly against you. You didn't understand. It seemed like so recently the three of you were happily role-playing as your favorite heroes together, but like a switch, Bakugou has decided to push your brother out of his life.

"Come on (y/n)-chan! You actually have a quirk so why are you hanging around that dork all the time!"

"He's not a dork! He's my brother!"

Bakugou let out a loud frustrated huff, stomping his feet. "I don't care!"

"If Izu-chan isn't playing then I'm not playing." You said resolutely, glaring at the angry boy in front of you.

"Why're you being so lame!? Fricken Deku is so damn weak!"

Your brother was starting to cry harder. You didn't understand why Bakugou hated Izuku suddenly, you didn't know why quirks mattered to much to him, you didn't know why Bakugou was so adamant about playing with you. All you knew was that he had made your brother cry, and that as absolutely unacceptable.

"We don't want to be friends with you anymore! Go away!!" You yelled at him.

You could practically feel waves of rage rolling off of him as he threw the toy sword onto the ground with a loud smack.

"Fine!"

Turning around, he stomped off.

. . .

As the three of you grew older, you began to realize the reasoning behind the sudden strained relationship between Izuku and Bakugou. You realized the utter distaste for weakness Bakugou felt, and the embarrassment and frustration he felt when he was rescued from drowning by your brother when you all were little. You understood the yearning your brother felt for a quirk, the shame and sadness he felt when he was around Bakugou. It hurt you beyond measure to see this rift between previous best friends grow wider with every passing year.

It seemed as if Bakugou's cruelty worsened with age. As kids, it was harmless things, like not wanting to play with Izuku. Then it led to name-calling and making fun of him. Despite your best efforts to stand up for your brother, the misery snowballed into verbal and even physical abuse. Far too many times during middle school did you have to wipe away Izuku's tears and bandage his scraped knees. Every other day did you find yourself yelling at Bakugou, only for him to laugh in that infuriating way of his. You were so sick of it.

It didn't help at all either, how he still had the nerve to talk to you as if nothing was wrong. In elementary school it was small, like demanding you play with him or making you sleep next to him during nap time, but much like his tormenting of your brother, it worsened. Despite your numerous attempts to tell him to go away, he was always there to harasses you, and glower and anybody who tried to talk to you, even if it was just your brother.

But finally, things took a turn for the better. It was the last year of middle school, very late at night, when Izuku woke you up to tell you a secret: that he had met All Might, and that the hero was going to bestow an unimaginably strong power onto him, and that he was going to be a hero. It was like you discovering your quirk all over again. You had to keep it a secret from your mother of course, but that night the two of you hardly slept. The pure joy and happiness you felt for him could barely be contained by your shared bedroom.

With your brother's new quirk-to-be came a spurt of motivation for you too. While he spent his summer building muscle on the beach, you honed your own quirk. Much like your mother's, it was not very strong, but you pushed past your quirk fatigue, Izuku pushed past the strain of his muscles, and within a couple of brutally tough months, the two of you found yourselves in front of U.A highschool, hand in hand. It was a childhood dream come true.

. . .

"Oi. (y/n)-chan."

You physically cringed when you heard Bakugou address you like that. It was fine when you were younger, but every random once in a while, even as teenagers, he added the 'chan' at the end. It always embarrassed you to no end. Only two people in the world dared call you that, Izuku and him.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing." He smirked, looking away. He really just wanted to see the angry (it was nothing but cute in his eyes) expression that crossed your face upon hearing the 'chan'. You glared daggers at him, eyes shifting back to your textbook as you angrily tried to focus on the words in front of you. You failed to notice the frown that crossed his face as troubling thoughts resurfaced in his head. Bakugou was not one to feel nervous, but today the anxiety fogged his head. After all, he had a plan for today, a plan involving you.

Going to highschool had definitely lightened the bullying on Izuku's end, but it seemed to heighten the awkward tension on your side. The memories of your past friendship with him never faded, but the torment he put your brother through was still fresh in your mind. While you could not deny the fact that Bakugou had grown rather handsome over the years, you couldn't bring yourself to look past his... well, his shit personality.

When class was over, you excused yourself to the bathroom, telling Izuku to wait for you outside because after-school bathroom lines were not to be taken lightly.

Wiping your hands and pushing the door open, you barely made a couple steps out before a hand darted out and snagged your forearm. Instinctively, you activated your quirk in self defense. But upon seeing it was Bakugou who dared grab your arm, your self defense turned to annoyance and you sent a nearby water bottle hurtling towards him.

"Don't touch me Bakugou." You said angrily as he nimbly dodged your attack. You tried pulling your arm free but his grip was unyielding.

"Bakugou? What happened to Kacchan?" He questioned, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yo-"

Before you could sputter out a response, his face turned serious. "I need to talk to you, now. Let's go."

Pulling none too gently on your arm, he led you away from the bathrooms and back to your classroom. Despite your protests, your feet slid along behind him no matter how hard you struggled.

"Stop wriggling." He growled. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your eyes narrowed and you eyed him with distaste as he slid the now empty classroom's door open and pulled you in, closing it behind you.

"Well," you glowered, finally managing to wrench you arm free and pulling your sleeve up, revealing red indentations. "I think you did already."

"If you just follo-"

"Shut up. I don't care." You said angrily, and now that his hands were off you, you took the opportunity to walk right back out the door. Whatever he needed to tell you wasn't nearly as important as the fact that Izuku was still waiting for you outside.

"Just listen!" He yelled, the hint of desperation in his voice causing you to pause. "Fuck, I know you hate me (y/n)-chan. But just fucking listen."

You cringed again at his casual mentioning of your name again. How did he expect you to listen to him when he couldn't even oblige to your simple request of addressing you by you last name like literally everyone else did?

"Don't call me (y/n)-chan! we're not kids anymore!"

"Fucking Deku calls you that doesn't he!?"

"Izuku actually cares about me!"

"You think I don't!?"

"No you fucking don't!!"

Not one minute had passed since the two of you were alone and already you were practically nose to nose, glowering at each other. He was the one to break away, letting out a long exhale and dragging a hand over his face in frustration.

"This is exactly what I mean. This is fucking stupid. I want us to start over."

"What?" You were taken aback, not only because of his words, but because you realized he backed down for once. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking again.

"I don't want us to be like this every time we talk. I don't want you to hate me."

Your eyebrows raised, surprise evident on your face. "That's what you wanted to say to me?" You let out a short derisive laugh. "Stop wasting my time."

"I'm serious." He growled.

You let out a huff. "Fine. I do hate you. If you think talking to me like this is going to change that then..." you let out another short laugh. "Then oh boy are you wrong."

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for being such an asshole." He looked almost in pain when he said it, hand reaching up to tug at the hairs at the base of his neck. It didn't seem sincere enough.

"Great. How eloquent of you. Can I go now?" You said coldly.

"No!" He almost shouted, reaching out to grab you again but stopping himself. He knew he would't get anywhere with you if he pissed you off again. "Listen- I've acted so damn shitty to you for so long. I... I miss being around you."

You let out a quiet breath.

"The older we get the harder it is for me to ignore it. So give me a chance to start over."

For a moment, you almost wanted to let him. But that thought was pushed out by guilt--where you really going to betray your brother just because Bakugou decided to act sweet for a moment?

"Hell no. Don't be so full of yourself."

"Fuck. (Y/n) you aren't making this any easier."

Your heart pounded at those words and you practically saw red.

"Excuse me? Are you actually kidding me? Easier? How can you be so... so... entitled?  You think I'm just gonna drop down and forgive you for literal years of bullying just because you said sorry once?"

You saw him open his mouth to protest but you raised a hand to shut him up.

"Because that's what you are, Bakugou. You're a bully. You're abusive and violent, and well... I feel like I barely have any memories of you where I'm not fighting with you."

Every word leaving your mouth was like a stab in his heart. Hearing you call him those words made his heart ache with guilt. All those years, he had acted that way to win you away from your brother, to prove that he was better. And without realizing it, the jealousy had spiraled endlessly out of control.

"Listen, I get it... you've been handed literally everything from the day you were born. So you think you just deserve an apology because you asked nicely. But do you even know how many times you made Izuku cry? For fucks sake! You should be begging Izuku for forgiveness, not me!"

You were breathless as all those pent up angers spilled out of you. Yet for some reason, it didn't feel good to scream at him like this, and it hurt to see him flinch at your words. If anything, it worsened the frustration and sadness you've come to associate with you childhood friend...

"This isn't about Deku!"

"Maybe not to you, Bakugou!" You yelled. "You've never been able to accept him! And I only hate you because of how you treat him!"

The two of you fell silent, with you still huffing angrily. Bakugou's fists were clenched at his sides. It was becoming painfully obvious to him that the conversation would not end in the direction he had hoped.

"Bakugou, tell me straight, because after all these years I've never understood. What's the difference between Izuku and me? We look the same. Is it cause I'm a girl? His quirk? It just 'showed up late'. Why do you hate him so damn much, yet care enough to apologize to me?"

"...because you were never weak. You stick to what you know it right. All Deku would do is sit back and let you defend him."

You seethed. "We both know there's more to it then that."

He stopped, opening his mouth and closing it as he fought to pull out the right words.

"You're... I don't fucking know. You're more."

You were getting tired of his vagueness. "If you have something to say then say it!

"Fucking fine!" He roared. "Do you need me spell it out for you? Why are you so goddamn dense!? You're special. You're beautiful. You're strong. I fucking like you (y/n), is that good enough!?"

Gritting his teeth, he turned away in embarrassment, the tips of his ears reddening. It wasn't as if he were shy about admitting it, he had just hoped it would come out when the two of you weren't in the midst of an argument.

Your jaw almost hit the ground as all the anger drained away from the shock. You couldn't quite believe it. The tension between you two was obvious but you never thought it was rooted in actual affection. It would be a lie to say that your feelings were completely opposite, but any attraction you had felt for him in the past was so deeply buried under years of anger and frustration that they didn't override your current emotions. You wanted to like him. You wanted to forgive him. But when you thought about your brother, you just couldn't. A quiet and awkward moment passed.

"Do you think saying that will excuse everything you've done?" You asked softly. You watched as his eyes softened with unbridled disappointment.

"No." He admitted. "I know it won't."

"What did you expect me to say?"

"Tsch..." He let out a quiet curse, lips twisting in bitterness. You let out a sigh, letting your shoulders slump.

"I don't want it to be like this (y/n)."

"Me neither."

Silence settled into the room as you absorbed his confession. Without a doubt, what he did was wrong. But it would also be wrong to completely disregard him when he was obviously trying to change for the better. And your childhood friend, the Kacchan version of Bakugou, must still be somewhere within the boy standing in front of you.

"I won't... I won't walk away from you completely, Bakugou... or I suppose... Katsuki. I'm glad you've shown me remorse today. But I don't forgive you yet."

"I'll change." He said gruffly, finally meeting your eyes with a piercing stare.

"Then show me. Prove to me that you can grow up. Because right now, I still can't see past the way you were when we were kids."

"How?" He asked, voice softening to match your tone.

"Treat Izuku as an equal. That's a start. You have all of highschool. Show me, show Izuku that you've grown. Maybe then."

You waited for a response and when you didn't get one, you turned to leave.

"Watch me."

"I will." .

.

.

Masterlist

[d0llhousess]

yearning 

⇢ pairing: narumiya mei x f! reader

⇢ requested?: absolutely not, this is purely self indulgent. 

⇢ warnings/tags?: reader pines and pines until she can’t pine anymore, angst, strangers→ to friends → to lovers, did i mention pining?, implied soulmate!au if you squint 

⇢ summary: You were so sure that you didn’t belong in his universe, yet for some reason you kept becoming trapped in his orbit. 

⇢ word count: approx. 5.2k

⇢ a/n: listen….I’m supposed to be working on my other wips but I was in the mood for angst...then I kept looking at Mei’s pic on my homescreen and listening to angsty songs so….here we are. 

   ⤆ Back to the Masterlist           ~                crossposted on ao3 ⤇

Your first impression of him was that he was a little too full of himself. 

  It was apparent in the way he stood up during introductions, the way he tilted his head up slightly-giving the appearance that his sky blue hues was looking down on everyone else, the way he said his name and hobbies with such confidence that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

  Where other middle schoolers stumbled through their introductions with blushing faces and shaky hands, he didn’t. No, he stood there like he owned the entire room, like your shared classmates should be thankful that he even told them his surname. 

  You couldn’t decide if you hated him or envied him. 

 Even though the two of you  were in the same class, you didn’t interact much with him. He made friends quickly, and surrounded himself with people that looked at him with pure adoration in their eyes. You kept to yourself, much preferring the company of books than others. He was involved in club activities. The only you were involved in was cleaning up the classroom after school. He was as bright as the sun, charismatic in a way that even though it sounded like he was talking down on others, they still somehow wanted to be his friend. You didn’t know why he unconsciously demanded your attention, why your eyes would follow him the moment he’d enter the room, and it unnerved you. He barely knew your name, yet you still found yourself fascinated by every jeer that left his lips. 

  By the end of your first year in middle school, you decide that you dislike him. You dislike the control he has over you even though he hasn’t uttered a word in your direction. You dislike the way he occupies your thoughts. You just dislike….. him. 

  So, you look forward to a new school year where he’s not in your class. You look forward to finally having your mind back under control. Yet, fate seems to hate you because after moments of peaceful bliss, he suddenly walks into your second year classroom. 

  You can feel your chest bubbling with distaste and your brows furrow because you didn’t know what on earth you did to deserve this. When you return home for the evening, you rant to your mother about him, about how he’s still the same overly confident boy with eyes so blue that you’re sure even the sky is envious of them. Your mother just says that it seems like you have a crush. 

  You sputter at this. 

  You don’t like him. You can’t like him. You never even  had a conversation with him. Yet, your mother just laughs at your protest and shakes her head in a knowing manner that makes you even more angry. 

  At the end of your second year,  you decide that you hate him. 

  You hate the way his lopsided smirk lights up the room. You hate the way his light laughter sends a shiver down your spine. You hate how he looks in the morning when he’s gazing longingly out the window, the sun illuminating his eyes in such a way that they appear as if they’re twinkling. 

  Most of all, you hate the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist. 

  When your third and final year of middle school arrives, you aren’t foolish enough to hold out hope that you’ll be free from Narumiya Mei’s enrapturing orbit. Yet, when he doesn’t walk through the classroom door, commanding presence filling every crevice, you don’t feel relieved. No, you feel…disappointed. 

  You become confused with yourself because this is what you wanted. You wanted to be free from him, to not have to be in presence for hours on end. Yet with his absence comes a hollowness in your soul, and you hate it. 

  You hate how you miss the sound of his voice when it’s time to read during literature. You hate that you miss the bored expression that overtook his features when the teacher began to drone on and on about some meaningless topic. You hate that you miss a person that you didn’t even know. 

  It nearly kills you to admit it, but maybe you do have a crush, a nearly childlike infatuation,  with your former classmate.  Yet this realization doesn’t comfort you; it doesn’t make you feel giddy inside in the way that other girls’ describe it. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth because you know that you didn’t have a crush on the true Narumiya. You’re just merely fascinated by an image that your mind has created of him. 

  Your realization leaves you in a state of confusion. You don’t know how to move on, how to leave your childish feelings in the past. So instead of facing them head on, you bury them deep inside of your chest. You ignore the pain in your heart everytime you enter your classroom and don’t see him lounging in a seat. You throw yourself into your studies, into the many books that littered the shelves of the library. You retreat away from the real world and live your life through the pages of books. 

  Eventually, you forget about your fascination with Narumiya. He becomes just another face in the student body of your middle school, and you finally feel free. 

  Yet the moment of freedom doesn’t last long. 

  It happens on a rather hot day of summer. 

You’re retreating from abrasive sunlight  in the shade under a large oak tree, eyes scanning over the latest printed words in your newest addition to your book collection, and you hear the distant sound of someone grumbling to themself. 

  Your first thought was that you were hearing something. 

  Yet, after another wave of grumbles you realize that someone was on the other side of the tree, just out of your line of vision. Your slight curiosity causes you to peer around the hard bark of the large tree, and your eyes are filled with the sight of striking blue irises that causes your breath to become lodged in your throat. 

  “Oh,” Narumiya says to you, “I didn’t know anyone else was here.” 

  Your mind doesn’t register the words, in fact it’s stopped working entirely. Simply because the person of your late fantasies was here in front of you, speaking to you. It’s a miracle that you don’t begin to hyperventilate. 

  “Uh?” He raises a singular dirty blonde eyebrow, “Are you okay?” 

  Slowly, you blink and  the wheels in your mind finally begin to turn once again. 

  “I should be asking you that,” You respond, immediately cursing yourself in your mind. You shouldn’t have responded.  You should have stood up and walked away from the conversation. Yet,  something holds you there. 

  You hear him scoff, blue eyes rolling as he leans back against the tree.

   “So, you heard me?” He questioned, and you just shrug, your fingers moving to close the book that occupied your lap. 

  Like a moth to a flame, you move closer to him, fully crossing over to his side of the tree. Your mind yells at you, yet your heart ignores it’s protests. There was something in his eyes that ancored you to him, that made you want to know what was troubling the boy that seemed to have everyone around his lean fingers. With no protest, he surprisingly makes room for you, and with a singular glance from you, he launches into his plights of the day. It’s as if he’s word vomiting, overloading your senses with his voice as he recounts a turbulent tournament baseball game that he’d just lost. 

  He rants and you listen. 

  By the end of his tirade, he looks at you in a way that causes your heart to clench in such a way that has you wanting to run for the hills. 

  “Do you think I could’ve done more?” He’s asking you. You blink owlishly at him, head tilting as you digested every statement that he’d said. 

  “Yeah,” You responded, causing the blonde to sputter beside you, “I mean, you can always do more. Hindsight is 20/20, ya know? It’s already happened so the most you can do now is just accept it and attempt to do better the next time.” 

  He stares at you, and you’re sure that his azure gaze is peeling away every layer of your being and revealing the secret you’ve kept the closest to your heart. After a brief moment, he’s sighing, head tilting up as his gaze moves away from your form to the cloudless sky.

   You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. 

  “I guess you’re right,” He admits haughtily, “I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you, _____.” 

  At the sound of your name, you nearly feel yourself choke. 

  “You know who I am?” You question immediately, words flying from your lips in such a rapid manner that it was a small miracle that they were understandable. He’s looking at you with a singular raised brow, eyes shining with so much confusion that it causes your cheeks to heat. 

  “ Duh,” He says as it is the most obvious thing in the world, “We were in the same class for two years.” 

  You’re sure that your mind has stopped working, that your heart is beating out of your chest simply because he knew that the two of you were classmates. It’s such a minuscule thing that you want to curl up inside yourself simply because you feel elated. Such an embarrassing feeling to feel ecstatic because a mere boy acknowledged your existence. 

  “Yeah, but” You licked your lips, trying to will your racing heart to just slow down , “I didn’t really think you noticed.” A shaky, awkward  laugh left your lips, and his lips twisted into the same playful grin that you were sure you’d never be on the receiving end of. He’s gazing at you as if he knows your secret, as if he has a secret of his own but before you can think too much about his expression, he’s holding out his hand. 

  Your brows furrowed in confusion and he just rolled his eyes. 

  “Give me your phone,” He all but commands, and you can feel your lips tug down into a frown. 

  “Why?” You question, watching as he fishes his own phone out of the pocket of his loose jeans. 

  “I want your contact info, duh.” He says, tone laced in that same considering tone that made you want to tug the skin off of his ear. 

  “What if I don’t want to give you my  info?” You shot back, and he just laughed in response. 

  “But you do want to give me your info, so why are you even questioning me?” He’s smirking at you speaking in the same overly confident tone that takes you back to the time when you were a mere first year staring at his profile as he worked on an assignment. You hate the fact that he’s right, that he somehow is seeing through you after one conversation. Yet, instead of protesting once more, your hand is fishing out your own cell phone,  placing it in his outspread palm as he hands you his device.

  It only takes a few moments for you type up your information and before you know it, you’re holding your phone once again as he stands to his feet, informing you that he had a practice to get to. A part of you wanted to question him, to ask him to stay a bit longer, but the more rational side of you causes your mouth to stay shut as you wave farewell to the blonde. After he leaves your eyesight, you bury your face into your hands. 

  You don’t know if you want to scream, cry, or laugh. 

  Maybe you want to do all three. 

  Exhaling deeply, you lift your head away from your hands, eyes facing towards the bright blue sky that reminds you of the eyes that’d just left your gaze. It was then you cursed and thanked the heavens in the same breath. 

  Later that night, you’re staring at your phone, mind in turmoil as you look at the brand new contact. Frankly, you don’t know what to do. Should you message him, or wait for him to message you? Groaning, you stuff your phone under your pillow and gaze up at the empty white ceiling of your room. You decided that no matter what you’d somehow be sucked back into Narumiya’s enchanting orbit, that there was no escape for you. 

  So, you would adapt. You would allow your mind to drift off in thoughts about him, to admire him from afar. Your earlier conversation with him wouldn’t matter because he was a boy with many friends, many admirers, and you were a girl who moved through life alone. He would forget about the conversation, only remembering the light feeling that came after one vented, and you would resume your previous way of life. You were sure of it. 

  Except he didn’t forget. No, the next day, he strolled in your classroom during lunch time and plopped down into the unoccupied seat in front of you. 

  You were sure that your eyes were going to fall out of your skull from how wide they got. 

  He engages you in a conversation as if the two of you had always been best of pals and not mere aquatineces less than 24 hours ago. You’re sure that you’re staring at him as if he’s grown to heads, but he just continues to talk to you, pulling a sarcastic quip from your lips every time he asks you a question.

  For a brief moment, you wonder if you woke up in a parallel universe. A universe where you and Narumiya exist as equals, a universe where you’re just not a mere background character in the blonde’s life. Yet, when the next day arrives, and Narumiya enters your class to share lunch with you once again, you know it’s not some mere glitch in the system. 

  So you decide to indulge yourself. It wasn’t as if you were seeking him out. No, he was coming to you . 

  Your heart questioned your mind. It said, “ Why shouldn't you indulge in his conversations? Why should you stop your gaze from traveling over his form as he toyed with the discarded mechanical pencil on your desk? Why should you pull away?”

  Yet your mind knew better than your heart. It knew that this could only end in heartbreak. He was barely a friend and you were already in too deep. Besides it was the final year where the two of you would share the same school.  Soon, you both would be off to high school, and you’ll fade into a distant memory in his mind. 

  Yet, he wouldn’t be a distant memory for you. 

  No, you knew in your mind and heart once you’d become accustomed to his light that it would be hard to detach yourself from him once again. 

  It’d taken nearly two years for you to even ignore the strong emotions he elicited out of you. 

  You couldn’t imagine the time it would take to ignore the memory of the soft smile he shot your way as he exited your classroom as the final lunch bell rang, to ignore the butterflies he sent swarming in the pits of your stomach when he messaged you throughout the evening, to ignore the way his voice made your forearms erupt into goosebumps. You couldn’t forget the way he would tug you to go to watch a movie that he wanted to see, the way he would smile at you like you were the sun in the sky, the way he would always stop by your home after a long day of practice and listen to you ramble about your newest novel as he laid across your bed. 

  You found yourself wanting to hate him again, wanting to wish away his presence. Yet, you couldn’t. Unlike before, he wasn’t a mere illusion of a person that your mind had created out of loneliness. 

  He was real and you knew him. 

  You knew his favorite color.  You knew his preferred bento, his fears of never being enough for his team, his yearning for something more . You knew that the only thing he wanted in the entire world was to be the best pitcher in all of Japan, and you had no doubt in your mind that he would succeed. He wasn’t just the boy with the enchanting smile and blue eyes that rivaled the skies. 

  He was your best friend, and the thought of being apart from him made you want to curl up and cry. 

  So you begin to change the conversation every time high school or the future is brought up. You dance around his questions, shut your ears down when he declares the arrangement of highschools that want him in their baseball program. You just won't, can’t, think about it. 

  Yet, you can’t run away from the question anymore when Mei is spending one of his rare days off in your bedroom, staring at you with those blue eyes that mirrored the cloudless sky that hung outside your bedroom window.  

  You gulp, averting your gaze to the book in your lap, “I don’t really know where I want to go yet, Mei. It’s just not something I’ve thought about.” Your response comes out a bit jumbled, and you nearly curse out loud at your stupidness.  

  You can feel his heavy gaze on you, peeling you apart at the seams in a way that only he seems to do, and you try to ignore him. It wasn’t as if you were lying. You truly did not know where you would attend high school because your mind seemed to shut down every time you thought about being away from the blonde that was relaxing on the soft rug that occupied  your bedroom floor. 

  “Come to  Inashiro with me.” He states, voice ringing clear in the stale air of your bedroom. Your eyes immediately fly from the worn pages of your novel and meet the same sky blue hues that causes your breath to lodge itself in your throat. Your mind halts, no words escape your lips even though your mouth opens. 

  “Come to….” You trail off, brain failing to catch up with his request because you just couldn’t believe the words that had come out of his mouth. He wanted you to go to the same school as him. He wants you to follow him to the school that he was sure was going to launch his baseball career. He wants you there with him.  

  “I mean you’re into books and stuff, right? Your nose is always buried in them, and you always talk my ear off about analysis and whatnot. Inashiro has a good literature program from what I heard so like you could join that club and-” 

  His words are background static to your racing mind and heart. You’re sure you’ve forgotten how to breath but the sharp pants that leave your lungs make you aware of the fact that you’re certainly  breathing, just a bit too fast. Your eyes are locked on his face, but he’s not looking at you. No, he’s looking everywhere but you, eyes nervously darting around to look at the mundane decor of your room as he avoids your wide gaze. 

  He chose a school not only for him, but for you as well. A part of you wants to run, to run away from the emotion that is bubbling in your chest, because it’s just so stupid. You shouldn’t base your wants over some stupid baseball idiot that just so happened to be your best friend. You shouldn’t even be considering going to the same school as him because he was destined for greatness and you were destined for…..something else. 

You should decline, because you just can’t base your life around some boy. Yet, you knew that Mei would never just be some boy to you. 

  He was much more than that. 

  He’s always been much more than some boy to you, and you know if he asked you would follow him to the ends of the Earth.  

  It was then you realized that you were hopeless in love with the boy that sat on your rug, looking past you at the poster on your wall as he awaited for your answer.

  “Well, I guess since you’ve done all the work for me, I have no choice, hm?” You finally answer him, after a couple of silent beats. Before you know it, you’re in his arms, face against his chest as he squeezes you tightly to his body.

   He doesn’t say thank you. 

  He doesn’t tell you that he’s overjoyed that you’ve agreed. 

  He just holds you so close that your scenes are filled with nothing but the soft but rather cloying scent of his cologne. 

  No, words are needed because while he’s holding you trying to thank you in the only way his pride would allow him to, you find yourself falling deeper in love with the boy that has somehow become the center of your universe. 

  Graduation arrives before you know it, and in only a few short weeks, you’re standing in the opening ceremony of your first year of highschool. 

  Your eyes eagerly seek out the blue hues of your best friend and it only takes a brief moment before your eyes lock with his. His face erupts in a nearly ear splitting grin, and your own lips twitch into a smile. 

  You’re both here together, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. 

  With a new school year comes new people waving club flyers in your face, and even though Mei practically begged you to become a manager for the baseball club, you needed some escape away from him. So instead you sign up for the literature (much to Mei’s displeasure), and you settle into your first year of high school rather smoothly. You make friends with people that hold similar interests as you. You succeed in your studies, and best of all, you don’t lose your best friend. No you attend his every game, you sneak out past curfew with him to point at the dim stars in the cityline,  two of you become slightly attached at the hip despite your busy schedules. 

  There are times where jealousy clenches at your heart when Mei’s bouts of fan girls giggle every time he enters your classroom for your shared lunch, or when they scream a little too loudly at his baseball games drowning out your own yells for your best friend. There also times where your heart yearns for him to be yours and yours only . Yet, you tell yourself that it’s selfish for you to want such things. You should be content with the fact that fate hasn’t separated you away from him, that you’re allowed to even be in his orbit. 

  Yet, your heart still longs for more. Your mind still wanders if the two of you could be something more, but you stifle these thoughts and emotions. He’s your best friend and that should be good enough, no matter how much your mind and heart screams at you when he blows a kiss to his fangirls.

  The beginning of the school year practically flies by and before you know it, you’re watching your blonde friend pitch at the most important game of his life. 

  You don’t really know much about baseball, only becoming interested in the sport after Mei decided to always talk about it, yet you know that Mei is an astounding player. He’s confident in the same way that he commands a room to look at him. His charisma bleeds into his pitching style and his determination is shown in every pitch he throws. 

  Yet, something feels off about him today. 

  Those icy blue eyes aren’t electric in the same manner they always are when he’s on the mound. He wasn’t the confident boy you knew him to be and for the first time in a game you could tell that he was nervous.  You wanted to comfort him, to run out onto the field and tell him that this national stage was nothing  because he was meant for the world stage. He was the best and you wanted to make sure that he knew it, yet you couldn’t move from your seat in the stands for the game had already begun. 

  It was no surprise to you that his pitch had become wild, and Inashiro had unfortunately lost the game. 

  You wanted to immediately rush to the locker room, to assure him that it wasn’t his fault that the coach shouldn’t have put too much pressure on a first year. Yet, you couldn’t. There were just too  many reporters that crowded the area. So, you returned back to school and waited. You waited until it was deep into the night until you snuck out of your dorm room, careful not to wake your sleeping roommates. 

You followed the familiar path that led to the boy’s baseball dorms, and in a few brief moments you were outside of Mei’s dorm room, knocking tentatively. After a mere few seconds, the dorm room door flies open and you’re met with the forlorn expression of your best friend. Your heart aches as you step into his unshared dorm room, and before you can fully find the words to say to the taller boy that’s standing in front of you, you're engulfed in his embrace. 

  He’s pressing his face into the side of your neck and you can feel the warm tears that begin to fall from his eyelashes. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing. You just wrap your arms around him, allowing him to fully break down in the way you know he needs too. His sobs wear at your soul as you stroke his soft blonde hair. The way his shoulders tremble nearly causes tears to well in your own eyes. Your heart aches for him, because you know that he feels defeated that he feels as if he is the cause for his teams lost. Once he’s calmed down and the both of you have retreated to the top bunk of his bed, you rest your head against his shoulder listening to his now even breathing.

  “It was my fault we lost,” He whispered into the quiet air of his dorm and you didn't respond knowing any words you might say won’t stop the feeling that rang through his chest. 

  “I’m the ace, ” He continued, fingers toying with your own as he stared blankly at them, “It’s my job to be reliable, to deliver us to victory, and under the presence of nationals, I couldn’t .” His voice breaks, and your heart breaks along with it. You shift slightly in your position causing him to look at you. His face was highlighted by the blue glare of the midnight sky and the moonlight that streamed in from his dorm room window highlighted his blue irises in such a way that made you fall in love all over again. 

  You give him a soft smile, hands coming up to cup his slightly cool cheeks. “You know what you have to do now, right?” You questioned, resulting in a slightly blank stare from the blonde. Dropping your hands from his cheeks, you shake your head as you laugh lowly. 

  “You have to work harder, Mei,” You continued, “Become the ace that they can rely on, become the pitcher that I know you can be.” Your final phrase comes out in a whisper and Mei’s staring at you with those sky-crystal blue eyes that makes your heart begin to beat at a rapid pace. Once again, you feel as if he’s peeling away at every layer of your words, every hidden meaning of them, as if he’s looking at your bare soul. 

  His eyes flicker away from your eyes to your lips, and suddenly his lips are pressed against yours, knocking the air out of your lungs. On pure instinct, your eyes flutter closed, your fingers tangle themselves in his silky blonde locks, and your body pressed against his. He’s pulling you closer as if he’s trying to mold his body into yours, and you gasp into his mouth. The kiss is rushed, yet you can practically taste the nearly feverish emotions that's escaping you and you’re sure that he can feel them too. You’re certain that he can feel the pent up longing that’s erupted from your soul, the yearning you’ve held for him since the very day you saw him in your first year class in middle school. You don’t want it to end, because you know the moment he pulls away, he will fill the nearly electric air between the two of you with apologies and declarations that he just got lost in the moment because he’s vulnerable, and your heart can’t take it. You can’t take the rejection, the denial of your feelings for him, you’re too far gone, because, Heavens, you love him. 

  You love him, You love him, You love him, and you can’t let him go, let your feelings go after he’s kissed you as if you were the center of his universe, and it wasn’t the other way around. When he pulls away from your lips, you feel your heart clench and tears begin to well up in your eyes because you can practically hear the words that are about to leave his reddened lips, and you can’t-- 

  “I love you,” 

  His confession comes out in a heavy whisper, a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat, a whisper that causes you to look at him with wide eyes. Your mind is slower than your heart to react, because before you’ve even thought of words that celebrated his confession, your lips are on his again. You don’t need to tell him that you’ve loved him from the moment you laid your eyes on his haughty expression. You don’t need to tell him that you’ve yearned  for him from the beginning of your friendship. 

  You just pour your entire soul  into your kiss, and for the first moment in your life since you’ve met Mei, he doesn’t feel as if he’s living in a different universe from you, no does he feel as if he is the unreachable sun that you’re orbiting around. 

  He feels like the boy that you love, and who loves you.

[dennou-translations]

Kagerou Daze VIII: Chapter 9

Summer Time Record -side No.2 (3)-

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For how long had I wandered around without a destination?

It wasn’t like I had regained my rationality, but when I noticed it, all “voices” had quieted down, and only a faint noise brought by human activity reached my ears. Amidst it, I could hear the distant peals of folk music echoing from far behind me. Immediately, I realized that it was the BGM of the fireworks festival venue. I had apparently ended up coming to a place pretty distant from it.

Without turning back, at last, I lowered my hips onto the bank’s sidewalk. The murmuring of the river stirred up a sense of loneliness within the thin darkness. The dark gray concrete felt cold, and that in turn made me even more disheartened.

“Mary...”

Really, I’d done something stupid. Even though Mary was finally looking forward to it, rather than just the fireworks, everything was ruined.

I had the intention of coming to a clear decision. For Mary’s sake, I had prepared myself to forget about everything completely. Except, when I was before the names of those guys lined-up on the screen, I couldn’t manage to stay calm, no matter what.

I wondered if the arm I grabbed had hurt. I pondered over what kind of feelings Mary had when using the Concealing.

No, I’ve known this since long ago. Whenever I or Kido activated our Abilities, it was always when we were going through anxiety.

Back then... our joined hands had caused Mary to experience anxiety.

A strangled gasp. Tears helplessly overflowed. I had no face to show myself to her.

On that day, after Kagerou Daze swallowed our “enemy” and “comrades”, Mary and I were the only ones left in that place. My memory was fuzzy from the point where I had carried Mary, who wouldn’t open her eyes, until we had arrived to the hideout. I remembered things from the point where Mary had “smiled” at me upon waking up and looking at my face.

It was unthinkable for that girl to be smiling in the aftermath of a gruesome battle where we had lost our companions. I realized at that moment that Mary was suffering of amnesia. I couldn’t place my finger on how much she didn’t remember exactly, but at the very least, it seemed that all of her memories regarding the fight had dissipated.

Having noticed that, I was indecisive about whether or not I should tell her everything. That we had lost irreplaceable friends. That we were living on while sustaining ourselves on said friends’ lives. And that “we had to live on” from this point onward.

There was no way I could tell her.

My indecision lasted for all but an instant. During that instant, her expression of despair that had crossed my mind made me helplessly terrified.

I would throw away everything and protect only her smile. She didn’t have to reminisce to a past that she had forgotten. If she recalled it, she’d collapse. I couldn’t make her go through that by any means.

And so, I had spent my days until today keeping up appearances.

I had watched the animes she liked with her. We had gotten chills in our stomachs at the supernatural feature of a variety show. We also had found out that there was a delicious restaurant nearby and treated ourselves. She had been peeking at my carrots, so I divided them in half and we ate them together.

In order not to grant a single drop of sadness to that innocent girl who didn’t know anything, I had spent my time looking after and thinking about her only.

The city lights were reflected on the river’s surface, twinkling like a starry sky. When I thought that there were people’s daily affairs and lives comprised in each of them, they felt like something terribly realistic and dirty.

Any and everybody put up façades, nourishing darkness inside their hearts. Though they’d say, “I like you” with their mouths, they’d be saying, “I hate you” in their minds. Tough they’d say, “Thank you” with their mouths, they’d be saying, “Drop dead” in their minds.

For me, who had been hearing “voices” since before I became aware of the things around me, this was more common and strange than anything else. Everyone was living contradictorily, and if you turned over one layer of the thin skin of this world, which seemed beautiful at first glance, it would dull out into something similar to hell.

Right. On the day I had first met her, I was also running away from the “voices”, just like today. That day, the trigger for hearing the “voices” of people I was passing by in the city had been a “voice” that resembled Kano’s. This “voice” had said something horribly foul with the exact same tone as Kano’s, so I was instantaneously engulfed in unease at it.

Everybody in my family were good people. Kano, Kido and Nee-chan had treated me so well that it was lamentable. That was exactly why I was so, so scared of the darkness in my family members’ hearts above anything else that I couldn’t help it.

“What if Kano hates me?”

“What if Nee-chan thinks of me as a nuisance?”

The moment I had thought about it, as if a hoop had disconnected, my control of my Ability stopped working. At that instant, I was swallowed by “voices” that were like an avalanche of abusive language. It hadn’t diminished one bit even when I bolted back home, so I ignored the words of concern from my family and blindly flew out of the house.

I believed that was probably the day I had run the biggest distance in my life. I had run, run, run and run, and before I realized it, I became unable to hear anyone’s “voice”.

By the time I noticed that I had gotten far from the city and gone into the mountains, away from human civilization, I couldn’t see anything in my surroundings. I didn’t know the way back, nor could I spot any supplies to rely upon. It was just that the darkness was more comfortable than anything.

Back then was the first time I had heard her “voice”.

It was almost as if everywhere around me had been painted in the colors of light – that was the kind of impact it had. There was no two-facedness to it, and I didn’t sense the slightest bit of stagnation in it whatsoever. Without thinking, I simply had my heart stolen by the “voice” – which was beautiful even – of that girl, who was but in love with the world and had her chest swelling at the happiness that would visit her one day.

Thus, I dashed with my aching feet as if dragging them on, and the person inside the house that I had arrived to was no one other than Mary. The light pink eyes of Mary, whose white hair was swaying, were transparent like gems, reflecting my figure. At that instant, although I was a child, I understood something. That “I was born to protect this girl”.

From that day on, my head had been full of her.

The world, opposing to her fantasies, was brutal. It was a dent of hatred, spinning stale thoughts into a whirlpool. If a girl as innocent as her attempted to go out into it, her pure-white heart would end up dyed black.

I always thought that I’d become strong for her sake. If it was for protecting her, I seriously though about turning into the prince charming from fictional stories that she wouldn’t stop yearning for.

For me, there was no other reason to make me think, “I want to live” in this world, filled to the brim as it was with stale “voices”.

Even when I wound up hearing the “voice” of Clearing, which had been residing inside Dad, and when I learned that my family and I would be murdered, it was Mary that mostly crossed my mind. I couldn’t leave her alone. I didn’t want to let her experience sadness no matter what. The more I thought about that, my heart, which made light of my family and friends, was tainted black in a dark, ugly way.

When I heard Kano’s cries on the night before the decisive battle, too, I had suppressed the emotions that I was about to vomit out and desperately kept myself under control.

Kano was... He was truly a good guy. If anything, I’d wanted to shoulder together the things he had been burdening himself with. He was more kindhearted than anyone, knew my thoughts better than anyone, yet he was also awkward... We siblings really were exactly alike.

I had measured even him on a scale with Mary.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t do anything in the end. I hadn’t fought and hadn’t been able to leave it all behind, just kept running away, thus arriving to this point.

Her smile was everything. It was my only “happiness”. Yes, that was what I had supposedly decided, and yet...

“I was wrong,” my own “voice” echoed in my ears, not letting go of me.

Suddenly, a single sentence was revived inside my head. Having come in contact with helpless seriousness, I let depreciation spill out without thinking, “I’m sorry, Ene-chan. I can’t do anything...”

On the day of the decisive battle, back when Azami attempted to summon Kagerou Daze to swallow Clearing, I had been ready to “throw away my own life”, like Kano and the others. It pained my heart to leave Mary behind and depart by myself, but Ene-chan and the others would definitely come for her aid – I had no choice except to believe in that.

Yet, right after Kagerou Daze appeared, Ene-chan’s tone of determination echoed loud and clear, reaching my ears, “I will be the one to go, so everything is fine. You’re probably the only one who can protect that girl.”

Why hadn’t I realized back then that those words were directed at me? I had only found out that she offered her life in exchange for mine when everything was over and I spotted Kano’s phone cracked on the floor at my feet.

Hit by a memory, I had abruptly taken my phone out. Above a picture of Mary that I had made into wallpaper, only a few numbers displaying the time had appeared. Of course, there had been no display of anyone’s call in the history either.

If I’d had the courage to fight, I wonder if it would’ve made any difference. I wonder if it would’ve changed the plot of this tragedy that one couldn’t even bear to look at.

No, there was no way I could do that. Someone as weak as me, who’d ended up letting go of even Mary’s hand, surely wouldn’t have been able to accomplish anything, no matter what I might’ve done.

Squeezing my phone’s dim screen with a lot of strength, I gritted my teeth.

What was that “I’ll protect Mary” about? What an overambitious thing that I ended up thinking, when I could do nothing but be rescued, be sheltered and run away.

There was no longer anyone left from my family and friends. I could no longer hear anybody’s “voice”.

I wanted to see Mary. I wanted to see my friends. They could hate or disdain me for all I cared. I simply wanted to have just a conversation with everyone together once again...!

“Are you crying?”

A voice.

“You okay? Were you lonely by yourself?”

I certainly heard Mary’s voice. I frantically got up, desperately looking around the area, but couldn’t find Mary’s figure there.

Was it the effect of Concealing...? No, that wasn’t it. Just now, I’d heard the voice from so close that it seemed enough to touch her.

Then just how? What’s going on right now...?

“Se-Seto! I’m here; right here.”

For a second, I doubted my ears. Mary’s voice had definitely come from the phone I was holding. Surprised, I dropped my gaze to the phone’s screen. “Eh?”

In it, just like how Ene-chan used to do before, Mary’s figure was flightily drifting about inside the screen. I stared, my mouth dumbly agape.

“Aah~, you finally noticed! Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Y-You did...”

My head couldn’t catch up with what was happening in front of my eyes, so I couldn’t contain the loud beating of my heart, which seemed like it was about to burst. The phenomenon before me was without a doubt something brought by the Ability that Ene-chan used to have.

Mary currently had four Abilities in addition to the Combining, which she already had. There was no reason for her not to use them, but to think she had become able to use even this power after the Concealing...

“Mary, why’re you doing something like this out of the... Actually, where’s your body? Don’t tell me you left it somewhere.”

“Wah, wah—Calm down, Seto! It’s okay, ‘cause it’s... right here.” Within the screen, Mary’s facial expression clouded over a little.

“Where? I’m coming right away, just tell me the pla... ce...”

The oozing pain that burned my chest interrupted my words.

“I��m coming right away”? Who was saying that and with what mouth? What could someone like me, who had deceived Mary and tried to forget his friends, say to Mary upon “seeing” her after this? Did I seriously think that continuing a daily life painted in fabrications was for Mary’s sake?

I had long realized it already. I couldn’t become a prince charming. I was a half-assed “monster” who could neither stop thinking about Mary nor forget our friends.

It was okay if she thought it was too late for this. If I told her everything, she might cry. Even so, I didn’t want to taint her any more with lies.

“Mary, there’s something I wanna talk about. I want you to hear it,” I said, unable to look at Mary in the face.

She would probably think, “What’s he saying all of a sudden”. I wondered how long it would take me to explain one thing at a time. After I conveyed it all, would she ever accept it?

Mary definitely didn’t know anything. She was someone pure and innocent, who I had to protect. Right. Knowing nothing about Mary, I had been convinced of this to a shocking extent, until she replied to my words.

“I also have something I want to talk about,” Mary said with a voice I didn’t know. “Let’s go, Seto. Everyone’s waiting.”

   I climbed the stone stairs one step after another. The flame of the lanterns was out, so my field of vision, reduced by the thicket on both sides, was dyed in the shades of the night.

I could no longer hear Mary’s voice from the phone squeezed in my hand. And I didn’t ask her anything either. Only the quiet sounds of me stepping onto the gravel scattered about the stone stairs repeated itself. I also couldn’t hear the commotion at the far-off fireworks venue anymore. The cries of summer bugs was remiss, and not even the presence of living creatures could be felt. The tranquility surrounding the house that Mary used to live in the past existed here.

Were people being kept out? Or was there another meaning to this? Either way, the only thing I could somehow tell was that this discretion was due to Mary using the Concealing.

Within a silence that made it seem like everything had died out, only Mary’s words kept crossing my mind and disappearing. She said she “had something that she wanted to talk about”. And also that “everyone was waiting”. Did she know something I didn’t? And why did she have to tell me about that?

How awful. Maybe, somewhere in my heart, I had the feeling that she was incapable of analyzing the matter in its entirety, as if I knew everything about her. Honestly, there was a limit to how arrogant I could be, trying to play the “prince charming” who would protect her when I was such a mess.

Surely, everything would end today. Still, in contrast to this definite presentiment, I couldn’t imagine that outcome for the life of me.

And so, I finally reached the top.

The open grounds of the shrine were deserted, as the sounds suggested. I swallowed dryly at the frame of a pure-white back that I spotted on the stone road leading to the main hall.

“How?”

I realized it with just a look. Mary’s figure as she turned around was transformed, just like on that day. Her cheeks bore those scales that had been gone ever since that day, her irises swaying red like fresh blood. As if responding to my words, Mary’s slit, snake-like eyes slightly narrowed.

“Thanks for coming. This place was best for me, no matter what.”

The way she talked was Mary’s, but the usual weak feeling to them was nowhere in sight.

As I was about to ask, “Just what is going on?”, Mary’s words, which seemed to be see-through, came flying at me, “Is the Stealing okay? I’m sorry; I was also surprised, so I couldn’t contain the Concealing...”

I couldn’t hide my shock at each of those words. Was there any moment until now where Mary had said the names of the Abilities?

While I was so confused, as if taking notice of it, Mary cut off with an “I’ll be the one to talk”. “There’s something I have to apologize for. I’ve been thinking all this time that I had to say it, but I couldn’t.” Mary closed her eyes, looking apologetic.

I couldn’t even nod at the unexpected, sudden confession.

“That day... ever since the fight ended, I’d always been lying to you.”

My heart clenched at the word “fight” that came out of Mary. It was a word I had made sure to never utter, from that day until now.

“L... ‘Lying’...? Also, you said ‘fight’, so Mary, your memories...”

“I’d remembered it all along. Nothing was forgotten. I caused a misunderstanding... because I was smiling back then.”

Shades of extremely deep grief resided in Mary’s facial expression. My train of thought mixed up chaotically at those words and that face.

Mary hadn’t forgotten anything? That couldn’t be; it was impossible. That day, at the hideout, after we had come back from the fight, Mary was definitely smiling. Seeing that, I had figured Mary didn’t recall anything.

I mean, why would she have smiled if she remembered it all? There’s no way Mary would laugh immediately after sobbing at the death of our frie...

“Laugh”?

A single surfacing thought began crumbling down the shallow presumption that I had been believing in from the head.

I was wrong. Mary didn’t laugh because she wanted to laugh. The meaning of that smile, it couldn’t be...

“You did that so I wouldn’t worry?”

Mary nodded a little at my words, smiling without any strength. “Yep... I mean, Seto, you were making such a sad face. If I’d cried too, you would’ve gotten even sadder, right?”

A lenient wind silently blew through the shrine grounds. Faced with the truth that pierced into me, my body became flaccid, like a thread that had been cut. As my feet could no longer support me, my knees hit the ground with the momentum just like that. I could sense a dull pain from them, but my head was so clouded that I couldn’t even feel it right.

I was being saved by her all this time.

Mary had been putting up a smile ever since that day so that I would smile. Mary had kept pretending that she had lost her memories so that I wouldn’t be sad. How absurd of me to think that Mary would break down if she found out about the deaths of our friends. Not only had she accepted their deaths, Mary had been protecting me.

Had I been looking properly at her face? Listening properly to her words? Didn’t she go out shopping and said she would “help” with chores because she was desperate to support my “fake daily life”?

As I simply sat dumbfounded without replying, Mary continued, “But I thought this couldn’t go on. You doing your best to forget everyone was all my fault... that’s why I’ve been thinking. Together with him.”

Mary’s finger abruptly pointed at the air. Her index went right over my head, stretched toward behind me. As I turned around with my knees still on the ground, the figure of one of our members, who had probably just climbed up the stone steps, was there. His outfit, consisting of a sky-colored shirt under a vest and shorts, had not changed from the day of that decisive battle.

“Hibiya... kun...”

As I called his name weakly, Hibiya-kun scratched his cheek, looking awkward. “It’s not like we were planning to trick you or anything. She just said that she wanted me to keep quiet.”

“Thanks for coming, Hibiya-kun. I... already told him everything, so it’s okay.”

As the two took turns to speak with each other, I hastily made my head catch up with their conversation.

How had Mary contacted Hibiya-kun? It was obvious – by using the Stirring.

Mary remembered everything about that fight. She had always been thinking about them, who had fought desperately, protected us and tried to accomplish our strategy.

“Don’t ever give up on the future”.

Mary hadn’t forgotten about the goal that we all carried with us back then. This girl was far stronger than I thought. She wasn’t afraid of tainting her pure whiteness.

After that day, Mary definitely had been using the Abilities to keep up with the plan together with Hibiya-kun. Amidst the loneliness of losing our friends and the pressure of being entrusted with the future, she had frantically made sure not to show those feelings to me by any means. And with those same feelings, Hibiya-kun had assisted Mary. Surely, his eyes had kept looking into the unfinished future. That was exactly why he had showed up here like this.

Aah, no good. I can’t muster a single word anymore.

Wasn’t I the only one who had given up everything for Mary’s sake yet didn’t manage to do anything on my own? Even though Mary was fighting wildly against despair...!

As I sat pathetically at the center of the shrine grounds, I let out a sob that I couldn’t repress. Casting aside my shame and dignity, I was seriously helpless simply for not being able to repay them.

Someone please sentence me. Kill my coward self. Please, I’m begging...

“It’s okay; don’t be scared...” A “voice” echoed in the darkness, “Don’t blame yourself, Seto.”

Don’t, Mary. Stop.

“Nobody will hate you, Seto. I know you fought.”

I have no right to be hugged by you. I shouldn’t be forgiven.

“Thank you for always protecting me. Thank you for always cherishing me.”

The “voice” destroyed my world, which hadn’t changed in anything since that day. Yeah, I had devoted my life to that voice. Even so... I...

“Thanks to you, I started liking this world a lot.”

When I opened my eyes, I saw the most beautiful tears in the world. I would certainly never be worthy of those words that expressed such endearment, like light, like flowers and like hope.

I wanted to protect her forever. I wanted us to overcome that endless summer together. If God didn’t have an after-summer in store for us, I wanted to make one with her.

Ever since that time, I had always been helplessly in love with this girl.

“Hey, Seto. I wonder if we’ll get to see the fireworks clearly if it’s from here.”

My unfulfilled wishes dissipated like the summer. In this place, where sounds and light were nowhere to be found, the only thing that definitely existed was warmth.

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing with Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 3: Year 1- October

ao3 link

The transition from summer to fall was always most evident in the midst of October and best seen on the front lawn leading up to the main entrance (no matter what Cody said about the Quidditch pitches). Satine always took special care to appreciate the beautiful weather while it lasted, understanding all too well that winter would be at their doorstep sooner rather than later. 

It gave studying (or in this case, procrastinating) a different atmosphere and one she could better enjoy with the company of two good friends. Aayla Secura and Stass Allie, who were both Ravenclaws of her year, were both behind on their respective assignments. Aayla often struggled to balance Quidditch with homework while Stass usually got into her own head to the point where she found it difficult to pick up a quill sometimes. Satine, herself, wasn’t actively behind, but used the time to edit Viz’s transfiguration essay on Animagi.

“Let’s take a break!” Aayla suggested for the third time that hour.

“Agreed!” Stass closed her textbook far too suddenly for anyone that believed they were to get anything done. “What do you guys want to do about Halloween?”

“You two do plan on passing fifth year, right?” Satine asked without looking up from the passage she’d been marking, “Because I’d hate to go to the trouble of finding two different girl best friends to pal around with in class.”

“Oh posh, we’ll figure it out.” Stass said, more like she was convincing herself rather than Satine, “Right?”

“Sure, if you focus for longer than 15 minutes at a time.” She squeezed her hand and inhaled the fresh soft breeze that swirled around them. “However, it is a lovely day and just looking at you both I can tell you won’t focus anyway… So, what’s up?”’

Aayla leaned forward on her elbows, a bright blue lekku falling over her shoulder as she did so. “As you both know, this is the first year we’re considered upperclassmen.”

“Seeing as we are no longer stuck in the middle of fourth year, yes, I’ve noticed.” Stass snorted, though seemed to already catch what Aayla was hinting at. 

Satine, who was half-dividing her attention to a hanging participle on Viz’s concluding statement, simply hummed in response. She loved her friends immensely, but they did tend to get easily distracted by mundane details. Not that there was anything particularly wrong about celebrating this fact, but when either talked about how ‘old’ they were getting, it only reminded Satine that their time was nearing thin at Hogwarts.

“And you know what that means…” She added.

“OWLS.” Satine responded blandly and Stass slid the parchment from underneath her and looked at her pointedly.

“What?” She asked.  

“Anyway,” Aayla continued, “That means we finally get to be invited to the Halloween bonfire this year.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Satine mused, “I’ve always been curious about those. Didn’t last year’s get sacked by Professor Windu for hosting a secret keg stand in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Sure did!” Stass said excitedly. “And you know with how rambunctious our year is that something is bound to happen.”

“I doubt I’ll be invited then. I’m a prefect!” Satine said.

Admittedly, she did really want to attend the bonfire. Despite its lesser popularity in England, Satine always enjoyed Halloween on principle. Dressing up, sweets, and the fresh crispness of a late autumn evening were all too appealing to resist. Plus, she was not easily frightened and could find humor in most horror films. 

“You’ll be fine!” Aayla waved her off. “You’re not a total stooge. If anything, it’s Kenobi that’s probably not in the best shape.”

She frowned, “Ben is not a stooge!”

“Of course you would say that.” Stass said coyly.

“And what, perchance, is that supposed to mean?” She shot back, feeling her face growing hot.

“He’s the most by-the-book person that’s ever walked the floors. Remember when he reminded Professor Yaddle about the homework when he’d been the only one who’d done it? I’m surprised he wasn’t walloped for that.”

“That was first year.” Satine complained, “He’s come a long way.”

“Yeah, and we all like him!” Stass said hurriedly, “Aayla bonds with him over Quidditch.”

“No matter how much he loathes it.” Aayla added.

“And we both share a predilection for Defense Against the Dark Arts! It’s just that you know, the troublemakers won’t be as easily convinced.”

“What’s he got to prove to them anyway?” Satine rolled her eyes, “It’s not enough that they’ve got to peak in primary school, but they’ve got to drag others down too? Who’s planning the party this year anyway?”

“Rumor mill says it’s Sora Bulq and his friends. Expectedly, it’s never anyone with any scholarly clout.” Aayla said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I’m going to have to have words with him then.” She said, “Diplomatically, of course, but to think you can go around choosing who can and can’t go to a school function is positively ridiculous.”

“But what if he decides not to invite you?” Stass asked, worried.

“I don’t want to go to any party where Ben is unwelcome.” She said and began packing up her things.

Aayla and Stass exchanged a look that was mighty suspicious to Satine, who was already fired up about this line of conversation. It was primitive to think that it was ever acceptable to exclude anyone for any reason, particularly when everyone else was there and would talk nonstop about it come that Monday morning. Whatever unspoken conspiracy that existed between her two friends would have to wait, because she was on her feet and storming up the hill before they could further comment. 

“Oh hell, she’s going to see to it that we never have one of these bonfires ever again, isn’t she?” Stass murmured.

“Yeah, we’re screwed.” Aayla said. 

***

Ever since Professor Palpatine had gifted it to him, Anakin had been all but glued to the enchanted map. As per their agreement, he never showed it to anyone and only studied it from beneath his bedsheets. It had been a lifesaver in terms of navigating his way around the halls. 

The map, like everything in the wizarding world, was enchanted to move in real time. At any time, he could see whoever moved around the school and where they were going. If this fell into the wrong hands (or right- prefects would have a field day), it could be used to exploit those that kept secrets.

And speaking of secrets, he couldn’t help but notice that every evening, Professor Dooku managed to vanish from the map altogether. At first, he assumed he aparated elsewhere, but apparition in Hogwarts was forbidden, even for professors. However, that theory was disproved when he casually brought it up to Obi-Wan, who told him that Dooku was one of the professors that lived on the grounds.

So… Where did he go?

There were so many hidden corridors and hallways that were not privy to students in the first place and Anakin yearned to see all of them. There was so much to uncover and unveil about Hogwarts and it was all sitting in a two-dimensional drawing in his hands. Perhaps, one day, he’d get the chance.

Not until Obi-Wan graduated, maybe, but it would happen.

***

Satine had enlisted Cody into her crusade just in case Bulq needed someone that was a little more physically imposing than a lanky blonde girl with pigtails. He was, expectedly, eager to help in this mission and was easily angered about the theory as well. Both had decided it was for the best to leave Obi-Wan out of the equation, since he’d never been fond of the prospect of anyone sticking their neck out for him like this. 

Still, she didn’t mind. She would have been mad if it had been anyone they were excluding… Even the likes of Hondo Ohnaka, who hardly ever seemed to take a bath. That morning, Hondo had excitedly expressed that he’d received an invitation, which matched the ones that Satine and Cody had also gotten. Obi-Wan had made no comment, but didn’t seem very bothered by it. Instead, he continued to eat his breakfast and try to dissect the scribble that was Anakin’s handwriting. 

“Not get an invitation? What the bloody hell is that about?” Cody asked as they stalked down the hall with a purpose that caused everyone to part the way. It was satisfying in a strange way.

“Because he’s a loser.” Sora Bulq laughed when they’d asked that very question.

“He is not a loser.” Satine said tightly, “If anything, you are the fool for failing to invite the biggest candidate for Head Boy of fifth year.”

“You’re lucky you were invited, muggle-born.” Bulq countered. “Not sure why you care much for him in the first place.”

Ventress, who stood not far off cackled, “She’s playing the part of the token muggle pet, Bulq. Please, let’s humor her.”

“Obi-Wan’s parents are extremely affluent.” Satine reconsidered her approach calmly, which drew a curious look from Cody. “And I’m sure they would not be happy to hear that their son was excluded from a social event that was formed by their greatest acquaintances’ children.”

Ventress stiffened at that. “And what exactly would you know about status?”

“I know that you don’t want to be the one to go toe-to-toe with the Kenobi’s, Ventress.”

The paler girl smiled menacingly, “Do they even know you exist? Why would they believe you anyway?”

“They might believe me.” Cody crossed his arms in a way that accentuated his biceps. He acted like he didn’t do it on purpose, but seeing how he was glaring at Bulq, he certainly was. It was certainly difficult to dispute that it worked. 

Bulq rolled his eyes, “Fine, whatever… But if he causes any funny business, I swear, Kryze, you will be the one hearing from me.”

“I’ve seen your wand work.” She raised an eyebrow, “So, I’m really not afraid of you.”

***

“Why are we doing this?” Whined Anakin as he slumped back in his seat to try and catch a better view of the window that glowed behind Obi-Wan. Compared to the radiant display of nature that existed peacefully outside, the room they sat in was dim and cold with only a black and white board between them.

“It’s important!” Obi-Wan said, “It places a good emphasis on patience, which judging by what Professor Windu tells me, you could use a little work on.”

Anakin crossed his arms and huffed, “So, I skipped ahead a little. I was only trying to get the guy to like me.”

“Accidentally setting Rex’s desk on fire is not the way to do that.” 

“I was trying to light the candle!” He complained, “The wind blew it out and I thought it would be an opportune time to display my skills… I just… Overshot it a little.”

“Mhmm.” Obi-Wan sized him up, “Qui-Gon and I started playing when I was your age. Wizard’s Chess is a very popular pastime in wizarding culture. You can sit back, relax, test your mind and spirit while chatting with a friend… Or foe.”

While Anakin definitely wanted to fit in more with his peers, he wasn’t sure chess was the right move for him. If they had video games, perhaps, he’d been more invested, but chess was still just chess… Even if the pieces moved on their own.

“Just cause you guys stick “wizard” in front of everything doesn’t make it special. You know that right?”

“Check mate.” Obi-Wan smirked as his bishop moved forward and physically slashed Anakin’s king into little crumbled pieces. “How do you not enjoy that?”

“Maybe because these pieces give awful advice.” He glared down at them. “Have they ever won before?”

“Well, that’s usually the set I use when I play Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan winced, “So no, they’ve not seen a victory.”

Anakin opened his mouth to give him a colorful retort about the unfairness of those odds, but was interrupted by the storm that was Satine Kryze and Cody Fett as they burst into the room red-faced and waving an envelope.

“We’ve got it!” Cody beamed. 

“I see that.” Obi-Wan chuckled, “Just one question, what is ‘it’ that you have?”

Anakin was just relieved to be inadvertently rescued from another match of Wizard’s Chess, which was incredibly lazy since he didn’t even have to use his arms to move the pieces. He briefly wondered how there weren’t more overweight wizards and witches at the rate at which they avoided physically doing anything. 

“Your personal invitation to the Halloween bonfire.” Satine said as she smugly slammed it onto the chess board. 

Obi-Wan and Anakin both leaned over to see that yes, the orange and black cardstock was addressed to Obi-Wan and did, in fact, invite him to a party. 

“You didn’t tell me there was going to be a party!” Anakin said excitedly.

“Because there isn’t a party for you.” Cody said.

“It’s only for upperclassmen.” Satine added with that voice and look that said “so don’t even try it”.

Which to Anakin, made it all the more intriguing.

“I’m surprised I’m even invited, honestly.” Obi-Wan shrugged, “I’d already counted on not going. I signed up for the latest patrol.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Satine said sharply and she leaned forward with both hands firmly placed on the table, “You’re not slithering out of this one.”

“Yeah we went to a lot of-” Cody began hotly, but was elbowed in the gut by Satine, thus cutting off his statement.

“-Care to bring this to you.” She finished, though neither Obi-Wan or Anakin quite believed that’s what Cody was going to say.

“While I appreciate having my own personal mail carriers,” He joked to an unresponsive audience, “I am really not much for Halloween. Besides, everyone would have more fun if I wasn’t there anyway.”

“That’s not true!” Satine argued vehemently, “This is a rite of passage and you are not about to abandon us in favor of reading in your room and walking the halls. We’re not about to let you get in your own head about this.”

“Besides, it’s not like we’re going to tell your parents.” Cody rolled his eyes, “They’ll never know! The professors pretend not to know. If you don’t go, you’ll have a big “x” painted on you socially.”

“I think you’re both being a little dramatic.” Obi-Wan said carefully, but especially kept his focus on a very heated Satine. Even Anakin knew not to toil with the wrath of a frenzied woman, particularly if he didn’t have to.

“Dramatic? How are we supposed to have fun when we know you’re off somewhere moping and brooding?”

“I don’t brood.” He frowned, though Anakin knew his mentor did, in fact, brood.

“Whatever,” She rolled her eyes. “Excuse me for wanting to see you have a good time every now and then and for wanting you to go with me… And Cody!” Satine hurried. 

“I will carry you there by force if I must, mate.” Cody said.

After careful consideration and fiddling with his quill, Obi-Wan finally sighed, “Well, I already know neither of you will ever let me live it down if I don’t…”

Both Satine and Cody dropped their shoulders in relief and shared a bright smile. It seemed Obi-Wan could not help but be equally happy to see them happy. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan and Satine being indisposed at some top secret party meant that Anakin might actually get to enjoy his Halloween and explore Hogwarts to the fullest. 

***

“Found anything, you have not.” Headmaster Yoda said gravely, not even bothering to turn his chair to face Professor Windu’s solemn stare. 

“We’ve checked every accessible meter of this school, Headmaster.” He replied firmly. 

Yoda knew this wasn’t good enough. There were secrets this school held that went beyond his years- despite how few would believe that by looking at him. Yoda caught his own reflection off an antique bottle of wine gifted to him by the Minister of Magic as a Christmas present. Even in the distorted evergreen hues, his wrinkles were deep and the hair that scarcely covered his little green head was a pure white. In spite of this, he would never know the true mystery that their ancestors left them.

Secret rooms and passageways unbeknownst even to him, evil hexes and curses that were designed to scorn those that uncovered them. It rarely ever turned out well for the curious and the wandering. It was why they discouraged exploration. Prefects were also implemented and chosen carefully to prevent any incidents as well. 

It was one thing when it was merely old traps finally snapping on unsuspecting students, but there was no doubt that something more sinister was creeping under the surface. Yoda wished he could better explain why, but his dreams foretold an impending fate worse than death, itself. 

He’d expressed these dreams to the Minister of Magic, but received little insight. Valorum did not seem to understand the significance of dreams. While it was important to be mindful of them, it was not as though Yoda was staring all day in the mirror of erised. No, instead, Yoda had deeply meditated over each and every one and it all ended the same.

“In the ashes of hypocrisy…  the lords of the Sith return”

The corrupt whisper seemed to flow through him. He begged the magical forces to allow him a glimpse at a face, but he didn’t need to look this creature in the eyes to know it was the embodiment of pure darkness. 

“Feel it, you do?” He asked.

“Something is wrong.” Mace Windu admitted and lightning crashed behind him as though setting the dramatic tone. It would be humorous if Mace were the type to lean into theatrics. His friend and former pupil was nothing if not straightforward.

“Disturbances.” He hummed.

“Indeed,” Windu ran a hand over his smooth head. “We always used to say that the ghosts always know first. And yet…”

“Hm?”

“No ghosts.” He said darkly. 

Many were offended by Windu’s steely demeanor, but few truly understood his battle with the darker sides of magic. Every step he took was a labor of teetering the balance of good and evil. It was far from easy, and Yoda respected the consistent choice to be good that Windu made every single day. He was grateful for it too, because while Yoda had much more experience under his belt, Windu was likely the most powerful wizard that ever attended Hogwarts. However, he understood that with that power came exceptional measures of control and collectivity. If anyone that could be trusted, it was Windu.

Well, him and-

“Sorry I’m late, Headmaster.” Qui-Gon Jinn wrung out sopping hair onto the stone flooring, “I had the pleasure of inspecting the Quidditch pitches.”

While the less severe of the two, Qui-Gon Jinn was easily the wisest wizard that ever walked through Hogwarts. He was one of the younger professors employed at Hogwarts, but if not for the formidably brilliant Dooku, would have been an obvious choice as Head of House. 

“See anything?” Windu asked.

“Nothing that constitutes actual concern.” Qui-Gon said, “Though I did catch a few students out past curfew.”

“Do you think they were conspiring?” 

“Considering they were heading off to the Forbidden Forest with a picnic blanket and were caught up in a snogging fest when I got to them, I doubt it.” He smirked.

“Thoughts on this, do you have, Qui-Gon?” Yoda asked.

Yoda might have negated his own dreams had Qui-Gon not shared them verbatim. It was a frightening discovery they’d had one blinding summer morning. The bearded professor was sketching out a lesson plan, but continued doodling the dark mark at which they’d seen.

In Yoda’s dream, it had been carved in blood. 

“I heard a noise,” He said. “I was returning into the building and it was fleeting, but I’ve never heard it before.”

“Loud, was it?”

“I wouldn’t say it was particularly jarring, but odd. It sounded like two stone walls moving against one another, but in the distance.”

“Outside or inside?” Windu asked.

“I’m positive it was inside.” Qui-Gon said, “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, we haven’t got an intruder, sir.”

“Say that like it’s better, you do.” Yoda offered, “Troubling, it is, for us to question one of our own.”

“The question is who.” Windu said firmly, “We’ve not had any significant issues before this summer and all of our professors are fairly tenured.”

“I believe the question is why.” Qui-Gon interjected, “And I think it’s obvious.”

“Please don’t start.” Windu sighed, giving way impatience for a change and it reminded Yoda that it was well past midnight and everyone was exhausted. He’d admittedly run them all ragged in his attempts to keep everything as safe as possible. Neither ever protested, but eventually, it would start to get to them and temporary fixes would only do so much.

It didn’t help that Qui-Gon and Windu vehemently disagreed on the matter of prophecy.

“Don’t start?” Qui-Gon laughed sardonically, “You said it yourself that something is going on! Yoda and I saw the same dream and I’m telling you, it’s the chosen one. Why else would the dark symbol appear when it did all those months ago? It hadn’t been publically waved for 100 years, Mace.”

“Then why are the presented omens negative? The chosen one is meant to unite good and evil, if you believe in that sort of thing.” Windu stubbornly replied.

“With the rise of the light, there will be darkness… Or perhaps, it’s the other way around.” He said thoughtfully.

“True that is, Professor Qui-Gon.” Yoda said, “But young, the boy is, and innocent. Scare him, we shall not.”

“We cannot leave him in the dark for too long.” Qui-Gon said hastily. “He is not to be trained as any regular wizard if he is to truly bring balance.”

“We don’t even know if this boy is the chosen one.” Windu said, “I’m certainly not so sure.”

“Clouded, our judgment is.” Yoda said quietly. “Rest, we must. The future, we can never be truly prepared for.”

 ***

Approximately one kilometer beneath the surface, away from sleeping children and lumbering ghosts, who never quite got their fullest rest, a long and bony hand reached through the pocket of a gate, extending until it met its goal of the slumbering beast’s coarse scales. 

It didn’t move- it never did. It was so resigned to its fate. It’s only purpose is to wallow underground and play its part in the transfer of power. It was truly a marvel: how the natural world could be so gifted without any assigned meaning. It was senseless to let it go about and mindlessly destroy. There was much, much worse that could be done should that power land in the proper lap.

However, he was not in charge. He never would be. 

“We are not so far apart, my ferocious friend.” Tyranus’s deep voice echoed off the damp walls. Figureheads, shrouded in the persistent darkness that reflected their very souls, seemed to stare down at him disapprovingly. 

This beast was locked away, forced to be unknown by the outside world, serving as the life force for another in order to see that the means are worth the end result. That’s all Tyranus would ever be… The pawn… The tool… The beast.

But he would not lose himself, entirely. He had his own objectives and his own mind, just as this creature likely once had. He would see them through even if it killed him.

The day he joined, he was upfront about his refusal to be consumed. To be consumed by the darkness would only make him weak, because to be obsessed with anything lowered one’s sensibilities. It was the very thing that brought down the statued men and women that gazed down at him- forever sullen and hidden away. They were scorned by their own refusal to look at things logically, which to him, was the problem with the current state of affairs.

He did not need the satisfaction of burning the world as many sith did. No, he was content with broken spirits vs broken bodies- not because Tyranus had a conscience. He was merely more pragmatic than he was lethal. Power came in many forms, but he would prefer to master the power of the mind. 

The beast howled in pain at the drain. Tyranus felt no pain for this beast, but he felt no pleasure either. He felt nothing.

And that… That would all change once he got his hands on that cursed boy. 

“You deserve a true sacrifice.” He whispered quietly.

***

Rex was exhausted. He’d been double checking Krell’s history essay during dinner so he’d had to make a run down to the kitchens to grab something to eat. Of course once he’d come back, Krell had admonished him for his “poor work” and had sent him back down to the kitchens to get him another dessert as punishment. Rex tried not to think about the anger that buzzed about his head when he remembered how Krell had tossed Rex’s own history essay back at him, with no corrections, but covered vaguely in what he hoped was sticky pudding.

He knew Anakin would have told him to fight back, but Anakin, unlike Rex, didn’t have looming threats sent in his direction. More than once, Krell had threatened to obliviate him when he’d caught Anakin giving him the stink eye from across the common room and Rex knew Krell could easily provoke his older brother, Cody, and he did not want to be the reason his brother got booted from the Quidditch team.

“Tell anyone about this and you’ll be joining the ranks of your more useless family members,” Was one of Krell’s current favorite lines of threatening.

Rex tried to take it in stride. He’d only brought up the matter once to Professor Windu. His professor just reminded Rex that mentors were selected on merit and if Mr. Krell hadn’t been fit for the role, he would not have been selected.

So Rex just pushed down any emotion other than his complete exhaustion and pushed open the door to his dormitory.

Despite it being quite late, he was mildly surprised to see Anakin was awake and, from the looks of it, plotting something. The moment Rex’s face was bathed in the soft firelight of the room Anakin was beckoning him over with a frantic hand wave. As much as Rex wanted to dive straight into his four-poster bed and draw the curtains, he approached his friend's bed with a look of resignation.

“Rex! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Anakin chirped excitedly and pulled over what looked to be an old homework assignment, turned into scrap paper, “I’ve just heard of this party, it’s for the older students, but honestly how could we not go!” Rex suddenly felt as if a rock had fallen into his stomach as he slowly peered down at the notes and saw one of the subheadings was labeled: Fancy Dress Ideas.

“You wouldn’t mean,” Rex asked slowly, “the Halloween party?”

“Yes, yes exactly,” Anakin continued hurriedly, not noticing anything amiss, “Satine and Cody told me I couldn’t go, but there has to be a way to sneak in,” Anakin’s hand dragged through the ink, smearing out a few of his outfit ideas as he continued to doodle a crude map of the castle grounds, “Obviously you should come with me, we’ll be the coolest first years the castle’s ever seen. I’m sure even your brother wasn’t this bold,” Anakin grinned up at him, before his grin slowly faded into a confused expression as he caught Rex’s eye for the first time, “Well, you do want to go don’t you?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to try and sneak in with you,” Rex tried to think of a way to phrase his thoughts, worried about accidentally losing the only friend who had been willing to stick around despite all of Krell’s errands, “It’s just that… I’ll already be attending the party,” He’d intended on continuing, but was cut off rather quickly.

“What?!” Anakin whisper shouted, which really for him was almost like shouting, but just barely managing not to wake up their whole dormitory, “They invited you but not me? Not that you’re not great and all,” Anakin tacked on rather haphazardly, “But I mean! I’ve gotten on the Quidditch team and everyone’s still talking about when I accidently transfigured that tree branch into a real piece of gold instead of a saucer,” He would have continued, but Rex had already had quite enough this evening.

“It’s not like I even want to go!” He matched Anakin’s near shout, but paused as they both heard one of their fellow students turn over, after a moment of silence he continued with whispered frustration, “It’s Krell! He’s making me go with him, doubt it will be much fun for me,” He finished miserably, and slowly Anakin’s jealousy simmered into quiet anger at his friend's mentor.

“That Krell,” Anakin muttered darkly, “Wish I could practice a few jinx’s on him,” Rex shook his head.

“That’ll only make him worse,” Rex said with a frown, the feeling of being dragged down, like he was barely holding his own in an ocean set to drown him, was returning. He was quite ready to banish that sensation in his dreams so he made his way to his own trunk and started dressing for bed.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t imagine it,” Anakin said wistfully, but as if sensing Rex’s unwillingness to discuss the topic any longer he changed the subject, “I guess Power Rangers are out,” he scratched his quill over an option in his list, “It’ll be no fun if it’s just me,” Rex, who had gotten into his bed, turned back around to face Anakin with a look of bafflement on his face.

“What in the bloody hell is a ‘Power Ranger’?”

***

Knowing that Rex wouldn’t be accompanying his big night out certainly put a damper on his Halloween plans. That’s not to say that Anakin required a co-conspirator in order to execute his plans, but he did appreciate the company. This sort of plan did require an additional hand anyway. Everyone needed a good look-out and thus far, Rex had been exceptional.

So, he mulled over his options. He needed someone that wouldn’t otherwise have any plans and would likely want to participate in such an act. It was going to be a tough criteria, but there were possibilities. There was Hondo Ohnaka, who would likely be kicked out of the bonfire anyway and itching to get back in. It helped that Hondo was sneaky and would appreciate the knowledge of an underground system to run his pirated muggle goods inside.

Then again, Hondo knowing such a system existed could be exploited and Palpatine and Anakin could somehow be dragged down for that.

His eyes drifted (far from the first time) to Padm é Amidala, who despite how desperately Anakin wanted to work up the courage to talk to, was a terrible idea for this caliber of mission. She was far too popular and should any of her pack of girls find out, the whole school would know in a heartbeat. Besides, he would definitely not be able to focus if she was in a spitting distance from him.

He glanced over at Sebulba and rolled his eyes at even briefly considering inviting the cretin. 

“What do you think, Rex?” He asked as the two of them wolfed down their breakfasts.

“I think you’re probably giving this plan more thought that you should.” His friend said, “You’re planning on busting into a party with all the prefects there. You know the professors are gonna be scanning the corridors like hawks.”

“I’ve got a way.” He said slyly, because he hadn’t explained the extent of the map to Rex just yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him, but that it was more of a need-to-know type of arrangement. He promised Palpatine he wouldn’t squeal and he was good on that promise. 

“Whatever you say, mate.” He shrugged, “Good luck finding a bloke who’s smart, quiet, and desperate enough for a good time that he’s willing to lay down a year of detention on the line for a prank.”

“We’ll be dressed up.” He said, “They’ll never know it’s- That’s it! I know who I need.”

Rex’s eyes widened at the sudden revelation, but Anakin was far too excited to share his good news. He’d been stupid not to think of it in the first place. The person of choice was right beneath his nose and the most unassuming character at Hogwarts. All this kid needed was a friend and he’d likely do whatever needed to be done. Plus, they’d have fun.

Pre Vizsla looked over his textbook in confusion as to why Anakin was sitting across from him in the library. To be fair, Anakin never elected to spend any voluntary time here. Usually, Obi-Wan and Satine had dragged him along thus far. Vizsla had been there too, but didn’t say a peep. Oftentimes, Anakin forgot the kid was there at all unless to ask Satine a question.

“Um, hello?” He said.

Anakin grinned and folded his hands, “Viz, I feel like it’s pretty criminal that we haven’t talked much.”

“Okay.” The boy blinked, dumbfounded.

“I mean, your mentor and my mentor are best friends. AND they’re prefects. They’re shoo in’s for Head Boy and Head Girl when their time comes. And us, we’re the little guys, the underdogs, the-”

“-Did you need something, Anakin?” He asked, not quite maliciously, but definitely a bit exhausted of Anakin’s vibrato. “Because I’m kind of in the middle of-”

“-Reading, yeah, you do that a lot.” Anakin nodded, “And while that’s cool and all, I think we should definitely be hanging out more. I mean, we’re practically family… Distant family, but still, the bond is there.”

Viz quietly closed his book and set it down. “Youwant to hang out with me.”

“We’ve got a lot in common.” Anakin said.

“Besides how close our mentors are, what exactly do we have in common?” He asked.

“Well…” Admittedly it took Anakin probably a beat too long, because Viz began packing up his things as if to leave, but he stuck a hand out to stop him.

“Look, I just think you could probably try to loosen up, you know? Have a little fun? It’s got to be exhausting having Satine as a mentor. I’m pretty sure if you looked ‘fun’ up in the dictionary, the definition would be “not Satine”, am I right?”

Viz shrugged, “We mostly talk about my homework or how I’m settling into school.”

“And sometimes, a guy needs a break from all of that.” Anakin said, “I would know, because Obi-Wan is always riding me about school or about how I carry myself. He’s worried about my posture for some reason now. It’s exhausting.”

Viz actually snorted and ran a hand over his shaved head, which was practically down to the scalp, “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

“Excellent, so do something fun with me. Halloween night. None of the prefects will be around so it’ll be great.”

“I’m not going to sign up for something that I don’t understand what we’ll be doing.” Viz pointed out. “That’s just foolish.”

This was valid. Anakin did already build a slight reputation as a prankster and few wanted to go down with the ship. Not everyone was as reliable and loyal as Rex. Still, Rex wasn’t an option for Halloween and Anakin wouldn’t mind actually bonding with Viz.

“We’re going to the Halloween bonfire.”

“What?” Viz frowned, “The one for upperclassmen?”

“The very same! You’re kind of the quiet and obedient type, right?” Anakin said, “So people would actually believe you if you were to say… Go to the library and study completely on your own.”

“Like today.”

“That’s what you’re doing? It’s lunch time!” Anakin said, briefly distracted before going back to his plan. “Maybe you could even be ‘tutoring’ me in this scenario. We need an alibi. That’s the important part. So long as we’ve got a concrete alibi, we’re in the clear if all goes smoothly.”

“Mhmm…”

“My sources say that the candy and sweets at this party are going to be ridiculous. They’re even having a pinata full of the stuff. Well, let’s just say I know a shortcut or two out of the castle and to the woods… Exactly where the party is being held. We jump in, fully dressed up so nobody knows the difference, snatch, the pinata, and go back to the school!”

Viz seemed to think this over for a good bit, “What kind of sweets?”

“Anything you can imagine, dude. You’re a muggle-born, right?”

Viz stiffened, “Yeah, why?”

“Well, I was pretty much raised like one too so I get the hype about wizard candy and I’d like as much of it as I can get my hands on.”

“I am collecting the trading cards from the frog boxes.” Viz said. “Alright, I’ll do it, but on one condition: you can’t show me the entrance. It’s best if only one of us knows. I don’t want to know your sources or anything. I’ll be your watchdog and your alibi, because that’s what I’m assuming you need in the first place. That’s all.”

This was even better than Anakin had imagined! He felt the folded map in his sweatshirt pocket, relieved that he didn’t need to explain his way around this one. Instead, Viz was completely satisfied with operating behind the scenes. Technically, the idea of a “lookout” was likely futile given the nature of the map, but Anakin was not 100% positive on its accuracy just yet and did not want to discover any faults during a live demonstration. Besides, poltergeists and ghosts moved so fast that he could easily be caught otherwise. 

“50/50 candy split then?” He asked, while already mentally debating how much Rex would require after such a stressful night.

“Deal.” 

The two boys spit on their respective hands and clasped them across the table in solidarity. Anakin had a good feeling about this.

***

Despite her insistence to get Obi-Wan invited to the party, Satine truly hadn’t given too much thought into her own attire. She’d assumed she would figure something out that weekend when she wasn’t up to her nose with midterm assignments. This task was doubled when she considered Viz’s studies, but the boy had been improving magnificently as of late and required very little editing. She wondered if she would have the pleasure of being the mentor to a Head Boy in the making. 

It seemed everyone else around her was just buzzing about the impending bonfire. While she was enthusiastic about the occasion, she didn’t understand quite the level of hype that was circulating the school. Then again, she’d never been to a wizarding-styled party such as this before. 

Stass and Aayla were no different in their bubbling excitement and truthfully, it was nice to brainstorm ideas if at all possible. 

Aayla flopped backwards onto the couch in the common room, exhausted from her Quidditch practice.

“They’ve been working you hard, huh?” Stass asked.

“Harder than ever.” She puffed out a breath, “I don’t think I’ll ever move again if that’s alright with you folks. Just drag my limp body here and there. I’m sure I’ll be alright. I’ll eat the scraps of food you drop… Should my jaw stop hurting.”

“You could, and this is just a thought,” Satine began, “Go to the hospital wing.”

“What do you take me for? A sissy?” She winced as she turned her head too fast.

“I thought I took you for someone with more than one operating braincell.”

“You would be wrong.” Stass snorted.

Aayla stuck her tongue out at them, “I’ve not got the worst of it. Your boy could hardly walk straight after today’s practice, Satine.”

She stiffened, not even bothering to dignify the insinuation with a response, “Is he alright?”

Her blue friend’s mouth curled into a smirk, “Yeah, just had a rough go of it when the quaffle went rogue and smacked him into the post.”

Satine did everything not to appear overly invested or concerned, but she couldn’t help it. She despised Quidditch and the overwhelming fixation everyone seemed to have on it. It was not like she didn’t possess house or school spirit. She was invested in the overall competition between houses to achieve the most points throughout the year. Such a competition actually involved the merits and strengths of each student’s character rather than how bloody and battered they could make each other during a sport’s match. 

While not all that interested in muggle sports, they hardly became as deadly as Quidditch ever so casually was to wizards. It blew her mind just how little regard the lives of students were taken into consideration every single match. She felt her heart was in her throat every single time she was subjected to watching Obi-Wan or Cody play. Cody lived for the sport and the amount of fun he had while on the field was almost contagious if she hadn’t almost seen him die on the regular by how careless he was.

Then, there was Obi-Wan, who also disliked Quidditch, though for reasons different from her own. He hated flying, for one thing, which had been obvious since their first year. There was also the pressure that came with Quidditch that Obi-Wan didn’t appreciate. It wasn’t that he was bad- quite the opposite, but he definitely got into his own head. For him, it was the obligation that came with being good at Quidditch that made him dislike it. She couldn’t exactly blame him.

Still, she knew it was her duty to cheer him on despite her reservations about the sport. He needed someone who was actively rooting for him in the crowd. The smile on his face when he saw her after a match was worth enough of her own discomfort sitting through each game. 

“Did he go to the hospital wing?” Satine asked carefully.

“Do you take him for a sissy, Satine?” Aayla asked.

“It’s not being a sissy to get help when required, you nitwit.”

“Don’t mind her, she’s just been hit upside the head too much with the bludger.” Stass chuckled, “What I really want to know, is what we’re doing for Halloween?”

“I know I hit my head pretty hard on the pitch, but I could have sworn we had this conversation last week.” Aayla feigned forgetfulness and now it was Satine’s turn to laugh.

“We did, but we’ve got to talk logistics.”

“Now, you’re sounding like a true Ravenclaw.” Satine murmured. “What are the logistics of going to a party?”

“Well, it is a fancy dress sort of party.” She smiled, eyes suddenly aglow. “And I know what we should go as.”

“We? Like a group ensemble?” Satine hadn’t considered it, but she’d been foolish not to. It would certainly be more fun to coordinate and then she’d be able to collaborate on constructing her attire. 

“We should go as the three witches from the Fountain of Fair Fortune. It’s perfect!” Stass said.

“I like it!” Aayla agreed, “We would look smart as all hell.”

“Weren’t you considering dressing as some important Quidditch player?” Satine asked.

“I can be a jock and wear fluffy dresses, Satine. A girl can have multiple layers.”

She rolled her eyes and considered it, “Well, I do quite love the fairy tale. It’s one of the first pieces of wizarding literature that I read upon discovering my abilities. I especially appreciate it now for its forward-thinking mindset of uniting the two-”

“-I could go as Altheda, Aayla as Asha, and Satine could be Amata.” Stass interrupted what would have been an in-depth analysis on the underlying politics of the story. 

“I thought Amata was your favorite.” Satine prompted curiously. 

“But you look the most like her.” She returned.

Satine couldn’t quite argue with that logic, but that was merely because Amata was drawn to be a blonde. However, Aayla was blue and likely didn’t resemble any of the illustrated witches, so it wasn’t exactly sound reasoning through and through. Either way, she was looking forward to being a part of it.

“Alright, I’m in.” She smiled and both girls beamed.

“Brilliant!” They said in unison after sharing a conspiring grin. 

Satine didn’t know what to think of that, but part of her suspected there was more to this decision that met the eye. Either way, it couldn’t have been that harmful. So what if her friends wanted to throw her in a beautiful dress for one evening? She wasn’t opposed to the idea of looking a bit silly for a night. It was all in the spirit of the holiday.

***

Halloween finally arrived at Hogwarts with the all too perfect backdrop of an ominous full moon, promising the varying howls of excitable creatures from the nearby forbidden forest. While underclassmen were fairly nonplussed by the evening, seeing as they didn’t have any specific plans, the upperclassmen busily prepared the final touches on their outfits and readied themselves for an exciting evening of sweets and spooky stories. Seeing as the Slytherins were in charge this year, it was to no surprise that it was going to be especially traditional.

Obi-Wan had signed up for the most inconvenient patrol slot for any hopeful fifth year that was finally being allowed the coveted idea of socialization, but he didn’t care as much for it as his peers. Qui-Gon had been nice enough to offer finishing his rounds so he could get ready, but Obi-Wan didn’t have anything specific to wear anyway.

“You’re going dressed like that?” Qui-Gon mused as they walked together, “To a fancy-dress party? I never thought this day might come, but I think you’re underdressed.”

While he was indifferent to the holiday as a whole, he didn’t really have anything fitting to wear even if he wanted to. So, he opted for more casual-wear with nice slacks and a sweater. It was getting rather chilly outside.

“I’m really just popping in for Satine and Cody’s sakes,” He chuckled, “I think they went to more effort than they’re leading on to get me invited.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“It would be illogical to invite me.” He said, “Satine and myself swore an oath that we would be the picture of responsibility. Either of us would report wrongdoing and the party historically always has something go awry.”

“But they invited Satine without question?”

“If I were to get caught at some sort of keg-stand, my parents would have a fit. They are friends with Sora Bulq and Asajj Ventress’ parents, after all. Satine could probably go unnoticed if it got out- seeing as her family are muggles.”

And hearty drinkers, but he left that bit out. 

“Still, it’s a rite of passage.” Qui-Gon said. “One that you deserve to experience to the fullest extent.”

“Everyone keeps saying that like it’s official.” He said as they rounded a corner. “It’s not like graduation or anything. It’s hardly even an official holiday in the UK, let alone the wizarding world.”

His mentor smiled somberly, “You know, it’s okay to act your age every once in a while. Even Satine is doing so.”

“Why do I feel like she already ranted about me in your office today?”

“Hey, what occurs in my office hours is between me and the disagreeable student who is projecting their frustrations at me.”

“Good to know she cares.” Obi-Wan quipped.

“Oh, she definitely does.” 

They walked in silence for a while, nodding cordially at some of the ghosts that drifted around the halls. It was a peaceful time at Hogwarts, which is part of the reason Obi-Wan took the shift. He hadn’t expected the company of Qui-Gon, who was always a very busy man, but he’d always managed to make time when he was needed, even if the student wasn’t aware his services of advice were required.

“I suppose parties just have never quite been my forte.” He said with a shrug, “I always wind up feeling like I’m on the outside looking in, which might surprise some- seeing as my family has thrown parties all of the time.”

“Adult parties and kid parties, you’ll find, are very different.” Qui-Gon said.

“Are you sure? Because in my experience, politics are still everywhere.” Obi-Wan countered. “Only difference is my friends will be at this one.”

“Well then, you better get going.”

“But-”

“-Obi-Wan, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been a prefect, but I know how to perform a proper perimeter sweep. Get going. I look forward to the inevitable argument between you and Ms. Kryze that I’ll be refereeing tomorrow.”

“We don’t always argue.” He grumbled as he began to walk away before turning around. “Thank you, sir.”

***

Technically, the plan wasn’t enacted until they’d been witnessed studying in the library. Most first years didn’t take Halloween too seriously, since there wasn’t much for them to do aside from telling ghost stories from their common rooms, so it wasn’t unusual for them to be occupying the space. The ghosts were definitely getting a little rowdier than usual, but Anakin learned by now that if you simply gave them the attention they sought after, they typically went away on their own.

“What am I tutoring you in?” Viz asked, “We don’t have classes together.”

“Sure, but we have the same classes.” Anakin said, “How about Herbology? That’s the most boring to me.”

“How?” He brightened, “You didn’t enjoy studying the seeds of-”

“-Sh!” Anakin quickly opened his book as Satine approached the two of them. He hastily spun it around so it was facing the proper way and hoped she didn’t notice. Lucky for him, she seemed more focused on adjusting the sashes on her light pink gown, which was rather extravagant and trailed behind her even as she walked. 

Being that he was 11 years old, Anakin really wasn’t the type of person to get tripped up on wardrobe or frilly dresses, but even by his account, she looked transformed, which was the entire point of Halloween in the first place. Her hair was down and flowing in meticulous blonde waves that fell down her back, the top part of which was braided and clipped away from her face. She was wearing makeup, which was unusual for Satine, so her eyes seemed to glow like contemplative azure orbs.

“Neat outfit!” He chirped, “Are you a princess?”

She smiled at him. “Actually, I’m one of the witches from-”

“-Fountain of Fair Fortune!” Viz finished excitedly and off Anakin’s confused gaze, flushed, “It’s one of my favorite fairy tales. I’m guessing you are supposed to be the lovely Amata?”

She curtsied in response, “Indeed, I am.”

Viz nodded in approval, “It’s very book-accurate, Satine. Though I always took you as more of an Altheda for her hardworking attributes.”

“My friends insisted.” She rolled her eyes and off Anakin’s confused expression, explained, “In the story, my character hopes that the fountain of fair fortune will ease her grievances over her broken heart. Then, in the end, she winds up falling in love with a muggle knight.”

“It’s very controversial.” Viz added.   

“Oh! Never heard of it.” Anakin admitted and then looked back to Satine, “What’s Obi-Wan being?”

“Not sure, honestly. He’s still on patrol last I heard.” She said, “What are you two up to?”

“Studying herbology.” Anakin said, “Viz is tutoring me.”

Her bright smile told him that she’d bought it. “That’s a brilliant idea! Well, don’t let me interrupt. I was actually looking for Ben.”

“We’ll see you later! I’ll be an herbology expert thanks to this kid.” Anakin called after her.

“Laying it on a bit thick there, hm?” Viz muttered, “I’ve seen your marks. They’re not great.”

“Point is, alibi is sealed.” He winked. 

***

“I thought you were going to the bonfire.” Fives said as Cody tugged his red and gold sweater over his head. 

“Yeah, if you’d just said you were going out for late-night practice, you could have at least warned us. We wouldn’t mind getting off the bench this year, dear brother.” Echo said. 

“Relax, boys, I am going to the bonfire.” Cody waved them off, “But if you get good enough to get off the bench, I’ll play you.”

“Whatever happened to brotherly love?” Fives asked. Other than a slight height difference (was Echo the taller one?), the twin third years were nearly undetectable and used it to their advantage. 

“Yeah? And where was that spirit when the two of you filled my pillow with peanut butter?”

“That is love.” Echo smirked, “But why are you wearing your Quidditch uniform?”

“For the party.”

“But you wear it every day, it hardly qualifies.” Fives pointed out.

“Let’s not point fingers about wearing the same thing every day there, lad.” And truthfully, the only reason Cody knew it was Fives was because he never took his favorite Chudley Cannons jersey off- number 5, Tup. “And if you were paying any real attention, you’d notice this is my old Quidditch uniform.”

“And? You’re going as a growth spurt?” Echo quipped.

Cody didn’t dignify that with a response and instead whipped out his wand to conjure up the spell he’d been practicing prior to the party, thus turning the water by his bedside table into a white paste. After rubbing that on his face, he took out the liquid eyeliner he’d borrowed from Satine (evidently, muggles applied this manually) and surrounded his eyes with the black goop.

“I’m a zombie player!” He said and took in his appearance with satisfaction in the mirror.

Because really, did they actually expect him to sully up his brand new uniform for a stupid bonfire? 

“Really couldn’t have turned that into wine or whiskey and made it a real party, huh?” Fives said after a while. “Because people are going to need it to like looking at you.”

“Looks better than usual.” Echo jested.

“A lot better than you lot do.” Cody shoved him back against the bed and they laughed before retaliating in kind. In the scuffle, a lump of white bedsheet slithered behind him and towards the door. Not too busy rough-housing the twins, Cody stuck a boot down on the tail end of the sheet that dragged along the floor and watched as Rex emerged as he continued walking.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He said around a laugh, “You and Skywalker got something planned? Don’t even think about getting my star into detention.”

“Can’t believe he plays some first year over us.” Grumbled Fives.

“You’ve seen the kid. He’s crazy.” Echo said in amazement. “Knocked the teeth right out of Professor Tiin’s head the other day.”

Rex sighed, “Oh, no. I mean, I’m sure Anakin does, but I’m actually…” And he murmured something indistinct, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

Cody frowned, “Got some marbles in your mouth there, Rexy?”

“Baby brother’s got a secret.” Fives said cheekily. “Is it a girl?”

“No!” Rex twisted his face in immediate disgust, which was fair. The boy was only 11 and had other interests that far outweighed the female species. Cody was right there with him most of the time, seeing as there was always a game to play. However, Cody could not dispute that something was visibly bothering him. Rex was the very worst at keeping secrets amongst his brothers. And there was only one way to get it out of him.

“Alright boys, I got the feet.” Cody said.

As if he was their drill sergeant, Fives and Echo leapt into action before Rex could even have the presence of thought to react. As promised, Cody went for Rex’s ankles while Fives and Echo each grabbed an arm and pinned him down. The other Gryffindor boys could only watch as the three older boys tickled their youngest brother without mercy, knowing every spot to hit and just how crazy it would drive him.

“STOP!” Rex cackled and squirmed, which was contagious, but not enough to deter his brothers from the task at hand.

“Sure, buddy, once you tell us what you’re sneaking off to.” Cody said calmly. 

“I hate you guys!” Rex complained, but continued to thrash around as they upped the speed at which they poked at his most susceptible areas. 

“As you know, this can and will get worse the longer it goes on.” Fives said.

Sure, they were making a scene, but this was typical behavior for the clones and most just stepped over Rex and went about their business without paying it too much mind. Cody prided himself on how his whole family managed to make their mark in such a way that regardless of the incarnation, was expected of them. He wondered if his kids would one day maintain the reputation.

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I GIVE!” Rex shouted and thrashed around until the tickling stopped. However, they didn’t release their strongholds on his limbs and he released a tired grunt when he realized he wasn’t breaking free.

“I’m going to the bonfire.” He said simply.

“If you think I’m going to let you in-” Cody began.

“-Krell is taking me.” He interjected and Cody dropped his ankles.

“He’s what?” He said, ice freezing his veins. “Why?”

“I don’t know? To fetch him drinks and stuff? That’s mostly what I’ve been doing anyway. Just please don’t make a big deal of it, Cody.”

Cody nodded to Fives and Echo to release Rex’s arms and they obeyed immediately, but didn’t go far from him. 

“That creep is using you like you’re some sort of slave and you expect me not to make a big deal of it?” Cody boomed and turned around to face the rest of the dormitory, “Where is that crud face?”

“I think he already left.” He said and tugged at Cody’s arm, “If you confront him, he’s only going to make it worse for me and for you! He’s a prefect, Cody!”

“I don’t care.” He shook off his little brother, “Put on your bed sheet. We’re going to the party and I’m going to give that punk a piece of my mind.”

***

After seeing that Anakin and Viz were in good shape for the evening, Satine met Stass and Aayla by the common room to attend the party together. She’d been unable to trace down either Cody or Obi-Wan, but figured they’d been going together (if Obi-Wan went at all- which would not surprise her). Both girls were putting final touches on their own dresses when she appeared and they smiled at her brightly.

“Oh, you look beautiful, Satine.” Stass beamed, “Total Amata.”

“You two do as well,” She blushed, “Thank you both for the assist. It never would have happened without either of you.”

Both Aayla and Stass’s renditions of the classic dresses were also well assembled with Stass’s Altheda sporting an evergreen gown with a white bonnet to push back her dreadlocks and Aayla’s Asha gown being a more faded blue than she was and dotted with small rhinestones that made it appear as if it were sparkling in lowlight.

She was relieved they’d opted to use a thicker fabric in constructing their gowns, which while this made it more tedious (even with magic), worked out for the best in contrast to the frigid evening air that greeted them when they stepped outside.

“You ever think it strange that the forest is literally tacked as “forbidden” and we are still allowed to blissfully congregate right beside it?” Satine asked.

“Well, it’s been years since a student died there. Guess Headmaster Yoda just has other things to worry about.” Aayla shrugged.

They’d more or less heard the bonfire before truly seeing the full extent of the party, but upon walking through a charmed clearing that forbade any younger students, the three girls basked in the glory of teenage immunity as various witches and wizards of their year and older danced to loud music around a large flame. The fire, itself, was fake, since students had a history of burning themselves at the party. The warm glow felt authentic and if still presented with marshmallows or hotdogs, would toast them properly. The most impressive bit about the fire was how it flickered between an array of colors. Presently, it was lime green.

Each participant was dressed in a wide range of apparel, some casually donning a mask or a silly hat and others going significantly more in-depth. It was a relief, in a sense, to know she wasn’t the most ornate at the party. That prize certainly went to one Aurra Sing, a sixth year, who regardless of the chilly weather, seemed to have no problem trouncing about in little more than full green glitter body paint, yellow contacts, extensive face makeup, and a cape that emulated scales. Her teeth were even reminiscent of actual spikes.

“Look at Hondo and his buddies.” Stass chuckled as the boys followed Aurra around like she had been dangling a piece of meat on a stick for them to follow. All of the boys were dressed as pirates. Hondo even sported a peg-leg.

“Everyone looks pretty-” Satine was cut off by someone blindsiding her as they moved past, thus sloshing whatever their red beverage was onto the front of her dress.

“Oops!” Ventress raised a hand to her mouth in fake concern, “My bad, Duchess.”

She cringed at the derogatory nickname, which was born of Ventress’ firm belief that Satine thought she was better than everyone else. 

“You,” She hissed, shivering at the way the cold drink seeped through the fabric and to her skin. It was as though the breeze was perfectly timed to bustle through the trees. “You did that on purpose!”

“And what if I did? No knight to save you?” She said coolly. 

“No, actually, I’m quite adept at solving my own problems, thank you. Really, I’m more surprised you had the mental capacity to read the book in the first place.”

Ventress narrowed her venomous blue eyes and placed her hands on her hips, “My family had to be quite familiar with it, seeing as my parents participated in the trial to get it barred from shelves.”

“You say that as though it’s something to be proud of.” She returned, ignoring Stass and Aayla, who tried to lead her away from the witch, but while Satine would never condone the pitiful usage of violence, was never one to back down from a debate.

“Ridding the world of paltry propaganda is more noble than playing fantasy.”

Satine crossed her arms, “And yet, the Ministry of Magic didn’t see it that way.”

“That’s because of Headmaster Yoda- the old fool.” She scowled. “His lack of foresight will bring the end of our community.”

“Go on, you can say hate group.” Satine retorted darkly, “Otherwise, I don’t think I’m the one enraptured in fantasy.”

A small smile flickered on Ventress’s lips, “Now, now, Duchess, to hate you, would mean I’d have to care the slightest bit about you.”

As she sashayed away from the three girls, looking wretchedly pleased with herself, Satine, clenched her fist. She wasn’t sure why Asajj Ventress so obviously had it out for her, specifically. She knew she disliked muggles and muggle borns, but there were plenty of those running about Hogwarts for her to harass. This hadn’t started occurring until around their third year, but it had only gotten worse since Satine had been named prefect.

“Nice face paint, though! Really scary!” Satine called after her, knowing good and well that Ventress was not wearing face paint. It was from this distance that it ironically occurred to Satine that Ventress was dressed as an angel.

A pretty scantily dressed angel, but an angel all the same.

“Yeah… You showed her.” Stass muttered dryly and Aayla nudged her.

“Look who decided to show up!”

Satine turned the other direction to see one Obi-Wan Kenobi walking with hands in his pockets and looking drastically out of place in khaki pants and a gray sweater, lacking absolutely any indication that he was attending anything remotely festive.

Perhaps it was because she was still reeling off her encounter with Ventress, but Satine stormed through Aayla and Stass like a hurricane and stalked up to him, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him to the side. 

He eyed her up and down, eyes wide. “Wow, you look-”

“-What are you doing?” She demanded, and fought to ignore the heat that was climbing way to her cheeks.

“Hello to you too.” He frowned, forgoing whatever he was about to say. “I’m doing well, thank you for asking. How are you?”

“I’d be doing better if you had an ounce of holiday spirit.” She sighed and looked around her, trying to find something- anything- to fix into a quick costume for him. 

“I told you I’m not much for Halloween.” He said, but when she fixed her stare back to him, his eyes quickly snapped from where they’d been inspecting her dress again to hers.

“Yes, well, that won’t do in the slightest.”

As if reading her mind, Stass cut into the conversation with a metallic serving tray. At first, Satine was confused, but her friend grinned in response.

“You could always use it to fasten a knight’s helmet real quick.”

She nodded, “Oh, thank you, that is- Wait.”

A rogue giggle escaped from Stass’s lips and she hastily covered her mouth with wide eyes before scurrying out of arm’s length and over to a much less ashamed Aayla, whose head was tilted back in full-fledged laughter. 

“So that was their little plan all along.” She growled under her breath, gripping onto the serving tray with vice-like strength. How could she have been stupid enough to walk right into this trap?

“Satine?” Obi-Wan’s confused voice cut into her seething brain and his eyes were even more perplexed when she turned back to look at him. “What’s wrong with that idea?”

She opened her mouth to explain her shortsightedness and caught herself, tongue suddenly going fat as her words turned to dust. Instead, she just tried to rack her brain for an explanation that wasn’t absolutely humiliating and could feel herself going redder by the moment. She looked from the serving tray and the proposed idea of his becoming a knight, then back to her own dress, and most damningly, the charmingly concerned look on his face.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked after she’d stammered like an idiot for a moment. He reached out and gently pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You’re flushed.”

“N-no, I’m fine.” She gulped, “I… I was just…”

“Going to turn that into a knight’s helmet?” He smiled lightly, “I won’t make fun of you if you mess up.”

Relief eased through her as it seemed he hadn’t yet made the connection. Maybe he didn’t recognize exactly what she was supposed to be or the significance of his being a knight? Or maybe, she reasoned, it didn’t really matter all that much to him. All the same, she expertly transfigured the metal tray into a replica knight’s helmet. 

“Brilliant, as always.” He nudged her and she willed her hands not to shake as she carefully lifted the helmet up and placed it over perfectly quaffed hair. She took the moment of his obscured vision to briefly appreciate how much he’d grown over the summer.

She gently lifted the flap, revealing bright blue-gray eyes. He saluted her playfully, which she returned with a smile that felt like it might break her face.

She cleared her throat, “Well, sir knight, I do believe you owe me.” 

“I do see candied apples over there.” He nodded and accidentally knocked the flap down, which both moved at the same time to fix, bumping hands for a moment before she dropped hers and let him take care of it. She did due diligence not to focus on the way they both avoided each other’s gaze afterwards. “Uh, yes, better get to that.”

***

“Is tonight the night?” Tyranus asked his master as they were shrouded in black. It was perilous enough to meet under such conditions, but seeing as plans were finally moving forwards, it seemed worth seeing that nothing went askew.

At last, they would be seen and the foolish administration would understand why casting their fears to the shadows only provided them succor. 

“Patience, my apprentice.” His master said, glowing yellow eyes illuminated behind his hood, “Do you not remember what became of the last apprentice that rushed into things?”

Tyranus did, but he did not have to fear such a fate. He was meticulous, like his master, and cared more for the outcome of their righteous victory than sinking his teeth into the festering pain they would inflict along the way.

“Do not compare me to him.” He spat, “I am not a bloodthirsty mongrel.”

“Perhaps not,” Sidious’ calm and frozen voice tutted, “Tonight, we make our sacrifice.”

“She shall rise at his descent.”

“She shall rise.” His pale lips curled into a crooked grin. “Tonight.”

***

The secret entry to one of the underground tunnels was located in the restricted section of the library, which meant that since Anakin was unable to magically become invisible, he would have to be stealthy in avoiding the various ghosts and poltergeists that typically clung nearby. Worst of all, more professors seemed to crowd around the library that evening than ever. He’d nearly ran square into Professor Dooku, who despite his usual sternness and tendency to hand detention out to anyone who ran the halls, didn’t spare him a second to even apologize before skirting around him and continuing on his way.

“That was lucky.” He muttered to himself. 

It was possible that the rightness of his plan was not merely his sweet tooth’s desire to sink itself into that delectable candy that was at the end of the tunnel, but because it was truly meant to be. The moon was full, which according to legend, tended to make all sorts of strange occurrences take place.

He stopped in front of a bookshelf that was furthest away from the reception desk. Its shelves were lined with a varying degree of books that were not supposed to meet the eyes of students. 

“Why even have books you can’t read?” Anakin wondered. “That’s like having words you can’t say. Stupid.”

Did that mean he would ever dare to curse in front of his mother? Absolutely not. 

However, he never cared much for reading for fun. When he explained to Viz that part of his plan required delving into the restricted section, the boy had instantly lit up, stating that the knowledge that was on those shelves was only known to few wizards. To Anakin, that just seemed foolish.

Regardless, he’d watched enough TV to understand the probability of one of the books being the physical switch to the tunnel. With Viz taking guard and walkie talkies in their pockets, there was very little that could make this plan go awry. Plus, according to the map, there were no ghosts on the floor at all. 

“I told you this was going to work, Viz.” Anakin said into the radio.

Vizsla had looked at him like he had four heads when he removed the walkies from his pouch earlier that evening, but Anakin knew he’d been correct in bringing them, especially since he had absolutely no idea on how wizards communicated locally. It was funny, though, because Vizsla was muggle-born and would likely know what a walkie talkie was. 

Anakin dismissed the thought. That kid practically lived under a rock anyway. With any help from him, he’d slowly pull him from his shell. Maybe from now on, if this all went according to plan, he would have a third to his duo with Rex. That was certainly more friends than he was used to having in school.

He’d assumed too early, unfortunately, because as Anakin hastily removed and replaced every single book at the entryway shelf, he found absolutely no reaction. What kind of mysterious hallway was this? He did notice that there was a book missing at the bottom of the shelf, towards the end of the alphabet.

“Bollocks.” He cursed, “Viz, anything?”

Silence.

Except for the distinct sound of heels clicking on stone flooring.

“Viz?” He asked again, but noticed for the first time that his walkie wasn’t lighting up in the slightest when he pressed the red button on the side. “Dang, I swore I charged these things.”

He tossed it to the side haphazardly as he quickly pulled out the map and noticed that Professor Palpatine was coming his way. He doubted when the Professor took pity on him and gave him the map, he meant for it to be used for such frivolous purposes. Palpatine was kind and sympathetic, but he wasn’t a pushover. 

He looked both ways hastily, trying to mentally scribe out his best chance of escape. When nothing seemed to pop out of thin air, he stamped his foot in frustration, ready to accept whatever unfortunate consequences would come his way.

They never came, of course, because whatever he’d stomped had removed the floor from beneath him and sent him downwards into a spiral of total darkness.

Anakin had a bad feeling about this.

***

Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about this. He wasn’t much for parties in the first place, always having felt that there was this required level of artificial conversation that diluted any real possible fun that could occur. However, it had been difficult to argue with his friends, who always had his best interest in mind, and then Qui-Gon, who was wise beyond his years despite what anyone else thought.

The party had started fine enough for him. Satine saddled him with a makeshift knight’s helmet that must have looked positively ridiculous on him, because she could barely stand to look him in the eye for too long. It was just as good that the flap kept sliding down and slamming shut over his face, because looking at her was a lot as well. A good “a lot”, but overwhelming all the same in this atmosphere.

She’d been pleased that he performed a spell to eradicate the stain on her stomach, which he hardly noticed until she’d pointed it out. Ventress’s doing, unsurprisingly, but karma was sometimes a more effective tool than magic, because the witch in question managed to slip on a wet leaf and slide into a muddy puddle. Satine was above laughing at her as many others had, but judging by the way her back straightened, she was not upset by the turn of events.

“Remind me again what you are, exactly?” He asked as they sat on a log and watched Hondo attempt break-dancing in an effort to best Sy Snootles’ moveset. 

“Oh!” She finished off a piece of toffee and used her other hand to place a lock of hair behind her ear. It was down and flowing today, trailing to the middle of her back in magnificent golden waves. “Have you ever read the Fountain of Fair Fortune?”

She seemed anxious and he was unsure why, but she fiddled with her hands in her lap while maintaining her gaze towards the dancing partygoers. Stass and Aayla had joined in on the fun and chanted loudly to some popular song that neither he or Satine seemed to catch onto.

Still, the title of the book sounded familiar enough. “Remind me what it’s about?”

“Okay.” She shifted in her seat to face him, “There’s this fountain of-”

“-Fair fortune?” He smirked.

She chuckled and swatted his arm, “Yes, do you want to tell it?”

“Seeing as I don’t know it, no.” He said.

“Very well then,” She continued, “And it's only accessible once a year for one person to bathe in to achieve eternal luck. Three witches meet and decide to work together to find the fountain. There’s Asha, whose mysterious illness cannot be cured by any healer, Altheda, who was robbed and is stuck in poverty, and Amata, who had her heart broken and wished to have it mended.”

“And that’s you.” He clarified after she’d gestured to herself on the last name.

“Stass and Aayla’s idea.” She cast a dirty look towards them before proceeding, “Anyway, they journey off and run into a muggle knight-”

“-Oh!” Obi-Wan patted his leg excitedly at the revelation, “I knew I’d heard of this one. The knight gets roped into the journey, correct?”

“Yes!” She smiled.

He laughed, “I suppose I understand why you were a little hesitant to dress me up as the knight then.”

She froze, eyes bulged, “You do?”

“Yeah?” Obi-Wan frowned, “Not sure how I’d feel giving you a character that’s been impaled.”

She narrowed her eyes, “That’s not what- What are you on about?”

“The end of the story?” He didn’t understand her sudden disposition, because that had been it, right? It was similar to the Grimm fairy tales in how they’d reached less than ideal endings, but those had been his parents’ preferred versions, stating that the real world was a scarier place than what was made up in stories.

“I haven’t heard that story in a long time.” He conceded, “But I remember it scared me a bit as a young child. I’m surprised you like it so.”

“I don’t think you heard it correctly.” She said, “Because the knight doesn’t die.”

“Yes he does.”

“No,” She said pointedly, “He doesn’t.”

He shook his head, annoyed. “I distinctly remember as a child, my mother read me-”

Satine stood to her feet, ears red and eyes blazing in a way that had nothing to do with the fire in the background. “-Well, she read you the wrong version!”

He opened his mouth to retaliate that point, but was interrupted by the stark sound of someone’s jaw being cracked against a balled fist. In a flash, a group had surrounded the brawling figures and began cheering as though this was a free sporting event. Instantly, Obi-Wan and Satine forgot their quarrel and shoved through the crowd of onlookers to see their friend, Cody, rolling around the ground with Pong Krell.

***

The way down the abyss would have been like a slide had it not felt like Anakin was being spanked the entire way down. It was difficult to gage how far he’d fallen since the hole at which he fell through was now closed above him, leaving him completely engulfed in complete black. The way his body hit the ground made it feel like it wasn’t as high as he’d originally anticipated. He’d fallen off his fair share of skate ramps to know what that distance vaguely felt like.

He groaned and crawled to his feet. How the heck was he supposed to see the map in all this darkness?

“Oh crap, that’s right. Lumos.” He whispered and sure enough, a little blip of light illuminated the minimal space around him as a flashlight might. 

He waved his wand around, taking stock of his surroundings. Even with the glowing wand, he was unable to make out where the ceiling started or how deep this trench of darkness stretched. He would be significantly more afraid if he didn’t logically understand that these were built on purpose ages ago to transport goods during the war (Palpatine hadn’t specified too much, but Anakin had also been too eager to stick around for long). 

Hogwarts was a happy place. Or at least, he told himself that as he considered the emblematic symbols of serpents engraved into the walls. He shined his light on one in particular, which showcased a beast larger than all of the rest. Tiny stick figures bowed down to it except for one, who rode the beast as though it were his trusty steed. When Anakin reached out to brush away dust and dirt to get a better look, the drawings began to move. 

“I love magic.” He smiled.

The beast climbed to the highest point of the tower and unleashed a puff of what Anakin imagined was fire, but could have been anything of damaging substance. His imagination could only stretch so far and as it stood, magic always seemed to supersede expectations.

The beast didn’t turn and kill the little stick people that worshipped it, but the one who rode on its back. 

“Weird.” He commented as the sequence seemed to start over, startling himself by his own echo.

He went to dig the map out of his sweatshirt pocket, but only found the mask that completed his outfit. Nearly dropping his wand in the process and driven by panic, he smacked his jeans pockets in hopes of misplacing it there, but with no success. Slowly, he looked up at where he’d come from, realizing that this might have been a bigger problem than he thought.

“This candy better be worth it,” He grumbled, as he extended his wand behind and ahead of him, trying to debate which way to go.

This would have been a prime moment to have one of those photographic memories that Obi-Wan had. The older boy always played it off and still insisted on burying his nose in a book until (and oftentimes after) his exams. If Anakin had that sort of advantage, his procrastination habits would only worsen. 

If Obi-Wan were here, he’d lecture Anakin that the main objective was no longer (and shouldn’t have ever been) retrieving sweets, but survival. To be fair, he wouldn’t have been here at all had Obi-Wan been given anything to say about it, but he refused to get too caught up in the details.

“This is what I get for planning and reading in advance. Nothing!” he sighed and then paused, “I really need to stop talking to myself.”

It sounded like the dripping sound was coming from somewhere behind him, so Anakin decided going towards water might be the better choice. He wasn’t sure why, but anytime anyone had been lost in movies, they always followed a river or went towards a general body of water. 

Dust particles floated around him and drifted through open space, but were interrupted in their path by the bulb at the end of his wand. He cast his light every which way and tried to avoid the thought of cobwebs or being stuck down here for all of eternity. After all, he’d left the map behind upstairs. Surely, someone would piece together where he’d gone.

The bones he tripped over said otherwise. 

Moisture gathered along the sides of the path and Anakin had to alternate between keeping his wand pointed forward and down at the ground to ensure he didn’t run into a wall.

“Or anything else.”

Occasionally, there were other crudely drawn pictures on the wall, but Anakin kept his stride and ignored them, noting only that it seemed like they were following him as he walked. His steps echoed throughout the tunnel, completely in tandem with the dripping sound in the distance, which seemed to grow all the more prevalent the faster he walked.

“I’m not afraid.” He said and steeled his courage to continue onward.

As the light from his wand reflected off of a cracked human skull, he swallowed and repeated the same mantra. He was placed in Gryffindor house for a reason and would sooner die than be labeled as weak or cowardly.

That didn’t stop him from hurrying even faster in his direction, drifting through and around the winding labyrinth in hopes of running smack into a door that led anywhere at this point. He would even accept an entryway into Headmaster Yoda’s office. Detention was looking pretty good in comparison to the wet stone-lined walls. 

Anakin froze in his tracks as the droplets, which had previously been falling with impressive speed and sound, abruptly stopped.

He waved his wand around and tried to keep his movements silent. Anything that lived this far below the surface of light and warmth likely didn’t thrive on eyesight alone. When the time spent still seemed to blend together and his arm ached from keeping his wand out, he released a heavy breath.

He needed to keep his anxieties at bay.

That was difficult to do when a hot gust of foul air blasted him forward to his hands and knees. When he slowly turned his head, he was meant with two golden eyes and the source of the dripping sound. Only, as Anakin raised his wand and revealed the full extent of the metal gate, it wasn’t water, but blood.

***

“How old are you, Mr. Fett?” Mace Windu’s voice was one you did not question or interrupt, especially when he was angry or upset. Unfortunately for most students, Professor Windu was usually some degree of displeased. However, as he paced back forth across his large office, casting his disapproving glare on Cody, who sat front and centered with his head tilted down, he seemed particularly peeved.

“I’m 15, sir.” He kept his tone even.

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but you aren’t a fool, right?”

Satine suspected it had to do with the fact that he was in what she assumed to be pajamas. She and Obi-Wan, being the prefects that broke up the scuffle, stood behind Cody, while Pong Krell was somewhere in the hospital wing getting a bloody lip and snout tended to by the healers. While she didn’t approve of Cody’s methods, she knew he likely had his reasons for lashing out. Rex, who was the only one who could get him to stop swinging at Krell, was too upset to drag any information from.

“I asked you a question.” Windu said after a long period of stunted silence.

Satine exchanged a concerned look with Obi-Wan, who was just as stiff and uncomfortable to be in the room as she was. Neither wanted to see their friend get in trouble, even if he did end the bonfire in record-breaking time. 

“No, sir.” Cody gritted while keeping his eyes on his shoes.

“I was just checking, because when I got the notice that the captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team was throttling a prefect in the midst of an upperclassmen event, I thought: well, that sounds like the behavior of a childish savage. And I never took you for that. But maybe, I was wrong.”

Cody chose not to respond, which was the wisest case scenario given the circumstances. 

“You’re not a child anymore, Mr. Fett, which means it is no longer suitable for you to handle your issues like one. When I granted you position as captain of the team, I figured that regardless of your youth, you might grow to the occasion and recognize that you are in a position of responsibility. If my prefects and captains all behave like you did tonight, what will become of the following generations?”

Again, Cody didn’t answer, but that wasn’t acceptable for Professor Windu, who smacked a hand on his desk, letting each student start at the reverberation.

“We would have chaos!” He said quietly. “We’ve been in school for no more than two months and I fear I made the wrong decision.”

“What?” Cody’s head shot up, vigor returned to his voice.

“Ah, he speaks.” He said sardonically.

“Professor?” Obi-Wan suddenly spoke up, “I believe Krell instigated the altercation, sir.”

“Krell has been nothing more than an exemplary student, Mr. Kenobi.” Windu turned his attention to him and Satine quietly hoped she would not lose two friends to his fiery gaze in one evening. “And I have several eye witness accounts saying he never took a single swing… Not even in retaliation.”

“He’s been bullying my brother!” Cody protested, “All to get back at me for being promoted as captain.”

“From what I understand, Mr. Krell has been implementing certain measures of discipline regarding your brother’s less than exemplary record- some simple cleaning and chores here and there. He’s been tardy and on more than one occasion caught causing mischief alongside Skywalker.”

At that, Windu cast a pointed look towards Obi-Wan, who stiffened beside Satine.

“That’s not what’s happening.” Cody said, “He’s hardly had any time to himself lately. He looks exhausted! You can’t see it, because Krell covers his tracks.”

“If by “covers his tracks”, you mean he has several esteemed recommendations from all of his professors, several records of voluntary community service, a near-perfect GPA, and has never stepped a toe out of line, I’d say yes, he does. And he does it well.”

At that, Windu looked to Obi-Wan and Satine for any source of confirmation. Satine cleared her throat.

“With all due respect, Professor, Ben and myself are also both historically “in line” and we know Cody. We can vouch that he would never act without reason to do so.”

He narrowed his eyes at her in consideration, “Yes, I know that, Ms. Kryze, but you of all people likely agree that Mr. Fett’s actions were brash and impetuous. That cannot go overlooked.”

“Please don’t remove him from the team, sir.” Obi-Wan said, “I’ve seen Krell and Rex and I do believe it deserves a closer look. Perhaps if you switched them-”

“-Rex, himself, has not made a formal complaint.” Windu sighed, “And the rules dictate that he would not only need to do so, but I would need more than hearsay from a family member that took to swinging before considering how that might tarnish his reputation.”

Off both Obi-Wan and Satine’s disappointed looks, he sighed, “But, it would be foolish not to consider all angles. The team rallies behind Cody and so do his brothers. Do not mistake this as a free pass. Should you pull another stunt like this, you will be stripped of your status as captain. Do you hear me, Fett?”

Cody looked up, anger blazing in his eyes. “I hear you, sir. What of Krell?”

“If what you three claim is true, I will intervene. I wish you came to me as opposed to fighting first. In the meantime, 50 points will be deducted from Gryffindor and you will require peer mediation classes, Mr. Fett. It’s best if we get that anger in check before you truly hurt someone.”

Cody opened his mouth to respond, but Satine nudged him. While she didn’t believe it to be fair, she knew that his mouth could only get him into further trouble.

“Thank you, sir.” He said instead and stood to his feet.

“Satine, Obi-Wan, please see him back to the Gryffindor common room. I’ve got to send an owl to the Krell household. I doubt we will be expecting a pleasant response.”

They nodded and escorted Cody back to the painting of the fat lady in silence. Obi-Wan tried to start an amicable conversation to lighten the mood with little results. It wasn’t fair and they all knew it. While Satine, herself, had never known Pong Krell to be cruel, she’d never really come into contact with him as much as Cody did. She’d always believed their rivalry was more in Cody’s head than in reality, but after tonight, it was obvious that it went deeper than it seemed.

“I won’t just take this lying down.” Cody said, “Windu isn’t going to do anything.”

“We’ll figure something out, mate.” Obi-Wan said gently and watched as Cody muttered the password and stepped inside the corridor. They watched it close behind him, understanding that this wouldn’t be the last of it. The Fett’s were not known for the ability to release grudges, especially when it came to one of their own.

She and Obi-Wan didn’t talk much as they walked back to the Ravenclaw common room. It was likely they had different opinions on the matter. She was annoyed that Cody simply acted before thinking about the consequences. If they took the time to build a case against Krell instead of socking him in the jaw, they might have met more success. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, probably understood Cody’s desire to act a little more thoroughly. 

“I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.” She said finally as he held the door open for her to enter inside.

“Me neither.” He agreed.

Well, at least they had something they agreed on.

Before ascending the staircase to go up to the two juxtapositioned bookcases that covered the respective dorms, she turned to bid him goodnight.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be hearing more of this tomorrow.” She said.

“So much for Halloween.” He said.

“Yeah.” She laughed lightly, “Well there’s always next year. We ought to both dress as knights next time if there’s to be another joust.”

He nodded and she started to turn, feeling exhaustion from the evening that was cut short weighing on her a little too heavily at this point. However, his gentle voice stopped her.

“Satine?” He asked.

“Yes?” She turned back to him, briefly taking in with mild intrigue how his hair wasn’t even slightly out of place after wearing a helmet all evening. It must have been charmed.

“How did the story actually end?”

It took her a moment to understand what he was referring to, since a lot had transpired since their earlier argument.

“Oh, that.” She ran a hand through her hair, loosening the top part from its braid. “We- they fall in love.”

“The muggle knight and the witch?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She said lightly, not quite knowing what to expect from his reaction.

He considered that for a moment and then smiled, “You’re right, that’s much better.”

And he turned to open the bookcase and walked up a separate set of steps, leaving Satine breathless and staring where he’d previously been. It wasn’t until the bookcase shut behind him that she felt safe to release the breath that had been caught in her throat.

“It is.” She hummed.

***

Anakin was supposed to be in bed right now.

However, he was far from tired as he gazed into bright golden eyes that broke through the shadowed obscurity beyond the gate, which was so much more ominous than the blackest night. The eyes simultaneously intrigued and frightened him, but all the same, he felt the intense gravitational pull forwards. His mind fought this urge, reminding himself of the bloody remains of an unlucky figure that lay to the side. 

Soft puffs of hot air rustled through his hair, warm like a sea breeze, but metallic in stench as they continued their staredown. Why was it kept down here? And for how long? Did the professors and headmaster know about this? He was beginning to understand his mother’s hesitance in Hogwarts, but Anakin really didn’t have time to consider any of those thoughts too decisively, because he was overwhelmed by fascination rather than fear. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he swore this creature was sad and wanting for freedom. Maybe, Anakin saw a bit too much of himself in it.

“Um, hi?” He tried meekly.

A soft but curious growl seemed to vibrate from the creature and through the floor. When he made no signs of aggression, he carefully reached forward and watched with severity for any harsh movement. His fingers grazed the gate to nothing. Instead, it sounded almost like the beast purred at Anakin’s curiosity. The real question was whether this was part of a trap or sheer delight over cognizant interaction.

He waved his wand around, using the light to gage what its living conditions were like and while it appeared to Anakin that the interior was quite large, his small bulb of lumination could not make out the actual shape and length of the creature itself, just that its front was rounded like a giant boulder and that it had a jagged maroon burn mark down its orange skin. He couldn’t see any teeth, but the gate had deep and inconsistent indents scattered around as well as slash lines. 

Clearly, it had tried to escape.  

“It must get lonely down here.” Anakin whispered.

The beast didn’t answer, but closed its eyes when Anakin’s hand reached the scaly surface of what he could only assume was a snout and heavily exhaled. It felt as though it was covered in hard plates and rocks that reminded him of what he’d always imagined dinosaurs to feel like. Between the ridges, he could detect a squishy and smooth skin and even with the light brush of his fingertips, it still flinched. Still, he didn’t hesitate to make small and comforting strokes as his mother would when he was plagued by nightmares. Being stuck in this labyrinth for a couple hours was depressing enough, let alone locked away for an extended period of time.

The gate was far too weak to not be enchanted somehow, and whenever Anakin brushed against it, he realized it was much sturdier than it appeared. And yet, it did not appear to affect human beings. By the way the creature remained a good meter behind the opening and the scabbed over burns and cuts across its skin, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that the gate was somehow cursed to maintain this specific creature. 

And yet, Anakin felt something in his soul, a kinship, that seemed to haunt him and tempt him all in the same breath. He averted his gaze from the golden eyes, because in them, he could see the destruction of the past and future. Who’s past and future, he did not know. All he knew was that there was only pain and suffering here and he desperately wanted an escape. 

He started at the faded sound of the clock that habitually rang every evening at midnight and every day at noon. He’d evidently gotten used to sleeping through it if he didn’t have astronomy, but while significantly muffled, Anakin was surprised to be able to hear it clearly from down this way.

When the beast stirred beneath his touch, Anakin turned his gaze and noticed a domineering shadow cast off the corner wall in the opposite direction. Steps that carried weight echoed across the stone floor at a brisk pace, crisp oxford’s clicking with purpose. For a brief second, Anakin felt relieved he’d been found. However, as he turned his head back to the suddenly recoiled beast, he realized with horror that any individual that kept a mysterious monster down in the hidden tunnels of Hogwarts, was likely not a friend to him.

So, as far as he could see, he had a choice and he’d made it considerably quickly. This was good, because by the time he managed to squeeze himself through the small cracked opening in the grate, the figure turned the corner and stood where he’d just been.

He gripped his wand so tight that it felt as though it might become a part of him and desperately tried to slow down his heart that was clattering in his chest. He raised a finger to his lips in futile hopes of agreeing to silence with this creature. Clearly afraid from past experience, it huffed and backed away from the entry point. The hooded individual did not speak, but Anakin kept himself at a curious angle that only allowed him minimal access while also remaining hidden. 

Even in the darkness that engulfed the room, the figure’s cloaks were an obsidian that Anakin could not name and they shrouded his face completely. His wand was at the ready and a brief gleam of cobalt lightning struck the beast and for the first real time, Anakin saw the full extent of it from his spot curled in a ball in the corner. It turned out, there was much more to it than the head that Anakin had only caught a glimpse of. It was the most massive thing Anakin had ever seen- looking more like a mega-maxed lizard at the intimidating size of around 90 meters. It was lean for its length, but covered completely in the orange and yellow plates that he had previously felt. Its arms and legs had gigantic talons on the ends of its digits and the same was said for the end of the tip of its tail, which could wrap around the entirety of the brute and then have some leftover. 

He winced at the persistent waves of shocks that enraged it, bringing its eyes to a mean red glow as its body spasmed. As its shrill shriek rattled the entire structure, causing specks of dust to crumble down from the ceiling, all Anakin could notice was the row of knives that layered its mouth in several sets, suitable to tear through anything.

Though they’d talked about it in school, it was the first time Anakin had ever seen magic used to destroy rather than create and he would never forget the tears it brought to his eyes at the power and tragedy of it all.  

Still, there wasn’t much he could do against actual lightning. He doubted that wingardium leviosa or alohomora would be of much assistance in this instance, and that was about as deep as his useful magic went at the moment. Transfiguration would take a great deal of effort that he couldn’t spare due to the amount of focus it was taking not to let his teeth chatter.

He tried to use the reflected light from the torturous magic spell to check out his surroundings, noting that to his right across the surprisingly spacious cavern (after all, it could fit this thing), there was another gate that led somewhere, anywhere, that was not where Anakin currently was trapped. 

He rushed across the clearing, trying very hard to banish the thoughts of the beast and its woeful and angry cries with tears of his own streaming down his cheeks. He bit his lip so hard that he could taste blood and when he slid down a small slope and squeezed under the miniscule space between the second gate and the ground, he landed hard on smooth stone flooring. There was a lever to his right hand side that was ever tempting to yank and he rested his hand there for just a moment, pondering this option. He could see above just how deep this cavern was thanks to sparsely located enchanted candles that illuminated each corner of this… temple. 

He swore the stones that towered up to the top of the ceiling had faces carved in compliance to their shadows that grimaced down at him with further reminder that he did not belong here. To his left, a long pathway that led to a tunnel far better lit than the one Anakin had traveled wound into obscurity and alongside it was an array of statues of warriors immortalized in suffering. The detail on them was shockingly accurate and Anakin wondered for a brief moment just how they’d captured such likeness.

“YOU THERE!” A hissing voice crept in his ear and cold shock permeated through him enough to freeze him in place.

Anakin didn’t dare breathe, let alone speak. His mind was surely playing tricks on him. When silence was all that persisted, he finally dared to turn around and noticed that the hooded figure was no more.

His breath grew ragged, but his eyes, however, could not stop taking the space in under sharper clarity, as though that would find him a way out. There was a stone table with a sword delved through it, dried blood caked into the surface and above it, one clear word: sacrifice.

A firm hand clasped his shoulder, the feeling of a cold ring bearing into his collarbone and it took everything in his power not to scream.

“Right on time.” A thick voice whispered. “Last words?”

Rage coiled over Anakin and he turned in the man’s grasp, still unable to see his face through the bleakness of the cloaks.

“So, what? You’re just going to kill some little kid? So tough.” He griped, “I’ve known guys like you my whole life: magic or not. And I’ll never be afraid of you.”

A sardonic laugh echoed off the walls, but the man still retained his quiet vibrato, “I’m not the one you should fear. It was foretold that you would be here.”

“By who?” Anakin just wanted to know who snitched. Viz? How would he have this sort of connection.

“My master.” And while he couldn’t see it, Anakin could sense a wicked grin breaking way on his captor’s face. 

“Well, sir, as much as I’d like to be your cultish human sacrifice, I think you’ve got bigger fish to fry right now.”

“Oh?”

A gust of hot breath propelled them forward, knocking Anakin out of the phantom’s cold grasp and onto his behind. It gave him the immaculate view of the figure in question getting knocked into the stone table. The man was temporarily subdued in stillness. When he thought the beast would finish the job, though, it whipped its head back towards Anakin and growled.

“Or,” Anakin winced, “Maybe I’ve got a bigger fish to fry.”

He leapt just at the moment the beast charged and landed on the top of its head. It pushed forward and up, crushing through the ceiling and only persisting upwards from there. Anakin did everything in his power to keep his hold on one of the spikes that protruded from its back. The beast roared and while Anakin could not understand its language, it sounded like vindication. Trouble was, as they broke through layer after layer of this secluded chamber, Anakin realized, with a strange concoction of relief and horror, that they would soon no longer be underground, but torpedoing straight through Hogwarts. 

***

Obi-Wan liked to think he took his position as prefect quite seriously. He was diligent in his patrols, prudent with reports, and reasonable with other students. He refused to be the kind that found trouble in everything, but if presented to him, would not hesitate to administer detention. He never cared much for what most of the other students thought of him anyway. He acquired that skill from his formative years at Hogwarts.

While his vigilance was visible to any that could be seen, it didn’t make being jostled awake by a raging scream any easier. He still leapt into immediate, even if a little bleary, action while he checked on all of the boys in his dormitory, alongside the other prefects, before advising them to remain calm and still in the event that there was somehow an intruder.

It was well known that Hogwarts was charmed to prevent such an occurrence, but such precautions should not be withheld simply because the likelihood of something was miniscule. 

The sixth year prefect, a rodian named Onaconda Farr, opted to stay back with the underclassmen in case anything went awry in the dorms, but if Hogwarts was sealed from all danger, the dorms were even doubled in those efforts, forbidding even those of the opposite gender to enter.

Obi-Wan and the seventh year prefect, Dantum Roohd, meandered through the bookcase to see their female prefect counterparts waiting for them with raised wands. Mon Mothma and Satine Kryze were ever formidable looking, even clad in pajamas. Satine, in particular, looked bright eyed and focused, despite the disarray of her hair, which fell half up and half down and off-centered, regardless of the original intent. 

“Any word from Professor Dooku?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Nothing as of now.” Mon Mothma replied grimly. “I wonder if the other houses have had such luck.”

“Would it be wise to investigate?” Dantum asked. “Do we think it’s a Halloween prank?”

He was answered not by either girl, but by a rumbling that nearly knocked each of them off their feet. To Obi-Wan, it felt reminiscent of an earthquake, only exclusive to Hogwarts, like it came from the belly of the school.

“I’d like to see a prank that could make the entire school shake.” Satine said. 

When the jostling returned, a deafening screech came with it and each tried to manage keeping their hands against their ears while also maintaining balance. A loud slam followed by the noise of crumbling infrastructure and each prefect looked at each other in shared alarm.

A moment of silence and stillness came before the window behind Satine was no longer depicting the glorious night sky, but a singular bloodshot eye.

“Oh that is not good.” He said.

Satine turned around in confusion and her eyes bulged in shock, “Oh, fu-”

“-We’ve got to find the professors.” Dantum said.

“Not without ensuring the safety of the underclassmen.” Mon Mothma argued, “Whatever that thing is, it’s scaled the tower!” 

“We’ll split up.” Obi-Wan offered loudly, trying to battle for dominance with the persistent shrieks from outside. His heart was hammering in his chest, “Satine and I will search for help and make sure there aren’t any stragglers while you two gather the students and take them to Slytherin’s common room.”

It was the only option that made sense. Slytherin’s common room was the most underground portion of Hogwarts and would suffer the least amount of damage from any beast that could take to the sky and physically climb across the entirety of Hogwarts without consequence.

“A sound enough plan given the circumstances.” Mon Mothma agreed, “Though sending two fifth years into the chaos seems-”

“-Like something we do not have time to debate.” Satine cut her off and grabbed Obi-Wan by the hand to pull him into a run outside the door of their common room. Under normal circumstances, he might have been taken back by the sudden contact, but considering a raging monster was trying to pry Hogwarts apart, he didn’t pay mind to the physical guidance. 

“We’ve got to find Dooku or Qui-Gon!” He yelled as they sprinted, nearly side by side down the stairwell of the tower, stumbling occasionally as the beast seemed to rock the tower back and forth as though it were designed to bobble. Absently, Obi-Wan wondered if it had been constructed for such a possibility. 

“That is the plan.” She returned sharply, just narrowly dodging a piece of debris that fell from the ceiling. “I thought Hogwarts was charmed to prevent physical attacks from magical or non magical creatures!”

“You know, this is new for me too.” He said.

After finally bursting through the thick doors that led to the tower, moaning ghosts fluttered by them but no active signs of life. 

“Okay, we should start by-” Satine stopped abruptly and looked at him in horror as if he’d just slapped her in the face.

“What?” He panicked, looking around him to ensure that he had somehow not transformed into an ugly yellow-eyed monster. “What’s wrong?”

“What on earth are you wearing?” She asked, voice high.

He blanched, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. It was safe to say it felt like he’d been knocked backwards into a pond of freezing water he was so off-guard. “What am I- These- Pajamas! What’s it to you?” He flared at the end of it.

Normally, he would never give Satine the opportunity to see him in sleepwear. He hardly accepted the notion that his classmates had to see him in vulnerable dress. However, he never thought them abnormal, since his parents wore a similar make. They were button-up in style, with a pocket square in the front that had the Kenobi crest pressed into it like a hard plate. The pattern, admittedly, was quite unusual and resembled a kaleidoscope of large boxes that housed several little boxes on the inside in a series of greens, blues, grays, browns, and oranges that often collided with one another. The collar had frills on it and the back even had a buttflap in case there was cause to rush in the middle of the night. He angled himself so Satine could not get a glimpse of that, of course.

“Those are not pajamas!” She shook her head, brow furrowed, “Those look like… Carny clothes!”

“They’re traditional!” He argued.

“They’re hideous.” 

“Satine!”

She reached out and touched them, “And they’re scratchy! How on earth do you sleep in those?”

He didn’t know what she meant by that. Though upon looking at her closer, she was dressed very differently in a grey t-shirt and navy sweatpants. 

Obi-Wan flinched, shaking off her hand while his face burned hot. “Can you please focus?”

She choked out a laugh, “I’ll try, but by God, I might be blind now after looking at you.”

“Meetra Surik!” Obi-Wan called the youngest-looking ghost that passed by, eager to get away from this line of conversation. She died an outcast from the rest of her peers and loved to lament over it.

“Kenobi!” She whirled, never a fan of Obi-Wan for his tendency to block her view of Cody, who she had a notorious crush on. Far be it from him to explain the difficulties that might arise in that pairing- the primary of which being that one was dead and one was alive. “Can’t you go bother someone else? I’m not trying to die twice in this horrid place.”

“That’s not physically possible, Meetra.” He sighed and tried to bring himself to a level of calmness he didn’t feel. “What in the blazes is going on?”

“Bloody hell if I know!” She roared, “I was on my nightly stroll through the herbology lab, debating on whether or not I should pluck a mandrake and stick it outside Professor Yaddle’s office, you know, because of the slander she spreads about me in her History of Magic class…”

Obi-Wan and Satine exchanged a confused glance, neither being able to note any reference of slander from Professor Yaddle, let alone in regards to any of her former students. However, as Obi-Wan thought of it, there was a brief unit on the deaths of Hogwarts students and Meetra might have been mentioned at some point because of this. 

“When a tentacle came straight through the screen and almost took my head clean off! I didn’t even know that was possible!” She gasped and squished her face into a scowl, “Must be a return of the Kraken.”

“Oh, shut it, you silly girl!” The thick brogue of Vima Sunrider cut her off on what would surely be a lengthy rant.

“Girl? I’m well over a thousand years old!”

“Yes, but you died a girl, which means your maturity is stunted. Now move it along and stop spreading slander to the children.” The older ghost said. 

Meetra stuck her tongue out at her, if not only just to prove Vima’s point. Before turning on her heels to continue floating in the direction she’d been heading towards. She paused before facing Obi-Wan again.

“Oh, Kenobi? Do tell that charming chaser friend of yours that I was asking for him.” She giggled.

“Ah yes, will do.” He coughed awkwardly and Satine raised an eyebrow at him in question. “Don’t ask.” He murmured. 

When Vima Sunrider did not stop and hurriedly went in the opposite direction, towards the library, Obi-Wan and Satine both had the presence of thought to follow her, having to jog to keep up with the pace she was keeping. Paintings fell off the walls at the continued agitation, which became so overwhelming, that Satine was knocked into him at one point. They slammed against the bookcase and onto the floor. A copy of “Quidditch Through the Ages” fell onto his head.

“Sorry,” She muttered, ears bright red as she immediately pulled herself off his lap. 

“S’okay.” He returned while forcing his eyes on the somber ghost that trailed straight through the lines of bookcases with effortless confidence that she knew where they were without so much as looking up. Obi-Wan knew too, because he’d quietly admired the section they were approaching during his entire career as a student of Hogwarts: the restricted section. His thirst for knowledge was overwhelming, but he always banished thoughts of sneaking in without much care.

He gave Satine an uncertain stare as they passed the barrier, but she only rolled her eyes at him.

“I think the teachers might forgive our indiscretion in light of more precedent events, Ben. Considering Godzilla is taking over the school.”

He frowned, “Who?”

“Nevermind.” She shook her head, and walked next to Vima Sunrider when they came to a halt. “Have you any idea going on, Lady Sunrider?”

A crack of lightning outside added to the horrors occurring and the whole building seemed to rattle in response. Specks of dust fluttered down and more ghosts seemed to round the corner in an effort to race to the dungeons. Behind them, Obi-Wan could hear the sounds of rapid footsteps and muffled voices of concern, meaning Mon Mothma and Dantum Roohd were performing their end of the deal.

The old ghost seemed to consider this, wisdom in her eyes as she gazed out beyond the windows of which she hadn’t crossed in centuries. Droplets of rain traced haphazardly down the glass panes and drizzled into obscurity. White light and thunderous shrieks raged outside of Hogwarts, which tried its best to fend off the attempted intruder. 

She ran a hand through long white hair and grimaced, “I thought they’d died out.”

“What’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The impenetrable behemoth. The mystical demon. The wizard-killer.” She listed the names in a tone that almost sounded revering before whispering, “The Zillo Beast.”

“Zillo Beast?” Satine wrinkled her nose. “I’ve never read of a Zillo Beast?”

“Not everything that’s true is found in books, Ms. Kryze.” She said knowingly. “And the mystery that is the Zillo Beast, while unbelievable, is true. Wizards of the past saw to extinguishing them and those that did not… Had other purposes in mind.”

“But, the magical barriers-” Obi-Wan began.

“-Are useless against creatures that are alleged to be extinct.” She said. “The Zillo Beast was long gone before Hogwarts was even a blink in the founder’s eyes. Or so we believed that to be the case.”

“Then why do you know of it?” He asked, a bit flustered that he’d forgotten how Vima knew the founders of Hogwarts quite well and had eventually been a professor here, despite having never attended.  

“A village of my ancestors met their fiery deaths to this beast. They are indestructible, and bring havoc in their paths.” She said. “And they were only rumored to rise as the darkest omen.”

“How do we stop it?” Obi-Wan asked.

Vima’s gaze was full of years that matched a life of unparalleled knowledge- at least to the living- and her mouth was set in a frown. Then, she broke out into a laugh, as if realizing he was being serious and it was just the most tickling joke in the world.

“You don’t, boy. This is only confirming what we ghosts have known for quite some time.” She wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling, “The prophecy has started. The darkest of times are approaching. Everything will burn.”

“You mean, Hogwarts?” Satine asked warily.

“Hogwarts, the wizarding community, the world.” She said darkly, eyes caught on the rainfall once again as the beast raged in the distance, “And it’s only the beginning.”

“Well, maybe you’ve given up.” Satine said stiffly, hands clenched into tight fists, “But we haven’t. If you’re not going to help us, we’ll find another way.”

Obi-Wan always marveled at Satine’s conviction, even if she couldn’t possibly have a plan up her sleeve in such an unpredictable occurrence. She still seemed beyond sure of herself and her moral compass, steeled in the right direction each and every time. He often wondered what he did to deserve a friend like that.

However, when he glanced down to the bookcase in front of them, he frowned, “Why did you take us here, Lady Sunrider?”

She smiled, “I think you’ve already figured it out, sir Ravenclaw.” 

Satine followed his line of sight and noticed the empty space and knelt to reach eye level with the lower corner. “There should be a book there.”

It was true. Every book in the section had been filed in its proper space except one, which left a gaping empty slot conveniently towards the end of the shelf.

“Alphabetically, it easily could have been about Zillo Beasts.” He reported after scanning his eyes across the surrounding titles. 

“Which means that someone within the castle was investigating them prior to this incident.” Satine finished.

They stared at each other in wide-eyed concern. If they were correct, it proposed the insinuation that someone at Hogwarts brought this Zillo Beast to the school. 

“Oh, we really need to find a professor.” Obi-Wan said. And while it went unsaid, who he actually meant was Qui-Gon, because he knew he could trust the man with his life, which was exactly what this occasion required. Anyone else, it seemed, could have been a suspect of all this.

***

“Okay, I think you can stop now!” Anakin yelled as the beast veered them all over the place, occasionally taking to the night sky and offering what otherwise, would have been a lovely view of Hogwarts and the black lake. Trouble was, this beast was presently rocking against Ravenclaw tower and shaking it senselessly.

“I hope Obi-Wan’s okay.” He muttered and tried to further his grip on the creature to keep himself from falling off.

This was proving increasingly difficult as his mode of transportation only became increasingly sporadic. The beast didn’t have wings, thankfully, but was enormous in stature and climbed with ease up the towers, digging its talons into the stone as though it was made of clay. The third arm, which Anakin hadn’t taken notice of when they were in captivity, kept swinging around, trying to get a grasp on him. 

Its red eyes were trained forward in determination and used his tail to knock the roof clean off the astronomy tower.

“Seriously, I think you made your point!” He said and clenched tighter. He used whatever nails weren’t gnawed off from bad habit, and stuck them as deep as they could go into the squishy skin beneath the hard plates. This earned him a wild jerk up and down, slamming Anakin’s body hard and almost losing his footing on the spikes. 

“Sorry, sorry! Do what you want!” He added hastily.

It took a large leap that felt a little bit like flying and landed hard against the roof that housed the Great Hall and slithered across like it was no big deal, leaving damage in its wake. Anakin just did his best to focus on not throwing up and couldn’t help the high-pitched scream he released when the beast decided it was a good idea to free-fall down to the courtyard.

It bashed its head through the doorway, officially breaking way to the interior of Hogwarts.

***

Cody, despite having not elected to becoming a prefect, assembled the boy’s Gryffindor dorm in record-breaking time. It helped that three of its occupants were his little brothers, who were used to Cody’s drill-sergeant act in the summer when he woke them up for Quidditch games before sunrise. 

“Cody!” Rex called, voice quivering with panic. “Anakin’s not here!”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” He rushed over to Skywalker’s bunk and noted that the sheets were still pressed from whatever spell had done it the morning before and the bed was cool. Sure enough, his backpack was also missing from its usual residence beside his bed.

“Has anyone seen Skywalker?” He asked loudly to the rest of the boys, who all turned and looked at one another before shaking their heads in confusion. How far could one little first year boy get? Considering this was Anakin Skywalker, who had already built a bit of a reputation for himself as mischievous, very far.

“Krell, we’re down a man.” He walked over to the prefect, who was in the middle of his own role call.

“I haven’t gotten that far on my list yet, Fett. If you don’t mind-” He continued.

Cody grabbed him by the shoulders, consequences be damned, and pressed him against the bar of the bunk behind him, “Some ravenous beast is taking over the school and you don’t even care that a kid’s gone missing?”

Regardless of his negative feelings towards Krell, he was willing to put them aside in a moment of strife. Krell, upon noticing that Cody remotely cared about the kid missing, seemed to not hold that same level of professionalism or humanity. He should have known better than to assume anything more from the slimy weasel.

“Watch it, Fett.” He said around the ghost of a smile, “Wouldn’t want to make any hasty movements there.”

“And you call yourself a Gryffindor.” He said and shoved him away.

“I never said I didn’t care, but there’s a protocol to be followed here. I’m not going to go running off and get myself killed when statistically, I’d be more useful here and rest assured, I will fight to the death if need be. Better to sacrifice one than to lose all.”

“Well, you better put two down on your missing list, because I’m going after him.” Cody said and when Rex began to follow, he pointed a finger at his little brother. “Don’t you even think about it.”

“But-” He looked back at him, panic-stricken, but either Fives or Echo placed firm hands on his shoulders both to comfort and keep him in place.

***

Obi-Wan and Satine rounded the halls, being careful to jump over broken glass and splintered wood. Above them, the night sky was showcased due to the shattered pieces of the ceiling. The rain seemed to be slowing down, which was a relief, because a flood was the last thing the school needed at the moment. 

They were both relieved to find they hadn’t stumbled across any students that were lost or left behind, but were more concerned to note that the professors seemed to be completely missing in action.

“Maybe, they’re already tending to the problem?” Satine suggested as she kept up her stride beside him. A deafening blast beside them caused him to pull her close by the hand so they were burrowed in a tight corner. What looked to be a tail with large spikes on the end had broken through the wall across from them. Satine had just been standing there a few seconds before and that thought more than anything startled him.

They stayed still and silent and watched, trying not to indicate that there was possible food for the beast to enjoy. Their breaths intermingled as they kept their eyes burned to the vacant spot. Time seemed to drag impossibly long and it felt like this would never pass. Finally, the tail slipped away and the beast continued its rampage elsewhere in the building. While this wasn’t necessarily a comforting thought, it did allow the hammering in Obi-Wan’s ears to slow down a little bit.

“That was close.” Satine finally said around a heavy breath. They remained paralyzed where they were for good measure until enough time seemed to pass. 

“We’ve got to find that book. Maybe there’s a way on how to defeat it inside.” He said.

What was crystal clear was that someone didn’t want them to have that level of accessibility on hand. 

“I agree.” She nodded and then, remembering herself, slowly looked down at their joined hands, “Um-”

“Oh, terribly sorry!” He quickly retracted and cleared his throat, “Shall we continue?”

She took the lead and raced ahead. From then going forward, they remained closer to the interior wall as they ran risk of another outside blow coming inwards. The closest office would have been, in theory, Professor Windu’s, so they tried there first. He was easily the best at aggressive spells, even if this was likely more of Professor Dooku’s expertise.

“His door is locked.” Satine reported.

“And something tells me a simple unlocking spell isn’t going to do the trick.” He said around an exasperated sigh. She still tried every spell she could think of to no quantifying results.  Beside him, was a window and he tried his best to see through the rain to get any sort of glimpse at the Zillo Beast. Instead, all he could see was rain. 

“Come on, let’s try Dooku’s office.” She said and they turned on their heels to run but once they gained any real momentum, Obi-Wan found himself smacking into a solid object when circling another corner.

Instinctively, he stuck his wand out, but met a set of focused and familiar eyes.

“Cody?” He asked.

“What in the heavens are you doing?” Satine asked, clutching her chest.

“And why are you in your underwear?” Obi-Wan asked and used his wand to point to the fact that Cody was running around the castle in nothing more than a pair of red plaid boxers and a white sleeveless shirt. The boy wasn’t even wearing socks and didn’t look as though he was the least bothered by it.

“I don’t think you’ve got much room to talk when it comes to current wardrobe, mate.” Cody snickered.

“He’s got you there.” Satine added.

He clambered to his feet and whirled around to face her, face glowing once again, “He’s in his underwear! Are you kidding me?”

“You would think.” She said and nodded at Cody, who was still stifling his own laughter, “But Cody doesn’t get embarrassed and you still look like you are the reigning champion of an ugly pajama contest.”

“I guess it’s better than that nightgown you wore first year when you slept over my house that one-” Cody started, but Obi-Wan punched him in the arm, which only seemed to instigate his half-naked friend’s laughter.

“You promised never to speak of that again!” He complained. 

“You wore a nightgown?” She delved into laughter yet again.

“Oh, it had a buttflap just like this one.” Cody said as he turned around Obi-Wan, who placed his rear against the wall instantly. “And a matching cap!”

The two continued their little fit, which could have gone on for much longer than appropriate and in spite of the fact that Obi-Wan was presently contemplating setting himself on fire, he knew they needed to get to safety. 

“Can we- Can we please get on track? Bloodthirsty Zillo Beast, remember?”

  “Mhmm,” She giggled into her hand before clearing her throat, “Yes, uh- what are you doing out here, Cody?”

As soon as Cody was redirected again, his expression darkened. “You’d think my prefect would be out here on the front lines, but I think the sorting hat might have been in need of some patchwork when Krell was assigned Gryffindor house.”

“So, what? Are you planning on taking down the Zillo Beast in your boxers?”

“Not as ridiculous as being dressed as a clown,” He smirked and then straightened, “But you’re not going to like the sound of this.”

“I haven’t liked the sound of anything tonight.” Obi-Wan grumbled.

“Yeah, well, you’re really going to hate this, but… Skywalker’s missing.”

***

When Tyranus awoke from his state of unconsciousness, he was alone and beneath a layer of dust and debris. Despite his aching body, he rose to his feet and gazed upwards towards a soft draft. He was surprised to find himself alone, or at least, to see that there was no human carnage left behind. The offering table was still dry and fresh of blood, nor had the sword been removed from the center. Only the artifacts had experienced the beast’s true rath. 

Aside from the gaping hole in the ceiling of the once sacred Sith temple, there was no sign of the boy or the beast.

“This is all wrong.” He whispered and clenched his fist tightly.

The prophecy foretold differently and Tyranus had dedicated much of his time to relentlessly examining prophecies that many wizards looked over as folk tales. If what his master said was true, and this boy was to be the sacrificial lamb necessary to enact their quest of domination, tonight was meant to be his descent.

Of course, prophecies had many different meanings and the future was ever fickle. Perhaps, he’d taken it too literally or not literally enough. 

After the fullest Hallows Eve,

The dark beast shall rise as he descends,

And claim her sacrifice to achieve,

A conflict without mends.   

Was his master incorrect about the boy? Tyranus had been suspicious that such revered power could present in a child, but every powerful wizard had to start somewhere. Had that been the case, the Zillo Beast never should have had the strength to escape in the first place.

He stroked his beard, contemplating this only for a moment longer before allowing his eyes to drift over to the fallen statue of Plaguesis, the wise. His head had been crushed to a point of near unrecognition, but still looked fearsome. They all had their part to play in the creation of a greater power and Plaguesis’ had been to relay his exuberant knowledge to the next generation. He had met such a dastardly end by the hand of his own apprentice, but despite his wisdom, had been a fool for playing his entire hand. 

Tyranus twisted the ring around his finger- the one with his family’s crest set onto the garnet stone and thought on this. His master would never make such a mistake with Tyranus- creating just enough space of dependency between them to necessitate his existence. 

There was never a plan he knew the entirety of until the end result. The smallest of details could change an arrangement, after all. Even right now, as he literally stood in the darkness and was surrounded by a destruction of the past while the Zillo Beast’s shrieks echoed in the distance, a new possibility unforeseen arose in front of him.

Perhaps, the boy was not the true sacrifice after all.

***  

As a former Auror, Mace Windu had been exposed to his fair share of darkness both within himself and the outside world. He’d faced fates worse than death on a daily basis at one point in his life. It was part (but not the entire) reason he’d decided to switch to a career of teaching. Headmaster Yoda welcomed him with open arms and had encouraged this career change, stating that they would need a higher level of security at Hogwarts for the coming years anyway. At the time, Mace had been young and not quite sure what to make of that statement, but after teaching at Hogwarts for over twenty years, he finally understood. 

He’d been a former student himself- Gryffindor’s prefect, Quidditch captain, and eventual Head Boy of his year and he never remembered encountering evil during his school days. There was always going to be the occasional accidental mangling by a creature in the forbidden forest or a student that played around with magic the wrong way. It came with the territory of their world and while unfortunate, was not evil.

In the past few months, a change occurred in the belly of the school. The ghosts seemed either uncharacteristically jubilant or horrified, depending on their outlook on the living. As much as he hated to admit Qui-Gon was right, the dark mark had tinged the sky after the tragic burning of a muggle-born house in June.

There were mysterious noises that even Yoda had never heard before and they only seemed to occur at the darkest point of the night. Tonight, of course, was no different. No one could seem to identify where they came from and the established taskforce of Mace Windu, Count Dooku, Qui-Gon Jinn, Shaak Ti, and Sheev Palpatine always rotated where they looked and reported to Yoda. 

And now, there was a gigantic monster enrapturing all of Hogwarts. The first priority was ensuring the safety of his and the other house’s students. He hoped with everything in him that his prefects justified his choice. He went outside to the Quidditch pitches, and through the tunnels until he was in the locker room, relieved to see his three sets of prefects calling off roll to a large group of tired students. However, he knew from a second head count that two students were absent.

“Who’s missing?” He demanded. 

Krell frowned and looked to his checklist, “Anakin Skywalker and Cody Fett.”

Two indiscretions in one evening was rare for anyone, let alone someone with as much to lose as Cody Fett. 

“He went to look for Anakin!” Rex called from where he was situated between his two other brothers and by the looks of it, held down from searching for himself. 

“What would you like us to do?” Krell asked, wand at the ready to charge into battle. The other prefects looked just as set to act. Mace admired their bravery, but it was not what they needed right now.

“I want you to stay put.” He said to everyone. “I’m setting a series of protective charms onto this locker room as well as the girl’s locker room. I believe Hufflepuff has congregated there. Should you leave, you won’t be able to get in without my wand.”

“Makes sense since they play like a bunch of-” Fives began to joke, but was silently cut off by the rightfully lethal glare of Padm é Amidala.

“-Good players.” He finished instead and Echo snickered. “Shut-up, Echo.”

“I’d hardly call this a time for jest.” Krell said pointedly and looked to Mace again, “Trust that we will protect these quarters with our lives.”

“I should hope it won’t come to that.” He responded with a nod before turning back to the black night. As he exited and completed the necessary charms, he met Qui-Gon, Dooku, Shaak-Ti, and Yoda in the center of the pitch.

“I have two students missing.” He said, “Skywalker and a Fett.”

“I just returned from Slytherin’s chambers where Ravenclaw has gathered. I also have two students missing.” Dooku stroked his white beard, much calmer than Mace could ever be in this situation, “Kryze and Kenobi. Evidently, they went to look for stragglers and never returned.”

“We must make finding them our top priority.” Qui-Gon said, concern written all over his features.

“I concur.” Dooku placed a reassuring hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “Truly, I do, but that could be futile if this beast sets the entire school ablaze.”

“What even is that beast, Headmaster?” Shaak Ti asked the question they’d all clearly wanted to.

“An ancient beast, it is.” Yoda said gravely. “Ancient magic, it will require.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t have anything like that on hand. Still, something in Qui-Gon seemed to stiffen as he shared a knowing look with Yoda. Mace tried to prevent the rise of envy that fought way, and instead practiced a calming routine he’d instilled whenever such ugly feelings tried to take hold of him. Yoda and Qui-Gon, despite the ladder being the only member of the taskforce without any true authority, had a bond, regardless of their varying disagreements. The largest agreement, of course, was the belief that all of this could be related to prophecy.

Mace had a difficult time believing that everything that would ever happen was written and predicted by the ancients that knew little of what they were doing, not even sure how to perform a simple fire-setting spell. However, he did try and pay attention when he was privy to these conversations. And this night, was awfully coincidental, if not prophetic.

“Missing, Palpatine also is.” Yoda cut into his thoughts.

“We must find him and the children.” Shaak Ti said. “Buildings can be rebuilt, but bodies cannot be spared from death.”

“Take to the perimeter we must. Capture this beast, we will.”

“Is there no way to kill it, Headmaster?” Dooku asked.

“Not us.” Qui-Gon answered for him.

***

“Anakin?” A kind and concerned voice called.

He popped his head up from where he’d been tucked against a jagged scale and noticed for the first time that the beast had halted, though it felt as though it was vibrating beneath him. A glowing blue aura surrounded him and through a film of this bright light, he could see the silhouette of Professor Palpatine, who had his hand outstretched. His dark blue eyes almost looked black in contrast to his pale skin. His white hair was slicked flat against his head. His robes were much more elegant and traditional than what Palpatine typically wore to teach his class. If he weren’t so relieved to see him, he might have been intimidated by the look. 

“Professor!” He beamed and then looked down to the beast, “How are you doing that?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.” He jested wearily, “Climb off.”

He did as he was told immediately and at first thought he might throw up from all the whiplash he’d endured, but while also subduing the beast with one hand, Palpatine reached out and steadied him with the other. Though he wouldn’t admit it later, he did cower a bit behind the old man before daring to peak out at the beast that caused sufficient damage to the school.

While still, its eyes burned with red fury and it wasn’t directed at Anakin but at Palpatine.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Palpatine said quietly and patted Anakin on the head, “Never forget, that everything has its weaknesses. Even this creature.”

“Are you hurting it?” He whispered.

Palpatine quirked an eyebrow at Anakin curiously, “Of course not. This is merely freezing it in motion. I am not powerful enough to take down a beast like this.”

Upon closer inspection, Anakin confirmed this to be true. Even the snarl of its teeth seemed to be caught in a chomping motion. What it planned to do with those teeth, made him shiver. Its hatred and delivery of attack was clear and yet Palpatine didn’t hesitate to act against it. 

“What is it?” He asked.

“This, my dear boy, is an ancient being called the Zillo Beast. It is notorious for hunting and mutilating wizards in ancient times. They were believed to be ridden of this earth by a famous wizard named Revan.”

And here Anakin believed it to be a friend. He internally cursed.

“Sir, I have to be honest with you.” He trembled and felt a swell of guilt overcome him, “I-I’m the one who-”

However, within the aura of enchantment, Anakin saw that vibrating that he felt beneath his touch a mere moment before turning into a full blown tremble and before he could comment on it, the beast broke the spell like shattered glass. The loudest and hottest burst of hot air expelled them backwards and the beast craned its neck to hover over an unconscious Palpatine, seeming to revel in the moment of conquest and Anakin knew, for the second time that night, what evil truly felt like.

And it was all his fault.

***

“So, you two think that one of the professors unleashed that thing?” Cody asked as they ran, strides intensifying even as the sounds of damage seemed to localize in the distance. He was the superior runner by a longshot, but kept his pace in line with theirs. Satine always appreciated that about him, even if it was a little foolhardy to go running about clad only in underwear.

“Unless it was a very advanced student, yes.” Obi-Wan returned, also not quite out of breath from all the incessant running. Satine decided then and there that she could benefit from more exercise.

“All because some book was missing?” He asked.

“It’s a little too coincidental, wouldn’t you say?” She countered as they avoided a coat of arms that was currently scattered across the ground in their path. “It’s not like ghosts or poltergeists can check out library books.”

“And students require permission to access the section.” Obi-Wan said.

“Remember when you said a little reading wouldn’t kill me?” Cody retorted, “Boy, were you two wrong about that, huh?”

“The book likely carries the information on how to stop it so no, we are not wrong.” Obi-Wan said, but his snarkiness wavered when they turned a bend- his gaze straightforward with concern, “I can’t believe Anakin never returned to bed last night.”

“We’ll find him.” She promised with as much sincerity as she could allow, but this proved difficult as she hopped over a fallen bookshelf in her way. “For all we know, he could have just snuck out to snatch sweets.”

Though when she caught Cody’s eye, both had their suspicions that not only was Anakin involved in all of this somehow, but was likely in danger. Neither was about to voice these thoughts to Obi-Wan, who took his responsibility as mentor very seriously on top of his equally serious prefect status. She didn’t know what she would do if it was Viz somewhere lost in the fold of chaos. 

“Any leads on the professor?” Cody asked and really, she wished they could stop talking while they were sprinting. 

“Yes, we’ve just been dripping with success on the case since we’ve been running for our lives.” Satine said tartly.

“Well, excuse me,” He huffed, “Just trying to collaborate.”

“You know how Satine is when she doesn’t get her proper sleep.” Obi-Wan said and by God, if they weren’t running in ardent determination to find Obi-Wan’s missing mentee from a bloodthirsty monster, she would have tripped him. 

She didn’t have time to conjure up a comeback to his remark, because she stuck an arm out to stop them both in their tracks when something through the gaping hole beside them caught her gaze. Cody followed suit and halted a few meters ahead of them before moving back in confusion. She didn’t take her eyes off the distance, though, and for very good reason.

Clinging to the side of the astronomy tower, was the Zillo Beast in full form. 

***

Qui-Gon and Dooku rounded the stairs up the shaking astronomy tower, not entirely certain of whether or not it could withstand the tension caused by the Zillo Beast, but determined all the more. Despite his age, Dooku took every other step with graceful and unparalleled ease that rivaled Qui-Gon’s own footwork. It was part of why he respected him so and aimed to mirror his collectivity. Even still, they had their differences. Qui-Gon, for instance, was finding it very difficult not to worry for the missing children, with Anakin in particular being the most concerning. 

Dooku had always been more reserved with how he demonstrated care, but after spending decades working together and before that being taught by Dooku, Qui-Gon could read these tells efficiently. His steps were heavy and his eyes were clear with purpose. His friend and former mentor meant nothing but business, but his heart was every bit as involved as his mind. 

“If you taught him well, he will keep Skywalker safe.” He said when they reached the top of the stairs. 

They pushed through the entrance to find a stand-off of sorts. Palpatine lay unconscious and helpless against a stone pillar while young Anakin Skywalker tearfully pointed his quivering wand at the beast, which surprisingly made no moves to attack him. It was as though they were communicating only in their minds. It was unlike anything Qui-Gon had ever seen before, though he’d never witnessed a Zillo Beast in the flesh and never assumed he would given it was supposed to be extinct.

“Anakin!” He called, who broke his gaze with the creature and looked to them with fear in his eyes.

“Don’t come any closer!” He yelled. “It- It’s all my fault!”

Dooku pointed his wand purposefully at the Zillo Beast, but spoke calmly to Anakin, “It’s alright, come here and we can discuss it at a later time.”

The Zillo Beast was enraged at its company, screeching and turning to Dooku with a newfound disrespect, propelling itself forward. Had Qui-Gon not been quick enough to yank them both out of the way, they both would have been crushed.

“Stop it!” Anakin cried, “Don’t hurt them!”

It didn’t seem too keen on listening to his instructions, despite the obvious connection between the two of them, and instead snapped its razor-sharp teeth at them. Qui-Gon tried just about every attack and defense spell in the book, but to no avail. Even as Dooku parried and dodged the creature’s large head, it was obvious they could not maintain this dance any longer.

They would not be able to kill this thing.

“Professors!” Obi-Wan called and Qui-Gon’s and the Zillo Beast’s attention was briefly diverted to three fifth years that came bounding up the steps all dressed in pajamas. Neither had the time to be relieved to see any of them, because their dance with the beast only continued, which shook the structure of the astronomy tower so much that Qui-Gon was certain it would collapse.

“Beneath the armor, we can beat it.” Dooku said with a firm grip of his wand. 

Anakin, plagued by a guilt that Qui-Gon couldn’t understand, as well as more gumption than he’d seen in grown warriors, leapt from the balcony and onto the back of the Zillo Beast. While the small boy didn’t weigh it down in the slightest, it still shook its head relentlessly to try and fling him off. However, Anakin stabbed his wand deep somewhere and the beast raged on with a scream that nearly deafened all of them.

Obi-Wan and Satine were helping him to his feet before he could have the presence of mind to do so. He was far too busy collecting his thoughts on just how they might escape this night alive rather than tucked six feet under. By the way Dooku’s dark eyes lit up at Anakin’s brashness, he’d drawn the same conclusion.

Qui-Gon stopped Obi-Wan from rushing to the railing to ensure Anakin’s safety. He understood the need to do that, because Qui-Gon was fighting every instinct within him too. “I’m glad you lot are here, because we’re going to need all the power we can get.”

Obi-Wan nodded numbly, all too good at tucking away his emotions in the blink of an eye. Cody and Satine, on the other hand, appeared much more distraught, yet both had their wands at the ready. Even Cody, who given his lack of clothing, wouldn’t have had anywhere to put it. 

“Lift the skin, Anakin!” Dooku called.

“What?”

“Lift the rough scales!” He repeated, voice much louder and clearer than Qui-Gon’s could ever hope to be.

“Oh! I’ll try sir, whoa!” He almost slipped and Qui-Gon could sense Obi-Wan’s flinch from beside him. Truthfully, his own heart was in his throat, but he’d never let that show.

After a few more crucial seconds of being tossed around and trying to get his hold on the beast’s scales, Anakin finally leaned back and pulled, leaving just enough of a crevice for a shot to sneak through. Whose it would be, was unknown.

“STUPEFY!” Qui-Gon led the onslaught of attacks and given the vast range of motion exhibited by the scorned Zillo Beast, most of their shots missed horribly, but he felt himself curse everytime they got closer. Dooku was the best shot and didn’t need to say the spell to expel his point. He waved his wand elegantly and efficiently with a swift flick of the wrist. To Qui-Gon’s left, the students were much less practiced than his esteemed mentor, but quicker due to their outstanding youth and resilience. Obi-Wan, in particular, was the crackshot and managed to land the piercing shot. The Zillo Beast wavered, eyes fighting the spell before its head came crashing down against the stone and launched all of them a meter or two in the air. 

Unfortunately, one of Cody’s shots got Anakin when the beast unexpectedly stilled, causing him to instantly roll backwards and towards the ground below them. Qui-Gon was quick enough to catch him midair before the children could so much as scream in response, keeping his wand outstretched while Dooku inspected and made sure the Zillo Beast was incapacitated. 

“Keep stupefying it.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” Dooku said with the barest hints of a smile hiding behind his white beard. It was the most he or anyone would ever get from the consistently serious man. Qui-Gon learned to take what he could get.

Obi-Wan rushed forward to meet Anakin’s floating unconscious body and reached out to pull him onto the broken ground. His head fell into his lap and revealed that aside from catching the backend of a spell, he was virtually unscathed.

“It’ll be almost like a terrible dream.” Qui-Gon assured him, “Though I’m pleased to see you’ve taken to caring for the boy.”

“Well, I’d hate to see what kind of grade I’d receive as a mentor if he was swallowed whole by an ancient beast.” He teased, though the twinkle in his eyes confirmed what Qui-Gon had suspected. Yes, a bond had been established between the two of them. 

“Not as worse of a grade as you would if you dare to wear those to class.” Qui-Gon said in reference to Obi-Wan’s pajamas, “What are you wearing, son?”

The boy’s jaw dropped and Cody tilted his head back in a laughter that shattered any remaining tension from the room. 

“Professor Palpatine is coming to.” Satine reported as she knelt beside Obi-Wan to take her own look at Anakin, the hints of a teasing smile clung to her lips when she met Obi-Wan’s flustered gaze. She said nothing on the matter and evidently did not need to. Qui-Gon suspected she might have already brought Obi-Wan’s questionable fashion choice to his attention. “Though he should probably see medical. That is… If medical is still standing?”

“Quite the question, Ms. Kryze.” Qui-Gon smiled, “I’m sure Madame Nema is proficient enough to tack on band aids without a facility.”

“Sorry I zapped your kid, Kenobi.” Cody said sheepishly. “Though honestly, this is the most peaceful I’ve ever seen him.”

They chuckled at that and Qui-Gon leaned down to scoop Anakin up, ready to carry him back to the common rooms that were hopefully still intact. Otherwise, a nice cot would have to suffice for the boy. 

“We would not have survived this night without him.” He said thoughtfully, “It took true bravery to do what he did.”

“That may be so, Professor, but why did he need to do it at all is the true question.” Obi-Wan said, “Why did this happen?”

Qui-Gon shared a look with Dooku, who was repeatedly stupefying the Zillo Beast with caution and reverence. It was difficult not to admire a relic of another time, especially when there was so much they could learn from it. The bitterness in Dooku’s eyes reflected more on the destruction or possible loss of life that occurred at its hand, of course, but Qui-Gon could only think of what this all meant in the long run.

He was relieved they all got to walk away, but it pondered several queries on Obi-Wan’s very question. While Qui-Gon didn’t know that this, in particular, would happen, it seemed inevitable in hindsight that something of this nature would. And all of it seemed to surround the boy that slept in his arms. 

Cody helped a limping Professor Palpatine down the stairs. The older man turned to him wryly.

“Perhaps, you are right about that boy there, Professor Jinn. He is no doubt special.”

That was what Qui-Gon was afraid of.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 29

Dispossessed

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter: just usual Bucky.

Summary: Things starts moving too fast for the reader.

Notes: Alright, since you all asked so nicely, you get two series today (part 3 of Happy Together was posted earlier). So here you guys go. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Some interesting plot so forgive the lack of smut but I hope you have fun with it. <3

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

The distant melody of your alarm rang in your head. Slowly the haze began to clear as you felt yourself ascending. A warmth on your shoulder, your name uttered next to your ear. “Y/N, wake up. Come on.” Your eyes shot open and you looked up in the dim, Bucky sat next to you on his large bed. He was still naked, as were you, and by the wrinkle of the sheet and duvet next to you, you could guess that he had slept next to you. You couldn’t even remember falling asleep and assumed that you had passed out during your nocturnal activities and been shuffled aside thereafter.

“What?” You croaked, reaching up to touch your forehead. You were sore all over. Every inch of you was screaming with the weight of the night before. “Grrmph.” You grumbled as Bucky helped you to a sitting position.

“You have to work,” Bucky said, his face clearing through your vision. “I went by your apartment and grabbed some clothes after you nodded off.” You shrugged his hand away from your shoulder, “You should get washed up.”

“I...should,” You agreed dumbly. You turned slowly, groaning as your legs thrummed. You bent forward and held your head. “Goddamnit.” You could still feel the layer of sweat and cum clinging to your skin. Bucky moved to sit next to you, his hand on the small of your back.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked in a low voice, “Hmm, take your body and leave everything else?”

“Fuck you,” You sat straight, your head spinning, “You’re disgusting.”

“You like it,” He smirked, “Just a touch and your soaking wet.”

“Where’s your shower?” You stood, holding in another grunt. You crossed your arms over your bare chest.

“This way,” He rose and squeezed your ass as he passed, heading for the door.

You sighed as you watched his naked ass disappear through the doorway and followed him reluctantly. The faster you showered, the sooner you’d be gone. He opened the second door along the hallway and waved you inside. He watched you intently as you neared and entered ahead of you. He closed the door and pressed himself against you as he guided you towards the large shower, a sliding glass door already open and waiting. He was hard again and you shuddered.

He parted from you and stepped away, reaching into the shower to crank the faucet on. The water sprayed down, steam rising around the downpour and you yearned for its hot embrace. You almost forgot about Bucky for the promise of cleansing. You were disappointed however as he entered the shower, realizing you would not be left alone. You rolled your eyes and dropped your head a second before kicking yourself into action. He beckoned you in ahead of him, right under the waterfall, and you couldn’t help the breath of relief that escaped you.

You found the soap upon the shelf, reaching for it even though it smelled of thick sandalwood. You squeezed some into your hand and Bucky reached over your shoulder to steal the bottle. You heard the bottle deflate and inflate, the lid flipped shut as he hovered it beside you, waiting for you to replace it. You set it back on the shelf and began to scrub yourself with just your hands and nails, content enough to do that. When you lathered your hair with some of his shampoo, he helped the process, his erection poking you in the back as his fingers played with your hair.

“If we weren’t running against the clock…” He purred, turning you so that your head was under the stream and he began to rinse the shampoo from your hair, guiding the bubbles down the strands. “You were very good last night but it will be a while before I can trust you.”

“I know,” You said grimly. “I think I’m done.” You gesture to your hair, “May I?” You gestured to the shower door.

He grinned, his hand tracing the line of your clavicle before he pulled away. “Go ahead,” He stepped back and slid open the door, “I’ll be out shortly. Your clothes are on the sofa in the bedroom.”

You grabbed a towel from the rack as the door slid closed behind you. You walked back to the bedroom as you dried yourself off, wrapping the towel around your head. You dressed, realizing he had refrained from grabbing panties for you. You couldn’t help but think it deliberate. You pulled on the knee-length pencil skirt and retrieved your bra from the floor. You buttoned the pale blue blouse while you searched for your tights. Great, there was run right up the length of the left leg. Well, the fall weather would not be kind to your bare legs.

Your rubbed dry your hair and brushed it out in front of the mirror hung on the wall. You looked decent considering, though your eyes were dark with fatigue. You heard footsteps and Bucky followed, a towel at his waist as he opened his dresser and searched for clothes. “Could you throw on a pot of coffee?” He asked over his shoulder, “Machine’s along the counter right beneath the microwave.”

“Uh, sure,” You hid your scowl. It was odd. You hated when he spoke to you like this. When he pretended that this was normal relationship. You turned and left the room, opting to focus on brewing caffeine as much for your own sake as his. You could be annoyed with him later.

After Bucky had dropped you off at work, you spent the day trying to keep yourself awake at your desk. Pepper was halfway down your throat about a booking at some venue or another and you were trying to find a caterer who did bacon-wrapped shrimp for Tony’s birthday. You suspected you’d not be invited nor partake in the delicious-sounding appetizer. Either way, it distracted you from memories of the night before.

When the day was over, you yawned and departed for you own car. You were almost elated to drive yourself and dared to be hopeful that your night would be quiet. You stopped by the liquor store, a bottle of wine paid for, and headed to your building. You dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes as you entered your apartment and dragged your feet over to the couch before flopping on it. You uncorked the wine bottle and drank straight from the neck as you flipped on the television. Every hour passed and your stomach fluttered as Bucky made no appearance and your phone remained entirely inert. You fell asleep when the bottle had barely a gulp left to it, deep into alcohol-laced splendour.

Wednesday. Middle of the week, halfway to the weekend though for you it Saturday was rarely a day of rest. After spending your night in a drunken stupour, you felt just as poorly rested as the night before. Your work didn’t help as your eyes drooped and you sucked back your third cup of coffee. The caffeine fueled your lingering paranoia. You wondered at Bucky and Steve’s absence since Monday night. It wasn’t peculiar, they weren’t there every day, but you still felt uneasy.

You drove home in silence. No radio, just the engine and your own thoughts bouncing around. You didn’t speed, patiently waiting at stop lights as you glanced around the busy New York streets. You were feeling wistful. As if mourning your past once and for all. You were so tired, so worn out, it was all sinking it. You didn’t know if you longed for those lonely, boring nights, but the life you lived now made it seem a distant dream.

As you pulled up to your building, you stopped short. A large moving truck sat centre and blocked most of the spots, empty or otherwise. You huffed and parked your car on the street, tiredly grabbing your purse and heading for the salvation of your apartment. The stairs seemed too steep to climb and you were nearly out of breath as you reached the top. Your door was wide open. The hairs on the back of your head stood up and you entered cautiously. You could hear hangers sliding along a metal bar as you entered, the noise of someone rummaging through your closet coming from the bedroom.

Your clothes were stacked on your bed and Bucky was tossing more on the pile. You stared at him and gaped, the rest of your room stripped of all but the furnishings. No…

“What the fuck?” You hissed.

“Finally,” Bucky set more blouses atop the mound, “Start putting these in boxes,” He ordered, merrily continuing his work.

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you doing?” You crossed your arms, your purse sagging annoyingly down to your elbow.

“Moving,” He said as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation.

“Jesus,” You dropped your purse and grabbed a handful of hangers, moving to return them to the closet. Bucky stopped you, his hand on yours as he backed you away from the folding door.

“I was thinking about it,” He took the clothes from you, tossing them without looking on top of the rest. “It’s a hassle having to run over here to get you clothes. In fact, I’ve wasted a lot of time driving back and forth across this city. So I figured it would be easier if you just stayed at my place. Less expensive, too. No rent for you.”

“I’m not doing that,” You growled, “You’re fucking insane.”

He scoffed before carrying on. “And since you’ve shown me how I can’t trust you, it would be all the better to keep an eye on you.” He leaned down, lowering his voice as he spoke in your ear, “Keep you nice and close so you can’t go sneaking around.”

“I won’t go,” You snarled, trying to back away but he latched onto your arms and held you in place.

“Fine, but you won’t have much longer before you have nowhere to go if you do,” He smirked, his expression startling, “I already gave your notice. You’re out at month’s end and the landlord’s set to auction off all your furniture. Proceeds are yours, of course.”

“You’re fucking kidding?” You sputtered angrily, trapped in his clutches.

“When do I fucking joke?” He released you with a shove and turned back to the closet, pausing to bark over his shoulder, “Well, get to work. We still have a lot to go.”

+

tags:  @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld  @petit-funsize @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettirogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan @bethanyzed @breezy1415 @alexakeyloveloki @beautiful-and-strange @momc95

[kittara]

Obey me - shall we date?: “A cold day at the Devildom” (ONE SHOT MC - Tarana)

Obey me - "A cold day at the Devildom" ONE SHOT

Hello there! Usually I’m a silent reader and distributor of hearts or reblogs but this night I got inspired and thought: “Why not trying to write a one shot?” For me, it’s been a long time since I wrote fanfictions active and because of my new love for this game, I couldn’t resist after all.

I hope you enjoy this one shot. Comments are welcome, especially because of word choice or grammar (English isn’t my mother tongue), I’m glad if I can improve myself. This truly motivates to keep writing one shots or new headcanons.

Your kittarana :3

It was a distinct cold day at the Devildom. On Earth, it would be autumn right now and that meant only one thing: Halloween was coming. To Tarana's surprise, the devils will very much like to fete that kind of holiday and scare other inhabitants like angels or humans, or simply go partying. The partying part got Asmo, he's delighted to go partying for a few days because Halloween can't be only celebrated one single day. This can't be adopted by someone like the Avatar of Lust, the party demon himself. Much to the regret of Tarana. She found out right away that the whole household will go partying. Because of Tarana being a human and the fact that she brought a cat with her, they will contemplate going partying for one night, although they all prefer partying a bit longer. If it’s even that enjoyful, one of the brothers could bring her back to the House of Lamentation where her little Betty awaits her.

Asmo's the most curious one at this case because he would love to know what naughty stuff could happen at this long holiday. Tarana feels a little bit unsafe at this moment as she examines the faces of all nearby demons. Beel is eating a giant burger he just made for himself after Tarana went grocery shopping while Belphie is sleeping nearby at the couch. He cuddles with his cow imprinted pillow, snoring silently. Satan reads a book near the cozy fireplace, but that's what Tarana is supposed to believe at this moment. The truth was that Satan had already read this book about the Middle Age epidemics and just wants to find out what the others are discussing about, so he's only pretending to be fully focused on the first written records about the Black Death chapter. In the meantime, Mammon turned one chair around and sits there, folded his arm and abuts them on the chair back. He is sitting near the chess table, trying his best to keep his vibrant blue eyes glued to the red-haired human. And if somebody is interested about the current state of Leviathan, you won't be surprised right now. After he heard out the words "Halloween" and "party", he ran away to his bedroom and left Tarana all by herself, unprotected. Their actual plan, to play some shooter games together, got shattered because of Asmo who had his own plans to meet.

"Come on, Tarana. This is going to be so much fun!", Asmo is already trying to encourage the redhead to show more excitement for the upcoming holiday. Tarana only sighs and rolls her eyes as she sees Asmo trying to gently stroke her shoulders. Today, Tarana seems to be extremely attractive and Asmo was trying to figure out why. Was she using a new perfume? Is it her reddish wavy hair? Or was is just her farouche attitude what made him more aroused than usual? He needed to investigate and searched for answers while approaching her.

"Asmo, darling. Why am I the only one who's not so sure anymore about the last part? Of course, this will be fun for you to be drunk and try to score with me but isn’t this whole partying kind of...Umm, I dont know. DANGEROUS for me as the only human?", Tarana's blue eyes wander around until they focus Lucifer's, seeking any kind of help from him. "Lucifer. You do not have a thing to say? Usually you would stop the lecher immediately."

Asmo pouts as he just got rejected, the Avatar of Lust only sighs sadly but she just crosses her arms in front of her upper body, shaking her head in disbelief and seeks distance from Asmodeus. "Usually I do. Yes. However, Halloween is part of the most important holidays at the Devildom and we even got an invitation from Diavolo himself. He is expecting anyone with this invitation to come to this holiday event. Even you, Tarana."

Indignantly, she rakes her manicured pale fingers through her long wavy hair while chewing on her lip. Her vague coralish lips are taking on an even stronger color as she causes her lip to swell slightly. Her lips appear to be fuller now, what some eyes can't miss that easily. Mammon blushes with a delicate smile on his lips while basing his head on his crossed arms. He wasn't sure what was different at this cold day today but the fact that his human was wearing a black high-waisted a-line skirt with a greyish oversized pullover, black over knees and dark tights made the Avatar of Greed feel flustered. Of course, he would be unable to say this out loud but his little human looked pretty hot in this outfit, showing off her hourglass figure. 

"I hate partying and you are fully aware of that fact, Lucifer.", her looks are getting darker as her eyes are beginning to reflect an upcoming thunderstorm. Although the Avatar of Pride can't be intimidated that easily, this human often showed him the exception. She may be only an exchange student and the representative of the Human World but her capacities and her hidden wrath are incalculable. Satan senses her upcoming anger about this situation and looks up from his book. A small smile appears. He knows how much anger she's hiding inside herself, always pretending to be a calm person so that others don't get suspicious. For him, she appears to be like a female version of himself right now. The only difference between them was the cause of this wrath. Satan's messed up origin can't be compared with her past experience which made her unsettled 24/7. Satan considers talking with her about it because he’s still unsure what makes her feel so mad all the time.

Asmo senses her upcoming anger immediately and giggles. He is expecting an interesting occur, hoping for a bit drama before the holidays. His brothers aren’t offering him enough entertainment but the discussions between Lucifer and Tarana are like a drama movie - if he’s trying to make her fulfill her duties, she rejects it immediately and provokes him until he is about to kill her. She never shows fear when he transforms and shows his demonic appeareance, and nobody knows why she always acts like an everlasting flower - especially in front of a mad Lucifer.

It could happen so fast and she’s chopped into tiny pieces but she doesn’t care at all. One time, Asmo tried to find out why she always appears fearless in front of Lucifer but she just shrugs. Her answer was: “I used to be afraid of death and dying in general but I lost this feeling after I realized how cruel life can be. How cruel it can take anything what is important to you. So I basically don’t care about it anymore. If it is supposed to happen, I wouldn’t mind it.”

"Of course I know your dislike towards parties but it's an official invitation so", he approaches her before grabbing her wrist and pulls her closer. Shortly, you can hear her heels toddling at the parquet floor before she stands still again, right in front of Lucifer. His tall appearance is reminding her of someone she does not wish to remember at this moment but she can't stop staring at the oldest brother right now. Their eyes meet, demon occurs human. Lucifer is huffing silently as he takes a closer look at the little human standing right in front of him. Usually he doesn’t show any affect when he’s talking with Tarana or more like disputing with her. Of course, he understands why his brothers love Tarana that much. Her innocent smile while showing off her big mouth is definitely a tempting combination. However, during such an important topic she shall not reject him. His pride can’t allow him becoming soft in front of her.

"You will come with us, even if I have to carry you over my shoulder. Even if I have to punish you for your rebellious attitude.", his last words sounded more like an excited temper, filled with hope that he could get a chance to punish her reasonable for this rebellious attitude in front of him. He doesn’t want to anger Diavolo because of a tiny stubborn human, it doesn’t even matter for him that her cute looks makes his heart leaping every time.

Tarana feels how her body is getting colder with his strict words. WIthout a doubt, daddy Lucifer just entered the room. He wants to make her tremble, make her feel anxious and unsure about this, but he begins to forget himself because of this overwhelming pride he yearns for. She tears off of his grip, not looking away. 

He won’t win that easy.

"I'd love to see you try, Stiefellecker*.", she turns away with an elegant twist, not turning back and exits the living room. What she isn't noticing right now is a dumbfounded Lucifer, unsure of the current situation which just occured.

What did she just call him?

It became silent in the room. Beelzebub stopped chewing, Belphie woke up after he heard the loud taps of Tarana’s heels and Satan’s eyes rised. The three brothers exchange an concerned look before staring at Lucifer.

Only Lucifer's faltering breathing could be heard. His shoulders start to shake, Asmo gulps. This time the topic went too far. Asmo supposes that Tarana said something inappropriate but he just couldn’t figure out what that word is supposed to mean. What just happened? Before Lucifer's temper tantrum could possibly destroy the entire living room, it gets interrupted by a Mammon who can't hold his laughter anymore. He's snorting with laughter.

"Why are you laughing, you idiot? Are you crazy?! Lucifer will kill you right now.", Asmo is not amused, his twitchy tone shows his concern. The adressed one ignores him completely while getting up from his chair. He's still laughing. "Mammon, you’re so dead right now.", Satan is shaking his head because he already knows what is going to happen right now. "I'm not surprised you guys don't know this word. It's from one of her mother tongues. You forgot where she's from?" "You know what she just said?", Beel's stomach is grumbling but the tense situation still caught his attention. It made him even hungrier and the burger wasn’t enough, sadly. "Sure, I do. And she's not happy at all right now.", with that words he leaves the place before Lucifer turns into his demon form and hunts Mammon till the Celestial Realm.

The other brothers stare at the Avatar of Greed who leaves the place, looking for Tarana to comfort her. According to him, she desperately needs the GREAT Mammon at her side. And nobody would stop him right now - not a mad Lucifer, not a terrified Leviathan and not the others who are now trying to calm his eldest brother down.

Oh, and btw...*Stiefellecker is german and means *bootliker or simply said, a *toady.

If you look closely how much time and effort Lucifer puts into any kind of business with Diavolo while trying to impress him in any way possible, it acts like a good insult towards the Avatar of Pride. if you’re truly mad and doesn’t care about any kind of consequences, go ahead and use it in front of him.

Personally, I wouldn’t be so afraid either because I love to test out risks :D

Does this need a sequel?

[elcorhamletlive]

The more I think of it, I don’t think those caught up in “ tumblr culture” are even unaware of that reality isn’t always black and white. Rather it’s more that they hate it isn’t that simple. They yearn for when they were younger, when things didn’t seem so complicated. Bad/good people did bad/good things with little wiggle room. There’s also how there are a lot of legal cases where people charged with something like rape or murder seemingly get off with a slap on the wrist at best.

(cont.) I doubt that’s all it is but it seems to give Tumblr users this pervasive notion similar to, “You give them an inch and they’ll walk all over you” when it comes to somebody learning from their mistakes. Particularly when this person (real or fictional) has allegedly crossed a line. We see real life offenders get off too lightly and are sick of their “complexities” being used for just that. Thus it bleeds into discourse over characters like Kylo Ren. Even Zuko, believe it or not.

-

I think there’s some truth to what you’re saying, but I think it stems just from offenders/abusers gettinf off easily at the real world. If I were to make a guess, I’d say the current desperation for narratives that lean into a black/white worldview comes from a) a general sense of unfairness at basically everything, which is frustrating and b) a feeling of impotence with regards to real issues in the real world. That’s why talking about social justice in fandom spaces - or as it relates to media representation - is so popular: it’s easier to talk about which tv show is more progressive than talking about legitimate structural changes that need to be made in contemporary society. 

It makes people feel like they’re contributing, doing something important - they’re not bitching about a movie on the internet, no, they’re “critiquing the problematic aspects of it”. It also fuels a sense of self-righteouness - “here I am, FIGHTING AGAINST ABUSE by saying reyl0 shippers are evil, so how very dare you suggest I might be wrong? You must be an abuser too!”.

I’ve seen the example of Zuko in a post once, and it’s true: if ATLOA was airing today and Zuko’s redemption arc played out exactly as it did originally, people would rip the show to shreds for redeeming an evil colonizer who tried to murder a kid! 

And I can think of other plot points that would stirr up similar discourse: imagine Aang’s hesitation (and ultimate refusal) at the idea of killing Ozai playing out for current tumblr audiences. These are the same people that accused the (Jewish) creator of Steven Universe of being a nazi because she wrote her lead character as a pacifist. A children’s show saying “killing is bad” is apparently now controversial, because I guess children should know that sometimes killing is (apparently, according to Tumblr Law) okay?

And this bleeds into this bizarre notion that nuanced narratives were characters aren’t necessarily 100% good or bad are bad writing that’s only created by bad people (the whole “writing I don’t like about a specific topic/character type = actual bigoted views held by the creators” is another can of worms of its own, and it also drives me insane, but I guess posts saying “I GUESS THE RUSSO BROTHERS REALLY FUCKING HATE WOMEN HUH” will always get more notes than a post saying “I didn’t like the Russo brother’s writing of Natasha Romanoff’s character in Endgame because of X, Y and Z”, because this is still the internet and whatever sounds more controversial and inflamatory will always be more successful), so, if you enjoy (or, worse, actively seek out) these types of narratives... I guess you must be bad too! 

Anyway, it’s a mess, and this answer is probably too confusing, but I really do think that seemingly different trends in fandom-wide culture (widespread bashing of/resentment against creators, “anti-shipping” behaviour, bizarrely bad faith interpretations of any canon content accompanied by nitpicky “criticism”, etc) tend to walk together, and each one of them fuels the other.

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 14

Chapter 14: Send Out an S.O.S.

The Following Monday Night

Mera, Evening, 7:45 PM

           The trainer’s room was where it always was, and my things were spread out exactly as I preferred them. All my necessary tools were within arm’s reach, easy to access should any of the superstars need my help. I was never part of the scripted trainer visits—they kept me in reserve for those who were really injured. For the most part, even the fans knew that when I came to the ring, something was really wrong.

           I spent a lot of time alone in that room most nights. Sure, there were the times when someone got a little overzealous and either hurt themselves or someone else. But for the most part, I was just there to deal with general sports injuries and required stretching from their physical therapists. Right before matches, there was a steady trickle of superstars. Sometimes right after if someone just needed help with a locked-up muscle.

           Otherwise… it was just me and four walls. I kept books with me, so sometimes I would read. Sometimes I had notes or medical records to update for some of the superstars who I saw on a regular basis. Most of the time, thought, it was just my thoughts and me.

           With a major pay-per-view coming up, the higher ups were being more careful about the health of their superstars who were set to be big draws. Seth was on the books as going after the Universal Championship at Wrestlemania, so everyone was being particularly careful about his knee and his back.

           Which meant he was required to see me before and after his matches from now until Wrestlemania was over. Great, I thought, looking at the note in his medical chart. Just great.

           I thought back to the Seth I knew as a kid—back when everyone called him Colby or Brandon’s little brother. He had been so sweet and kind. In high school, he was charming and smart. He’d loved wrestling, putting on shows in his front yard with his friends, covering his basement bedroom in a thousand different names and slogans. But there had been a time—when he was Tyler Black in the ring and Colby everywhere else—when we’d been inseparable. When he’d wanted nothing more than to have me at his side, chasing that dream with him.

           We graduated high school. I went to college, fast-tracking through an athletic training program—doing homework by flashlight driving from town to town on the weekends to watch him compete. Forty-thousand dollars of debt to get a degree and a certification to do a job that guaranteed I could be with him wherever he went. Independent wrestling companies didn’t always have fantastic care for their athletes, and I was an added bonus that came along when someone signed Tyler Black. And those hadn’t been bad days.

           Crappy apartments, cheap hotels, food that was never that good and half the time cold, long drives and late nights. That had been my life from 18 to 29—eleven years of following him across the world with one company after the other. WWE had made it a little easier with better pay, a nicer apartment, more stability. But it had also created Seth Rollins. He was cocky, self-assured, and selfish. Even though he wore the same face as my childhood Colby, it had been Seth who had ripped my heart into pieces.

           Someone knocked on the door. I glanced at my watch, realized that it must have been him. His match started in forty-five minutes. Plenty of time for me to give him a decent once over to ensure that nothing was of concern before he got in the ring. And, hopefully, it could be quick enough that we didn’t have to talk much.

           I crossed the room, opened the door. Seth stood there with that annoyingly cocky look on his face, already dressed out in his gear. I fought down the pounding of my heart, the nausea that burned in my throat. “You know the drill,” I said, emotionless as he passed close by.

           He hopped up on the table, flopping on to his stomach. I sighed and rubbed my hands together to warm them. It was best to just get this over with as fast as possible.

           “Any pain today?” The words came out flat. For just about everyone else, I had a pretty good bedside manner. For Seth, it was all about getting him in and out without too many insults and tears.

           “Tight on the left. You know how it gets sometimes,” he said with a knowing something in his voice. He turned his head toward me, pillowing his cheek on his crossed forearms. “Too much strain, you know.”

           I forced my thoughts away from memories of the things throughout the years had triggered his aching back. “Tell me when it hurts.”

 Dean, Evening, 7:55 PM

           I cracked my knuckles, swung my arms to warm up my shoulders. I wasn’t scheduled until the second hour of the show, and I wanted to sit with Mera for a while. It was amazing to me that she had become so perfectly integrated into my life that her presence made me feel calm in a way that nothing did.

           As I came down the hallway, I could hear her voice from the trainer’s room. Her tone was even, yet something seemed off. She sounded carefully controlled, clipped. I knew the rules—don’t go into the trainer’s room when someone else was already there—privacy and all that. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t wait outside just in case.

           “Use the heat before and after on the back. Rest it twenty-four hours between every exertion. That means matches or workouts. You need to spread it out so that you can even make it to Wrestlemania.”

           It took a moment for the response to come. When it did, my blood ran cold. The beast in my chest roared, desperate to get into the room, to keep her safe, to protect her heart.

           “What was that treatment you used to do?” The words themselves were innocent, but I knew there was something more to his intent. “It used to work so well.”

           “Call a masseuse,” she snapped back. “That’s not part of my job.”

           Breathe, I told that primal thing inside me. It writhed in anger and sheer protective instinct. It was like it could sense her discomfort. I watched the door, wishing I could see through it. She was capable, intelligent, and stronger than any woman I’d ever met, and yet all I could think to do was to do everything I could to protect her from even the simplest pain.

           The room went quiet. I paced, the worst possible scenarios playing through my mind.

           “They never know how to do it. It’s either too much or not enough pressure. You’ve always been able to fix it,” Seth said in a tone that sounded both pouting and deceiving. “This is my big shot, Mera. Help me out here.”

           Her visage floated into my mind. I could see the way her liquid gold eyes blurred with guilt, how she might look at him with her lips pressed into a line, her face a mask of discomfort and unhappiness. I’d watched her long enough to know how her emotions played over her features, how her sadness, pain, and shame could bend her into someone that gave away her best self to cater to another.

           I knew there were tears in her eyes when she spoke. Just as I knew the answer before she even gave it. “Okay.”  

           The primal thing in my chest surprised me with the ferocity of its jealousy. It dug in, tried to drive me to bust through the door, to drag her away and remind her that she was mine and I was hers.

           It took nearly every ounce of my will to keep myself in control. My feet picked up their pacing, taking me further away from the trainer’s room. It was as much for my peace of mind as it was for her privacy. Mera was my wife, regardless of how long it had been. There was nothing within me that could distrust her.

           Seth Rollins was another story. In the last week, I’d seen my tag partner and brother in a new light—as a man who was self-centered, self-absorbed, and selfish. While I didn’t know the details of their relationship, I had pieced together enough to know that Seth had broken her heart completely. The fact that he seemed to be using their history to get what he wanted made my blood run cold.

 Mera, Evening, 8:14 PM

           I washed my hands in the sink, making sure to scrub the Icy-Hot from my fingers. The tremble that ran through them made me feel sick, stomach turning over as I tried to get myself under control. I hated the way that old feelings came rushing back with the memories of caring for Seth back when he had been Colby and Tyler. Some part of me—a traitorous corner of my heart that reveled in masochism it seemed—still thought there was some good in him, a piece of the old version of the man that I’d known.

           My back was turned to Seth as he pulled his shirt back on. The rustle of cloth and the creaking of the padded table let me know that he was up and moving. I grabbed a handful of paper towels and dried my hands aggressively, hoping to hide their shaking. As I tossed them in the trash can, I stepped over to the WWE-issued laptop with the superstar’s medical records on it.

           “Knee looks good. Heat on the back twice a day, 20 minutes each time. Strenuous activity only every other day, Monday through Saturday. Full rest on every off day until the match,” I said over my shoulder, already pulling up his medical chart. Once those directions were in his record, booking would have no choice but to go easy on him—perhaps easier than they already were.

           Footsteps scuffed across the floor. Flesh met metal, then a heavy sigh. “You know Vegas weddings aren’t binding after 30 days, don’t you? Didn’t Dean tell you?”

           The door whined on its hinges. The sound of it thudding back against the frame echoed the weight that slammed against my heart. Every fiber of my being suddenly yearned for Dean, to confess everything that I felt—the confusion and fear. I tried desperately to push away the seed that Seth had tried to plant. After all, Dean and I had already talked about having a real ceremony of some fashion.

           I felt my throat close with tears as I realized there was a ticking clock on our marriage.

 Dean, Evening, 8:20 PM

           I watched from down the hall as Seth walked away from the trainer’s room. There was a smirk on his face that made me wonder what I’d missed while I’d let my feet carry me around the backstage area. That beast inside me roared, sent adrenaline flooding my veins, screaming commands to find and protect what was mine.

           Reaching for the door, I heard her sobs. The door banged against the wall as I swept her into my arms. My fingers tangled in her hair. Silently, I swore. I’m going to slaughter him.

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog @houndsofjxstice @lunatictoosweet @xbutterflius-effectusx @mother-forker

[theclaravoyant]

a second chance at a first impression ~ fitzsimmons

AN ~ a different take on fitzsimmons’ first kiss, inspired by several conversations on tumblr as well as my @marvelfluffbingo card. this turned out more angst-with-a-happy-ending than fluff, but I hope you enjoy it anyway

also posted on AO3 here see my marvelfluffbingo card here

Relationships: Leo Fitz x Jemma Simmons Rating: T Warnings: None Word Count: 3324 Square Filled: Right In Front Of My Eyes Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Race For Your Love, Right In Front Of My Eyes, Explicit Consent

Summary:  “Then... kiss me.” A slight adaptation of FitzSimmons’ argument in 3x08 and subsequent kiss.

a second chance at a first impression

Do you love him?  

Fitz wished he could take back the words. Why had he even asked? He didn’t want to know. He was glad for Jemma’s evasiveness, as much as he wished he hadn’t put her on the spot like that. It had not been his finest, most sensitive moment. After all, it wasn’t like any of this was her fault, or Will’s. Then again, it wasn’t his fault either, and here he was, working into the night long after Jemma had fled the scene of their fight. To fix the problem, as Jemma would say. To save the life of a man that she…

His thoughts trailed off and he wiped the sleep from his eyes with a heavy hand; trying and failing to bring the numbers on the screen back into focus. Great. He couldn’t even get properly riled up about this whole disaster. Of course he couldn’t: a man’s life was at stake – more than that, the whole universe, if they couldn’t find a safer way to get him back - and Fitz didn’t have the heart for a petty feud over Jemma’s love in the face of that knowledge. Especially not at this hour of the morning. He was not really angry, he couldn’t be angry. He couldn’t be angry at a man for simply existing, for having the downright hellish bad luck to end up on that planet when he did, or for – apparently – falling in love. (And with Jemma, no less.)

No, Fitz knew, he wasn’t angry. He was just… tired. So tired. The cosmos seemed to enjoy mocking him, dangling everything his heart desired in front of his face and then snatching it away at the last minute, and then drenching him in guilt every time he dared to feel entitled to an ounce of indignity about it all. He was so tired of matters of the heart. No wonder there were so many cynics in this world. 

And yet, he had asked. 

He had asked, and he had watched with baited breath as his question had landed. He could remember even now feeling his heart lift when he had realised that the expression on Jemma’s face, just for a moment, had been confusion. He remembered that it had given him hope, dreadful hope, and so help him that hope just wouldn’t die. He knew Jemma too well not to recognise her evasiveness for what it was. 

“I-“ she had stammered, thrown. “I mean, yes. No. Maybe. It doesn’t matter now, does it? There’s nothing can be done.” 

How very Jemma. 

How very how Jemma faced the intractable problems in her life. 

She had always been so practical, a problem-solver, and he’d always loved that about her - well, at least, he loved it most of the time. It gave her the strength to make the tough decisions, keep a clear head in times of panic, set her heart and mind on things and do whatever it took to achieve them. For better or worse, a sure-fire Jemma was a force to be reckoned with. It was a useful trait in a spy… and in a friend, or dare he say it, a partner. She was protective, sometimes to the point of ruthlessness, and she was always willing to push him out of his comfort zone, and get him to do things that were good for him even when he didn’t feel it at the time. And she was always, always, trying to help. That was what it all came down to, really. She put her feelings second to the problem at hand, because no matter what they were, they wouldn’t get the job done. 

As much as Fitz hated that sometimes – and as much as he himself tended to prefer a good old-fashioned wallowing - he had to admit that Jemma was right. Love or no love, grief or no grief, fault or no fault; waxing lyrical about what she and Will were or were not to each other – or what she and Fitz might or might not have been – wouldn’t solve the problem. It wouldn’t save Will. It wouldn’t defeat Hive. It wouldn’t lead to anything, especially when she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Fitz had no way of knowing when that would change. In Jemma’s own words, it seemed, there was nothing to be done. 

Which brought Fitz back to the problem at hand. The computer screen blurred, numbers and letters swimming before his eyes so that he could hardly tell anymore which was which. Perhaps it was his recent epiphany talking, or perhaps just the sheer exhaustion that had him absentmindedly swaying like a drunk as he pondered his options, but serendipitously it seemed there was nothing more to be done here, either. Not in this state, at least, and not while his most recent set of algorithms ran their course. Maybe he should take one more leaf out of Jemma’s book tonight, he thought, and address the problem within his control. Slowly but surely, he began to gather his things. They always had found a place to agree on the amazing healing power of sleep.

-

Meanwhile, Jemma laid in her bed for the nth hour and stared up at the roof. Her limbs felt heavy as her body begged for rest; still weak from its ordeal on Maveth, not to mention the long day, and now the fight with Fitz. She played the end of their argument over and over in her mind, which was as exhausted as her body, and yet, seemed to be spinning so fast that she felt a little dizzy.

Do you love him?

Every pained intonation of his voice tortured her. 

I – I mean yes, no, maybe. It doesn’t matter now. There’s nothing can be done.  

There was nothing more to do. Fitz’s heart was broken. Will was gone, unless they could find a way to get him back that did not entail risking half the universe to Hive. And she herself, well… she had swallowed the words down and now the time had passed and she could not go back to that moment and speak them.

I love you.

Those were the words that had come to her tongue without a second thought. It would have been just that simple, just to speak them, and it was not as though it was news to either of them. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d grabbed Fitz’s hand and made a hesitant promise. Maybe there is. Yet, she’d spent that whole intervening lifetime trying to get back to him, to that moment, to that promise. And now it had finally arrived and she had run away and hid from it like a coward. 

Why had she done that? 

Why did she always do that? 

Fitz, now, he was the bold one, and even though that meant he could be a stubborn ass when he wanted to – which was often, she had to admit – Jemma had always admired his ability to trust his own feelings. Fitz had a strong sense of intuition, of passion, and he poured so much of it into his work and into the lives of the people he loved. He felt everything so deeply, the good and the bad, but he always knew what he felt, or what he felt was right, and he was not afraid to go after it. Oh, how Jemma wished she had his sense of self. Yet here she was instead, picking apart her every thought, and then every thought she had about that thought, as if what she felt alone was not to be trusted.

Do you love him?

There had been such pain in his voice. In his eyes. What kind of dreams, she wondered, was he watching shatter? How many futures had he imagined for the two of them, after she’d made sure that door was lodged firmly open, and why did her heart still yearn to hear him tell her about every single one of those futures? She could imagine it when she closed her eyes, even now: the two of them outside under the stars, Fitz stroking her hair and regaling her with all his romantical tales as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe he would describe that special evening he’d had planned. Maybe he would describe their life together as he imagined it would be in five, ten, twenty, fifty years. The two of them, growing old, together. The whole damn time. No doubt he remembered those words, those specific words, as she did. A revelation like that didn’t happen every day. And he’d smile at her when he said them, that little twinkle in his eye because he knew, and her heart would flutter and she would know too – 

Love. That was love.

Once upon a time she would have wondered if that were really true. She would have told herself, it was joy, and joy and love are not always the same. She would have said, it was contentment from doing an activity she loved with a person for whom she cared deeply. She would have said, it was the beauty of their incredibly close friendship, that they wished to be together so much. None of those things were to be sneezed at, of course, but they did not necessarily mean that she was in love.

But what the Jemma of once upon a time did not know – or at least, had somehow managed to overlook – was that those things did not mean that she was not in love. What was love after all, but a choice to act on feelings of joy, and trust, and care, and togetherness? If she had her way, there’d probably be a touch more kissing and the like, but other than that… 

She was not sure if what she had felt for Will was love. Not in the way that Fitz meant it, at least; that deep and abiding romantic love that could move mountains and change lives if not worlds. But she knew that was what she felt for Fitz. She had crossed that line, made that choice, a long time ago and she was not about to turn her back on it. On him. She had known what she was doing when she had grabbed his hand before all this mess – at least, she had known as much as anyone could – and she had bared her heart to him and now…

Now she had, what, made him think she had forgotten all that? Made him think that, because of Will, what they’d had meant nothing? 

There’s nothing to be done, she had told him. And about Will, maybe there wasn’t, but about Fitz? He was still here and she wasn’t too late. She was determined not to be too late, this time. Her exhausted limbs screamed in protest – they had been getting so used to this wonderful rest – but she was driven by a desperation so strong that even she was not sure she wasn’t at least a little delirious.

Maybe there is. Stumbling through the hallway back toward the lab, Jemma reminded herself of how she’d made her last confession on the dawn of war. And before that, Fitz had made his at the bottom of the ocean. They were always getting ripped apart. The both of them were terrible at follow through, and it was easy to excuse in their busy lives; a world that always needed saving provided a constant stream of very important interruptions. Not this time, Jemma promised herself. She’d spent six months swearing that if it was the last thing she ever did she would make sure Fitz knew how she felt and so help her, that’s what she was going to do. 

Her bare feet felt strange on the cold concrete floor, and her lungs heavy as her exhausted body struggled to carry her uncooperative mind. If she had not walked these floors so many times before, she may have gotten lost in her exhaustion, but as it was, she knew where the lab was with the unspoken instinct of a homing pigeon. Or perhaps it was just that she knew where Fitz was, because it didn’t occur to her until she was almost at the door that he might not actually be there at this hour. 

But there he was. 

-

“Fitz.” 

He had just slung his bag over his shoulder, already half-asleep and dreaming of his mattress, when he heard her voice. He was mid-stride toward the door and he froze in place. He looked up, to see the door swing open, and to see a pale and haggard Jemma clinging to the doorframe with steely determination. His heart quickened, and he dropped his bag and ran to help her. 

“Jemma? Are you okay?” 

“Yes!” she insisted, batting him away clumsily. “Yes. I’m fine. I just- I had to tell you – “ 

She paused a moment, because he’d come so close to try and help her and she was stuck in the doorway with the whole hall behind her. If she wanted to take a step back – hell, if she wanted to turn and run until her knees collapsed on her – she could. And yet, she couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be than in this very doorway with an anxious, curious, flustered Fitz and his softly parted lips and his lamb-like hair, all precious few inches from her face. She was really doing this. 

Okay, so she may have been a little delirious with exhaustion, but she smiled. She reached out from the doorframe with one hand, and intertwined her fingers with his. Slowly. Deliberately. With a great deal of concentration. 

“Jemma, what-“ Fitz wondered, doing his best to stave off that dangerous hope. “What’s this supposed to mean?” 

“I just had to tell you,” Jemma repeated. “There is. There is. No maybe.” 

“What?” Fitz repeated, barely louder than a breath. His heart suddenly seemed too loud. Was he hearing her right? “I’m so tired. Am I hallucinating?” 

“No.” 

Shakily, Jemma stepped away from the doorframe. She pulled herself toward Fitz with the hands they had already joined, and with her other hand, she gently stroked the stubble that lined his cheekbones. So much had changed between them, and she could hardly believe what a wonderful man he was blossoming into – in mind, body, and soul. And maybe this was what it felt like when Fitz made a decision, maybe it always felt this good to be this certain, but somehow, Jemma doubted it. 

“I love you, Fitz,” she said. “That’s what I had to tell you. No matter what else is going on, I love you, and I know we can get through this better together. I’m- I’m so sorry if I’ve blown my chance or if I’ve missed my boat, or if I ever made you think that what was between us was over… or that there never was anything between us after all… I never meant that. I was just scared. I’m not scared any more.”

“You’re not just saying this because I’m helping Will, are you?” Fitz checked. “Because I’d do that anyway, and you don’t owe me –“ 

“No,” Jemma promised. “This isn’t about Will.” 

“And you’re not saying any of this because you feel bad? About what you said before, about going for dinner and all that?” 

“No,” Jemma promised, shaking her head. “Fitz. I’m saying this because I feel good about what I said before. I want dinner, I want all of it. That is, if you still… want… me.” 

There passed a terrible span of seconds in which Jemma realised that she was, in fact, still very scared. She was mortified. The exhaustion had done wonders to mute the fear but now the nerves were raw and here she was suddenly realising she’d poured her heart out to Fitz again immediately after telling him that she might actually be in love with another man. What had she expected him to do with that information? Why had this ever seemed like a good idea? 

“Jemma,” Fitz breathed. 

Jemma still couldn’t bring herself to retreat to the doorway. She was deep in it now, and Fitz had cupped her hand so tenderly where it lay on his cheek, and gently nuzzled into it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if cherishing the feeling, and Jemma’s heart leapt into ther throat. This was it, she thought, this must be the part where he would let her down, and he would do it with such softness and grace… 

Only, what he said was; 

“Of course I still want you.” 

The stress slipped out in the form of a laugh as relief washed over her. “What?”

“I love you, Jemma,” Fitz said - breathlessly, with years’ worth of passion and impossible hope behind his words. He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her gently just a little closer, as if they were about to slow-dance right there in the middle of the lab. “I love you so much, and there is nothing I want more in this world right now than you.”

“Then… kiss me,” Jemma offered. 

“Really?” 

His eyes lit up, and Jemma grinned. 

“Yes! Come on, I know you want to.” 

Fitz was only too happy to oblige, and his lips met hers with such passion that she stumbled back a few steps, but she tangled her fingers in his hair at the same time so that he had no choice but to follow. They weaved backward in a kiss-drunken waltz until Jemma’s back bumped into the doorframe again and they both fell out of the kiss, giddy and laughing.

“Sorry,” Fitz said, blushing at how flushed Jemma suddenly looked. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. Guess it got away from me a bit.” 

“Don’t apologise,” Jemma told him. “But if you really want to, we can always try again.”

Her hand still in his hair, Jemma leaned up slightly on her toes. She smiled, mischief and a smug sort of joy on her lips, as she felt his arms wrap around her again and slowly pressed their lips together. This time it was an easy, gentle movement. The jitters and nerves of the first kiss had passed and what remained was nothing but the tenderness beneath.

Well, that and the exhaustion.

Jemma laughed and shook her head as Fitz finally put his hands on her hips and nudged her away, breaking the kiss to contort his face like a roaring lion. 

“Are you… yawning?” 

“It’s almost four in the morning, Jemma,” he explained, bleary-eyed. “I promise, love you with my whole heart, but a man’s got to sleep.” 

“Oh. Well in that case, do you want to come to bed?” 

“I’m serious, Jemma.”

“To sleep,” Jemma assured him. “I’m with you on that. I’m so tired I’m scared I’ll fall over the second I let go of you.” 

“Don’t let go, then,” Fitz reasoned. “Here, I’ll carry you.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely. I do push-ups now.” 

“Oh, well in that case –“ 

Jemma kicked up her legs and Fitz caught them, as promised, and carried her bridal-style out of the lab and toward her bedroom. After a near-miss between her head and the doorframe, she was only too happy to drape herself dramatically backward, throw an arm around Fitz’s neck, and treasure the moment. It would not be long before reality came kicking the door down again, she was sure, but for now, morning was coming, and she was cradled in the arms of her best friend. Her boyfriend? Her Fitz, anyway. And if she’d learnt anything these last few months without him, it was that she knew better than to take a single second of their togetherness for granted.

That, and she was going to have to fight him for the position of Big Spoon with everything she had. 

[lazyheretic-blog]

Flip Side

The droning voices threaten to send him to sleep, but he's familiar with the beating that will earn him. He concentrates very hard on the glittering motes of dust that spin lazily in and out of the thin streams of light filtering through the screened windows. He imagines he can follow the journey of one individual as it's buffeted by updraughts of a wind he cannot feel. The heat is stifling; he wishes he were a dancing mote that didn't have to wear robes and a stupid hat and could ride the breeze. If he were, he thinks, he would try his best to land in Adminstrator Park's eye so he had to break ceremony and rub it.

He giggles, and realises his mistake. Park doesn't even look at him but the room seems to become much darker. He can see Park's nostrils flaring, a sure sign of his anger, even though his face remains impassive and the tone of his voice, expressionless and dry as he dictates tributes and taxes, never wavers. The boy shivers, despite the oppressive heat.

Park never beats him. It's always one of the women, a concu-something that the six-year-old hasn't figured out a role for, other than whipping him with a thin bamboo cane around his thighs. It's a crime to hit the king, of course; the real punishment comes afterwards with the ragged cry, gush of blood and the hideous tearing noise as a soldier slits their bellies open in front of him. If he doesn't watch properly, eyes wide open, he gets another beating. There's always a second woman in the room.

It only had to happen once. Now, he watches like a king as royal justice is dispensed in his name.

"See, your Majesty," Park tells him. "These loyal women sacrifice much in order to further your education. In a few years you will learn what else they can teach you. She will be reincarnated and will be pleased to rejoin their number to serve you."

He doesn't know why he feels sad at their deaths. It's only temporary, right? Their pain is fleeting and their reward is great. But the look on her face as she writhes in front of him, a girl only a few years older than he is, just makes him want to scream and hide. The soldiers scare him too, the ceremonial guards with covered faces and shining, bloody swords.

There's only one who doesn't. Gerralkim's been his friend since before he can remember and it's still easier for his tongue to wrap itself around the name he gave before he was properly articulate, but the tall man who kneels down to his level when he speaks to him doesn't seem to mind. He's never told Gerralkim about the beatings but when he's finally allowed to flee, the man's quarters are his preferred destination. He's not always there, but Wang Yeo has a child's active imagination.

This time, he's sitting cross-legged at his low lacquered desk, penning a letter in slow, deliberate strokes of a bamboo-handled brush. He half turns and smiles as the boy approaches him to watch characters form under the bristles.

Yeo finds it calming. Watching this is never dull, unlike sitting in the audience chamber, and he can pick out some of the meaning.

"Who are you writing to?" He asks, wide eyed.

The general smiles at him. He's a young man, younger than Park, perhaps twenty five at most. Years in the sun and in battle have darkened his skin and etched fine lines of worry between his brows and around his mouth. Unlike the officials he wears his hair down, dark waves falling off his shoulders and roughly cut shorter at the front. Today, he's wearing a pale cotton robe, wrapped at the front and belted. Yeo is relived he's not dressed as a soldier.

"I'm writing a letter to my father," he explains. "Remember my report to Administrator Park two days ago, about the battle against the Qidan?"

Yeo does. He always pays attention to General Kim, even though the thought of battle scares him. He nods.

"Well, my father worries about me. I write to tell him that I am unhurt and victorious."

"I worry about you too," the boy says seriously. "It would cause me sorrow if you got hurt."

Kim Shin grins, and ruffles his hair with a large, calloused hand, stained with ink. "You shouldn't worry about me. If anything happened, I would write you a letter so you would be the first to know."

"Of course. I am the king," the boy replies, all innocent and pompous, just as he should be. "But you should wait until I have learned all my letters, so I can write back by myself."

General Kim bows from the waist, arms folded in front of him. "It would be the utmost honour, your Majesty."

"Who's that?" asks the boy suddenly, pointing to a charcoal drawing of a woman and a young girl.

Kim pulls it towards them and straightens it between his hands. "That's my mother, and my little sister, Kim Sun. She's about your age."

Yeo studies it intently. It's an unusual drawing, life-like and untutored and utterly different to the heavily stylised scrolls hanging around the palace. He's drawn to the smiling faces of the little girl and the woman, shining with a happiness he's not used to seeing.

"She's pretty," he murmurs. "I want to meet her." He's never had playmates, wouldn't know what to do with them, but he yearns to see that beaming smile for himself.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Kim says solemnly. "Can you keep it?"

He's used to keeping secrets. Unconsciously he shifts and his bruised thighs protest. The stinging is turning to a profound aching, deep in his bones. He nods.

"Your half-brother, Wang Gang, willed it that you should marry my little sister when you grow up. What do you think?"

Yeo pretends to mull it over seriously, but can't keep the shock and delight off his face. "I can visit her?" Maybe, just maybe, there's a place Park doesn't have all the power.

"It's a bit far," the big man says. "The king should stay safe in the palace. She will come to you when she's twelve, and be trained how to look after you as a good wife and Queen." His face grew serious. "But don't tell anyone that you know, your Majesty. I don't think Administrator Park likes me very much."

He knows it's true. He's a sensitive child, schooled to be quiet, and taught by experience to read the unspoken language around him. He knows that Park hates the warrior like no other, but his close friendship with the previous king and his victories make him popular with the army. Apart from the handpicked palace guard, regular soldiers distrust civil servants like Park. He worries his lip as he considers the girl. The thought of her being beaten or treated like the other women is even more scary than what he endures.

He thinks he's hiding it, but he's transparent to an adult. Kim says, gently, "You and I will protect her. I promise."

"Tell me about her," the young king commands.

"She loves persimmons, fresh or dried. My father's last letter describes how she refused to eat anything else for a whole week, even when they made her ill."

"Persimmons make you ill?" He was doubtful.

"Anything can make you ill if you eat too much of it. Diet must be balanced."

"Tell me more."

"She feeds my horse persimmons, too, when she thinks I'm not looking."

Yeo was entranced. What freedom! "Did he get ill?"

"No, he just got fat. I scolded him for being so greedy but he didn't care."

Park hears their laughter, and scowls.

----------

The week Kim spends in the palace is the most fun he's ever had. Park doesn't dare threaten him when Kim's around, tall and imposing and cloaked in authority. His soldiers rest in the barracks, and sometimes Yeo sneaks over to listen to them sing and tell stories before he's inevitably discovered and carried back by Kim. They know interesting words, and talk about things he's curious to see; the ocean, barbarians on little ponies with tattoos, legends of gods he doesn't know.

Kim plays little tricks on him, pulling cards and coins out of his hair or from behind his ears, making him giggle with delight. Yeo uses his tall hat to scoop out a squiggle of tadpoles from the inner palace pond and dumps it in Kim's basin. He watches, wedged inside a tall chest and peeks through the hinge gap, as Kim bends to splash his face before the midday meal, and gasps in exaggerated horror at the squirming water. That earns him a rough capture and a serious and slightly painful head rub, until he's wriggling as hard as the little creatures in the sink.

Kim has to steal him a new hat.

But weeks come to quick ends, especially the best ones. He mopes in the doorway as a servant packs Gerralkim's traveling trunk, and the general dons his armour.

"A king shouldn't pout like that," Kim gently chides him. "You must be strong, no matter what."

"Must you go already?"

"I must. One of your towns in the North has been attacked, and I have to go protect the people there. Then I must retaliate so it never happens again."

"Will you kill people?" He asks in a sniffling whisper, the pink Cupid's Bow of his lips quivering.

Kim sighs. He can protect the young monarch from many things while he's there, but the realities of rule, and the war that allows it to continue, are hard truths the king must face. The servant finishes, and carries the trunk outside.

Kim bends down and kneels in front of the boy. "Yeo," he says seriously, using the given name reserved only for parents and close family he's technically forbidden from. He does it anyway in private sometimes, because he knows that it makes Yeo feel safe. "I won't lie to you. I have to kill lots of people to protect our own. We live in dangerous times, and if we don't kill our enemies, they might come and kill us. That town has children in it, so I have to go and make sure they don't come to any harm. Please understand."

Yeo nods. It's easier to accept when stated simply like that. Park sometimes tells him that General Kim kills in his name, as if Yeo's responsible; maybe he is, but he didn't ask for it.

Kim pulls him unceremoniously into a last rough hug, and holds him close until the child stops shaking.

----------

He's away for several years. His letters, delivered by suspicious-eyed warriors, tell of continuing unrest and the need for more soldiers at the front. After a while, they dwindle in frequency and no longer go directly to him; Park receives them first. Yeo is shocked when Park passes along a blood stained scroll in shaky handwriting detailing a massacre of a barbarian village, women and children subjected to torture and worse before being burned alive. Park says, nonchalantly, that Kim's acting on his own; that orders have been sent to have mercy on the barbarians, but the people of Goryeo call for revenge, and General Kim gives them what they want.

Yeo doesn't know what to think about this, but he's not given time to consider; when there's a botched attempt on his life by one of the couriers, the palace is locked down and he's placed under armed guard permanently. His food is tasted, his servants are replaced, and Park himself moves into the annex of the king's quarters.

"Your Majesty," Park tells him, a week after the attempt. "We cannot, of course, be sure that General Kim sought to take your life. It is true that the people are starting to worship him as a second sun in the sky, but we should not be hasty in judgement. Please have patience and mercy until the truth is revealed."

Yeo's mind is foggy, a result of sleepless nights and the restless paranoia of his guards. It's all he can do to sit straight on the hard throne, and at the age where his bones sometimes feel like they are breaking and knotting themselves back together constantly, he's rarely inclined to introspection.

He's twelve just before he sees Kim again, walking alongside the palanquin containing his new bride. It's a pretty box, carved but not lacquered like his own, carried by four stocky men. Not a commoner's carriage, but not royalty. Tradition forbids him from rising to greet them, and despite his constant fatigue he's eager for it to be over so he can take advantage of the freedom Kim's visit should bring.

He is disappointed. Hard-eyed guards keep them separated except in formal situations. He is desperate, bursting to ask so many questions, to ask if Kim tried to have him killed, why he sends his letters to Park now, why he has to kill children in the name of Goryeo. If Kim notices the pleading in his eyes he doesn't react to it, just stays his tongue and speaks formally, steady voice echoing in the audience chamber. Park keeps Yeo away from battle accounts, claiming that he should not sully his mind with the unnecessary details.

----------

It's well after Kim has left that the guards make an error of sorts. There's a commotion in the kitchens, the loud crash of celadon pots meeting an untimely end, and the guards reach for their swords, drawn to the sound. Yeo sweeps from the room before his servants can object and flees, followed by his indignant shadows, to the outer wall of his courtyard. The palace walls are low, barely taller than him at twelve years old, and he gets a leg up on an obliging flowerpot to peer over at the ladies' domain.

She's beautiful, is his first and only thought.

She's trying to walk with the grace of a queen, a small dish balanced on each of her shoulders, but her face is sort of squished up with the effort of concentration. Several pinch-faced women watch her, whispering to each other behind their long and loose sleeves. His heart goes out to her; she must feel judged, like he does. It looks hard, walking so straight over the uneven stone slabs, with that bunch of harridans silently laughing at you, in those tiny ridiculous shoes.

His hand grates over a stone; she looks up startled, and meets his eyes as the plates go crashing to the floor. She offers him a small, uncertain smile and he grins back, amused and confusingly aroused at her clumsiness.

Insistent, unwelcome hands help him down from the wall.

----------

Their wedding night, two years later, is the first time they get to speak in private. Unsure of what he's meant to actually be doing, the two young teenagers simply spend the time in their sleeping robes talking into the small hours of the morning.

She's terrified of Park. So is he, of course, but he's sworn to himself to protect her and he can't tell her the worst of it. Some things are his burdens to bear. So he instructs her to just do as Park tells her and he hopes with all his heart that this will be enough to keep her safe.

----------

She's too much like her brother, he realises as he matures into his fifteenth year. She's grown up with freedom and love and doesn't understand his kind of survival.

She shouts at him, "Why do you always side with Park? Is it too much to ask that I go outside these dark walls once before I die? The people are loyal, they love you. Nothing will happen to me!"

"Be quiet!" He hisses. "If Park hears you question him-" The room echoes with the sound of the chopstick snapping in her hands.

"I don't care what Park hears! You are the king, I am the queen! What does he matter?"

His mind whirls; images of bloody concubines and sharp swords crowd behind his eyes. The ghosts of pain around his lower body makes him tense. She has to submit; it's the only way she can survive. For her own good, he grabs her by her slight, narrow shoulders and pushes her into the floor pillows.

"I am the king," he growls in her face, his teeth grinding together with every word. "And you will obey me."

His breath is hot and stale, and his long pale fingers dig bruisingly into her flesh. From so close, she can see the tiny red veins in his eyes, dark-rimmed and intense. He's never been physical before, or hurt her in any way, so she's shocked at his sudden ferocity and can't find the right words to calm him down.

Still gripping her, he says quietly, "I can only protect you if you obey me."

She's still in shock, even after he releases her and steps back. His own heart is pounding loudly in his ears and he clenches and unclenches his fists to exorcise the tension.

"My brother," she says in a small voice. "He can protect us both. Call him back from war."

Yeo shakes his head. "He leads the army but too many of the men belong to Park now. Even if he came back, the palace guards would keep him out. He has to stay away. I can't protect him either, if he comes back."

It earns him a sniffle of temporary defeat, but he knows she's too stubborn to give in easily.

----------

It's checkmate, and he knows it, signing the order that will keep Kim Shin away from the capital for good. He's back for a brief respite, sanctioned by Park, though he doesn't know it, in return for the royal seal on that scroll. Yeo bargains for an audience alone, and gets it, but he knows there are ears and eyes in the walls.

Kim doesn't understand, but he doesn't have to. It's enough for Yeo that he's going away to be safe, because he has enough faith to know that Kim is unkillable in battle.

Through clenched teeth and on his knees, Kim accepts the sword that Yeo has had made for him. It has a tiger on the hilt, because that's how Yeo thinks of him; ferocious, graceful, and gentle.

Kim thanks him through gritted teeth. His parting words are cold and sarcastic. Yeo's heart breaks as he speaks, equally coldly, of his coming sorrow at Kim's death, praying silently, fervently, that it will be many years before coming. He desperately wants a last embrace from the man he thinks of as his only friend, and tells himself that his life is the only thing that matters.

----------

In the middle of winter, he finds out that Kim has disobeyed him. He rushes to Sun's rooms, intent that somehow she can write and dissuade him from his self-destructive path. In the presence of the servant-spies, he calls Kim a traitor, acid burning his throat at the lie.

He knows she loves him, but she's far braver than he is.

----------

As General Kim Shin approaches the heavy wooden double gates, the court waits in silence within. Behind Park, Yeo sits beside Sun, close but no more able to touch her than reach the moon. She is staring straight ahead, back ramrod straight, breathing a little too fast. As the gates swing open she rushes forward and halts at the top of the stone steps when the archers draw their bows in unison, the creaking of strings the only noise in the icy courtyard.

Kim ignores Park; his eyes flick between Yeo and his sister's as he approaches, slowly, wearily, his lieutenant at his heels. He's wearing only his black padding, no armour; he's got the sword Yeo gave him but no means of defending himself.

Yeo's heart gives a painful twist. He doesn't really hear what's being said, but there's nothing he can do to stop what he knows is coming when Sun takes an arrow to the chest and tumbles, soundlessly, to the ground. Around them, bodies fall. The screams reach him curiously delayed, muted as though underwater.

As the gifted sword is driven through his friend's chest, he finally crumbles, and flees.

----------

The years that follow are lifeless and grey, as though that winter day never came to an end. The decoction tea Park sends him every day is numbing and he welcomes the oblivion it brings him each night. His second wife has somehow conceived a child; he doesn't know how, and he can't even recall her face or name, so he doesn't care. The servants stay away from him except for necessities; dressing, eating and bathing. His presence is rarely required in the throne room.

Park takes care of all that.

He's still got that charcoal drawing in a secret drawer, now yellowed and smudged with old tears. On his better days he pulls it out and takes a cathartic comfort in the fresh guilt it brings; he craves the crying, the cramps, the nails he digs into his palms until they bleed.

He draws, seeking a nameless meaning in his work. He mainly draws Kim Shin as he remembers him, tall and dependable, strong enough to conquer the world and carry it on his shoulders.

Sun evades him, as if refusing to materialise on paper out of spite. She is clear in his mind's eye but his hands shake too much.

In his thirtieth year, enough decoction tea to kill him in burning agony keeps his hands steady enough to finally capture her.

[it-has-the-gay-fanfiction]

Half of Me Has Gone Away

{I started writing this when the new season came out. I had to get my headcanons out there. At 6,720 words, this is the longest one-shot I have written to date! Hope you enjoy!}

[BIG WARNING: Temporary Major Character Death]

“I found my mom.”

Lance stared at the pixelated version of Keith on his screen in shock. It had been so long since he had seen Keith. It had probably been what… four weeks now? Too long. “Y-your?” Lance started to stutter out.

“Yeah,” Keith smiled softly, “my mom. Lance… I’ve waited so long for this. I-I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about her.” Keith sighed softly and ran his hand through his hair. Lance’s whole body ached. He wished he was there with Keith or that Keith was here with him. Lance hated that they had to talk through a screen late at night when they were both supposed to be sleeping. Lance hated how lonely he was, how ostracized he had become ever since Keith left, honestly, Lance just hated how half of his team had left him all alone. Sure, he was surrounded by people, but Lance was always alone, always left out. Team Punk and Matt always brushed him off when he wanted to hang out. Allura and Lotor were off practicing their alchemy, so Lance had no use or need to bother them. Coran always tried to rope him into cleaning the cryopods or some other chore, which had started to actually feel like a chore instead of something to look forward to like it had been before Keith had left. And Shiro…. Shiro had been so off. He had yelled at Lance.

“I’m happy for you man.” Lance said instead of everything else he wanted to say, everything he wanted Keith to know. “If you need to talk about it, I’m always here for you.” Lance smiled softly at Keith, who returned the smile a moment later. “You really should come see me- us,” Lance quickly corrected, “come see us soon. Okay?”

Keith laughed softly, fading into a yawn. “Yeah, I’ll come see you soon. Goodnight Lance.”

Lance’s face heated slightly, “Goodnight, Mullet.” Lance tapped the screen to end the call, but missed the hang-up button, not that he noticed. Lance set his tablet down on the bed beside him before curling into a ball, hugging his pillow to his chest. He really hoped Keith meant it. He really hoped they would see each other soon.

The truth was that Lance was always alone and it made his heartache. He felt like he shouldn’t even be in Voltron anymore, felt that he had no purpose. Lance choked back a sob, not wanting to cry alone in the dark of his room again. He tried to calm himself down, but the terrible thoughts kept racing through his head, making him feel even worse. This time he didn’t hold back the sob that ripped itself from his throat. He shook as he tried to muffle his sobs, he didn’t want to wake the important members of the team anyways.

“G-get-get yourself together, L-Lance.” Lance said to himself, trying to get his emotions under control. “Ju-just because n-no one cares about you or ne-eds you, doesn’t mean you g-get to cry about it every- every night.” Lance’s breath hitched as he tried to get himself under control. The tears wouldn’t stop, and it wasn’t long before he cried himself to sleep.

“Oh Lance… I wish I could be there... “ Keith sighed softly as he stared at his tablet. He knew he should have hung up when it was clear that Lance had missed the button, but something compelled him to stay on the line. Now he wasn’t sure if that was the best decision. His whole body ached at the thought that Lance cried himself to sleep, at the thought that Lance was all alone on a ship full of people. Keith didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t just leave to go take care of Lance, not even when his whole body yearned to be wrapped around the lanky Cuban’s. It wasn’t his place. “Next time I see you... “ Keith sighed and his body slumped, “goodnight, Lance. Don’t let them get you down.” Keith ended the call and stared at the ceiling. The Blade needed him… but does Lance need me more?

It had gotten worse for Lance at the Castle of Lions. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Everything Lance did was wrong, every move he made was somehow the worst thing he could have done, and he was getting sick and tired of it. Shiro was constantly on his back about stuff he didn’t do and he couldn’t even stand up for himself without getting yelled at by Shiro. Lance honestly felt like he was going to explode with everything he kept bottling up inside himself.

Lance growled and rolled out of the way of the gladiator’s staff, swinging his sword out in a wide arc as he came out of the roll. Focus, Lance! You need to get better. He shook his limbs out and rushed at the bot. He jumped up and twisted his body around midair to avoid a strike from the gladiator’s staff, using his momentum from the movement to bring his sword down on the bot’s head. Lance dropped to the floor and looked up to see the bot fall apart at his feet. The red paladin pushed himself up and stuck his sword in the ground so that he could lean against it to catch his breath.

Before Lance could call for the next level to start, the alarms went off. He growled under his breath and returned his bayard to its normal form before running towards the control room. Lance burst through the doors, breathing harshly, and just barely stopped himself from flinching when he realized that he was the last one there.

“Lance. You’re late.” Shiro said harshly and glared down at the panting red paladin. Lance flinched a little and clenched his fists.

“S-sorry! I was-” Lance started to say before Shiro cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Lance! You are always the last one here. Can’t you see that you’re dragging the team down?!” Shiro yelled practically in Lance’s face.

Lance narrowed his eyes and pushed a finger into Shiro’s chest, “Shut up, Shiro! You’re not acting like yourself. The old Shiro wouldn’t yell at me every time I make a small mistake or show up late. The old Shiro would at least give me the chance to say that I had been training before this!” Lance growled out. “I don’t know who you are anymore, but you’re not my Shiro.” Lance pushed Shiro out of the way so he could get to his seat. He crossed his arms and stood in front of his seat, looking around the room as if daring the others to disagree.

No one said anything for a minute, not even Shiro, who had a murderous expression on his face. Allura cleared her throat, “Okay paladins… I am choosing to ignore what just happened to brief you on the mission. We received a distress signal from a nearby planet. We need to get to the lions and go down to the planet’s surface to find out why they sent out the distress signal. Since we don’t know what we are walking into, we must be prepared for anything. Let’s get to the lions.” Allura gave them all a look before heading for Blue. The rest of the paladins followed suit, though Lance kept a wary eye on Shiro, waiting for the older paladin to leave first. What is going on with him… I don’t trust him anymore. Lance stepped into the elevator and took it down to Red’s hangar.

Lance rolled and slashed at the legs of a Galra sentry as he ran down the halls of the Galra base they had infiltrated. The plan was to go in, take down the base, and free the planet. Obviously, that hadn’t happened. The Galra had somehow known they were coming, how did they know we were coming?!

Lance ducked around a corner, “Guys, I could use some help over here. I’m a little pinned down right now!”

“Sorry, bud! I’m a little busy at the moment!” Hunk grunted out over the sound of distant gunfire that was also coming over the coms.

“We’re all pinned, Lance.” Pidge huffed into the mic and cut out after that. Lance changed his bayard into its normal rifle form and shot down a few more sentries as he ran down the hall in the direction of the exit.

“I’m headed your direction, Lance.” Shiro’s voice sounded over the coms and even though Lance still didn’t trust this new Shiro, he really needed the backup.

“Thanks…” Lance fired off a shot and ran down the hallway towards Shiro’s blip on his tracker. He had a bad feeling that he couldn’t shake, but Lance didn’t know what to do other than keep moving.

“Lance! Up here.” Shiro yelled from down the hall. Lance looked up and sped down the hall towards the other paladin.

“Shiro! Thank goodness you’re here. I’m sorry about ea-” Lance was cut off with a wheeze as he was slammed roughly against the wall by a hand on his throat. He looked up with wide eyes at the murderous look on Shiro’s face. “Sh-iro?” Lance wheezed out and kicked out at Shiro.

“I’m not Shiro, you idiot paladin, I’m his clone. Though you had your suspicions already didn’t you.” Not-Shiro grinned as his eyes flashed yellow and he started to tighten his grip on Lance’s neck. Lance wheezed and scratched at the hand encasing his throat, but it didn’t seem to faze the clone, even when blood ran down his hand.

“Wh-what are you g-going to do t-o me?” Lance wheezed out and tried to focus on making his bayard back into its sword form.

Not-Shiro laughed maniacally and started to activate his Galra arm, “I’m going to kill you and blame it on these Galra sentries.”

Lance scowled and felt his bayard change, “You forgot one thing,” he gritted out and struggled against the hold.

“Oh yeah what’s that?” Not-Shiro growled out and started to tighten his hold on Lance’s neck.

Lance slammed his bayard up into Not-Shiro’s chest and shoved him back, “I’m a paladin of Voltron and we don’t go down that easy.” Lance rubbed his throat and watched as Shiro’s form melted away, leaving only the black armor from before. Lance dropped to his knees and gasped for breath.

“Lance! What happened?! Where’s Shiro!” Allura yelled over the coms.

“H-he… he’s not here…. That wasn’t Shiro. He tried to kill me. Oh my god… he tried to kill me.” Lance keened and stared ahead, choking on his breath and shaking. He faintly hear someone calling his name over the coms and when they got no response, cursing sounded out. Lance stared down at the pieces of armor laying haphazardly in front of him. He could hardly believe it… and yet. It made perfect sense now that he knew what was going on. The Shiro that they had let into the castle wasn’t Shiro at all… he was a clone, probably sent by that witch Haggar to spy on them or something. Lance gripped the sides of his helmet and made small panicked noises, it was all too much.

Then everything stopped.

Lance gasped and shot up when he heard the Black lion’s roar.

“It is your time, paladin. You saw that there was something wrong within your team even when the others did not, even when I did not.” The Black lion’s voice was nothing like Blue’s flowing cadence or even the fire behind Red’s words. Black’s voice was calm and collected, sounding much older and experienced than either of the lions that Lance had been connected to before.

“B-but… why? Why would you want the team screw up, the goofball, the resident comedic relief?!” Lance yelled out, unaware and uncaring of his surroundings and the fact that the coms were still relaying everything he said to the team. “Nobody wants me! So why do you?” Lance finished brokenly.

Lance felt Black’s presence wrap around his mind, calming his raging thoughts. “Lance. This is where you were always meant to be. I could not take you as my paladin when you first arrived at the castle because you were not ready yet. Blue had to take you as her cub and nurture you, build you up, before Red or I would be able to have you as ours. It was then Red’s turn to cultivate your fighting spirit. Through all of that, you have become stronger and it is finally time for you to take your rightful place as my paladin.”

“But what about Red? Now she won’t have a pilot and we won’t be able to form Voltron!” Lance looked back to the black armor in front of him. He heard the sound of someone running down the hall behind him but paid no attention to it. Black chuffed in his head and Lance took that as her laughing at him.

“It will be taken care of, Lance. She already has a pilot.” Black sounded amused.

“Keith... “ Lance breathed out. “He’s her pilot.” Black sent him a feeling of content and Lance relaxed as he started to gather up the armor. “We’ll get him back here with us. I’ll call him as soon as we get back to the castle.”

“Lance!” Hunk yelled as he ran up to the newly appointed black paladin. “Lance are you okay! What happened?” Lance turned around and gave Hunk a half smile. His vision was red tinted in one eye, must have popped a blood vessel when I got strangled.

“I’m okay.” Lance said softly, his voice worn out from screaming and getting his throat crushed. “I had to kill him… it wasn’t Shiro.” Lance looked down at the armor in his hands.

Hunk looked horrified, “W-where did his body go?” Lance shook his head and sighed.

“It just kind of melted away, buddy. Come on, help me get this stuff back to the black lion, I’ll explain once we get everyone off the base and back to the castle.” Lance sighed again and started walking towards the black lion, expecting Hunk to follow.

“Lance, what’s going on?” Pidge asked, her voice muddied by the coms.

“Everyone get back to your lions, I’ll explain everything when we get back to the castle.” Lance rasped out, his voice starting to give after the abuse it had been through. Allura and Pidge gave affirmative responses and Lance watched as their blips on his tracker headed towards the lions. Lance relaxed a little when Black came into sight. “I’ve got it from here, Hunk.”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve got it from here’?! You’re not even heading to your lion!” Hunk fretted over Lance, worried that his friend had gotten brain damage as a result of whatever Not-Shiro did to him.

“No, Hunk. I’m finally at the right lion.” Lance smirked and turned back to the Black lion who dropped her jaw as he walked to her ramp. “See you back on the castle, buddy.”

-

Keith sighed and ran a hand over his face, weariness settling in his bones. Lately, it seemed he kept getting put on mission after mission, and since all communications were strictly forbidden while on missions, Keith hadn’t had a chance to get in contact with Lance or the team, and it had probably been months since he last talked with them. He missed it, god did he miss talking to them, especially Lance, he missed him the most out of the whole team. Keith couldn’t explain the pain in his chest that grew every day that he was away, but he tried to ignore it. Even though he couldn’t contact his team, he did have one familiar face, Krolia. After she had revealed to Kolivan their relation, the commander of the Blades started to pair them together on missions.  At first, Keith was less than pleased, after all, this woman was the one who abandoned him when he was young. As they spent more time together and started bonding, Keith’s attitude changed and instead of a cold indifference, he regarded his mother with a warm smile and soft words.

Meeting Krolia and bonding with her was one of the greatest things to ever happen to Keith, not just because he had found out more about his past and got a mother as a bonus, no, Krolia was actually helping him unlock his dormant Galra genes. Turns out, Keith was severely malnourished by Galra standards, a fact that had Krolia fuming at the sight of Kolivan who never thought to introduce Keith to a Galra diet and care regimen. After that discovery had been made, Krolia worked on nurturing Keith’s latent Galra genes, making sure he was getting the right nutrients for a growing Galra and explaining all of Keith’s weird habits. For example, Keith could never get comfortable in a bed, he had to have constant pressure, which was why he always used to wear clothes to bed. What Keith actually needed was to be in a nest, made out of pillows and soft blankets, surrounded by his family or his mate. At least, that was how Krolia explained it to him, and he guessed it made sense, especially after he had made a nest of his own, falling asleep almost instantly once inside it. The nesting wasn’t the end of the Galra mannerisms that Krolia told Keith about, though she mainly seemed to be focusing on mating habits.  

“When a Galra has found a suitable mate, they will bring them gifts to prove they can provide for their chosen.” Krolia casually said as she flew back towards the main base. Krolia had taken to telling Keith of his heritage and such when they headed back from missions. Now was one of those times, they had just finished up with a small scouting mission and were heading back for their next assignment.

“Mom.” Keith said in an exasperated tone. “Why are you so adamant about telling me all these mating habits? I don’t have a mate.” Keith crossed his arms and paced the length of the ship. “I’m barely Galra anyways.” Keith huffed and stopped beside the pilot’s chair so he could look out the window.

Krolia ruffled his hair and scratched behind his ear, “Keith, you are more Galra than you think.  Have you not noticed the changes, my kit?” Keith leaned into her touch and felt a deep rumbling come from his chest.

“I-I… I haven’t really looked into the mirror in a while. I mean… I know my ears have changed. Something like that is kind of hard to miss.” Keith muttered defensively. Krolia laughed at him and tugged at his ear. Keith batted her hand away, “Stop that! That hurts.” Keith growled and flattened his ears. He stopped growling after she got the message to back off a little and let his ears stand back up.

“You did not notice?” Krolia frowned and tilted her head to the side. “How did you not notice the changes, kit.” Krolia cupped Keith’s cheek and turned his head from side to side.

Keith pouted and chewed on his bottom lip, “Like I said, I haven’t looked in a mirror for a while.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, a nervous tick he hadn’t been able to drop, as he looked for a mirror.

Krolia traced something on Keith’s face, “You have my markings.” She smiled fondly, although it looked a little sad. “Do not worry, my kit. All these changes are not bad, they are just signs of your heritage. See for yourself.” She switched the controls over to autopilot and took Keith into the back of the ship where the bathroom was. She turned on the light in the small bathroom and turned Keith to face the mirror.

“Oh… oh my god. Is that really me?” Keith breathed out in shock as he took in his new appearance. His ears had traveled to the top of his head, they were dark purple, fluffy, and distinctly Galra looking. This he knew, well, at least he knew they were on the upper part of his head. He had a mark similar to his mother’s travelling up the right side of his face. His eyes were more feline looking, slanting slightly more than they used to, though Keith was thankful that they weren’t yellow like other part-Galra he had met. Keith grimaced a little and his eyes narrowed in on his teeth. He lifted his top lip, yep those are fangs. He paused when he noticed something else. Am I taller? Keith looked back and forth between him and his mother’s reflections. I am taller! No wonder I can reach the top shelf now!

Krolia met his eyes in the mirror and smiled softly, “Yes, that really is you. Like I have said, do not worry about your looks, your mate will still be happy with you.”

Keith sputtered and whirled around, “My mate?!” Keith’s voice cracked and he felt his skin heat up as a blush covered his face. “I’ve told you I don’t have one!” He felt his ears flatten on the top of his head as a sign of his distress.

“Now that is a lie. I can smell him on you, even though you have been apart for months. Do you not feel it in your chest, that aching need to be by his side, curled around him, and protecting him?” Krolia looked him over and sighed.

“I-I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Keith croaked out and wrapped his arms around himself. He had felt that, every time he thought about Lance his heart skipped a beat and he could feel his soul calling out for the other male. Krolia frowned and turned her back to Keith, heading back to the pilot’s chair. “What are you doing?” Keith asked as he trailed after her.

“I am hailing your team’s ship. You have been away from them for far too long, my kit. You are longing for your team as much as you are longing for your mate.” Krolia looked at Keith as he stepped up beside the pilot’s chair. “You said that you only joined the Blade of Marmora to find out more about your past, correct?” She tilted her head to the side.

“Yes…” Keith said without hesitation and watched as his mother’s eyes softened.

“Then it is settled. You and I are leaving the Blade. There is no reason for us to stay there any longer. Kolivan will understand, especially when we mention that you have been away from your mate for too long. It is not good to let a courtship such as the one you have fizzle out. Your bond is very strong, even with you and your mate not acknowledging it.” Krolia looked away from Keith and inputted the communication code for the Castle of Lions. It only took a few ticks before someone at the castle answered the call.

Keith looked at he screen with concern when it was not Allura or one of the other paladins to answer the call. “Coran? What’s going on? Where is everyone?” Keith questioned, looking around the screen to try to figure out what was happening on the other end of the call.

“Keith! We need you back at the castle. Lance has been trying to reach you for months.” Coran looked over at the screen briefly before focusing back on the battle at hand. “It’s bad, we need Vol-” Coran cut off as the caste shook, jerking him to the side. “Send me your coordinates! Voltron needs you Keith.” Coran gave Keith a frantic look as he readied himself to put in the coordinates.

“Send him the coordinates.” Keith ordered with a grim expression on his face. He hated talking to his mother like that, but the only thing on his mind right then was getting to Lance. Lance needed him, Lance could be HURT! He felt his heart stutter in his chest and his breath came faster.

Krolia placed a hand on his arm, “Calm down, kit. You need to keep your head on straight.” Krolia gave him one last look before she flew through the wormhole that Coran opened for them. Keith let out a long breath and readied himself.

“I can only open the particle barrier for a few ticks, so you must be quick.” Coran said frantically before opening up a small hole near the hangers. “The red lion’s hanger is open, Keith you need to fly the red lion out there and help the other paladins!”

Keith looked a little confused, but readied himself to leave the ship as his mother landed it in the hanger beside the dormant red lion. “Coran… where’s Lance?! Why isn’t he flying Red?” Keith asked frantically after he patched his comms into the castle’s. The ship shook as they took another hit and Keith skidded sideways as he scrambled towards Red.

“There’s no time for that Keith! You need to get out there, we need Voltron!” Coran cut out after that. Keith skidded to a stop in front of Red’s particle barrier and looked up at the sleeping lion.

“Red, please, let me in. I need to help, I need to know what happened to my mate- my Lance.” Keith banged on the barrier and looked up with large indigo eyes at his lion. Red dropped the barrier and Keith rushed up the ramp, hearing a purr of welcome and of urgency in the back of his mind. He dropped down into the seat and grabbed the controls. “Let’s go, Red.” Keith pushed the controls down urging Red out into the battle.

“Wait, the Red Lion just left it’s hanger!” Pidge yelled into the comms.

“Keith…” Lance breathed out, his face popping up on the video feed. Keith felt his breath catch.

“Lance.” Keith croaked out. “I thought… you aren’t in Red!” He looked over the other boy’s face for any sign of distress or injury.

“We have a lot to catch up on, but for now, let’s form Voltron!” Lance grinned and winked at Keith. Keith paused for a moment before shaking his head and flying out to meet the other paladins to join together and form Voltron.

The rest of the battle was a blur of purple lasers and explosions. The brief pain of Voltron being physically ripped apart. Lance could still feel the pain resonating through their bond when they reconnected, not to mention the bruised, maybe even broken, ribs and concussion he was sporting from being thrown around. The battle was over, though, the planet was saved, and Keith was back. Something inside of him was singing out in happiness at seeing the familiar face of Keith, even if he was sporting some new additions to his look. Lance shook his head of his thoughts and landed the Black Lion beside the other lions. He gave her a quick pat as he walked down the ramp to exit the lion.

“Lance!” Keith yelled and Lance looked up just in time to see Keith running full speed for him. Lance’s eyes widened when he was swept up into Keith’s arms and spun around. “I missed you.” Keith said softly into Lance’s hair where he had buried his face.

“You’re taller…?” Lance questioned into Keith’s chest. He felt Keith laugh before the other man took a step back.

“Yeah, I’m almost as tall as my mom now.” Keith grinned, flashing very white teeth and fangs?!

“Wh- you- fangs??” Lance stuttered out, his eyes wide and a small blush covering his cheeks. The blush only deepened when Keith chuckled and took a step back, dropping his arms from Lance’s waist.

“My mom helped to nurture my Galra side and it kind of triggered some of my dormant genes I guess.” Keith shrugged and Lance watched as his ears pressed back a little.

“Are you upset about it?” Lance asked softly, stepping closer to Keith and reached a hand up to trace the mark on Keith’s cheek. “Because I don’t think you should be. You’re still the same Keith to me.” Lance took a deep breath and looked up into Keith’s eyes as he cupped Keith’s cheek. “I still feel the same way I did about you, the same way I’ve always felt about you.” Keith’s eyes widened and his ears perked back up as he leaned into Lance’s hand.

“And how do you feel about me…?” Keith asked softly, aware that the other paladins and his mother were starting to come over to them.

“I think… I think I might be in love with you, Keith.” Lance said just as soft, he could feel his eyes going hazy, reminding him of his injuries, but he really didn’t care at the moment. Keith’s eyes lit up and a rumbling sound that sounded suspiciously like purring came from his chest. He nuzzled into Lance’s hair and wrapped his arms loosely around Lance’s waist.

“I’m so glad. I think I’ve been Galra courting you for months honestly.” Keith said into Lance’s hair, his voice coming out slightly muffled by his purring. Lance’s cheeks flared red and he tipped his head back to look at Keith in the eyes.

“Seriously?” Lance questioned with a tilt of his head. Keith blushed and nodded with a half smile.

“I had no idea until recently honestly. My mom explained it to me more and it makes sense. I always had Galra tendencies, I just never knew what they were.” Keith shrugged. “But now I know, and I can put them to good use.” Keith pulled Lance close again and squeezed him. Lance let out a pained noise and his knees started to give from the pain. Keith let go of his chest and grabbed his hips to hold him up. “Lance?! What’s wrong?” Keith’s eyes were wide with worry. “Did you get hurt! This armor needs to come off right now.” Keith growled and reached for the clasp on the chest piece before he froze. “Black...armor?”

Lance struggled to stay standing. “Mmm fine… my head jus’ feels kinda funny.” Lance slurred out and slumped against Keith again. “Maybe I got hurt more than I thought” was the last thought that ran through Lance’s head before he finally passed out.

Keith whined and held Lance close to his chest, “Lance, Lance! Wake up, wake up!” Keith’s ears were flattened and he was shaking in distress. His mate had just collapsed, he was wearing the wrong armor, and Shiro was nowhere to be seen. His head was definitely not in the right space.

“Keith. We need to get Lance to a pod.” Hunk leaned down into Keith’s view and reached for Lance. Keith growled and flicked his ears back in anger, holding Lance closer to his chest. No one was touching his mate. Hunk withdrew his hand quickly. “Come on, Keith! He needs to go into a pod so we can figure out what’s wrong.” Hunk looked frantic, but Keith couldn’t focus on that.

“Let me take care of this…” Krolia spoke softly to the rest of the team, but due to Keith’s enhanced hearing, he heard her loud and clear.

“And who are you? Are you another Blade member?” Allura asked, her tone none too happy.

“She’s Keith’s mother.” Pidge broke in. “Remember, Lance was telling us that Keith had found her a couple months ago? Plus they have like the same face, so it must be her. You’re Krolia right?” Pidge asked, though Keith’s attention was focused back on the passed out paladin in his arms. He went back to work on quietly and gently removing Lance’s chest piece before he moved onto his arm bracers and finally the leg protectors. He made a small whining noise in the back of his throat and nuzzled into Lance’s hair. Footsteps headed in his direction causing Keith to whip his head up and bare his teeth with a growl. His mother gave him a disapproving look.

“Kit. Your mate is hurt and he needs to go into a healing pod.” Krolia said gently, but her tone was firm. Keith narrowed his eyes and pressed his ears to his skull.

“He’s mine. My mate.” Keith huffed out, seemingly unable to get much more out. He gently ran his fingers through Lance’s hair, brushing it out of his face. Krolia took a few more steps until she was right up in Keith’s space. She put a hand on his shoulder and let out a soothing rumbling noise to calm him down. Keith let out a long breath and visibly relaxed after a few moments.

“I know he is yours, kit. The paladins and I are not trying to take him from you. We want to put him in a pod so he can heal. Do you not want him to heal?” Krolia tipped her head to the side, all the while still letting out the soothing purrs from her chest to keep Keith calm.

Keith whined, “Of course I want him to heal! I will take him there now and afterwards,” Keith paused, flicking his eyes up to the other paladins, “I want answers.” He didn’t wait to see if they would agree before he was up on his feet, Lance tucked safely in his arms. Keith walked briskly to the med bay where Coran had a pod ready.

“Put him in here, Number Four. Though, I may need to rethink my classifications. It seems you have grown since we have last seen you.” Coran smiled at Keith as he opened up a pod for Lance. Keith shrugged and gently placed Lance in the pod, brushing his bangs out of his face, before he stepped back. The glass rose, sealing Lance in the cryopod and starting the healing process.

“How long will he be in there, Coran?” Keith asked without removing his eyes from Lance’s still form suspended in the glowing blue light of the pod.

“Let me take a look.” Coran replied and typed in a command on the console of the cryopod. Keith watched as Coran read over the lines of Altean script on the screen. “He should be out in a few vargas, but he shouldn’t be in there for more than a quintant.” Keith nodded and continued to watch Lance in the cryopod, his ears drooping.

“I wanted to talk to the team about everything that has happened… but I’m not leaving until Lance is out.” Keith said softly to Coran and pressed his forehead against the cryopod. Coran clapped a hand on Keith’s shoulder causing Keith to look back at him.

“I will send the team around when Lance gets out. Do not worry so much, my boy, Lance will be okay.” Coran gave Keith a smile and walked out, leaving Keith alone in the room.

“What am I going to do with you…” Keith sighed and stared up at Lance’s still form.

Lance heard a muffled swishing sound before he was suddenly falling forward. His eyes shot open and he flailed for half a second before warm, strong arms stopped his fall. “Wh-what?” Lance croaked out and looked up, meeting Keith’s eyes.

“You passed out… we had to put you in the pods.” Keith said gently, holding Lance closer. “You had two broken ribs and a bad concussion. You had me really worried.” Keith held him tighter and pressed his face into his hair, letting out a small rumbling sound.

“I’m sorry.” Lance pressed his face into Keith’s chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” He relaxed a little listening to the rumbling -purring- coming from Keith’s chest. Keith rubbed his hand in circles on Lance’s back.

“Now that I know you’re safe,” Keith pulled Lance back a little to look him in the eyes, “tell me what I missed. Why were you in Black and wearing the black paladin armor? Where’s Shiro?” Keith looked a little frantic.

Lance rubbed his thumb on Keith’s hip, “I’m the new black paladin… no more lion switches. All those switches have been leading up to me becoming the black paladin, at least that’s how Black explained it to me. The Shiro that you brought onto the ship… he wasn’t the actual Shiro. He was some sort of clone controlled by that witch Haggar. He,” Lance paused and ghosted a hand over his own throat, “he tried to kill me.” Keith sucked in a breath and pulled Lance closer, his ears flattening against his skull.

“Where is he? I need to have a word with this clone.” Keith growled out, his fangs bared at the perceived threat to his mate. Lance shook his head and reached a hand up to pet Keith’s ear in hopes of calming him.

“I killed him before he could finish the job.” Lance paused to gauge Keith’s reaction. Sure, he hadn’t killed the real Shiro, but Lance didn’t know how the other would take the news that Lance had been able to kill someone like that.

“Good.” Keith relaxed and tilted his head into Lance’s hand, the purring starting up again. “So what’s the plan, Mr. Black Paladin?” He chuckled a little and smiled down at Lance.

“The plan right now is to look for Shiro as we liberate planets and add them to the Coalition, but…” Lance paused and looked up at Keith with a sly smirk, “I have a feeling you were also wondering about what the plan is for us.”

Keith bit his lip lightly and nodded his head. “I am… Now that we have both acknowledged the courtship a couple things have to happen, otherwise my Galra side will start freaking out.”

“And what are those things?” Lance tilted his head to the side. He knew that he was going to accept Keith’s courtship and agree to be his mate. Contrary to popular belief, Lance did his research, so he knew that Galra mated for life. He was ready for that because he already knew that Keith was everything he would ever want. But… that didn’t mean that Lance couldn’t mess with Keith a little first.

“Well… if you want to be together, you’ll need to verbally accept the mateship and then there’s the physical marking… Also, you need to understand that Galra mate for life… so if you accept, it’ll be like we’re getting married, except if you decide to break it off with me later on…” Keith shivered, “Let’s just say we don’t want to find out what happens.” His eyes traced over Lance’s features, memorizing everything in case he never got this chance again. “So… what do you say?”

Lance feigned like he was thinking, “Well.. I don’t know…” He smirked, “I am a lot to handle… and I know you will be as well. See, I’ve been doing some reading up on Galra habits and I know you’re going to go through some weird stuff.” He watched Keith’s ears droop a little before he reached a hand up to cup Keith’s cheek, “I want you Keith, now and forever.” Lance pushed up on his tiptoes and kissed Keith deeply, catching the half-Galran by surprise. Keith’s grip tightened around Lance’s waist as he pulled Lance closer.

Keith pulled away after a few moments of kissing, “Is that a yes?” He asked breathlessly.

Lance laughed and gave Keith another chaste kiss, “Yes, you big dummy! You’re stuck with me now.”

“I didn’t make such a great leader, but maybe now I can be a great right-hand man and an even better mate. Lance…” Keith breathed out and pressed his forehead to Lance’s, “Lance I love you so so much… I am so glad you said yes.”

Lance smiled softly and rubbed his thumb on Keith’s jaw, “We’re in this together. So, don’t worry, we’ll find Shiro, together, and we’ll finally get our family back in one place.”

“I like the sound of that.” Keith said softly before pulling Lance into another kiss. They may not know where the real Shiro is, but as far as the two of them were concerned, anything was now possible because after all, they do make a great team.

If you enjoy my works, maybe help me out and buy me a coffee?

[petshopfox]

Pet Shop Boys - West End Girls

Unreal City, under the brown fog of a winter dawn. Earth hath not anything to show more fair. Dirty old river, must you keep rolling, flowing on into the night. London – the lifeblood of the country and the vampire that sucks it back up.

Among other teenage favourites such as George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four and the Guinness Book of British Hit Singles, the Eyewitness Guide to London was a library staple. Before the age of seventeen I never made the trip on the route of the Flying Scotsman down to King’s Cross; in fact, bar a school coach trip to Dover en route to France, I’d never been further south than Matlock. But there I was, lying on my bed, fitting Monopoly streets into the A to Z, memorising the names of the boroughs and their railway stations. I was doing what probably thousands if not millions of ‘provincial’ Britons had done before me, embarking on a love-hate relationship with a city I’d never seen.

I finally made the journey on a school trip in 1998. The A-level art students headed off to the National Gallery; I visited UCL with a friend, had a slice of overpriced pizza for lunch in Leicester Square, then reconvened with the English lit students to see Othello at the National. It was sticky hot, and I felt disappointed for most of the time. It was almost worse to come to London for one day, and not get to do or see any of the things on my list, than never go at all. The schedule was so overdetermined I had no time to gawp at the tube posters or read the blue plaques, no time to catch myself realising I’d jumped through the rabbit hole into Wonderland.  But then, post-play, we had to cross Waterloo Bridge. The skyline shimmered into focus, St Paul’s ghostly with floodlight, the river lapping against the Embankment. I’ll be back, I said to myself, and a blood-rush flushed me all over. London isn’t a city of instant epiphanies. You don’t see it and die; it can be ugly and gawky, ill-assembled and unphotogenic. But there are always clicks; joints snapping into place; gear shifts. That moment on the bridge was one such: like a photographic print gradually darkening in the developing fluid, London was emerging.

Listen carefully to the opening of ‘West End Girls’ and this is exactly what you hear: London flickering into life, beginning to glitter through the fog. It’s morning, and someone walks into the light from the Paddington concourse. Their heels take to the wet pavement, and their heart beats faster as they scour the street for a taxi. The pulse begins to assert itself, and then the synth string chords – those chords – dark, cool and grand, clean and sleek as a black cab. And a pause, ever so slight, before the new arrival decides to walk; to take in the rush on foot, buoyed airily by the Pet Shop Boys’ smooth minimalism, slinking through the crowds. It’s all there in the video, as a rapid montage of random faces gives way to Neil and Chris, who take to their heels in a vaporous, ghostly Soho, like sombre night-watchmen coming off shift. ‘West End Girls’ is the sound of London settling into focus. Eight million people waking up to the distant rumble of tubes and screech of buses; eight million people rubbing their eyes as the greatest synth bassline in eighties pop music rings out from their clock radios. 

It must have been quite an awakening, back then in 1985. It seemed to arrive fully-formed; not just a song, but an aesthetic (though the original Bobby Orlando version from the previous year proves how crucial Stephen Hague was in realising the song’s latent atmospheres). This was not the barroom and dog-track London of Ian Dury, nor was it the hazy, romanticised cityscape of The Kinks. Tennant and Lowe are, of course, northerners, and thus outsiders, though they don’t so much crash the party as float spectrally in a corner with a martini and a raised eyebrow. When the Boys first broke into the charts, much was made of Tennant’s former career at Smash Hits, the foremost evidence cited for his apparently ‘ironic’ take on pop. But I’ve often thought that the beautiful balance they strike between the knowing and the credulous is the product of northern eyes surveying southern landscapes. They are detached, perhaps even sceptical at times; but there’s also that Eyewitness Guide in the bedroom, a city learned and loved, an excitement at having gone through the portals at King’s Cross and slipped into the anonymity of the throng. Despite Tennant having said on more than one occasion that ‘West End Girls’ was inspired by The Waste Land – ‘too many shadows, whispering voices’ is a true summary of Eliot’s fractured epic indeed – the song is too stimulated by what’s going on around it to be either a lament for the lost or a prophecy of doom. It does sound dangerous – there’s something dark and doleful in that bass – but it’s the kind of danger that makes you feel alive and adrenalized. It’s determined to keep its cool, determined not to spend its money all at once; but despite this caution, it’s still the sound of two northerners who will never quite fail to wonder at their adopted home.

It’s a dichotomy embodied by the Boys themselves: arty, askance Tennant, asking questions and pondering significances, and hedonistic Lowe (you can take the lad out of Blackpool!), disappearing into the massed bodies of the rave or shopping incognito at the record exchanges (check out the 1989 B-side, ‘One of the crowd’, Chris’s very own credo). It’s why their songs at their finest have such cross-cultural appeal; the Guardianista manifesto of ‘Che Guevara and Debussy to a disco beat’ (‘Left to my own devices’) can coexist quite happily with the football terrace reworking of gay utopianism (their definitive cover of ‘Go West’, which was taken on in earnest by Arsenal supporters). It’s what makes them so English, yes (another epithet interviewers and critics find impossible to avoid), but more than that, it’s what makes them so London, and more specifically Northern and London. In no other city in the world do you get quite so many disparate people rubbing shoulders in the crush; underfunded social housing and potholes on one side of the street, while the opposite side gleams with stucco and swept pavements. This is the world the Boys both celebrate and lament, and often with an emphasis on the relationship between regionalism and metropolitanism. It’s mourned in ‘King’s Cross’ (the station from which Geordies spill out into the city like foaming brown ale from a broken bottle), and especially ‘The Theatre’, which again makes specific reference to  expats from beyond the Watford Gap (‘Boys and girls come to roost / From Northern parts and Scottish towns / Will we catch your eye?’) But then there’s the funny B-side ‘Sexy Northerner’, about a guy who takes the capital by the scruff and recasts it in his own image. London is always up for grabs, and the Boys will be there as the daybreak traffic hits, on through lunch at the office, then dinner, pub, club, and into the demimonde of the dead hours. You always wanted a lover, I only wanted a job. You wait till later, till later tonight…

You see, London is all about almost unlikely juxtapositions, and the Pet Shop Boys pull off some of the unlikeliest. The astonishing ‘Dreaming of the Queen’ (perhaps the most moving song they have ever written) is the most surreal. It’s an elegy for the AIDS dead (‘there are no more lovers left alive’) sung by ‘Lady Di’, whose own marriage is failing; the ‘Queen’ of the title is both the monarch Neil visualizes in his dream, chastising him for being in the nude, and, perhaps, the patron saint of all ‘queens’ everywhere who are traumatized by the epidemic. It’s timely – on release in 1993, all these events were highly topical – and timeless, commenting on the ways in which our subconscious finds its own warped logic to deal with the crushing events of history. And then that heartbreaking line, ‘Yes, it’s true / Look, it’s happened to me and you’ (a rejoinder to an earlier AIDS lament, ‘It couldn’t happen here’). London is a place in which ‘big’ history is made all around us, in which we constantly rub up against grand monuments and memorials; it’s also a place that can find space for the ‘me and you’. At its best, Tennant and Lowe’s songwriting focuses through both of these lenses. Remember ‘Shopping’, seemingly a deadpanned celebration of the personal benefits of the credit boom, but actually a broadside against Thatcher’s privatisations? No eighties band was better at defining the emptiness of consumerist luxury than the Pet Shop Boys, and I’m not just talking about the immortal ‘I’ve got the brains, you’ve got the looks, let’s make lots of money’. Stick on the original version of ‘I want a dog’, and marvel at the boredom of desire; the blank-eyed intonation of ‘oh, you can get lonely’; the killer couplet ‘Don’t want a cat / Scratching its claws all over my habitat’, expressing withering disdain for any mog that ruins Terence Conran’s finest.

In ‘West End Girls’, of course, there are cats and dogs, paws and claws. The greyhounds of Walthamstow (east end boys) and the Persian princesses of Kensington (the girls of the title). Another great juxtaposition, and one that makes London sexy in a constantly surprising way. All sorts of mythologies catch each other’s eyes on the escalators. The Kray brothers lock stares with Charlotte Rampling; there’s a frisson of sexual danger, a possibility of pugilism. But London has to brook its own contradictions in order to survive. It surfs breezily above them, just as the track itself is both shiny and seamy, dark and light. The song is all tensions: African and European (the jazzy trumpet and rich gospel backing vocalist knocking against Tennant’s high white plaint), passive and active, dispassionate and yet full of deep, deep yearning; yet it’s miraculous how these coexist with such effortless panache. These are the frictions of all great British pop, but seldom do they ever sound so exotic and lush. The Pet Shop Boys really did change the game; this is a London both real and imagined, both as good as the real thing and somehow even better. It’s not surprising that it was number one all over the world, including America, and no accident that it even featured prominently in the Olympic shebang last year.

You see, for all the expert satire, it’s easy to forget that the Pet Shop Boys are still actually in love with London, and that its allure will never pall. ‘We’ve got no future, we’ve got no past’, intones Neil in the last verse. In London, you can be someone different every day, ventriloquizing the people around you, learning to walk to their gait; only the present, and your presence matter. Just to be there at all; to be swimming in the tide. East End boys will always chase West End girls, and perhaps vice versa. Northerners and foreigners will always be both repelled and fascinated by the Unreal City. As long as London exists, so will ‘West End Girls’; so will a thousand teenagers from elsewhere dreaming in their bedrooms about ‘running down, underground, to a dive bar in a West End town’. As T.S. Eliot would have it, we shore these fragments against our ruin. Or else, we save ourselves with the power of a synth bass, a crunchy snare and the ecstasy of urban romance.

[allofthisnonsenseplease]

Ficlet: Leave a Light Burning

slightly nsfw r76 post fall

There is a light in a window, dandelion yellow and nearly steady. Neither light bulb nor candle, it pulses faintly, broadcasting a message deep into the night-drowned city.

I'm here.

I'm hurt.

And, because the biotic field is the closest thing he has to a candle to place in a window to be a guide and a sign of welcome:

Truce.

The old soldier doesn't know if the message will be received, if his makeshift candle will light the way. It's more hope than anything, hope as weak and as pure as the glow of a single candle flame. It's the hope that carried his prayers years ago when duty bound him in his pressed dress blues while his heart went out into danger and death, carried by his second, his sword arm, his comrade, companion, and husband. Jack Morrison never slept in a darkened room when Gabriel Reyes was away. Always there was a candle burning, a flashlight left on, a guiding light to lead his love home. The path Gabriel had agreed to walk was a dark one. Jack wouldn't have darkness greet him on his return.

They've both taken a fall from grace. Wounded and exhausted, Soldier: 76 is feeling the loss of his heart, the gaping wound where it was torn out of him years ago. He's tired. Jack wants his husband, and a moment to breathe.

He doesn't believe he's going to get what he wants.

The yellow glow from the biotic field is the only light in the room, a bubble of light without warmth, a space of overclocked healing and all the pain of recovery condensed into a more temporary agony. Muscle fibers twitch sporadically as they knit slowly back together where bullets grazed him. It hurts like a sonovabitch, and he chokes off a cry of pain. His breath hisses in between gritted teeth. One hand is clenched around the ratty sheet covering the creaky twin bed he's sitting on. The other is clamped high up on his thigh, leaving bruises. The way his traitorous thoughts have been flocking to the past tonight, it's no surprise that he remembers a time when any bruises dappling his thighs had been left by Gabriel, sucked into his skin and dotted with the indents of teeth: marks made to drive him wild with wanting, marks created to claim him.

Those marks of passion, those love letters inscribed in his skin, had never lasted nearly long enough. The permanent markers, the messages that describe the life he's led, are the scars. His body is littered with them, with rough welts of thick, deadened flesh, with shiny, pink gouges. The SEP healing factor has kept him alive time and again by sealing wounds with an almost cancerous growth of scar tissue. He's learned over the years not to keep too still while he's healing for fear of losing mobility.

He slumps against the wall with a sigh and the feeling that he is getting old. Bottle it up and soldier on, he tells himself. There's still work to be done.

Across from him, the room's single window frames a view of the city as it stretches out below in constellations of artificial light and tangles of streets, power lines, antennas. He's looking without really seeing, which is why it takes a moment for him to notice the darkness clouding like frost around the lower edges of the window panes. It spreads, boiling upwards and blotting out the city behind a shifting veil of half-glimpsed forms writhing in its shadowy depths, blinking in and out, no more substantial than a nightmare upon waking. Jack watches, enthralled, as the darkness roils against the window. Then, nearly hidden by the yellow gleam reflecting on the glass, a shape starts to become clear, pale against the darkness it forms out of, all harsh lines and shadow, bone pale, birdlike. A skull.

He's so caught up staring into the empty sockets, wondering if he's only imagining the baleful pinpricks of red light burning in their depths, that the tap of a claw against the window takes him by surprise. The steel-tipped finger slides down, dragging a screech from the glass, and then fades away into the darkness. Jack's eyes had instinctively followed the movement, and when he looks back up, the mask is gone. The windowpanes creak ominously beneath the pressure bearing down on them. It's the only sound in the room for several long moments.

Then, in a voice both familiar and strange:

“Just like old times.”

Jack stares as the darkness shrouding the window billows into thick smoke which trickles in around the edges. This time, when darkness blots out the city, it's because Reaper stands fully formed before him inside the room, looking down on Jack and his wounds and the suddenly feeble-seeming light of the biotic field. Realizing too late how foolish he's been, Jack tenses, his grimace of pain hidden behind his mask. His hand creeps closer to the pulse rifle laying within arm's reach beside him.

“It never did fail to surprise me how someone as goddamn dramatic as you could run such a successful black ops division.”

“You hypocrite.” There's amusement in his voice, the suggestion of a laugh, and it's enough to give Jack pause. He doesn't think Reaper is here to kill him. “I saw what you did to that Los Muertos bunch and their base. And you have the nerve to call me dramatic.”

“I was sending a message.”

“Were you?”

There isn't much inflection in the question, but it's enough to recall the savageness of his attack, the sheer brutality of it, the fact that he'd willingly let himself fall into that red-tinged world where coming out on top was all that mattered and inflicting pain was the surest method for victory. It's enough to remind him that he'll do it again without hesitation. That he isn't the man he once was. That he's no hero, not even a shield. He is a weapon, and his purpose is violence. He feels somewhat shamed by it, but pushes those feelings aside. He has become what he needs to be. This is no world for heroes.

He shakes his head, shakes off the uncertainty that introspection brings. It's a sign that he's getting too old. He wants to rest, wants to let his weary bones and aching wounds and thick, ugly scars lie. Another sign.

“What are you doing here?” There's not even any challenge in Jack's voice, only exhaustion, and Reaper studies him from behind his mask, arms crossed and head cocked to one side.

“I saw your invitation. Thought I'd pop in to say hello.” He laughs, and the sound is thin, dusty air in boarded up rooms, not the rich, full laughter Jack remembers. “You look like shit.”

“Don't let appearances fool you. I feel like kicking some heads in.” Truth is, he feels like shit. No need to tell that to Reaper, though. Jack still isn't entirely sure why he's come.

“Still so reckless. You haven't aged well, Jack.” As he crosses the room, that sinister glide falters out into heavy footsteps that carry him the last two paces from the bed. He stops and goes down on his knees between Jack's legs. His bone white mask is expressionless. The tilt of his chin is mocking. “Need something to take your mind off the pain?”

“What are you offering?”

He laughs again. Jack hates the sound, and yearns for what it used to be.

“Memory going? There aren't too many ways this can go, from where I'm sitting.”

Jack can barely believe it. He knows he was an idiot to let the light shine like a beacon from the parted curtains. Drunk off pain and exhaustion and the hope that comes when he's too tired to temper it with logic, he damned the consequences and did it anyway. This isn't one of the possibilities that had run through his mind, even addled as it was. He leans back against the wall, studying that mask that gives nothing away, searching for hints in Reaper's posture, something to tell him if this is a cruel joke or a trap or something else entirely.

Jack feels old. He's tired and in pain and he's only human. Maybe that's why he makes the choice he does.

“I'm not getting any younger,” he says. He isn't sure why that makes Reaper chuckle.

The light from the biotic field holds them close, as if the moment is trapped in amber. The pain of his injuries becomes little more than an afterthought, white noise along Jack's nerves as Reaper lifts one clawed hand and tips back his mask. The shadows that hide his face are just a shade too thick, their edges just a bit too smoky. Jack doesn't try to push back his hood or toss his mask aside. He closes his eyes as Reaper pushes his jacket up and pops the button on his fly. He isn't hard yet, but a forgotten anticipation swirls low in his stomach and Jack knows it won't take much to excite him. Even the brush of Reaper's clawed gauntlets over his exposed skin sends pleasant shivers up his spine.

Suddenly, the chin of that death's head mask is digging into his stomach as Reaper surges forward and bites him. His teeth close over a small roll of pudge. As active as Jack is, time and his lifestyle have left their mark. He's no longer the perfectly trim soldier he once was.

“Letting yourself go?”

Jack swats the side of his head, but not before feeling what might have been a playful nuzzle. He wonders if there's more of his husband left in Reaper than he'd thought. Obviously, there must be, otherwise he'd be dead. The belated realization leaves him staring down at the wraith between his legs, searching for a piece of his past. He wonders...but doesn't quite dare to find out...what would happen if he called Gabriel's name.

He's still contemplating when one of Reaper's wandering hands finds the place a bullet grazed his side, and claws pierce his skin around the wound. Jack's spine bows, hips jerking up as he chokes back a scream. Reaper bites him through his pants. The thick material means it's nothing but a bit of pressure, there and gone as he drops back onto the mattress. He glares his displeasure, irked that the expression is hidden behind his mask and visor.

“Eager?” As Reaper tilts his head, shadows run off the side of his face to expose a dark tangle of beard, part of a wicked smile, a scarred and sunken cheek.

“You know I always did like it rough.”

Reaper hums agreement. “I remember.” He manages to knock his mask completely off and resettle his hood over his head before Jack has a chance to get a better look at him, and then he's nipping across Jack's stomach, sharp, quick pinches of teeth. His claws are no longer set in Jack's flesh, but he kneads the area around the gash just firmly enough to wring whimpers from his throat. He pauses to hike Jack's leg—his uninjured leg—over his shoulder, and then he's back at it again as Jack squirms.

It isn't entirely the bites or the touches that have him responding so eagerly as he leans forward. It's the memories, the thought that his estranged husband is here with him, garbed in the new life that keeps them apart, but still tied close enough to the past to have seen the light and known it was for him. Still willing to push aside everything that divides them, if only for a short time.

Everything feels unreal, like a fever dream. Jack's breathing is too loud, thunderous as the crashing of surf over rocks. The sound is practically a physical thing, surrounding them, filling in all the dark corners of the room, compressing them down, down, down into the sphere of light and soft-edged shadows. His pulse beats counterpoint, crowding out his thoughts. He groans, hands slipping onto his husband's shoulders as Gabriel tugs down the zipper on his pants and nuzzles him.

Jack is hard for him in no time, swallowing back Gabriel's name even as he grabs the leather of his coat, seeking a better grip, a surer way of holding on. He's desperate for Gabe, and even the warmth of his mouth—

not as hot as Jack remembers

—the graze of his teeth—

are they sharper than before?

—the feel of his thumb kneading the flesh of Jack's inner thigh—

pinprick pain of claws an unfamiliar sensation not unwelcome

—isn't enough. He isn't sure it will ever be enough. What he wants is what they had, but everyone knows there's no bringing back the past, and Jack can't predict what the future holds for them.

He tries to lie to himself. He tries to pretend that it's Gabe come back to him from a Blackwatch mission, that he left the light on in welcome just like always, that the haste and scratches are just Gabe's way of loving him when he's exhausted and relieved and begrudging the time they spent apart. He tries to pretend that, within that warm light, things are as they should have been. Head bowed over a black hood, he closes his eyes against the constant input from his visor and tries to shake the feeling that never quite leaves him these days that he's living in the wrong timeline, that it was never meant to be this way, him on one side and Gabriel on the other. He remembers the admiration, the devotion, the love they'd shared far easier than he remembers how he allowed it all to slip away.

The pain is what keeps him grounded in reality. Too many aches, too many places where thick scars pull his skin tight. Gabriel is still kneading around the graze in his side, the claws of his other hand are still digging into Jack's thigh. His tongue does not caress or tease, but tastes and puts Jack in mind of something voracious, something here to feed off of him rather than join with him in a sharing of themselves. His hips rock reflexively up into the warm, wet pull of Gabriel's mouth. His foot arches, toes digging hard into the floor as he strains for leverage, but it's his injured leg and agony lights up his nerves, forcing a strangled cry from his throat. Every twitch, every quiver is a fresh shiver of pain, but it isn't as if he can sit still when Gabriel is doing his best to make him scream.

Jack doesn't last long. Gabriel wasn't trying to draw it out, and with every little twinge of pain feeding into the stimulation and fracturing his focus, Jack can't hold back. He comes with a strangled gasp, an ugly sound made worse by the knowledge that he's choking back Gabriel's name. He sinks back against the wall, riding the short high of orgasm, feeling Gabriel swallow around him and lick him clean. He shivers and clenches his fists around the sheets as Gabriel pulls away. The room is dark and silent, waiting for him to open his eyes. It's upsetting how easy it is to think what just happened was no more than a vivid dream he's waking from.

He hears a faint shuffling noise, an uncertain sound. Gabriel hasn't vanished. Jack peeks and sees him standing at the very edge of the light, mask in one hand, expression carefully neutral. Nanites seep like smoke from his nostrils, from the corners of his mouth and eyes, from his ears. They bleed out of him into the air, and Jack can swear he sees them crawling in Gabriel's skin. His eyes glint from within the shadow of his hood.

“Not that I'd expect you to repay the favor, but a 'thank you' would be nice.”

There's enough of Gabe in his voice to make Jack feel like the same fuck up he was just before everything went down in flames in Zurich. Suddenly he knows he should have done something different, should have taken off his own mask, should have called Gabe's name, should have shown him somehow....

“Stay.” Jack blurts out the plea before he can stop himself.

Gabriel studies him. His voice, when he speaks, is almost reluctant. “You know I can't.”

He wants to tell Gabriel to stay until the marks clawed into his skin fade, until Gabriel's claim on him is once more something carried beneath the surface, locked away in his memories.

“Stay until the light burns out,” he murmurs, words tumbling together like bits of gravel.

The biotic field has half an hour left in it, max. It isn't anywhere near enough time. Jack closes his eyes, feeling heavy and exhausted and lost. He half expects Gabriel to disappear while he's not looking, and feels for just a moment like he might cry when Gabriel's forehead presses against his.

Jack can sense what's coming. Gabriel's fingers curl around the sides of his face. His hands settle on the visor, and there's a question in his stillness. Jack nods. It's only the tiniest hint of movement, but it's enough. Gabriel finds the catches that hold the mask on and undoes them by touch. He bares Jack's face to the light, sees all his scars and wrinkles revealed, sees Jack's eyes locked unwavering on his own.

“Until the light burns out,” Gabriel murmurs, and leans in to kiss him.

Jack savors the taste of the past, of what might have been, of what might still be if they're lucky enough, if they're willing to suffer for it, to work for it. He knows he'll leave a light on for Gabriel wherever he goes. He's been carrying a torch for him for most of his life, after all, and the hope he's found tonight will be fuel enough to keep it burning for a long time to come.

That knowledge coils tightly around his heart and squeezes, but Jack is no stranger to pain. It's better by far than feeling hollow.