#i don’t know the magical science behind it and i refuse to learn.

[skullmoss]

i like to think my deep gnome durge was supposed to be a drow but bhaal fucked up somewhere along the bhaalspawn creation

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[mandareeboo]

ok now im curious what your most petty thing is (regarding the dp post)

Oooh boy, here we go! Buckle up fuckers this is gonna be a longer one.

My senior year of high school, I took a creative writing class. Partially because I needed to fill the slot, mostly because I wanted to improve my writing (spoiler: I did not). Now, my high school was a three floor building- first was mostly gym, second was general, and the third was senior lockers and art classes. I spent a good chunk of my schedule senior year on the second and third floor, going between an art class to my earth science (I took that one entirely as filler, but also bc I like science) to my locker and so on.

Creative writing? Creative writing was in the fucking basement. Go to the first floor, go to a corner generally used for health and development classes, to another corner, follow a ramp and some stairs, and boom there it is kind of basement. (Side note but this teacher was REALLY into attendance and would get you in trouble if you were late which was really annoying since basically no other class was in that part of the building).

My creative writing teacher wasn't bad, per se. I've had worse teachers. I had an algebra teacher who delighted in making freshman girls cry and mocking them for it. I had a journalism teacher who would use her class time reporting how Hilary was secretly ill during the election. I had a history teacher say trans people weren't real to an openly gender nonconforming student (I didn't know them well enough to ask for specifics on their alignment, but they were using they/them at that point) and set up assignments just to mock students on the take they were told to make. It was more that she was uncreative and took it out on the kids doing creative writing.

She gave us two books to read. Basically “how I write” by published authors. I don’t remember the first one well enough and I donated it ages ago, but the second was Stephen King’s “On Writing”. It was 3/4′s personal stories about his life and 1/4′s “also write a bit every day”.  I mostly remember the first author bc she had those fake dreadlocks white people do when they destroy their hair and she gleefully told a story about making her son have a meltdown at a party or wedding or something bc he got overwhelmed and she wanted him to learn that “sometimes you don’t get what you want”. So. You know. Not much there.

She also instructed us to write in a journal every day, which she would check every few months or so. It had to be at least half a page. She would leave little comments in every one else’s journals when she checked them, but not mine- I realized pretty quickly she was a bit uncomfortable with LGBT+ content, so I made it my mission to make every journal drabble as gay as possible bc I was bored and she couldn’t mark them WRONG when she just stated we needed to write.

But it doesn’t end there! Through the entire class, we got exactly five writing projects. Stories that follow very specific guidelines that we would then read in front of the class, group proofread, and then have the teacher give final grades for. These things were approximately like a thousand words a piece, and I was writing out my 10,000 word “It Starts off Small” story in class when I got bored, so it wasn’t difficult. 

Our first project was a character going through a difficult decision. Or... something? I honestly forget the criteria. Anyway, I was HYPE. I’d had this idea for a long time now a human choosing between peaceful death or reincarnation, and this gave me the push to write it! I had a whole thing planned with death being a deer and reincarnation being a wolpertinger (bc reincarnation leads to many possibilities, ed boy, so a Frankenstein bunny made sense to me). Anyway I poured my heart and soul into this bastard and, bright eyed and bushy tailed, handed it in. My classmates all thought it was pretty good. Not to toot m’own horn, but there was some pretty bad ones going in, so I thought I’d get a solid B or something.

I got a D. I guess the struggle was too metaphorical, or it didn’t perfectly fit her criteria. I was devastated. Then I was mad. Bc I was a bored senior who thought they’d made something pretty decent for this completely optional class and her refusal to see that really hurt me at sixteen (I was always a year younger than my other classmates, so despite being a senior I didn’t turn eighteen until almost a year after graduation)

Well, fuck it, I decided. I’m going to parody the shit out of this class.

Our next project was a fantasy story. I was bitter and grumpy. The other fantasy stories read aloud were stuff like “yeah this dude fought a wizard and got a girl, then they went home and banged” (this was not hyperbole, he would’ve written and read the smut if allowed, I knew him personally) and “this girl that NO ONE UNDERSTOOD was called CRAZY but this S@!$ cheerleader who Stole Her Boyfriend so she killed them all” (fun fact: the girl who wrote that was my age and a sort of half-friend from middle school. She was a yaoi fangirl who didn’t mind lesbians as long as they, you know, didn’t FLIRT with her or something.) 

So I get up there. It’s the last day of presentations. And I present with a polite cheer. My story is about two magical shepherd type figures who are called Sister Brighten and Brother Dick as they chase down a werewolf who was drunk off his ass and accidentally bit someone else. They then revealed they were basically supernatural designated drivers for the whole town. I made Brighten mention that Dick’s name wasn’t even Richard. I titled it “His Favorite Brand is Grayhound”. It fit every single criteria. I got an A. I could tell she didn’t want to, because there was no comments or anything like everyone else’s, but she had to follow her own criteria.

Our third was a conjoined effort thing so I didn’t pull any fuckery there, but the fourth one was about common myths and spinning them into real or fake. One girl did the hook-handed door handle thing and the boyfriend ended up above his truck hanging (somehow???). I think someone did the age-old adage of a haunted wedding dress? I kind of read through those presentations. 

Now, I’m salty-salty at this point. I wasn’t expecting His Favorite Brand is Grayhound to get me a good grade. I half-assed a lot of it. I am in full Not Happy Teenager at this point. I grab a daddy long leg and settle in.

My fourth story of the year is “Paperskin.”

Paperskin is about a boy named Billy with the thinnest skin membrane ever. Just full on body horror. You could see his teeth behind his lips. Billy gets bored one day and wanders out of his house, tries to kick a soccer ball, and breaks a leg. As he’s laying in the grass a daddy long leg bites him- and his skin is so flimsy the fangs sink in and he dies. I’m actually still pretty proud of Paperskin. It’s a horrifying, Edgar Allen Poe of a monstrosity, but it made people squirm, which was the point. The teacher is clearly a bit unnerved at this point, but she gives me another A. 

I wrote a more “normal” story after that of a contentious objector forced to house kids going to see if any confirmed soldier deaths were any of their parents as my final one and I could feel her spite as she gave me a B.

So, yeah. That’s the story of when I tormented my creative writing teacher with The Gays and my weird ass sense of humor after she called one of my best works at that age a piece of shit.

 Here’s a google drive of these bad boys, because yes I do still have these things. I turned these fuckers in for grades, people.

[sokkagatekeeper]

what is mai and sokka's mbti?

mai is an intj!

sokka — ENTP (NeTiFeSi)

sokka’s creativity, innovation, and love for science all come from his extroverted intuition. he never waits and observes, like a Ni dominant/auxiliary (entj; sokka is NOT an entj) would do. instead he puts himself out there for observation. sokka also never just accepts a solution alone for its tangible results without considering the logic behind the solution; he’s interested in the ‘why’ and ‘how’ of the way things work, and from there he can get his own results. even unconsciously, his plans are more about seeing what would happen if x, even if getting results is also important to him bc his auxiliary thinking function. he prefers to focus on the situations and patterns in the moment and add on to that one in particular rather than reusing plans he already knows worked in the past in similar situations (like an estj; sokka is also NOT an estj).

he also expresses himself in a very extroverted, open, quick manner. he has a very charming wit and his ideas and movements are often pretty scattered. his body language + the way he speaks matches an entp almost to a T.

even though sokka is very versatile intellectually speaking, there is a very specific structure that is ingrained in his mind, and when he learns new information he doesn’t actually change his perspective, but he adds it on to what he already believes. this is why he’s able to be a skeptic while travelling with the avatar, meeting spirits left and right, calling waterbending “magic”. to sokka, these are all elements that exist, that cannot be explained right now by science, but that they can be, and they must be.

while sokka does have a sense of moral justice, he’s a lot more practical when it comes to it. katara is ruled by her Fi, aka her internal moral compass, and when she passes through a poor and hungry village that she can help (the painted lady), even though it’s an objectively minor thing to focus on and an irrational decision to make, she helps anyway. sokka does not follow an internal moral compass of his; he follows his head, and his logic. he understands they can only aid temporarily as of right now, and so helping the village wouldn’t be worth the time they would be sacrificing in order to do it since they have other bigger things to attend to (namely his SCHEDULE).

i was surprised to find sokka is not actually a very unhealthy Fe. an unhealthy extroverted feeler looks a bit more like azula, who is able to tell the needs and feelings of other people and use and manipulate them to her own benefit, but who also wants to be liked desperately. while sokka can read other people’s needs and feelings as well, he doesn’t just manipulate them to fit his agenda (though sometimes i wish he would, and sometimes he does?? but it’s more of a skill than an instinct. it’s complicated), and instead he tries to find a way to incorporate those needs into his plans. he does desperately want to be liked, too, but it’s more of a punishment on himself than others, unlike azula’s. i wouldn’t say he’s a perfectly healthy Fe because he’s still a little bit of a people-pleaser sometimes (in like. a weird way. in a way none of you actually understand.) but he’s getting there.

sokka’s Fe also gives him something to focus all of his thinking and intuition on. sokka has an urge to take care of people, whether that is his overpowered little sister, the 12-year-old avatar, his overpowered 12-year-old little sister, or anyone he likes as a person really, OR the entire world. when he refuses to waste time aiding the village in the painted lady, his Ti is able to tell him where that suffering is coming from—the fire nation’s messed up regime—and is able to make the connection that if they focus on overthrowing this regime that is hurting the village, the village will be saved eventually, and along with a bunch of other villages at that. but he does want to help. he is helping, actively, all the time.

we don’t actually see a lot of sokka’s introverted sensing but my guess is that his Si manifests as he often forgets about the smaller details in big, well-thought out plans (the boiling rock) but under external pressure (the day of black sun) he gets really picky and neurotic about everything going well. (tho the boiling rock wasn’t exactly his prime moment either and the inferior function is suppsed to come out intensely when in not-exactly-prime moments, with almost no operation in regular circumstances. so ???).

it also comes in waves, like how actually long it took him to go ‘hey, so maybe we should plan the scenario for aang to actually have an opportunity to get all this defeat-the-firelord business going’ and it had to be sokka’s inferior Si because katara’s tertiary Si was busy being nostalgic. other than that sokka’s Si doesn’t seem to be particularly underdeveloped or unhealthy, since he has no issue following plans through. who knows!!

[politicalmamaduck]

so ere you find where light in darkness lies

A soulmate AU written for @darklinadaily Darklina Week 2021! You can read it on AO3 here. Title taken from Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost.

She was born with the mark on her left wrist.

The sun in eclipse.

Ana Kuya said she’d never seen a soul mark like it and it portended a tragic future. Therefore, Alina needed to pray even harder to the Saints to give her a good future.

At night, she was alone, not praying--but hoping that one day she would meet her soulmate and truly belong.  

She loved Mal, but not in that way—his mark didn’t match. He was her best friend, but not her soulmate.

So she waited until she would meet her soulmate, her partner with the mark on their arm, and find out what the sun in eclipse meant.

There was no one else she ever loved enough to show them her mark. Not that she loved Ana Kuya, but she loved Mal. She never got a chance to love anyone else--not when the First Army was always on the move, or even before that, when other girls--normal girls, girls with parents--were settling down as proper Ravkan wifes and mothers. 

Alina was different, had always been different, even beyond just the mark on her skin. 

Being different made no difference to the volcra, however. Their attacks were indiscriminate, their taste for human flesh insatiable. 

The last thing she could remember was reaching for Mal in that interminable darkness, the soulmark on her arm aflame, her bones and sinews straining, reaching to hang on to the barest thread of hope contained in his fingers, her anchor to life. 

Light burst into the Fold’s darkness, the volcra screaming and tearing away, unable to bear it. 

Alina gave in to the darkness behind her eyes, tasting blood.

When she awoke, everything hurt, and the world had changed. Her world changed more rapidly than she could process.

She was not afraid of the Darkling, despite what she’d heard. Still, when he demanded she lift up her sleeve, she did what she always did.

She protected herself.

She lifted her right sleeve, her bare arm, her unadorned wrist.

The world burst into sunlight, flame, shadow. Alina saw not the light pouring forth from her, but stars behind her eyes. The pain, the pleasure, the release--there was something inside her yearning to break free, to push beyond the boundaries she set all those years ago, to reclaim the life she took from it. 

Alina collapsed to the floor, but before she hit her head, he caught her. 

Her weight was solid in his arms, but she felt light as a feather, protected, cosseted, before the darkness claimed her once more. 

After awakening and being packed off to Os Alta, she bit back a retort about a head injury and horses not being the best combination after passing out twice in the space of hours.

The Grisha didn’t care, but they did care for her wounds. 

She tried to view herself as one of them, and failed. She was still too different--a summoner who could call the sun, even rarer than the Darkling’s shadows. And how would they view her strange soulmark?

When Genya Safin and her team of attendants marched into her new bedroom the next morning, Alina knew she was in trouble. She was unceremoniously stripped and forced into the bathtub while the washerwomen insulted her in Old Ravkan.

It was Genya who looked at the mark first, though, after ordering the attendants out. “Your mark,” Genya said, taking Alina’s hand before she could snatch it away and hide her arm. 

Her bright blue eyes met Alina’s. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen another like it.”

“Really? At the orphanage, they told me it portended a dark future.”

Genya shook her head, her perfect curls bobbing and catching the light. 

“I don’t think so. I think your future will be what you make of it. Now, let’s get you ready.”

Genya’s magic--the Small Science, Alina reminded herself--glossed over her skin, and Alina thought perhaps she finally had a friend other than Mal. 

Maybe she could belong in the Little Palace. 

Maybe she would find her soulmate, the eclipse to her sun, after all. 

In front of the Tsar, in front of his court, she felt the terror she had been denying herself. She wasn’t prepared, she needed more time, she couldn’t do this--

And then the Darkling met her eyes in the darkness. 

He was calm. He trusted her. 

“Now call the sun,” he whispered, and something in her reacted to his voice. Stay, she wanted to whisper back, don’t leave me alone.

He reached for her wrist--

No, she wanted to scream, not that wrist, don’t--

The world burst into light. 

Alina burst into light. 

Her soulmark burst into flame once more. 

It was a beautiful pain, an exquisite torture. 

Don’t let go, she wanted to beg. 

She felt bereft when he did. 

“Welcome home, Miss Starkov,” he said. She knew he meant it. Perhaps, she could believe it after all. 

The next morning, she refused the kefta in his color. She didn’t want to stand out more than she already did. But as they rode through the forest, she realized that with him, she didn’t feel like an outsider, an interloper, a foreigner. 

With him, she felt like she mattered. 

And so it did not matter, later, when she learned the story he told her by the fountain was only partially true. He may have lied--but so did Alina, all those years, denying herself her own truth, so desperate to not be alone. 

It did not matter, for she belonged with him. Both the Darkling and the Sun Summoner, denying their own truths until their reality could not be contained within them any longer. 

The sun in eclipse. Light and shadow--all shall fade, but they were eternal. 

“You are not alone,” she told him, when he laid bare his truths before her--the Grisha were suffering, Ravka was suffering, and they would suffer to see them through the winter, through the Fold, through the dark night before the dawn. 

She left his chambers before she could think too deeply about how her heart was racing, how she longed for his touch, how her soulmark burned whenever their skin made contact.

The morning of the Winter Fete, she kissed him before she could regret it, before she could talk herself out of it, before she could think about it too deeply. The choice was hers, and hers alone, regardless of their soulmarks. 

His smile was like the sun peeking through shadowed clouds after a storm. Alina’s heart felt at peace, even if they were interrupted, never a moment alone for the Black General of the Second Army and his Sun Summoner. 

When their lips met after their presentation, she never wanted their kiss to end. She wanted to devour and be devoured, pour her sunlight into his shadows, subsume and be subsumed. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded, smiling as though she had never smiled before. 

They kissed again, and at the back of her mind, Ana Kuya’s voice echoed. Despite how far she had come, some part of Alina would always be a scared little orphan girl from Keramzin with a dark soulmark on her arm. 

“Aleksander,” she said, when their lips broke apart again. 

He met her eyes, and waited for her to continue. Her general, following her lead. 

“I--” she started. How to tell him? 

She looked down from his face to her arm, covered by her black kefta. She would continue to let her body do the talking for her, for it was truer than her words. 

She pushed up her sleeve and held her arm, the truth of her, out to him. 

He looked from her eyes down to her arm and back. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought there were tears in his eyes. 

“I thought you should know,” she said. “So you could be sure--”

Her words were silenced by his kiss. 

“Alina,” he said, when he released her. “Oh, my Alina.”

He held his left arm out to her, and lifted his own kefta sleeve. 

There, as ink black as her own, matching perfectly in shape and size--the sun in eclipse. 

She looked from his arm to his eyes to find the tears matching her own, and closed them for another kiss. 

When he kissed the mark, it was as if her entire body were set aflame. 

Alina was Aleksander’s, and Aleksander was hers.

In his arms, she finally found the belonging she sought. 

He carried her from the war table to his bed, rich and opulent with black sheets, though she hardly noticed at the time. 

There were too many layers between them, keftas and pants and tunics and belts.

Their kisses, their touches, were frantic, as if the world were on fire along with their bodies. 

His hands were on her neck, in her hair, cupping her cheeks. 

Her hands were shaking as she undid the many clasps on his tunic. 

Her soulmate, her belonging, her future. 

When their clothes were removed, their bodies laid bare, she reveled in their truth. His touch was like a brand upon her skin, marking her, claiming her as his own. If they did not consciously know then, their bodies knew the truth of the other, as they always would.

Intimacy was about the truth of oneself and another, of finding oneself with their partner.

His lips met and caressed nearly every inch of her body, his fingers tracing her curves just as hers traced his muscles. 

She was on fire, alight with life and love, aglow in her lover’s arms. 

He took her into his mouth and she moaned, desperate for more, to never be parted from him, to feel his tongue inside her again and again. 

She cried out when she came, clutching at his hair. Her body was taut, yet relaxed, and she felt calm though her heart was racing, her core pulsing with her climax. 

He kissed her once more, smiling, and lifted her from the bed into his arms effortlessly. His lips were at her neck and ear, his arms so strong as he adjusted their position. 

“Alina, my Alina,” he murmured as he entered her. 

“Aleksander,” she replied, breathless, feeling so full, so whole, so complete. 

She cried out once more as he moved within her, clinging to him, savoring the sensations. 

They came together, his arms around her, their bodies entwined. They collapsed to the bed after, still holding each other, the world contained to their arms, their love. 

The world would wait until the morning. The night was theirs, to explore as they explored each other, the darkness giving way to the dawn just as his shadows would dissipate before her sunlight. 

The sun would be shadowed in eclipse, yet reign eternal forever more, one soul bound to another.

[soranis-sunshadow]

Why Hordak and all of his brothers are cult victims suffering from Religious Trauma Syndrome

A detailed (and very, very, veeeeryy long) explanation on why I take issue with dismissing Hordak’s trauma as “daddy issues” that is frequently done as a way to hand wave his background and the context for his actions all while attributing said cultic abuse and indoctrination narrative to a character that, though has a tragic, abuse-laden past has never actually been part of a cult. *cough* Catra *cough*

Lets see how deep the rabit hole goes shall we?

First off: The Galactic Horde is based on a suicide cult, with Horde Prime as its leader.  

That is irrefutable fact. It has been stated by the show runner and there are plenty of in-show examples of religious speak, religious themes pertaining to Horde Prime and his acolytes and even the interior design of Horde Prime’s ship is that of a grandiose Cathedral.

The source of this is an article by Polygon where the show runner breaks down what went into creating Horde Prime. (link in the notes)

Onto The Etherian Horde – though totalitarian in nature, it is not a religious institution – merely a military operation. Though the argument could be made that propaganda is used to instill an anti-princess agenda, no horde members are ever seen spouting doctrine or discrimination against their very own Princess in the ranks – Scorpia. Not only is she not discriminated against, she holds the rank of Force Captain. She also has the respect of her peers.

The only person that seemed to have taken it seriously is Adora, who - due to Shadow Weaver’s personal attention – has been raised with the specific mindset of a self-sacrificing martyr. After learning of the fact that Shadow Weaver has always known about the Heart of Etheria, it is not a huge leap to assume that in her bid for more power, her plan had always been to have Adora unleash the planet’s magic, possibly sacrificing herself in the process. Shadow Weaver had groomed her for this specific purpose.  (It’s one of the reasons for which the subject of Adora’s martyrdom hurts Catra so deeply –she had been witness to the manipulation taking place but was powerless to do anything about it for most of her life)

The other cadets are more well-adjusted and don’t seem to care much about the horde’s ideology or goals, not even Catra who has suffered the brunt of Shadow Weaver’s psychological and physical abuse and has been subjected to her manipulation too.  

The above exchange proves that even if there had been any indoctrination in The Etherian Horde, it has failed in affecting Catra’s judgment. I am legitimately surprised on how little credit her own fans give her and on how her perceptiveness and intellect is dismissed to have her fit into this “brainwashed victim“ agenda for more “sympathy points”.

With that having been said I’ll start this off with a bit of a definition: Religious Trauma Syndrome is a common experience shared among many who have escaped cults, fundamentalist religious groups, abusive religious settings, or other painful experiences with religion.

The symptoms of Religious Trauma Syndrome are comparable to the symptoms of complex PTSD. The symptoms are as follows.

(link in the notes)

I will discuss all of the symptoms and causes by turn and expand upon them.

1)      Cognitive: Confusion, poor critical thinking ability, difficulty with decision-making,

negative beliefs about self-ability & self-worth, black & white thinking, perfectionism,

Hordak’s whole misguided crusade on Etheria is an act of confusion. What on green Earth had ever convinced him that it would work in proving his worth to Prime? Hordak had been confused on the reason of his rejection, self-delusional even.  Hear me out:

Despite what Hordak himself believes, he wasn’t excommunicated because he was useless, he was abandoned for being born defective, aka for existing as he was created.

His inborn defect, by nature of being an unchangeable fact was not something that he could overcome in order to earn back the acceptance of his Maker. To a certain degree, he was aware of this but had refused to acknowledge it and as such, he has framed it to himself as “his defect makes him worthless”.

By overcoming uselessness and proving his competence in furthering Prime’s goals, he had convinced himself that he would be welcome back into his brother’s flock.

He had convinced himself that by proving his usefulness, it would erase his defect. He had given himself a reason for rejection that, unlike an inborn one, could be overcome - worthlessness.  His logic being that Worthless=Defective, if he were useful, he wouldn’t be defective anymore.

He has framed his accidental stranding on Etheria as a trial of faith, not a chance at freedom or bid for power and self-actualization.

In his confused reasoning, he had not realized that by attempting to prove his worth to Horde Prime, he would be in essence, proving that Prime had been mistaken about his deficiency. This was anathema to Horde Prime’s own doctrine – that Prime is all knowing, all powerful and Horde Prime is Never Wrong. His attempts were always destined to fail from the start, the premise was flawed at the core but Hordak’s own wishful thinking prevented him from seeing the fault in his mission.

This is how Hordak sees himself:

This defect => useless => worthless mentality can be observed when he projects onto Catra. I swear, everyone projects onto everyone else in this series.

This is an example of him emulating the only leadership he’s ever known  - that of Horde Prime and exerting Prime’s judgment over a supplicant or Prime – In this case Catra (what Prime would have done to him in the same situation). He imitates Prime’s way of speaking and even his facial expression during Prime’s “speeches” (look at position of his ears in this scene and that little dimple damnit!!!)

(yes, *sigh* I did a spacebat ear position diagram)

Horde Prime has that ear position even when possessing his little brothers to give his grandiose speeches:

Hordak’s and other little brother’s “default” ear position:

It’s worth adding that perfectionism is not only part of a symptom of his cult trauma but also a tenant of Prime’s doctrine making it a double whammy.

2). Emotional: Depression, anxiety, anger, grief, loneliness, difficulty with pleasure, loss of meaning

As they say, a picture says a thousand words…

To call Hordak depressed is like calling the ocean mildly humid.

He is alone, on a planet of primitive aliens (from his perspective) surrounded by potential enemies and in an incredibly vulnerable position due to his illness with no clear end to any of it in sight. He feels nothing for this world other than irritation at his inability to leave it. His only meaning and purpose is returning to his congregation, a purpose he is no closer to fulfilling than he was when he had started a few decades ago. The only open displays of emotion he manifests are that of anger, self-loathing., frustration, fear – in the blanket scene before he comes to his senses completely and starts masking the fear with anger… at the blanket… there was nothing else in the room to be angry at… ridiculous spacebat.

After Catra deceives him about Entrapta, he openly manifests grief and apathy as well.

3).   Social: Loss of social network, family rupture, social awkwardness, behind schedule on developmental tasks, sexual difficulty (no snu snu for religiously repressed spacebats... yet  *wink wink*)  

This one is self-explanatory.  He is in essence an exile on Etheria, away from all he has ever known. He is the only one of his kind on the planet, even Imp - his attempt at replication is not a proper replacement for the community provided by the Hive mind.

From a social perspective- he is a recluse and is not seen interacting with anyone in anything but a “professional “ manner.  The only exception to this is Entrapta’s interaction to him. Due to her indifference to his posturing, she is immune to his attempts at self-isolation. “Get out!” and vague threats of reprimands don’t work on her. Their shared interest in science allows Entrapta to force the interaction on him. (At least in the beginning of their collaboration)

Later, after having become accustomed to Entrapta’s companionship and having that ripped away, he tries to form a connection – at least of commiseration – with Catra:

 Even after she did this to him:

he still tried to form a connection through their shared need to prove their own worth.  

Did you catch that little detail? : “Victory is ours” not “mine”.

4.) Cultural: Unfamiliarity with secular world; “fish out of water” feelings, difficulty belonging, information gaps (e.g. evolution, modern art, music)

…                                

Do I really need to expand on this one? *Sigh* … he is literally an alien to this world, “fish out of water” would be an understatement.

 As we have established, he fits the bill of Religious Trauma Syndrome to a T. He presents all of the symptoms.

Now let’s move onto the causes of it:

 1). Suppression of normal child development – cognitive, social, emotional, moral stages are arrested

This one is self-explanatory. The horde clones and by extension Hordak are severely stunted in their psychological development and that is by design. They are deliberately kept from developing an adult mentality so as to never become a threat to Horde Prime or ever be able to break away from his control. Prime keeps them in a child-like dependency on him as a way to exert his power over them.  Should they ever develop even a budding sense of self, their indoctrination compels them to submit to correction and erasure ensuring that they never surpass this state of learned helplessness. Horde Prime encourages this self-flagellating behavior, deeming it a mercy, even a favor to be granted – to suffer in His Name.

Hordak shows almost no emotional coping mechanisms and manifests child-like tantrums of frustration as an only outlet for his emotions throughout the show. He attempts to hide any other attempt at emotion, with differing degrees of success.

Wrong Hordak is emotionally unstable and is prone to fits of crying. (However, due to the comedic fashion in which his arc is written, I suppose that this could be taken with a grain of salt)

The clones are not only prevented from growing and maturing mentally, they are also robbed of childhoods –having been born in adult bodies and with the necessary knowledge to serve Prime literally programmed into them so as to make them able to serve efficiently from their first breath. As such, they are robbed of their formative years where one individual grows and develops naturally. Those precious experiences are replaced by Horde Prime’s literal programming through the hardware they have installed in their bodies to facilitate Horde Prime’s control over them (without their consent).  In essence, they are a people born pre-”chipped”

Regardless of their actual age, and despite the fact that they are intelligent, capable and responsible individuals, I see the clones as having the emotional maturity of toddlers.

They never had the chance to develop any emotional coping skills, they were never allowed to have emotions to begin with.

2). Damage to normal thinking and feeling abilities -information is limited and controlled; dysfunctional beliefs taught; independent thinking condemned; feelings condemned

This is The Galactic Horde’s core belief:

Along with:

Incidentally, Hordak does his version of this speech trying to puff himself up in front of his soldiers… buuut Catra pushes the Failure button and that snaps him out of his little Prime impersonation moment.  

More dysfunctional beliefs:

Condemnation of independent thinking:

Results in this:

No further explanations are necessary…

3). External locus of control – knowledge is revealed, not discovered; hierarchy of authority enforced; self not a reliable or good source

Prime exerts his dominance throughout S5 by force,

and coercion:    

He is even petty and vindictive enough to force himself into Hordak immediately after his speech and to kill Entrapta with Hordak’s own body.

As for the self not being a reliable narrator… Hordak believed this about his former position.

He is not prone to exaggeration or deception being woefully incompetent in the latter – both perpetrating and spotting it.  We have to assume that this is the way he saw his position in the Galactic Horde.

Season 5 revealed that all of the clones are equally disposable and interchangeable, there are no ranks. They are all equal tools whose sole purpose is furthering Horde Prime’s agenda. Horde Prime has no need for generals or delegating since he is able to inhabit his little brothers and be in more than one place at the same time. Hordak’s job in S5 was that of hall monitor and planetary acquisitions guy…

@cruelfeline​ goes into detail about the dissonance between what Hordak believes and what is actually his position in The Galactic Horde. A link to it is in the notes because Tumblr is being fussy. 

4.) Physical and sexual abuse – patriarchal power; unhealthy sexual views; punishment used as for discipline

Some people have seen this, ugh… form of penetration… ugh again… as rape allegory.

Not a hard thing to do since Prime himself is rape personified and he consistently forces himself onto and into his little brothers, Catra and later, the chipped Etherians.  Prime does nothing but "bad touch" people all of S5 and is particularly enjoying his disciplining of his "wayward little brother", the most unworthy and unlovable amongst his brothers. (According to the extended scene)

Here’s some more of Prime’s touching with rape subtext:

Here’s more of Prime forcing himself into his little brothers – they all seem to fight it and find it painful to some degree despite the fact that they have been conditioned to accept it and welcome it. Prime’s touch is a good thing, even when it hurts them.

Ironically, the one who fights this violation the least is Hordak himself. (this could be either because he’s extra repentant and wished not to further draw Prime’s ire or that his condition of chronic illness has raised his pain threshold)

The process of possession is not seamless and some of the clones appear to be unsettled by it after prime retreats from their bodies.

As much as this Utter Disaster of a clone wanted to finish his little speech about dirt and as much as he was gleefully enjoying it, after Prime was done with him… he just wanted his task over with…

            The very nature of their indoctrination makes them unable to escape what has been done to them nor change their whole world view without outside intervention – which is exactly the help that Wrong Hordak received immediately after being abducted from the collective by people who slowly de-indoctrinated him and offered him a supportive environment for all of that growth and healing to happen.

When the Best Friend Squad kidnapped him, he was ardent about his service to Prime and he only followed them because they deceived him in believing they were servants of Horde Prime.

By providing clear irrefutable evidence of Prime’s fallibility, deceit and the squad’s (mostly Entrapta and Glimmer)  moral support throughout this moral crisis, they (just Entrapta here *coughs* ) were able to wean him off of his programmed behavior and offer him an informed choice.

This is information none of the other clones, not even Hordak were privy to.

Even with this information, Wrong Hordak is still in emotional turmoil (though the show plays it for laughs – yuck)

The closest Hordak ever gets to walking away from Prime’s doctrine is this moment:

He was considering indefinitely putting it off to stay here, with her, and her worldview that he could be worth something, imperfect as he is. He is offered her emotional support and guidance.

Unfortunately... Catra nipped that in the bud before it could lead anywhere.

 After convincing Hordak that Entrapta betrayed him, her message of inherent worth was rendered null, to him - her unconditional affection and the notion that he could to live apart from Prime were a manipulation. This further radicalized him in his faith and need to prove his worthiness.

Not only did Catra remove Entrapta’s influence over him, she goaded him even further with this cursed little speech and her whole “yass queen moment!”. you know the one...

“Get.Over.IT! You don’t need Entrapta. You never did. You don’t need a Princess in your life telling you what to do. Look at what you’ve done without her. You’ve build an army. An empire! You and me, we don’t need anyone. Forget them all. No one matters, nothing matters but this mission. You want to prove yourself, prove your worth? Then do it! You and I are going to conquer Etheria. And then, they’ll all see!”

Both of them were in clear downfall in S4 and they amplified each other’s most negative tendencies. I will not hold this against her. 

             The last thing I want to mention is that for cult victims, it is incredibly hard, if not, almost impossible to leave their cults by themselves. The first step for leaving a cult in the real world is looking for outside assistance.

It takes enormous amounts of strength – an almost imaginable degree of resolve – to leave a cult, particularly when you may have been born into one and have no friends or connections on the outside world. Cult survivors are often ostracized by everyone they have ever known who remain within the organization. To a cultist, the world outside the cult is a hostile, sinful and dangerous place. The assistance of someone from the outside is crucial.

Only with the assistance of a “friendly outsider” or a support group can the former cultist change the world view with which they had been indoctrinated with (sometime since early childhood).

A cult and set of beliefs warps your whole world view to the point of delusion. Faith in the cultic creeds is more important than factual evidence. As  a matter of fact, the evidence in itself is evil, a contradiction to the creeds of faith and successfully denying it is an act of faith fulfilled. This mentality is encouraged in cults.

Many people in this fandom have claimed that Hordak, once pulled through the portal was free to do as he pleases. (he didn’t chose to come to Etheria – his arrival on the planet was accidental)

This is not really the case. Hordak never decided to leave the cult. He was still part of the cult when he was sent to his death on the battlefield for his defect and he was still a believer when the portal delivered him to Etheria.

In essence, Hordak didn’t leave his cult so much as he was forced apart from it, physically. In spirit, he still believed in Horde Prime’s dogma.  His experience is the equivalent of a religious man getting stranded on an island in the middle of the ocean. He is apart from his church, but his faith is still with him. Hordak’s faith hadn’t waned in the decades of separation. His purpose had always been returning to Horde Prime –hence the focus on building a portal and not on levelling towns with an arm laser cannons. He has proven in S4 that, had his main mission actually been conquest, he could have done it with not much difficulty – He wasn’t half bad at it actually. Instead, he delegated the conquest to his underlings and focused most of his attention on attempts at reuniting with Horde Prime via investigating rogue portals and trying to build one of his own.

Due to the nature of his “upbringing”, Hordak’s whole world view is warped. He has not had the benefits of a “moral” education from a human’s standpoint. Why would training cadets to become soldiers in your army be morally reprehensible when you, yourself, had been bred for war and have served your God with your first breath?

This was Hordak’s idea of a “normal” childhood:

What could he possibly know about the healthy raising of children?

Why would conquering a planet be a morally reprehensible thing when his God did this to places?

And this:

Before one ascribes evil motivation, for the sake of evil – one should bear in mind that these creeds were literally programmed into him. This is not a life he has chosen for himself– this is something he was born into, literally manufactured for, this is something that was done to him.

And for those that would have wanted him to regret his actions on screen, keep in mind that it will likely  take a lot of therapy and reeducation before he even comprehends the nature and magnitude of his crimes on Etheria.

(besides the fact that he had spent 99% of season 5 in an amnesiac daze doesn’t help with the whole remembering his crimes bit either)

The show runner has declared in one of her post show interview that he will make reparations for the damage he’s caused.

What more do people want from a person born and flung into an impossible situation besides his head on a plate?

Phew!

Long post was long

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - The King and Queen of Hearts

The existence of this episode just baffles me, as it undermines so much of what season three was trying to accomplish. 

Summary:  Rapunzel continues to try and restore the memories of her parents, King Frederic and Queen Arianna, and hopes to use the journal of Herz Der Sonne to remind them, but they do not understand the significance. Arianna still lusts for adventure, while Frederic cannot get over his obsession of egg collecting. Rapunzel recruits her friends to try and set up the perfect date for them and while they cannot find anything in common personality wise, they share a mutual love for Rapunzel. However, King Trevor arrives with the intent to woo Arianna using an ocean crystal he found.

So What Exactly Is the History Here? 

We have no context for this sudden love triangle. All we know is that Trevor hates Frederic because he’s still in love with Arianna who wound up marrying him instead. 

But like, I don't know why Arianna married Frederic. I don’t know why Trevor is still hung up on her years later. Did she actually choose Frederic or was it an arranged marriage cause that’s what royalty did back then? Was she having an affair with Trevor this whole time but couldn’t/wouldn’t leave because of duty? Was she and Trevor pining star crossed lovers, or is Trevor just an incel? 

I know what the story wants me to assume; that Arianna deeply loves Frederic and that Trevor is just a jackass loser; but the series has done such a poor job of making Frederic likable and giving him and Arianna any sort of chemistry that I’m inclined to side with Trevor. 

For all we know, he may be trying to rescue Arianna from both her memory loss and her abusive relationship while at it. Especially now that she’s no longer needed as a ruler and has no reason to stay in Corona. 

Why Not Just Use the Potion from Rapunzel: Day One? 

While any Varian cameo is appreciated, it doesn’t add thing to the story. In fact it only raises more questions. We already had a cure for the memory loss, why aren’t we using it? 

Even if we write it off as Rapunzel no longer having that particular Saporian spellbook on hand, she still has a whole dungeon full of actual Saporians who know magic that she could gain information from! There’s also Xavier, who already knows everything under the sun about Saporian/Coronian history and magic and owns spellbooks galore. You’re telling me he just has mood potions lying around but can’t brew up a cure for memory loss? 

Then there’s also the fact that the amnesia spell doesn’t work on Rapunzel’s parents the same as it did on Rapunzel and we’re never given a reason why. Like just some basic consistence is all I ask show. 

I also can’t figure out what Varian is even trying to do here. Where’s is the science to this? What does strawberry goop and lighting have to do with memory? It’s just a cheap reference to Frankenstein and nothing more.  

We’re Already Pass Seven Months Since Rapunzel’s Return. 

Ok, I have gotten into frequent debates with people about the timeline of season three. Many a story board artist and writer on the show have came forward and stated that season three was only one year. But the very existence of this episode disproves them! 

If you remember season one, Hearts Day took place after the Goodwill Festival, but before Queen for a Day. Even when putting episodes back into their intended production order that still remains true. 

Hearts Day has to be at least seven months past Rapunzel’s birthday, if not eight months, because the Goodwill Festival is six months past and her parent’s anniversary (QfaD) is nine months past. 

Now Rapunzel’s Return has to be Rapunzel’s 20th birthday because season two was a full year, and even if you say it’s not, then that still doesn’t explain Once a Handmaiden (the Goodwill Festival) coming after this episode.  

And no you can’t move the episodes around, Once a Handmaiden has be the second to last episode of the series and Under Raps always comes after Rapunzel’s Enemy in any order you watch the series in. 

No matter how you slice it, we’re missing a birthday episode for Rapunzel and season three has to be more than a year; a year and a half at the very least, if not two full years.  

Look I’m not trying to be disrespectful of the talented artists who worked on this show, but their word isn’t law. The very fact that they’ve had to tell us the timeline after the series was over with indicates bad writing, and the very fact that the show itself contradicts them indicates either a lack of communication behind the scenes or a lack of editorial oversight. Either option is just poor management. 

We Have Yet Another Failed Narrative Promise! 

Are we seeing a pattern yet? 

This is the third time in a row where the episode flat out states that Rapunzel needs to learn something and then, just, never has her learn it; four if you count her non-apology to Varian. Instead the show rewards her for her bad behavior by just giving her want she wants on a sliver platter for no adequate reason. 

In fact, one could argue that this episode is the worst offender in the show because divorce is a real thing real kids have to go through. Children that will undoubtedly watch the series. 

How upsetting would it be to such a child to watch Rapunzel force her parents back together  with zero consequences and realize that they can’t do that in real life? It can potentially feed into misplaced delusions or make them even more bitter, either way it’s unhealthy and super irresponsible to tackle such subject matter in this way. Even Sesame Street handled the topic of divorce better than this supposedly ‘mature’ show. 

It’s a Castle! Why Can’t Frederic Get His Own Room?

Frederic is the king. He still technically owns everything even if he’s not the one still in charge. He could have his pick of any room so why is he forcing himself on Eugene? Hell he doesn’t even have to stay in the castle. As pointed out during The Return of the King review, there’s other accommodations within the kingdom that’s suited for royalty. Why not head up to that mountain retreat?  

This is a Really Bad Message 

I understand that this is meant to be a joke, because of how ridiculously over the top it is, but because the series gives Rapunzel what she wants in the end without ever having her acknowledge how she is wrong here, it winds up validating her toxic world view anyways.

Divorce is not inherently a bad thing. We should be working towards both normalizing it and promoting healthy coping mechanisms for those that go through it, adult and child alike. What Rapunzel is doing here is just repeating puritanical fearmongering. And while I can understand why she might behave in this way, I don't understand why the show refuses to call her out on it. Or any of the other million bad behaviors she displays repeatedly through out the show... like the example below for instance... 

Why Am I Suppose to Like Rapunzel Again? 

It’s like the writers don’t understand that a joke can damage a character, especially if it’s overplayed. Super sweet upbeat Rapunzel snapping because she finally met someone who was annoying or a situation she couldn’t just solve with a positive attitude was funny maybe like the first time; but we’re three seasons in and this is supposedly her closest loved ones.  

Look at them! They’re fucking terrified of her! All they did was point out that she maybe should do her job and deal with real problems instead of poking her nose into her parents business where it doesn’t belong! And this brat is now the ruler of the whole kingdom!? No one can legally stand up to her. 

Like where’s the Eugene that stood up to her in Under Raps for trying this same bullshit? Why hasn’t she learned her lesson? She also pulled this same bullying tactic on young Lance and teen Eugene two episodes. Cass left her ass, supposedly, because of her bossy thoughtless ways. And this is also the same woman who abused a child back in season one and still has never acknowledged it. 

Yes characters should be flawed, but they should also face real consequences for their actions, and if they’re a protagonist they need to learn and grow past their flaws. 

I actively started to dislike Rapunzel after this scene. I already felt something was off way back in the season three opener, but this is the point where I stopped and went “What the fuck?” She used to be my second favorite character behind Varian. I didn’t go into this wanting to hate her, even after this episode I still held out hope that they were trying to purposefully lead up to some sort of falling out with everyone and with Rapunzel having to own up to her bullshit in order to win. You know like a classic third act “the hero is now alone due to their past mistakes” type story. But Nope! 

There’s no pay off for any of this. Rapunzel is just mean for the sake of being mean in season three, and no one is aloud to call her out on it. She’s now the same type person as Frederic, a tyrant. That’s not a good development! 

She’s Literally Bullying Her Own Parents Now, and I’m Suppose to Find that Funny? 

Yes, Frederic is her abuser, and yes some people might find this scene cathartic if they hate him. But this isn’t actually calling out his past abuse. It’s just Rapunzel treating a now powerless old man with that same abuse and denying him bodily autonomy. An old man who has both less political rights and less power within the relationship than her; since due to his memory loss he is now dependent upon her. 

In the real world it’s the equivalent of picking on an Alzheimer's patient who is in your care. I don’t give a shit how much of dick they were before the illness set in, you don’t fucking do that!  

Why Should I Want Arianna and Frederic To Be a Couple? 

The show has done nothing to sell this relationship. In fact one could argue that the show is trying to purposefully sabotage it. 

Before the memory loss Frederic was proven to be abusive, to the point where even his own wife was afraid of him and wouldn’t stand up to him. Meanwhile Arianna was shown to be a shell of her former self who’d all but given up upon the things she actually enjoyed in life. And now that they both have had a second chance they have even less motive to stay together. 

Look at Arianna up there? She’s clearly not enjoying her time with him. While he doesn’t want to engage in anything that she likes. I mean a couple doesn’t have to share their interests in everything, but there still has to be some sort of connection and the series just does not give us that connection. 

There’s no reason why they should stay together. They no longer have any commitment or duty to fulfill as rulers and their daughter is fully grown. Contrary to what Rapunzel says, the kingdom isn’t going to fall apart if they separate. It actually would probably better for everyone, including Rapunzel, if they got divorced. At least then she’d have to grow up somewhat and stop being a controlling asshat.  

Why is Attila Here?

I thought Attila got a job running his own bakery and that it was Lance who became the new cook at the Snuggly Duckling? Even if you argued that Attila was just doing Rapunzel a solid that still wouldn’t explain who is running the place when Lance isn’t there. 

If you’re going to set up developments like that then you need to either stick with them or give an on screen reason for why these previous developments are no longer relevant. Flat out ignoring them like this is just lazy. 

Lance’s New Outfit is the Best Thing About the Episode, and It’s Also a Complete Waste.

Lance deserved a new outfit because the team was too lazy to give him one for season two, even during the island arc. This however is a waste because it doesn’t add anything to the narrative. People were paid to make this thing for it to only show up for a few seconds of screen time. 

This Whole Exchange Is Gross. 

Oh let me count the ways in which this is so, so stupid. 

Neither Rapunzel nor Frederic has ever proven themselves “thoughtful and responsible.” In fact both of them being irresponsible is intentionally a plot point in the main story arc.

How would either Frederic or Arianna know any of this? Not only have they lost their memories, but they didn’t raise Rapunzel themselves and those traits aren’t inherited; they are taught. 

Gushing over your grown daughter isn’t a point of connection! 

Why would anyone be compelled to kiss a practical stranger, that they previously didn’t even like, just because they both admire some woman they also barely know and happen to be related to? What is the thought process behind this? “Oh we made that? Then lets make another one!” What the fuck show? I’m ace and even I know that’s not a normal thing to get titillated over. 

The Series Turns Frederic Into a Literal Baby In a Last Ditch Effort to Make Him Likable 

The whole point behind the amnesia plot was to absolve Frederic of his past wrong doings. You can’t call out an old man with Alzheimer's for being a dictator, I suppose. (not like that’s ever stopped me from criticizing Ronald Reagan, tho)  But from there the series then takes it one step further and actually infantilizes both Frederic and Arianna, because Chris assumes that if he makes Fredric as pathetic as possible the audience won't hate him any more. Well guess what, it didn’t work. Frederic isn’t suddenly a poor woobie just because he’s useless now. That’s not how that works.  

Rapunzel Literally Physically Assaults a Person, Kidnaps Them, Threatens Them With Even More Bodily Harm, and Causes an International Incident; All Because They Asked Her Mom Out On a Date! 

You can’t hear it in the screen shots, but there’s very clearly a clanging sound to indicate that Rapunzel just wacked Trevor upside the head and knocked him out. 

Let me repeat, a Disney protagonist just committed armed assault against a guy, simply because she doesn’t respect her own mother.

What the Fuck!!!???

Arianna is fully grown woman. She is perfectly capable of making her own choices and she agreed of her own volition to go out with him. In fact she’s the one who asked Trevor if she could come along on his sea voyage. It’s not Rapunzel’s place to interfere with that. 

Secondly, Rapunzel shouldn’t get a free pass to attack people just because she’s doesn’t like them. And she most assuredly shouldn’t get to write off her cruelty as justice because she's royalty! What the hell? You just turned one of your official princesses into a literal tyrant for the sake of a joke, Disney! 

Where the fuck was the oversight on this show!? 

And to top it all off, Trevor is a ruler of a competing kingdom. This could easily have been deemed an act of war. Thankfully for everyone involved Trevor has far more sense and compassion than Rapunzel and doesn’t push the matter. 

Yes that’s right! The intentionally annoying prat and comedic antagonist is a more upstanding person than the main heroine! Let that sink in! 

Wait, If Laws Don’t Apply Out In the Ocean, Then Why Did Eugene and Max Have Jurisdiction to Arrest Lady Caine in Peril on the High Seas? 

Max shoved this same rule book into Eugene’s face when Eugene rightfully questioned if it was his job to arrest the mutineers. This book said that it was not only his job, but that he was also legally required to stop any and all ‘wrongdoing’ no matter where he was at nor whether he was on duty or not. While also failing to specify what ‘wrongdoing’ entailed. 

Now that’s very problematic and ridiculous for a whole host of reasons that I’ve already covered back in my review of Peril on the High Seas, but this scene now adds a whole new layer of stupidity to the mix. 

If zero laws apply out in open waters than yes, Eugene and Max were acting out of their jurisdiction. Not only that, but the pervious dumb rule regarding their duties is also now null and void. So, Justice For Lady Caine! 

Oh, but were not done yet, cause it gets dumber. 

If laws, including marriage don't apply, then getting married while out at sea also would not apply. Thereby rendering Trevor’s plan useless, unless they got married back in Equis. Which if they did that, it would bypass the entire pointless rule book completely because Equis is not subject to Corona’s laws anyways. 

There’s not even any ‘inter-kingdom’ laws that they would be subject too because Equis isn’t a part of the seven kingdoms. Any treaty they did previously have with Corona would be something else entirely, and Trevor would be within his rights to end such an agreement.     

Also Trevor is a king. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. Same goes for Arianna.

Ummm, No You Don’t Rapunzel

Trevor can’t marry Arianna without her agreement to it. It’s already been established that she’s physically capable of taking care of herself and she’s also mature enough to make her own decisions. If she did wind up marrying him it’d be because it’s her fucking choice to and Rapunzel has zero right to interfere with that.  

There’s no one to rescue here. Rapunzel has no reason to go chasing after her mom. All this is doing is denying a grown woman agency over her own life. Why should I or anyone, root for Rapunzel here? 

You Do Know That Arianna Has More Than Just Two Choices Here, Don't Ya Show?

Arianna doesn’t have to be in any relationship. That’s also an option. While I personally like Trevor, this shouldn’t be a choice between him or Frederic. The show should be asking what Arianna, as a character, would want for her life, instead of just shoehorning her into just being a wife for someone else. 

I still don’t know what Arianna really wants in life, but I do know that being a domestic housewife and a queen does not suit her. She doesn’t actually like being tied down with commitments and responsibilities. She’s repeatedly indicated over and over again that she feels uncomfortable in her role. 

But the show reduces her into trophy to win and turns her into a damsel in distress multiple times. Then it further neuters her so that she complacently walks back into that life over and over again for no logical reason. She’s treated not as a person but as a prop.    

Really, Arianna? Are You Really Sure About That? 

These aren’t Arianna’s words. They’re Chris’s. 

Arianna has shown zero interest in Frederic up to this point. The closest they got was during that creepy boat scene where they just jumped to almost kissing for no real reason.  While before now Arianna was making actual goo-goo eyes at Trevor earlier, before Raps stepped in and broke them up.  

They actually do have things in common and had a genuine point of connection. They even almost kissed themselves until Raps started being a dick. No forced and icky conversations about their grown children needed here folks!

While I still firmly believe Arianna should just be single, the show does far more to convince me that she and Trevor should be together more so than her and Frederic. Everything about this scene on the boat feels forced and hollow because it doesn’t ring true to what was previously established. 

This just isn’t good writing. It’s the animation equivalent of a six year old smashing their Barbie dolls faces together and shouting “now kiss!”, all because a middle aged man couldn’t get over they fact people didn’t like his self insert. 

No, wait, I apologize. That’s being mean to six year olds. They usually have more interesting plots and established characterization than this.  

Hey, Remember When the Series Villainized an Orphan For Stealing This Stupid Book? 

Yeah, stealing the book was treason and the mains ruined a child’s life over it, but apparently it just doesn’t matter any more cause no one seems to give a shit about Trevor taking it. Like, yes, as the king of another kingdom, Trevor isn’t beholden to Frederic’s bullshit, but you would think that the characters would treat this as a bigger deal than what they do, given how they responded previously to it being taken.

Unless Rapunzel was just talking out of her ass back during The Alchemist Returns. That’s also quite possible.  

This Literally Has Nothing To Do With You Rapunzel 

Just because Rapunzel herself is a woman, doesn’t mean that stealing the agency of another female character isn’t misogynist. Especially when their both written by primarily men.  

Every guy who was involved with the writing of the episode, should be fucking ashamed of themselves!!! 

So What Exactly Has Trevor Done Wrong Up To This Point? 

Yes, the story board artists and voice actors do a lot of heavy lifting here to try and make Trevor seem like a creep. Arianna’s body language and tone of voice when dealing with him here will be very familiar to a lot of women, I’m sure. I know what it’s like to have a stalker and not know how to turn them down because you’ve been trained all your life to ‘be polite and nice” to people, and I’m not unique in that regard. 

But here’s the thing, it’s not set up properly. There’s nothing backing this sudden shift in the characters’ dynamic. Up till now Trevor has been a perfect gentlemen. Sure he was over the top as always, and you could call it an act when regarding his politeness to Frederic, but he seemed to genuinely respect and admire Arianna and clearly desires genuine affection in return from her. Why would he suddenly stop behaving in a way that worked for him and start talking over her instead? 

Also why wouldn’t Arianna just tell him no to begin with if that’s what she wants? She had no trouble speaking her mind before now. But that begs the question why she wouldn’t return his feelings as well, because as stated above, she clearly showed interest in him previously. 

This is So Fucking Forced

Yeah, okay, you’re daughter has no reason to be here to begin with, disrespected your wishes, and attacked Trevor first. At this point I’d argue he has a right to retaliate. Especially since, if Rapunzel was allowed to board, you know she’d just attack him again, because she knows no other way to resolve conflicts other than to hit people very hard.  

Arianna’s actions here only make sense if she’s kept in the dark about what an awful human being her daughter really is. That’s poor writing. 

Also, having a woman just punch people while denying them actually agency and choice within the plot is not ‘girl power.’ It’s fucking misogyny!

How Does Doing the Bare Minimum, and Just Showing Basic Human Decency Count As ‘True Love’? 

What was she suppose to do? Let him drown? I mean I wouldn’t, and I despise the man. Not to mention anyone else could have done the same thing. They’re all right there. If Lance had jumped to the rescue would Trevor have proclaim them lovers too? 

Trevor Is Still the Better Man Here

Here he is rescuing Rapunzel even after she treated him like shit. 

Best. King. Period. 

This Still Doesn’t Redeem Frederic 

So through out the episode Frederic has inexpiably shown an obsession for eggs. He now collects them even though this was never an established trait before now. But whatever. He’s just been through something traumatic and looking for something to ground himself.  Far be it from me to make fun of someone else’s special interest. If you like to collet eggs than good for you. Go live your life to fullest. 

That’s more respectful than how the show handles it, as everyone dismiss his interest and it’s treated like a joke through out the episode. Only to have said obsession save the day. But this isn’t here to teach the others about respecting other people’s hobbies, oh no, it’s here to try and give Frederic a big hero moment so you’ll cheer for him. 

Except one nice thing does not erase his past actions! I don’t care what your hobby is, if you deliberately try to cause grievous harm to people you’re and asshole! And you will continue to be an asshole until you can admit what you’ve done wrong and try your best to make up for it. 

I Hope You Made Back Up Copies of The Tunnel Maps 

A bunch of people are more upset over this development than I am, because it is a historical artifact and preserving the past is important. But the only story function the book held was a map to the tunnels, and said tunnels were never utilized properly through out the entire show. 

To this day people still don’t understand that they’re meant connect the island to Old Corona or that Herz Der Sonne is the one who built them into order to invade Saporia because the show is so bad at its world building. And come season three, they’re all but irrelevant anyways. Such a wasted concept. 

Once Again the Whole ‘Memory Loss’ Subplot Is a Copout 

Ok that’s not how the spell worked previously, but that’s not what I’m taking issue with here. 

If the whole point behind the amnesia plot twist was to sweep Frederic’s awfulness under the rug, then I expect his past actions to be addressed once he’s regained his memories. They are not. 

This episodes reverses the very thing that the season was trying to achieve and just hopes the audience is too stupid/attention deficient to notice. Well guess what, we noticed and we’re far smarter than you Chris. 

Conclusion

I don’t understand the point of this episode. It shoots everything season three is trying to do in the foot. It screws up the timeline, makes Rapunzel even more of an irredeemable dickhead while preventing her from learning yet another needed lesson, undermines Arianna as a character once again, and it puts Frederic back in the crosshairs of the audience’s scrutiny. 

Oh and look, it’s written by the same guy who wrote Rapunzel’s Return. Why am I not surprised.  

Anyways another one down and only 15 more to go. You can support my continued marathon by dropping a tip in my ko-fi if you wish. I’m currently back to job hunting yet again and anything you can give is appreciated. 

https://ko-fi.com/rachelbethhines

[bigsistersyndrome]

so what if like

they figured out it was peter and not sirius. of course it wasn’t sirius. either remus just refused to believe it or sirius didn’t go batshit and try to kill peter or everyone who mattered knew that they switched the secret keeper.

how would this change the prophecy plot?

it wouldn’t. hear me out.

harry would be raised by his godfathers. harry and voldemort are tied to this prophecy because of who they are as people. harry would have grown up with wizards yes, but remus sure wouldn’t let him grow a big ego. he’d know love and safety, but he’d still be an evans. full of courage and compassion. he’d still fight voldemort because that man killed his parents. because as he grows up, voldemort is still going to come for him. because neither can live while the other survives. it’s still true.

how would it change is characterization?

sirius was a child of abuse. remus is a werewolf and faces discrimination. as independent people, they likely don’t make much money. canon tells us sirius had no intention of using his family’s money. they’d keep the black and potters fortunes safe, take only what they needed, leave the rest for harry’s future. between the two of them, they’d raise a child much like what we saw in canon. harry would learn compassion, empathy, morality, kindness, and love. he’d be proud, but humble. and since rowling basically ignored the symptoms of ptsd from abuse anyway, i think he’d be pretty much the same.

now the big one: what about lily’s protection? the whole rationalization for harry staying with the dursley’s was the blood magic. how could he be protected living with his uncles?

may i present- my own personal canon alternative:

lily is a teenager, later in the hogwarts years, when she discovers remus’s secret. she comes by it accidentally and originally misunderstands. you see, lily find remus, in human form, bloody and scratched up. she had gone to surprise him at his home over the summer and found him out on the lawn, assuming something had attacked him. his parents were nowhere to be found (maybe he goes to a shack in the woods behind their home to transform, maybe they leave during the full moon cycle to stay safe, maybe they’re dead in this version for whatever reason, or however you plausibly see the situation arising). and lily has been learning healing because of the war they find themselves growing into. and she’s incorporated muggle science into her practice and, caught off guard, doesn’t have her usual potion supplies.

so when she finds remus, bloody and dying, she tries her best to close up his wounds with spells and gives him a makeshift field blood transfusion, hoping they have compatible blood types or at least that she can get him to a proper healer in time.

when he comes to he reveals the truth of the situation to her. after that morning, his transformations are always a little less harsh as his curse has been “watered down” per say. having his friends with him did always help to keep his sanity.

and when lily sacrifices her life for her family. that protection lives on in remus just as is does in petunia.

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 11

CLICK HERE IF YOU ARE A FIRST TIME READER

TW for this chapter: more mild smut. more memes. more hijinks and shenanigans. coffee make the brain go skrrrt. bruce fluff & thor being a good bro™. some1 is catching ✨feelings✨. Previous chapters in the link above the cover pic.

Beta reader is @miscmarvelwritings so don't be shy, give her a read. She's the PB to my jelly.

"I don't know about you..." Taylor Swift softly sang from the speakers.

"Bitch, I hope the fuck you do!" I shouted, tumbling into the kitchen with the grace of a giraffe on acid. The smell of coffee and fresh omelettes was mouthwatering. 

"You look… Good," Peter stared at me, his coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth. The tone of his voice bore very little understanding of the situation he found himself in.

I didn't sleep that night, instead pursuing a scientific quest right after being finger-fucked by Tony Stark. I blame the suits - he had one partially disassembled not ten feet from the puddle my juices had made on the floor - and well, I never said I had a great attention span. One terrible, inappropriate joke had led us to smirking to each other from both sides of the suit as we brainstormed how to best modify it for impromptu bondage sessions. If Peter could have heard us go at it, he'd never set foot in Tony's lab ever again.

On my mighty quest to quench the thirst for knowledge, I completely neglected basic hygiene, so the me that rolled into the kitchen that morning still had yesterday's outfit consisting of fishnets and Tony's hoodie, possibly stained with cum and pussy juice. As a bonus feature, infamous raccoon eyes had made an appearance, courtesy of me rubbing my face multiple times throughout the night.

"I'm feeling my oats," I declared proudly, sitting down next to Peter, making grabby hands at the coffee machine.

"I'm tempted to ask..." Clint handed me the steaming hot dish full of holy bean juice. "But I think I'd rather not." Pointedly, he moved away from me, just enough to make it known he was wary.

"What just happened?" Stephen Strange blinked owlishly.

Boy was he a sight for sore eyes. The wizard wasn't Tony, of course, but his plain white tee left very little to imagination, pulled tight across his toned chest and lean arms. The grey sweats? Illegal. That's a bonk and a ticket to the horny jail for me.

"You didn't get to sleep? Again?" Peter asked, exasperated.

"Sleep who?" I chirped, feeling way too energetic for someone running on some illegal drugs and a single orgasm. It was easy to shrug off the concerned stares I kept getting from the adults and Pete since my already wacky attention span decided to quit it's job without notice.

"Guys, have you seen… oh, there she is!" Tony scrambled into the kitchen, holding his head. That manic look did nothing for his complexion, but then again, I'd take him even filthy and crippled. "Don't just disappear like that!" He snatched the half-empty coffee cup, downing it's remnants in one go and immediately going for a refill. "We didn't finish programming in the shibari function..." He mumbled, absentmindedly running a hand through his messy, greasy hair.

"I..." Peter was still frozen. "I'm not sure I, uh, follow."

"So, me and Tones had this absolutely BRILLIANT idea ..." I started, leaning back in my chair. "But the execution, as usual, needs more work."

"Yes, I can see you've been having ideas," Pete's sass was ignored by both me and Tony. The man was kind enough to clumsily plop a coffee cup in front of me as he was beelining for the fridge. "What are you trying to install? Shib-what?"

"You don't want to know, Pete, trust me," Clint made big eyes at me from across the room. "I'm scared of you," He added, pointing an accusative finger in my direction.

I gave him my best manic stare, probably overdid it by a wide margin. Barton shrunk back, slinking subtly behind Stephen who cleared his throat.

"So I've heard you had an incident yesterday," The doctor was looking at me with concern and pity. "Do you need to visit the medbay?"

About a dozen unsaid and very inappropriate responses later, I simply shook my head negative. My mouth was not to be trusted whilst I was so distracted. Plus, he was hot. I kind of tended to think with my vagina instead of my brain around hot people.

"Good morning," Wanda entered the room, stopping briefly at my side to give me a hug. "Ugh, finally," She muttered the words, looking first at me, then at Tony. 

I raised my eyebrow in a silent question and she just smiled, reaching for her own coffee cup.

Tony mercilessly towed me back to his lab once I polished off two omelettes and another cup of coffee - what would've been my fourth was snatched out by an amused Stephen, all stern and firm and magical, meaning he simply whooshed it out of existence as I was raising it to my mouth. He didn't appreciate my choice of expletives, either, none too fondly rolling his eyes and beginning a lecture on heart attacks. Whatever, Tony was my knight in shining armour and we left the kitchen quietly plotting our mechanical plots right over the annoying doctor's mumbling. 

There was quite a lot of delicate soldering involved in the gauntlets of the new suit. Having to construct and fix everything on the go proved to be harder than building a robot; even for Tony, the genius engineer himself. We had burned ourselves and nearly dislocated our wrists too many times to count. Thankfully Friday ran the calculations in the background, so we just did the manual labor part.

And coding. The pounding in my skull, the acid in my loins. My God, I hated coding during a hangover. Tony didn't fare any better and that was the best consolation, really. Despite the consumed caffeine, he passed out somewhere during the initial stage. I held out not much longer, barely catching myself as I was reclining against him on the very floor we were building on, scattered cups and tools and glowing holo-screens keeping us company. 

My sleep was deep but not deep enough to miss a pair of deep male voices contemplating how to best move mine and Tony's sleeping bodies somewhere more comfortable. The engineer was a cuddler, it turns out, and refused to unwind himself from my prone body, going as far as to kick one of the men - I later learned it was Thor who got a swift punt in the shins from Tony when the Asgardian and Banner attempted to untangle our combined limbs. In the end, they settled awkwardly piling me on top of Tony and Thor single-handedly carried us all the way to Tony's penthouse, depositing us in the absolutely magnificent fluffy, enormous bed.

The bed? I wanted one as soon as I landed on it.

The fishnets? They were beginning to cut into the soft parts of my body, causing an uncomfortable stinging and itching sensation whenever I moved.

"Bwucie," I slurred with my eyes shut, feeling the man rustling around with a blanket, tucking us in. He was just the sweetest scientist.

"Sorry, we tried not to wake you up. Go back to sleep, Princess," He whispered, leaning closer to my face. His breath tickled my hair.

"M'kay, jus' wanna get these off," I weakly pulled at the offending piece of clothing.

The man chuckled. "That looks uncomfortable," Before softly sliding his hands up my legs, hooking his fingers under the stretchy waistband and pulling them down. His hands were hot and soft; my moan was softer but he heard it nonetheless, hand briefly stilling on my thigh.

I snuggled deeper into Tony, rolling onto my side and unashamedly throwing a leg over his hips, happy to find his jeans were off, too.

It appeared that Tony's teammates had already developed some sort of care protocol for their resident mad scientists. Bruce's and Thor's actions had been executed with a practiced care and gentleness. The warm fuzzy feeling in my chest blossomed fully as Bruce once more tucked the blanket around me, tenderly patting me on the back and Tony on the shoulder.

"You'nThor, y'the best," I managed to wiggle out the words out of my muddled, uncooperative brain before returning back to the dreamland.

It felt like another ten minute nap when I woke up again. The lights in the room were off, the NYC skyline providing the illumination instead. Tony was still in bed with me, his breathing even and the quiet hum of the arc reactor steady under my ear. It was the first time I'd been close enough to him to hear the sound of it. 

Sleep slowly seeped out of my body, lead disappearing from my limbs. It seemed like I hadn't moved at all. Once my head cleared up, the confusion seeped in. I'd gone to second base with Tony and we did science and never spoke of it again. He didn't kiss me, didn't touch me more than usual - but didn't resist a good ole sleepy cuddle.

What now? I never thought I'd actually get this far. Some part of me - probably the same part that sent me on a romantic novel reading spree a couple of years ago - thought he'd wake up, confess his secret love and attraction for me and we'd seal it with a kiss. Yeah, no, that sounded disgustingly unrealistic even to my own ears. There was no way I would be kissing someone with this swamp I had going on in my mouth.

I wasn't actually that naïve. Why would a man like him pursue something serious with a girl like me? I was a child in his eyes. In fact, all of the Avengers minus Wanda and Bucky treated me like a child. I knew why and I still hated it. I've been taking care of myself in all the ways but financial for years, surely, they had to have noticed that. Teachers in school certainly did. Bruce did, to some extent, I had to admit begrudgingly. Even if his behaviour was really peculiar sometimes.

"Do I make a comfortable pillow, Princess?" A chuckle startled me out of my musings. Tony sounded relaxed and warm and cosy.

"Yeah," I answered honestly, tilting to see his face. He was giving me that lopsided smirk, the one he previously saved for science and Peter and Clint's baking ventures. Something within me stirred, painfully tightening my chest, and I fought against it to preserve this memory like this - happy, carefree.

His thumb found it's way around me, tracing the line of my jaw with surprising tenderness. He was looking at me like I was made of glass. Like I was the most beautiful sculpture he'd ever seen.

I scrunched my nose when his finger found my lips. "I need a shower and a toothbrush," I declared, not knowing what else to do. All of this - the atmosphere, the shared comfort, the looks - it felt too intimate somehow. Having to be on full display of his intelligent, deep brown eyes was terrifying: I felt like crying one moment and laughing the next.

"I was having a moment here," Tony snorted indignantly but relented nonetheless, slowly pushing himself up in a sitting position. 

I admired his broad shoulders and the dips and valleys of his arms as he stretched; he caught me staring and winked, of course. I retaliated with skimming my fingertips under the hem of his tee, lightly scratching my nails over his defined abs, delighted with his shiver. 

"Behave," He sternly mouthed, following with a smile.

"Never," I smiled back, slipping into banter with comfortable familiarity.

He then led me to the huge walk-in shower, unashamedly stripping off his shirt and socks on the way. Boxers were the last, flying somewhere over my head. My hormones were a raging inferno, or, at least that's what I would have said if someone asked me why the 'loading' icon was hanging over my head as I stared at Tony's round, firm ass. I had to touch it. I absolutely had to touch it, at least once in my life. 

My dignity was saved by my own yawn. Tony's hands used the opportunity to slide his hoodie (RIP) over my head, exposing me to the cold air. I shivered in my lacy bra and panties until they were gone, too. My flaws stared back at me from the wall-length mirror and with the way Tony's hands gently settled over my stomach, another hand copping a feel of my breast, I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Beautiful, Princess," He simply said, having noticed the frown on my face.

"No, you," I automatically replied, smirking.

"Me? Nah," He shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to his arc reactor. "Sexy, however... I'm definitely fucking hot," He leered, pressing his hips into mine with a knowing smirk.

I wiggled my butt, taking my time to turn around and face him. I saw right through the defenses he'd put up. The team didn't start calling me "girl version of Tony" without a reason - I knew we were quite similar in the less desirable character trait category. Impulsive, selfish. Defensive.

Angry red lines spanned across his chest, some faded, some raised. In the middle of it all, the arc reactor shone like a blue little sun in its metal framing. I traced around it, feeling the uneven skin, bumps and dips of it. "It keeps you alive. That's more than enough. For me," I placed a chaste kiss right in the middle of it. 

I wished he didn't have to have the thing. I wished he'd never had to go through what he went though in Afghanistan - for me, the press release I'd read was enough to get a grasp on the fact he was tortured and hurt and fucked up in there.

Stepping into the shower, I retreated from him, retreated from my feelings getting in the way and ruining the fun. The least I wanted to do was humiliate myself by crying out of... Out of what, pity? Lovesickness?

"I'm starting to see why everybody else thinks we might be related," Tony's chuckle sounded tired and slightly forced.

"I hope not," A moment to figure out what knob to turn and hot water rained down my body. Almost instantly, the tension in me melted away. "I'm not really into incest and shit."

"Ew," He walked under the stream, sighing agreeably. "But you're into bondage, so you've got that going on for you."

"Yep. Bondage and hot old dudes," I shrugged, reaching for the shampoo.

"I definitely qualify for all three," Tony promptly snatched the bottle out of my hands, standing behind me to do the tedious task of washing me. I allowed, guiltlessly enjoying the treatment. His dexterous fingers massaged my scalp, caressed my body. 

A moan slipped out of me at the glide of his hand across my nether regions.

"Tut-tut, Birdbrain is going to pitch a fit if we're late for dinner!"

"Fuck the Chicken," I announced petulantly, attempting to follow the motion of his hand with my hips. He held me firmly by my stomach, only succeeding in adding fuel to the fire within me. "Tony-y-y..."

"Nu-uh," He replied, but the smile hidden in my shoulder and the boner poking me in the hip gave him away.

"Sir?" I tried, getting a low groan in response. "Master? Owner? Daddy?" 

His breath stuttered at the last syllable, teeth closing none-too-gently around a patch of my skin. I felt a bruise bloom under his mouth, the delicious pull of it making me realize I'd be marked by Tony for days. A full-body shudder erupted from me at the thought. 

"You're trouble," He growled, grinding his own arousal into my ass. "Filthy, spoiled brat," Tony punctuated his words with another claiming bite on my shoulder blade. 

"I'm your trouble now," I smirked, relishing in all the attention my body was getting. The fingers that granted me sweet ecstasy at night a fresh memory in my mind, I relented my own urgent need in favour of repaying the man of my dreams for his troubles. 

One smirk and my knees rested comfortably on the strangely soft floor of the shower. I came face to face with Tony's hard cock. It stood proudly, the flushed tip of it dripping - with water or pre-come, I didn't know, but was eager to find out. 

"Fuck," Tony gasped, gazing down at me in astonishment as I tongued the slit of his cockhead. "You dirty little thing," He seemed to gather his wits quickly enough, bracing himself against the wall with one hand. 

He was just about to find out how dirty, I decided. There was something satisfying on a purely primal level, seeing a powerful man absolutely losing it with his dick in my mouth. Rapidly, I swallowed as much of him as I could. His girth throbbed. 

"Ruin me?" I popped off, resting my cheek against the hardness of it, tugging on his free hand to place it in my hair. My own arousal flared in response to his bewildered hunger.

Tony wasted no time in fisting a hand in my hair, carefully but firmly putting my mouth onto his cock. Inch after inch disappeared within my mouth; I was breathing through my nose as he slowly began fucking my mouth.

"Fuck, Jesus Christ, Princess, fuck," The mantra fell from his lips, echoing in the large room, mixing in with the water still pouring onto our bodies from above. The heat of it had nothing on the smouldering fire in my belly where it coiled tight and low. Tony's musk on my tongue, the firm hold on my hair. He truly held me, in body and in mind. There was nowhere else I'd rather be than on my knees for him.

I moaned around him causing a stutter in the moderate tempo. Our eyes met: his, wide and gleaming captured my own and I couldn't look away. With a wanton moan, Tony increased the pace, it quickly became brutal and punishing. I held onto his thighs for dear life, wordlessly pleading him to use my mouth for his own pleasure. 

And he took it, shamelessly, emptying himself into my mouth with a groan that nearly made me come untouched. It was beautiful and I swallowed every drop of him, refusing to let the evidence of his bliss go to waste. 

"Fuck," His voice was ragged. 

I rested my cheek against his thick thigh, catching my breath. "Good?" Just to quickly be pulled to my feet, trapped between his hot, wet body and the chilly tiles of the nearest wall. The shiver that ran through me was only partially caused by the sudden change in temperature.

"You did so good, you're my good girl," He mumbled against my lips, sliding his tongue into my mouth without any restraint. His other hand slid between my legs, immediately toying with my clit. That and the hastily spoken praise coupled with the feverish way he was licking himself out of my mouth sent me over the edge, until I was falling, stumbling head-first into an ecstatic abyss.

"Mmm... Tony," Dreamily, I savoured the moment.

"Oh, we're back to first name basis?" He snarked, finally turning off the water.

Pliant as ever, I followed him out of the shower and into his walk-in closet where he pointed at a row of t-shirts and hoodies. I grinned mischievously as I took my pick. "Daddy?"

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @softie-socks @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn

[hereyoucantseeme]

The Host, cogitations about ethics and morals.

The Host has always been my favourite book and the truth is that nobody understands why. They always say "How can it be your favourite book? You're 21 years old, study science and that book is a love novel for teenagers" (I think that is not reason enough not to be, but anyway) I have decided to explain here why, in my opinion, people underestimate this book.

When you have this book on your hands for the first time, on the back cover you can read that the book is about a love story. And that is right, but people are closed to the love of a romantic relationship for teenagers (which too) judging by the section of the bookstore from which they have taken this book and they read with that preconceived idea in their heads which, unfortunately, does not let them see the deep interior that this story has.

WARNING, SPOILERS.

I think the part of the book that we can learn the most from is (more or less) when Wanda decides to stop at Picacho Peak, since this point, it is a mere introduction. Melanie gets Wanda to reach a somewhat more objective point of view since she "forces" her to empathize with her situation. During the book cogitations are made on what good and evil implies and on what is good or bad that, although it defies logic, are not always linked.

The author exposes two realities, one is the society of souls, in which everyone is kind, empathetic and helps each other. We could say that they are doing good, right? In the same way, souls speak of an enemy, the Vultures. But would not the role of souls on earth be the same as that of Vultures on the first planets where souls settled after The Orgin? They say that their enemies were really bad with the inhabitants of these planets but they "fixed" it. On the other side are humans, who act violently against souls but, although the latter refuse to realize it, they behaved with humans like Vultures on other planets. I don't mean to say that the end justifies the means, but in this case, don't humans have the right to claim what is theirs? In this case, although violence is associated with evil, these people fight for the only thing left in the world, their lives and the lives of the people they love and that could be understood as something that is right. How do you get away from the reality that you have been taught to see and learn to be objective? It is something really difficult since each point of view supposes a different reality (yes, I think I'm more or less quoting Qui Gon Jinn), but I think that being objective means assuming the point of view that generates more benefits and less damage without take into account our personal situation. This book teaches us this very well.

Another point to discuss about the book is trust, how can we learn to trust the unknown? I don't want to say "trust an enemy" because I just don't see it that way. As Ian says, Wanda would be nothing more than a private under the misdeeds of her commander, she would not be explicitly the enemy, if not an unknown. 

This world has taught us not to trust, (I personally don't usually trust anyone, I only trust three people and two of them are my parents, and if I don't trust them turn off and let's go*) but if someone shows us that their intentions are good in all its fullness, why does it still cost us so much? Doc exposes himself to us as someone with the ability to understand and make people understand and he acts with kindness as one would expect from a doctor [I must say that he is my favorite character in the book (yes, obviously Ian goes  after him, Ian is lovely, let no one suffer) but, seriously, what were they thinking about in the casting of the movie? THAT'S NOT DOC, it should have been Jake Abel. Well, almost no character fits but we better not go there], he does not hesitate to distrust the medicines that Wanda takes to save Jamie. In this case, this lack of confidence may be due to pride, it hurts him as a doctor not to be able to heal someone he loves and that, instead, someone comes with a magic potion and heals him as if it were a miracle. But Doc deep down understands that Jamie's health is above anything else. However, what about the other characters? What about, for example, Sharon? (What was Doc doing with Sharon? Ehh, no, I mean, they don't even glue, sorry, Doc deserves someone better). Sharon, by not trusting Wanda mired in her stubbornness, was capable of letting her little cousin die. And she also left Doc, who was supposedly the love of her life, because he trusted in something that, to human eyes, was strange. It could also be about envy but I don't want to extend this too much since envy is something that we usually perceive easily without anyone having to show it. Finally I would like to highlight the case of Jared, it seems to me that it was the most difficult for him to trust and he was the one who did it with more strength and security. Maybe it was because he had nothing else left to hold on to but, if anything, he had faith in Wanda when it was more difficult for him to trust her (Jeb had a great judgment because of his age and, moreover, it was his niece's body, which did not interfere sentimentally, and Jamie played with the benefit of the innocence of children, for whom it is easier to trust and believe). He had to put his prejudices and feelings behind him to keep a cold head and act objectively and I think that's commendable.

We are also taught to forgive. Not only in the most obvious moment, when Kyle apologizes for trying to kill Wanda (Kyle, I must admit, is a character that seems somewhat comical to me, perhaps because, in a less violent way, he reminds me of close people. We all know a Kyle), I mean more hidden moments in the book. When Jamie approaches Wanda for the first time after she was released from her makeshift prison (the second time he has seen her in history), it is understood that he has forgiven her, he has forgiven her taking away her sister, the closest thing that he had to a mother. Although Wanda apologized later, by that time he had already forgiven her. Melanie, by allying with Wanda, makes it clear that she has been forgiven since her intentions were not really bad. In the same way, all the characters forgive through Wanda all the evils that souls have done to them. It is not easy to know how to forgive and even less in certain circumstances, but this book shows us that it is possible, but we must want to forgive.

Finally, The Host teaches us to love. Not the love that Wanda feels for Jared, in fact that is an example of the only meaning that today they usually give to love someone. Love implies sacrificing for another person, doing everything possible to make the other feel happy. She loves Melanie because she knows that she is a friend whom, after all they have lived together, she can trust. She loves Jamie because she knows that in the child there is only kindness and sincerity. She loves Doc because she knows he is a man of his word and that he would not harm anyone, not like many other people in this world. When Wanda saves Kyle from falling into the water, she does it, mainly because of her affection for Ian, she doesn't want him to suffer for losing his brother. I believe that to know how to love others you have to get rid of any desire for evil towards the other and learn to appreciate their virtues and defects, because each person is unique, otherwise we would be like the souls that, lacking defects, are identical and incapable of loving.

Ultimately, it seems to me that the book shows us Wanda as an allegory of the hidden virtues in each person that, perhaps out of fear, we are unable to show others. I hope you now understand why this is my favorite book. And these are things that are very difficult to find in other stories, so it seems to me that it has a very special value and that almost no one, unfortunately, is able to appreciate.

I'm sorry if there is any mistake or some quote or reference that may be wrong, I'm Spanish and I have read the book in my native language. Thank you for reading!

*Spanish expression that means there is nothing left to do

[crystal-moon-101]

I saw a couple of things of people having the idea of the Celestial Stones being living beings of some sort, so I thought I'd give it a try too, with my own headcanons and fake study on them! I also threw in the Starshard because I wanted to expand on the idea around it.

Celestial Stones: One thing is for sure, is that these stones are not from earth, nor is their magic, which is highly powerful and extremely dangerous, especially in the wrong hands. However, not much is known about these strange creatures, their homeworld or even their history. But there are many theories and studies on them. There's also the idea that there might be more than the two, whether their other Moonstones and Sundrops, or different kinds of stones, but no one has seen another, or where they come from. Some say the heavens, and some say another plant.

These creatures have a strange way of communicating, in that they don't actually speak with words. Instead, they talk through thoughts, feelings, emotions, memories and dreams. They can speak like a human, but it appears to be difficult, or they use the images of a person to speak through (As evident by Rapunzel's dream of one of them talking through a vision of Varian). They can recite their incantations, or pick up on certain words to speak with, like names. For a human, this way of communicating can feel strange or confusing to understand, often missing the message behind what a stone is saying.  

Celestial Stones appear to be somewhat shapeshifters, able to craft a body of their design around their core. They are also genderless, their voices and sounds varied, and often come across as simply alien-like.

Demanitus himself theorises that there might be a war going on where the Celestial Stones come from, as evident by the Sundrop and Moonstone crashing to earth, parted from one another and weakened when they first landed.

Sundrop: Being the more friendly one of the two stones, the Sundrop is a gentle being around humans, having been not too picky when it came to a host. However, it has been noted that it does behave a little condescending towards people, treated humans like exotic animals or children, no matter their age. Though it's never malicious about it, the Sundrop just tends to view people like that, as a result of being a powerful entity. But it is willing to help out if a human needs it, but only if it deems the situation too troublesome for an average mortal to handle.

The Sundrop has no sense of personal space, often picking up objects, animals or people, examining them with excitement, but tends to put them right back when it's done, being gentle a possible. If it grabs you, the best you can do is stay still and want until their done.

They also rarely attack, mostly using defensive tactics in a fight, unless pushed far enough. It takes a lot to get the Sundrop angry, but you better run and hide if you somehow do piss it off. It can construct and burst magical rays of blinding light, able to break down almost anything it hits, even creating a nova of energy when distressed. And, of course, it has the ability to heal and bring almost anything back to life, something many craved to have as their tool.

Moonstone: They are very much the opposite of the Sundrop in many ways. Cold, quiet, harsh, not particularly fond of humans, especially the ones that try and touch it. There have been a couple of people that peaked its interesting, but never enough to make them their host, wanting to be alone in its search for their lost light. They don't like to get involved in human problems, leaving them to deal with it on their own, as it takes a lot to convince the Moonstone to help in any way. That being said, it doesn't actively go out and attack humans, only when it is disturbed or one is in their way.

The Moonstone actually hates Cassandra, as the only reason she could become its host was because she caught it off guard. The stone was opening itself up to bond with the Sundrop again, which is also the same way they merge with a human, so Cass took in at the right moment. However, the Moonstone did not accept her, meaning they didn't fuse entirely, being the reason why it wa mostly had control over it, there were small moments where the Moonstone rebelled, like making a simple slip up back in the fight in the black rock tower, lowering its defences so it could be cracked, not wanting to harm its Sundrop.

When the Moonstone does attack, it uses its black rocks, forming them from the ground or off its body. The rocks allow it to spread its range of magic, able to perform the decay incantation through them or changing them into red rocks. Its also how it can scout and explore, able to sense through them.

Sundrop/Moonstone: It is well known that the two Celestials Stones are connected, having a desire to be united again. Their relationship is described to be very loyal and deep, some even saying it might be romantic in nature. Demanitus theorises that, if there are other stones, that the need to pair up could be part of their biology. It is unknown whether their connects are made at birth, or a bond needs to be formed to create one.

When the two were separated, the Moonstone began to search right away, being the more open one in their protective side over their lost half. The Sundrop decided to try and use a human host to take them back, as their powers had no way of making their way to the Moonstone on their own. The two were desperate to be together once more, and would combine their powers to be able to be sent back to their homeworld.

The two can fuse or separate at any time when close enough, able to form into an even stronger being when needed. When they reunited after Zhan Tiri's defeat, whatever damages they received from falling to earth were wiped away, now returning to their true forms.

Starshard: The odd one out, being the first artificial Celestial Stone ever created, by a human no less. With strands of magic from both the Sundrop and Moonstone, crafted together by science and other magics, the Starshard is rather strange, even by alien standards. To put it simply, it didn't understand what it was, only having bits and bits of traits from its doners, not knowing what it was supposed to do or who it is. This is one of the reasons why it refused to work for Demanitus and other humans for a long while.

Then it found a host in Varian, but it was still behaving strangely for a Celestial Stone. When the alchemist finally learnt of its existence in him, the Starshard began reaching out to him, seeming a lot more eager to know its host than the previous stones. That's because the Starshard has the trait of desiring a connection, a counterpart, but doesn't know what it is. So it has decided that Varian is its other half, seeing him more than a host, which is why it talks to him often, doing everything it can to support its human.

Its physical form reflects its nature, coming across as an unfinished mannequin of sorts. The Starshard mimics Varian and the people around him very often, picking up on human tendencies in an efforts to develop itself, to learn about the world it lives in. So its form is bland and unfinished, wanting to change it over time the more it sees of earth and humans. It did, however, copy Varian's hair and body shape, being the person it spends the most time around. It will also shape up clothing from time to time, often matching what everyone around it is doing. E.g. if everyone is getting ready for a fancy party, it will make and outfit to fit the occasion based on what everyone else is wearing. Unlike the Sundrop and the Moonstone, The Starshard loves humans and wants to learn all it can about them, having never been to the Celestial Stone homeworld, knowing only earth where it was born.

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 21 - Year 2: May

(ao3 link)

Palpatine would never expect his morning to start with something as pathetic as tripping over a potted plant upon entering his office. He managed not to fall, and bit back a sneer as he kicked the damned thing over. Someone had been in here… He could tell even if it wasn’t explicitly obvious. Not a single thing seemed out of place, but as he studied his desk it seemed to have been moved. Now that he mentioned it, everything in the room had been moved ever so slightly to the left, just enough to cause suspicion and clearly just enough to cause him to stumble like a newborn deer.

“Maul,” He growled, waving his wand in search of any hidden surprises, but had the madman tried to set any curses, his alarms would surely have been set off. Yes, he’d known he was close and had his suspicions that he was in the building.

A few days ago, the leeches had been let out of the potion storage. The Slytherin students hadn’t been very thrilled when several of them were found in their beds. Palpatine had dealt with it, regardless of how he’d prefer his house learn to deal with such trivial matters themselves.

The Slytherins he went to school with were much braver than the cowards of today.

Such an event he could chalk up to an accident, or a student lurking where they shouldn’t be. Yet even still, he found it unlikely that the leeches found their way into the common room on their own.

Of course he was the only one with such suspicions. The braindead ministry dogs stationed outside of the school had nary a clue to where Maul was at any given time. Maul would have to do nothing short of waltzing up to them in handcuffs before they’d realize what was right in front of them. With the sloppy way Maul was presenting himself, it was even more damning.

Even more useless were the pitiful dementors that couldn’t seem to find him even if he’d announced himself front and center. Though truthfully, Palpatine had some theories on that.

Maul had gotten soft in his time away it seemed, reduced to petty pranks and trickery like the student he’d never fully been. His former apprentice had never been particularly focused, becoming the killing machine of his namesake easily and with little prompting. Now, after many years to stew in the place where most lost their minds if not their souls, he refused to move his sights off of Skywalker.

Palpatine waved his wand again, righting his office to its proper position. He would not fall prey to such a mundane task as moving furniture, not when he had much bigger fish to fry. He walked around his desk staring a hole through the daily prophet left sitting there, Maul’s wanted poster still front and center.

If his former apprentice wanted to waste his time riling him up, he could do as he so pleased. Palpatine had worked too hard and too long to bring his plans into fruition. When he finally got his hands on him, Maul would learn to regret even the slightest action against him. 

***

“Did that exam feel…” Satine paused, still in shock as they put greater distance between themselves and the courtyard.

“Short?” Obi-Wan finished for her, clearly still reeling from the same level of unease over the whole matter. They’d all passed- even Hondo- but that hadn’t exactly been hard since despite all of the drills and practices they needed to run, the exam somehow only consisted of a simple apparition across the lawn and back. Such practices were normally not possible at Hogwarts, with the sole exception being when a class was being taught.

“Yeah,” She nodded, confusion still pouring off her in waves.

“Even I thought it was a little too easy,” Cody admitted, which felt like a true testament that Obi-Wan and Satine weren’t simply disappointed that they hadn’t been challenged, “Normally, you’d never hear me say that, but…”

“And this isn’t our typical Charms or History of Magic exam,” Obi-Wan said.

“This is something akin to a driver’s license.” Satine turned to both of them, “And I promise you that while not rocket science by any measure, the driver’s test at least tries to prove that you can do the basics.”

“Hondo fell on his bum when he landed and he still passed.” Obi-Wan added, concern knitting his brow. “Makes me a bit worried what sort of people they’re allowing to apparate.”

“That’s just it, my brothers told me about the apparition exam and they always said they made you run drills like they did in class.”

“I remember Qui-Gon saying something similar,” Satine bit her lip, “Do you think they did this because of everything going on?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan said and they continued walking, “Think about it, we were all out in the open, with a murderer on the loose. I bet they wanted to get it over with and usher us inside as fast as they could.”

“Then delay the test,” Satine shrugged, “I don’t get what the rush was to approve all of us.”

“Maybe it’s a means of escape,” Cody said darkly. “I just hope it doesn’t result in any other consequences. I don’t know if either of you have ever been splinched, but-”

“-It’s not comfortable,” Obi-Wan filled in a bit too quickly for either of his friend’s satisfaction. Particularly Satine looked concerned at how immediate his reaction had been. She’d heard of it, of course, but as a muggle-born, it never happened to her. Most of the time, according to Windu, it was clothes or hair lost to splinching, but there were instances when flesh was wounded.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat before either could comment, “I suppose the bright side is, we passed.”

Neither were so sure how bright it was.

***

Ventress has truly anticipated expulsion or at the very least, suspension, and maybe this would have been the case under Headmaster Yoda’s rule, but whether she deemed it lucky or not, she was receiving no such punishment with Palpatine.

“I hope you understand where you belong, Ventress and see that I have afforded you mercy because of your family.” Palpatine said in that smooth, light voice. His eyes spoke of a different story. Something haunted him or perhaps he was the one who'd done the haunting. He was lauded as the kindly old potions’ professor, but she knew from experience that one didn’t climb so high up the social ladder without breaking backs on one’s way.

Dooku was that way and she’d been one of the backs he’d broken. She wasn’t even a high peg on a ladder to him, just a meager foot stool. 

“Did you write them?” She asked, because it was always good to know when she’d be expecting a howler in the mail.

“Not yet,” He tsked, walking around his desk, “Though I suspect I won’t need to. Word travels fast enough.”

Yes, this cursed world did appreciate a show more than anything else. She had never expected hers to be deemed a pitiful tragedy- a failed villainous uprising. She’d hoped that when her story broke that she’d have the support and care of her sisters at either side. Instead, as always, Ventress was alone.

“What are you going to do with me, Headmaster?” She asked, looking up into his eyes. She didn’t feel remorse for her actions, per say, just that they were evidently in vain. Like any true Slytherin, she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve the means to an end. 

Part of her wanted expulsion or to be thrown away without the key. Anything, at the moment, seemed better than going back home and groveling and pretending that she was an abused victim. She wanted, with everything in her heavy bones, for this to be her narrative rather than the reality that she was nothing more than a bookend to Dooku’s and his master’s. She loathed the concept of being used, of being the victim, even if she knew her survival would depend on playing that role.

Palpatine watched her with almost serene calmness, like he could sense the way her thoughts bled. Nobody knew Palpatine’s story, because he kept that close to the chest. Ventress wondered if they ever would, even after death. 

Everyone had their secrets. 

And Ventress missed hers. 

“Well, I’m stripping you of all authority, for starters,” He said, walking around his desk to sit behind it again, “Seeing as you are still a minor, I’ve managed to convince the Ministry to not toss you into Azkaban. If and only if-”

If there was one thing Ventress hated more than pretending, it was negotiating, which was a large facet of the pureblood world. People negotiated the terms of courting rituals, business deals, even social events and how they would proceed. It was all one big set of terms and conditions. 

Even if she quite possibly still stood solely for her pure hatred for Dooku, she still couldn’t help but agree with some of those ideals. Would she abandon them in an effort to sabotage him? Yes, without hesitance. It was but another means to an end. She’d abandoned so much of what she knew already. It was only icing on the cake. 

“What?” She asked, keeping her hands cross in her lap to prevent herself from clawing at the desk between them.

“You must tell the aurors everything you know about Dooku,” He said sagely, but it was clearly rehearsed, quite possibly just before she came in, “And my dear, they will know if you’re lying.”

***

Despite the waning student population and the heightened anxieties surrounding Maul sightings in the area, they were still allowing the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff. It seemed like a desperate grasping for normalcy from the staff members still trying to keep up morale. It didn’t feel very normal, however, when all four houses fit neatly within the bounds of the Gryffindor section of the field. The professors didn’t want everyone spread out and those with friends in other houses welcomed the opportunity to chat outside of class. Satine had positioned herself between Obi-Wan and Cody, they were sitting closest to the exit. She felt almost like she was being watched and kept glancing behind her, but there was no one there. Paranoia certainly.

“I hope Hufflepuff beats Slytherin,” Cody grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, “It’s the only way to get Gryffindor back in the running.”

“I think that’s fairly unlikely,” Ben nodded towards the field, a soft glare on his face, “Ventress looks angry.”

“When doesn’t she,” Satine muttered, ignoring Ben as he turned his concerned eyes onto her.

She was willing to put the experience behind her. Though she doubted she’d ever forget what it felt like to be slowly turned to stone. The girl in question had lost her title as Quidditch captain, but had remained on the team. It seemed though, they hadn’t gotten around to choosing a new captain because Ventress still approached Breha to shake hands. So it was simply the matter of losing a title and not really a position. If in fact Headmaster Palpatine didn’t bother to enforce such things.

Then again, she always knew he favored purebloods.

“Shouldn’t even be allowed to play,” Cody crossed his arms, “She shouldn’t even be allowed to be here at all.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t haul her off to Azkaban.”

“Do you really think a child belongs on that foul island?” Because that’s what they were, children. Satine didn’t think that such a horrible punishment would be worth it for someone who likely only recently turned 17. For something so horrible to be done on her account as well? She couldn’t stand for it. She wanted Ventress to find peace and she certainly wouldn’t be able to move past being a pawn for Dooku behind bars.

“It’s starting!” Cody grinned and leaned forward. At least this time since they were stuck in the back she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping him from falling over the ledge.

***

“Hey, Professor! You coming to see the match?” Anakin asked.

Kit Fisto flashed them a bright smile, which came easily for him even with the rumors that it would be cancelled due to Maul’s lingering presence. Anakin found that he was having a more difficult time offering legitimate smiles these days. Never did he ever consider that Maul was capable of drawing so close to the school. 

“Just making sure there aren’t any stragglers, Anakin.” He said, “We’ve all got to stick together, after all.”

“Yeah, okay, but make sure you come watch! Gryffindor might not win the cup this year, but it would be pretty cool to see Ventress get beat by Hufflepuff. 

“There’s got to be some punishment for what she did to us,” Rex growled with a clenched fist.

“And what’s better than getting demolished by the worst team in Quidditch?” Anakin said cheerily, although Rex didn’t seem so sure that was appropriate. Neither did the few Hufflepuffs that shot him dirty looks as they passed.

In spite of this, Kit Fisto laughed, his long green tentacles wiggling as he did, “Yes, well, I’m sure Headmaster Palpatine won’t let her off completely scot free.”

“I think he just let her play because she’s a good player,” Anakin grumbled.

“Now, now, there’s a lot more that goes on behind the scenes than either you or I are privy to,” Fisto said placatingly, “We’re all doing what we can to keep you guys safe.”

“I know.” Both Anakin and Rex said in unison.

“Even if I do feel like this might be testing fate a bit,” He gestured to the large crowd of people, “I suppose it is nice to see everyone so happy for a change.”

It was, but even Anakin, who had made some bold and sometimes foolish decisions in the name of fun, thought it was a little soon. He’d heard rumors that Palpatine was being pushed by the Ministry to hold the Quidditch matches anyway. Apparently, there was a decent gambling pool that relied on which team would come out on top. 

“It would make me happier if Slytherin loses.” Rex said.

He leaned down to their level and winked, “Between you and me? Same.”

“We’ll see you in there?” Anakin laughed.

“I’m right behind you,” Fisto nodded.

***

Breha was never one to underestimate her opponents. Slytherin team may have been without a captain, but she still knew they would be looking to Ventress for plays. They’d been working with her all year after all. It was, however, still something they could take advantage of. A few of the Slytherin players would certainly be willing to try and usurp the queen in order to gain the position next year and that would make their play style much more chaotic than it would otherwise be.

That was excellent for a team like Hufflepuff, who thrived in their teamwork. None of them had the same level of ambition as many of the Slytherin’s she knew. Ambition wasn’t always a bad thing, Breha would be hard pressed to say she didn’t possess some level of it herself, but in a situation like this, she knew her team would flow like a stream whereas their opposition would butt heads like a rockslide.

She knocked away the Quaffle from the golden hoops as she kept a careful eye on the bludgers that were being knocked her way. Her chasers were quick to grab it out from the competitive hands of two Slytherin chasers. Hufflepuff was steadily racking up points and although they were nowhere near to beating them without the snitch, it certainly was quite an embarrassment for the house of green and silver. Normally Hufflepuff would be hard pressed to get the ball through a ring at all.

“Get it together, you useless swine,” Ventress hollered at her team as she skirted dangerously close to their heads. If she likely wasn’t in the mood to get into more trouble, Breha wondered if she might hit them with her bat.

“Good job!” Breha cheered with a smile as her own team scored a point. The cheers erupting from the audience were quieter than they usually were, but loud enough to hear over the wind. Breha frowned, taking her eyes off the game for only a moment to search her surroundings. She almost thought she’d heard a scream.

She turned, around and narrowly managed to catch the Quaffle with her hands rather than her face before tossing it down field. The audience cheered again, but something didn’t feel right. Breha’s hands twitched on the handle of her broom. She could call a timeout, but she would hate to waste something over a feeling.

She glanced around again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

She raised her hands to make the call when a loud whistle jolted the game to a halt. Breha dodged a bludger as they both went sailing for their holding crate. Professor Tiin was holding up his hands in a desperate T. She descended quickly on her broom and the rest of the students in the sky followed.

“What’s going on?”

***

“They’ve stopped,” Satine was surprised. She’d watched a lot of Quidditch despite her distaste for it and she certainly hadn’t seen anything like this happen before, “A time out?”

“Somethings up,” Cody was the one to respond. He was watching the field with interest, but there was a layer of worry that he normally didn’t have when watching even the most dangerous of crashes, “Ref called for their grounding; there wasn’t anything wrong with the game.”

“No penalties,” Ben nodded. He too looked concerned, eyes flicking around the stadium. Satine found herself looking behind her again. She no longer felt eyes on her, but she certainly felt like the hairs on the back of her neck were beginning to raise. Before either of them could comment further though, Headmaster Palpatine’s voice, amplified, filled the stadium. His tone was less than pleased.

“Students and Faculty,” He started solemnly, “We must immediately return to the castle.”

Chatter filled the stands at once, not just the children either, but Satine caught Professor Plo turning to whisper to Professor Windu. Neither of them looked like they knew anything.

“What about the game?” A fourth year Gryffindor yelled, “It’s against the rules to stop!”

“What’s going on?” A Ravenclaw third year added from a few seats in front of her. Satine felt like her limbs were full of lead as she reached out to clutch the sleeve of Ben’s robe. She had a bad feeling.

“The game is not important,” There was a soft sigh that was barely audible past a few outcries from the student body, “It brings me a terrible sadness to inform you of the passing of Professor Kit Fisto-”

Cries of outrage and of sadness expelled themselves from the student body. The Professors, while schooled better on their emotions, looked just as surprised as they stood, immediately gathering students and shuffling them towards the exits. On the field, Professor Tiin was doing the same with the Quidditch teams.

“It has to be Maul,” Ben hissed at them, “He’s getting bolder.”

Neither she nor Cody could make much of a response though, being swept amongst other panicked students out of the stands and onto the sprawling grounds. Satine only realized she still had a grip on Ben’s sleeve when he tripped and fell, and she narrowly avoided the same fate by letting go.

“Ben-” She started reaching out a hand for him when she noticed he’d tripped over a first year who looked rather shell shocked, wide horrified eyes filling up with tears. He must have fallen first and narrowly avoided being trampled on.

“Oh, hey there, it’s alright,” Ben had noticed too, taking the time to help the boy up off the ground, despite the shouts of professors for them to get back in line, “Come on, we just have to get into the castle, alright? We’ll be safe there.” Satine felt like she was intruding, but refused to leave them there alone. Luckily, the boy took Ben’s hand quickly and the three of them shuffled back into the crowd quickly.

As soon as the last student was through the doors to the castle they slammed shut, latching forcefully behind them. The doors to the Great Hall did similarly.

“Bloody hell, I thought you two had disappeared,” Cody ran up to them, looking relieved. His own brothers fell at ease the second he turned away from them, clearly he’d rounded them up first thing.

“Is Anakin-?” Ben whipped his head around to look and Cody pointed towards where Anakin and Rex were looking pale and shaken, but alive.

All were accounted for it seemed, all but Professor Kit Fisto, who had died at the hands of a mad man while guarding the far side of the pitch, alone.

***

A funeral for Kit Fisto had been held off grounds- somewhere in the middle of the ocean for all of his aquatic friends and family members to properly mourn him in accordance with their traditions. His ashes were sprinkled over the Mariana Trench, where he’d done some of his biggest work. 

His absence left the school caught in a limbo of uncertainty. Professors were in a mode of practicality only and it was hardly blameable. Maul had not only gotten within their barrier, but had committed a gruesome act of violence that some students had the horrors of bearing witness to the aftermath of. 

Kit Fisto had been treated not like a person, but a sign to be waved on a stick, to show just what Maul intended to do to each of them if they didn’t give him Anakin Skywalker. Classes were taught within the confines of the common rooms to keep students from traveling elsewhere. With the blocked off tunnels, it seemed like the only safe space to keep Maul out. 

No longer were even prefects allowed to walk the halls. Patrols were cancelled, and professors and aurors walked every space and brought food to students as well as taught their classes. It was a mess, really, and students were definitely affected by the change. Less and less faces were present, many removed from the castle altogether at the insistence of their parents. 

However, those who remained were downcast and gray just like the sky outside their windows. A greedy part of Obi-Wan was thankful that his friends were still here, even if the current circumstances didn’t allow him to see Cody or Anakin. He was surprised Satine’s mother didn’t bring her home, though he had his suspicions of the extent at which she knew. It was hard to tell with the muggle families. They didn’t get the same news as wizards did, but it seemed awfully callous for there to be no warning from the school. 

Then again, professors were quite busy working alongside the aurors to track Maul down. Part of him wondered where he could possibly be hiding, but really, there were endless corridors at Hogwarts that he’d never known of- not until the existence of the map, anyway. Even then, the fabled Room of Requirement was still out there untouched. Pure intentions were supposed to unlock it and he had severe doubts that Maul’s qualified.

This castle that they’d once been free to roam had shrunk significantly for all of them. He couldn’t even imagine being in Slytherin house and segmented only to the lightless space near the dungeons.

The news of Kit Fisto’s tragic demise took a while to reach outside outlets, for it wasn’t until an entire week later, shortly after his reported funeral, that they’d received a very dramatic and incoherent Floo call from Aayla. Even in the charcoal embers taking form into her face, he could tell she was blubbering like a baby. 

“HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?” She wailed and the other students in the common room, who were a bit piled on top of one another, turned their bodies to try and allow privacy to the fireplace. It wasn’t like Aayla seemed to mind much.

“Er, I know this must be difficult for you,” Obi-Wan tried awkwardly as he searched his eyes through the room. Where was Satine when he needed her? There weren’t too many places to go, after all.

“DIFFICULT? TRY IRREVOCABLY HEARTBROKEN TO THE LARGEST DEGREE? HE WAS SO YOUNG SO KIND SO BEAUTIFUL.” She shook with tears, “Too good for this world, honestly. I don’t… I don’t know how I’ll go on.”

Obi-Wan didn’t think himself a callous person, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to navigate this conversation without further setting her off, “He will be dearly missed as he was a favorite teacher for most.”

“He’s more than that!” She bellowed, but it wasn’t intimidating due to the hiccups she’d recently caught, “He was the kindest soul placed on this earth like an orb of light- and I but a moth drawn to him…”

“Yes, of course!” Obi-Wan panicked, “I didn’t mean to reduce your care for him, I only meant-”

“Aayla?” Satine was suddenly knelt beside him, looking over his shoulder and into the fire. 

“Yes, Satine, Aayla heard the unfortunate news regarding Professor Fisto-”

“DON’T SAY HIS NAME IT’S TOO SOON!” She sobbed.

Satine flashed him a scathing look and he shrugged helplessly. Aayla did have a point about there being many extremely crestfallen students over the professor’s death. Beyond simply grieving a good professor and person too. Many of the remaining members of Fisto’s fan club were inconsolably upset, like they’d just lost the love of their young lives.  It seemed he’d made a big impression in his short time as a professor, even if not necessarily the way he’d intended to. 

Even on that scale, he’d be missed. Although reserved by bureaucratic restrictions, Fisto tried to teach them to fight, to protect themselves. In many ways, Obi-Wan preferred him as a professor to Dooku (even removing the sinister Sith stuff), because of how approachable and charismatic he’d been. Obi-Wan was in a bit of disbelief even still that he was gone.

“Did you see him?” She sniffled.

Satine tensed, but shook her head, “No, and I don’t envy those who did.”

“No, I suppose not.” Aayla said, “You know what my last words were to him?”

“What’s that?” Obi-Wan asked.

She breathed deeply to stabilize herself, “That I’d perfect resistance to the Imperius curse while at home. What kind of goodbye is that?”

“Well, you couldn’t have possibly known, Aayla.” Satine said soothingly and Obi-Wan wondered how she maintained the careful line of logic and empathetic. It would be beautiful to bear witness to under different circumstances that weren’t this depressing.

“Maybe not, but I haven’t even been able to do him justice by practicing my resistance!”

“Everyone’s having a hard time studying in this climate,” Satine said and looked around, “We’re all on top of one another in here.”

“Plus, rumor has it, someone’s fixed up a shrine for Professor Fisto in the girl’s bathroom,” Obi-Wan said.

“I should be there to pay tribute,” She said. “If it weren’t for my parents, I would be.”

“It’s better that you’re not,” Satine assured, “You can properly mourn him when you come back, when everything is safe again.”

If it was safe again. She hadn’t said it that way, but he could tell by her demeanor that she was thinking of it. It had only been a week since they were confined to their common room, but it was starting to feel very much like they were trapped. His only means of asking how Anakin was aside from the fireplace was through Qui-Gon and his daily visits. 

“I’LL NEVER LOVE AGAIN!” She cried. 

“Erm,” he bit his lip, “There there, he wouldn’t want you to be-”

“-He would never know what I want, because I, like many others, kept my feelings locked within my heart instead of on display. It’s the stupid logical side of me.”

“Well, he was your professor.” This was not the correct thing to say. “You couldn’t possibly pursue a relationship-”

“-Ben, why don’t you referee the first and second year’s game of gobstones, since you like it so,” The edge to her voice queued him into realizing that thankfully, it was not a suggestion.

“You still play that?” Aayla wrinkled her nose, briefly distracted from her woe, “That’s for children!”

“It’s a very tactical game, thank you!” Obi-Wan huffed.

“Kit liked darts.” Aayla remembered that she was supposed to be heartbroken.

Obi-Wan took his opportunity to exit before it was lost on him, feeling a bit guilty for leaving Satine with that mess to clean. As it were, sticking around was only making it worse. He just hoped that the other houses were faring better than they were locked up.

***

If it weren’t for the blanket of loss that stained everything, Anakin probably would have called their mandatory lockdown some sort of break from school. The concept of a “staycation” was lost on Rex and his brothers, but it was even less pleasant given the circumstances. The first day hadn’t been bad, since they all basically hung out and tried to distract themselves with snacks and jokes. Seven days in, however, it was getting tedious and it was even worse by the professors attempting to teach the entire common room at once, which meant that half of it was far too confusing and ahead of the game for even Anakin to grasp.

Plus, he didn’t have Obi-Wan to edit his stuff, which made a big difference. Qui-Gon did offer to deliver any parcels or letters back and forth, but that felt silly when he could always theoretically use the fireplace. Acknowledging that they might be in here for a while was starting to get to him.

“I’d give anything for a game of Quidditch,” Cody sighed as he flipped through a magazine on the very subject, wistfully running a hand on the glossy pictures that depicted summer fun in the most recent digest. 

“Quidditch? I’d give anything to do a lap running around the castle,” Rex added with a stretch of his leg, “I’m going stir crazy.”

“Need I remind you all that you lot rejected our suggestion for indoor Aingingein.” Fives piped up from his spot on the floor beside his twin.

“Yeah, and I’ll never be desperate enough to try that inside!” Cody said, “We haven’t even got any barrels to light on fire anyway.”

“We could improvise!” Echo complained. “It doesn’t have to be on fire.”

“With you lot, it’s always on fire.” He said pointedly, “Even if it’s not supposed to be.”

“I have always excelled with pyrotechnic spells,” Echo said smugly, “Definitely a strong suit of mine.”

“Of ours, thank you,” Fives corrected.

“Never thought I’d hear the day where you’re the voice of reason,” Anakin said to Cody, who turned his head lazily with a crooked smile.

“Process of elimination, kid.” He said, though Anakin viewed Cody as more responsible than he gave himself credit for. 

He felt guilty for allowing himself to feel monotony. Someone had died, after all, and the only reason they were all stuck here was because Maul wanted to eliminate the Chosen One- a title he couldn’t believe he’d once been proud of. They were all lucky to be safe within their common room and that Maul hadn’t incited anymore violence the day he got Fisto. Even that small consolation felt immediately hollow as Anakin thought of it. 

It didn’t stop the darkest crevices of his mind from generating possibilities of Maul picking off each standing professor and auror, leaving them trapped and with no real way of knowing what was happening. It was horrifying. Judging by The Daily Prophet, reports weren’t being as authentic as they could be about the sheer amount of danger they were in. 

“What’s the first thing you’re doing when we get out of here?” Rex asked him.

“Oh,” Anakin hadn’t really thought of it, “Probably never complain about having to wake up early for class ever again.”

“I hear that.” Fives said, “Getting up and moving to a different room sounds like a dream. Anything has to be better than sitting here wasting time.”

Anakin glanced over towards the other end of the room, where Padmé was perched near the window, allowing the natural light of the sun to provide an angelic glow on her face as she read the book in her lap. Even though they didn’t have to, she still dressed in Gryffindor robes and had her hair pulled back in two buns that were fanned out at the base of her neck and shimmering with a silver glitter.

In the pocket of his robes was the necklace he’d decorated for her. There were so many moments where he wanted to give it to her, to tell her that he painted it with his hands and that he knew life was short and that meant seizing it while you had it, not isolating him. 

He considered standing and approaching her, sitting opposite and inquiring about what she was reading, telling her she looked lovely, and making this anything but wasted time for him. 

The thought washed away faster than it appeared and an announcement chimed through the entire room, silencing everyone from the idle chatter that kept them sane thus far.

Anakin didn’t need to hear it before to know who it belonged to. 

“Professors and students of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry,” Maul addressed them all like a king addressing his loyal subjects, “Despite how the Daily Prophet might paint me, I am capable of being reasonable. You see I am not as young as I used to be, so I see no issue in leaving the castle and its occupants unscathed. There is but one thing that I desire.”

Anakin’s heart was pounding in his chest and he felt Rex’s hand on his shoulder immediately. It should have been stabilizing and comforting, but all it really did was serve as a reminder as to why Maul was even here. 

“Give me your precious Chosen One, and I will see to it that there is no more bloodshed,” Maul continued, “For it was not long ago that I was in your midst and though I was treated like a feral animal not worthy of teaching, I do have some sentimental nostalgia to this place. After all, every hero requires an origin story.”

“We do not bargain with murderers, Maul.” This time, Anakin truly did know the voice to be Mace Windu’s firm tone.

“A pity, Professor Windu, a pity indeed,” Maul remained completely calm and neutral, which Anakin hadn’t expected. They all watched the ceiling as though they waited with bated breath for him to sink through it. “Because until you submit to my conditions, I will cut through every single person in this school until I get what I want.”

“You will not succeed, Maul.” Palpatine, this time, echoed through the room, even if not physically present. 

A long pause, and then, “I’ll be the judge of that, Headmaster.”

And then, a laugh so sinister and cold that Anakin swore his blood was frozen solid. Everyone was watching him as the voices faded and they were only left to the crackling of the fire. He stared straight ahead, burning with an anger and fear so bright that he felt he might physically glow.

“We aren’t going to let him get you, mate.” Rex insisted severely, “You hear me?”

He didn’t doubt that they would do everything in their power to save him, but Anakin already had the guilt of his mother’s disappearance weighing on his conscience. He wasn’t sure he could bear another.

At the thought of his mother, he practically saw stars. This monster had been the reason his family, his home, his protector was gone. He took her and did who knows what with her. And while he knew from deep within him, from the small little voice that told him so in his most horrible dreams, he wasn’t ready for such a threat. 

But he also wasn’t ready to lose his mother and he certainly wasn’t ready to allow his friends to take any heroic falls for him. Maul was here for a reason and perhaps, that’s what he needed, to have it handed straight over to him.

“Anakin.” Rex said again and shook his shoulder, “I don’t like that look you’ve got on your face.”

He stared at his friend, memorizing the kindness on his face. He didn’t deserve him. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“It’s not your fault!” He insisted, scoffing at the idea of it. “He’s a lunatic! He’s gone and murdered a professor because of a stupid poem that was written centuries ago! So what if you’re the Chosen One according to that! Isn’t Qui-Gon always saying the future is always changing?”

He was, but right now was the present, which Anakin could only control his own actions in.

“I am sorry for that… And for this,” He nodded, but then blasted his friend backwards with a swift stupefy spell, and raced out of the room before anyone could grab him. One of the Fett’s nearly succeeded and ripped a piece of his robe, but the door slammed behind him before he could be fully pulled back.

He was going to face Maul.

***

Satine, like every other student in the school, was horrified at the conversation they’d all heard booming in their ears. It felt like an immense invasion of privacy and had intended to have that effect, considering the initial source. They were lucky enough to have Qui-Gon present when it occurred for class, but any comfort that his presence might have offered was swept away when he immediately made for the exit with his wand ready.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan was paler than she’d ever seen him and watching his mentor with a fear they never should have known, “Don’t.”

“I will do what I must, Obi-Wan,” He nodded, “As will you, I’m sure.”

There was a passing secret language between them of which Satine did not understand and was not intended to. Whatever it meant, it caused Obi-Wan to look ready to snap in two right before her eyes. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, not knowing what to say at all under such circumstances. They were under siege by one man, who couldn’t be stopped by aurors or Dementors or even their notable DADA professor. She felt her heart plunge into the pit of her stomach as the severity of this dawned on all of them. For a moment, it felt like there was no one else in the room but the three of them.

“Yes, Professor.” He said instead of what he’d meant to and just like that, Qui-Gon Jinn was gone and the door behind him locked.

Obi-Wan stared at where he’d left for a long moment, fists balled and whether it was the angle of the sun or otherwise, his eyes looked glassy. His lip didn’t tremble and his breathing didn’t change. Instead, he looked rigid beyond repair.

“I’m sure he’s just going to Gryffindor’s common room to check on Anakin.” Satine said as she cautiously approached him to rest a hand on his shoulder blade. He didn’t flinch or jump at her touch, but it did feel like he had transported off to another plane of existence. 

“That’s exactly what he’s doing.” He said heavily and finally turned to meet her eyes, “Maul went to this school. Surely, he knows it well enough to know where the Gryffindors sleep.”

That had also occurred to her, but right now, standing in front of him, where they were both so desperately trying to grasp onto some semblance of hope, she didn’t want to voice it. She feared their time for seeking solace was well passed. 

“Maul doesn’t know the codes to get in.” She said firmly, “He won’t be able to get in and get Anakin. The Fat Lady wouldn’t allow for it.

He did nod at that, “Yes, it was a security measure from-”

“-The war, I presume.” She raised an eyebrow, “As everything is?”

“Actually from the amount of teen pregnancies occurring from inter-house relations.” He said frankly and it nearly made her laugh if it didn’t sound like such a believably ludicrous solution only thought of by wizards. 

Any light quip she was thinking of making disappeared into nothing as the fireplace burst into a hasty shout of, “Kenobi? Are you there? Satine? Anyone?”

They rushed to the fire again, recognizing their best friend’s voice in mind-numbing alarm. Any younger students dove out of the way immediately on instinct to avoid being knocked into the flames.

“Cody, I-” Obi-Wan hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise before he was promptly cut off by Cody’s furious shout, which was no doubt trying to compete with the noisy background surrounding him.

“ANAKIN’S ESCAPED!”

“What?” It was Obi-Wan who interrupted this time. “What do you mean he escaped?”

“He’s going for Maul!” Rex cried, shoving his brother out of the way, “I tried to stop him, but-”

Anything else Rex said faded to the background, though she suspected it was mostly nonsense judging by how upset he clearly was.

No, that couldn’t be. Her heart was thundering in her ears at the implication. Anakin was giving himself up for slaughter, but she knew in her heart that despite his claims, Maul would not stop there. Violence only begets more violence, especially when from the hand of a bloodthirsty animal.

“Stay put,” Obi-Wan’s voice was almost unrecognizable. It was deeper, commanding, and completely unlike the gentle witticism she’d grown used to (and fond of) over the years. Had she not watched him speak, she might not have believed it at all. 

“Kenobi, don’t you even think-” Cody shoved back in.

Obi-Wan didn’t allow him to finish the sentiment, ending the connection and shoving himself off the ground with nearly as much speed as he’d gotten to it, aggressively shoving through a surrounding crowd, knocking Fenn Rau onto his arse when he tried to block him from the exit with tremendous ease. Satine followed through the space he’d left in his wake, desperately trying to reach him with a pounding dread that washed her into a blinding panic.

She caught his hand just before he could leave, in a vice grip that under different circumstances she would not use, but it drew his attention back to her, his eyes blazing with purpose and certainty. 

“Let go of me.” He said with strange calm.

“No.” She said, “I won’t let you do this.”

“That’s not up to you!”

“Like hell it isn’t!” She argued, “I won’t have you knocking on death’s door yet again out of some infuriating sense of nobility.”

“Satine,” His eyes softened as he focused on her and looked a little more like the boy who effortlessly stole her breath away, “It’s Anakin.”

She knew that. Her stomach curled and coiled at the vile revelation and what it meant for Obi-Wan, who despite not being the main character of this prophetic narrative, was a true hero despite his own self-doubts. And really, she wouldn’t care for him the way she did if he weren’t the type to run into the fire against his better logic for a boy who had always been chosen to him- prophecy be damned. 

There was no one else in the room as she contemplated just how dire this moment was and how pitiful it was.

“Please be careful.” She found herself saying in a voice only he could hear.

“I always try to be.” It wasn’t a promise and she noticed that. He would never make a promise he couldn’t keep. Not to her.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity and her mind raced with a flush of memories and regrets- that in this moment the cold reality was drenching them with how little time they likely had left. It seemed he was processing a similar line of thinking, because his eyes scanned her face as though memorizing every detail. Thousands of unsaid words passed between them, though even then she yearned to hear the real thing. 

It was now or never, it seemed.

“At Christmas, I-” His breath hitched, “I- Well, I’ve never…”

He seemed quite infuriated with himself. A crash in the distance caused them both to break their spell and Obi-Wan turned back to her, regret swimming in his eyes as well as a fondness that could no longer be debated. 

They didn’t have time.

“I’m sorry,” He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a single firm kiss to her knuckles, “Another time, I hope.”

And she watched him go, memorizing with painstaking clarity the feeling of his hand slipping from hers and out of reach as his perfect silhouette danced down the stairs hurriedly, never looking back. Perhaps, because doing so would make him run back to her. That’s what she told herself again. 

Her hand burned as she clutched it tightly. She had a duty to uphold too. 

***

Anakin ran, assuming logically that the grand staircases would be where Maul awaited. He seemed to be somewhat interested in being dramatic and Anakin could think of no better place to stage an assault. He’d expected to hear someone following behind him, a professor trying to catch him before he did something so stupid or a friend come to his aid, but neither seemed as crazy as he was to face a threat so great.

The closer to the staircase he grew, the more aurors were laid about, Anakin felt his steps falter as he purposely turned his eyes away. They were fine, they had to be, they were just… taking a nap.

Although even his own heart didn’t take the gentle suggestion at face value.

He saw green light reflecting off the wall up ahead. It gave off an eerie strobe effect that made Anakin hesitate. His wand was still gripped in his hand and he did know a fair few spells he was quite good at, but what did he know about going against someone so powerful? Countless aurors were lying about, clearly not able to take him themselves and it certainly didn’t seem like Maul was in the mood to play with his victims.

The thoughts of his own home kept his feet moving forward. His mother’s bedroom, covered with feathers and his mother, missing, possibly worse and it had to be at the hands of Maul. Who else would be trying to draw him out, but the man who was very clear at wanting him dead this entire year? He repeated over and over and over again the stunning spell in his head as he stepped out into the open area of the staircases.

An auror had just caught the end of a green beam and was falling down. Maul looked almost bored as he watched and didn’t flinch as Anakin did as they hit the ground with a thud. Maul had put forth no effort in his spree, but the thought didn’t deter Anakin from hurtling his own spell while he had the element of surprise.

“Stupify,” He tried to be quiet about it, but his spell still missed the man by a few centimeters. Maul had noticed him much sooner, by the way he just stood there, watching him like a predator would its prey.

“So you have the dignity to fight your own battles,” He flicked his wand and Anakin dodged, jumping onto a staircase as it pivoted past him. Maul stepped casually onto his own and they both spun around each other before their stairs clicked into place. Anakin held his ground, aiming to stay as far away as he could from the man. There were things he wanted answered and he surely didn’t come here to lay down and die.

“I want to know what you did to my mum!” Anakin yelled before sending out another stunning spell and missing narrowly. Maul was still unperturbed by this and stepped onto another staircase.

“What would I care about your mother?” Maul asked with a sneer.

Anakin’s heart leapt, he must be lying, “Y-you took her! I know you did!” He shouted, his wand still clutched tightly in his hand. He sent off a quick chain-cast, aiming to disarm Maul, at least then there wasn’t much damage he could do. Maul reflected it like it was a particularly pesky fly and Anakin’s spell slammed into the wall, showering debris all around them.

“I didn’t take your mother, boy,” Maul sent a spell knocking Anakin’s wand out of his hand and causing it to tumble down the steps. He shrunk back as Maul took each step down to him incredibly slowly, “But once you’ve been erased from this earth,” He grinned, sharp teeth grinding together in a hideous display, “I’ll send her to find you.”

Maul’s wand was moving and in a last-ditch attempt at living, Anakin rushed forward, jumping at Maul and trying to rip his wand out of his hand. Maul growled, a low dangerous sound before shoving Anakin off. Anakin stumbled, but managed not to fall just in time for Maul’s foot to come crashing into his chest, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

He landed hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs, but in the dust kicked up he managed to locate his wand before Maul could aim again and he sent out another desperate spell.

His heart sank as Maul simply stepped aside to dodge such a thing. This wasn’t how he wanted his life to end. He’d thought he’d be avenging his mother, locating her, being a hero. He was the Chosen One, he thought he could live through anything.

Maul raised his wand.

Anakin thought of his friends who he’d come to love like family. He thought of magic and all he had yet to learn. He thought of his mother, out there somewhere waiting for him.

***

There were bodies upon bodies lining the walls, all aurors, and all dead by Maul, presumably. Obi-Wan didn’t look as he went, not needing the horrifying distraction at the moment. These men and women gave themselves over to protect them and were treated like dominos to be knocked over in a chain reaction, all leading to-

-He came to an abrupt halt from his sprint, brain whirring as it tried to catch up to what his eyes saw to the left on the grand staircase. It was a body, and not just any body, but Anakin, small and limp at the bottom, completely unmoving. And just three flights up, completely shrouded in black save for his fiery face, was Maul.

“Stay away from him!” Obi-Wan shouted, drawing his attention immediately. Time only continued when he noticed Anakin’s chest moving up and down where he lay. All hope was not lost yet.

That was not to say that they were anywhere near out of the woods. The dementors had entered the space, but even this offered Obi-Wan no false hope. In fact, by the way they hovered beside him with a slight green glow surrounding their usual complete blackness, it was like they obeyed Maul somehow, serving the very opposite purpose than what was programmed of them. 

Maul’s wand was sleek and smooth and undoubtedly did not belong to him originally. Obi-Wan knew enough about the clearances distributed by the Ministry that it belonged to an officer of some kind. He didn’t want to picture what happened to its original owner. Obi-Wan always struggled with conjuring patronuses, but if there was ever a time to learn, there was nothing like the present. He had to force his hand not to shake as he outstretched it, hoping he didn’t look as young as he felt.

He tried to channel happiness and positivity in a moment like this, in order to create the bright light needed to banish these dementors away, but every time a spark felt as though it might kindle, the gravity of their situation snuffed it out.  

Maul said nothing, just as he hadn’t in Hogsmeade, but he did bear a full mouthful of yellow-stained teeth that matched the glowing eyes that appeared hollowed out in his skull. There was only hate and suffering behind those eyes, never a day of love or care. If Anakin’s life weren’t on the line, Obi-Wan might have felt sorry for him.

He knew the moment he made a move for the boy, Maul would only charge, but they couldn’t remain in this uneven standoff forever. Literally, they could not, because the stairs would not hold still for anyone, not even for the theatrics of a bloody lunatic. So, while it felt like a longshot, it also seemed like his only shot.

Obi-Wan took the leap, dashing to the end of the stairs, tumbling and grabbing Anakin on the way, just as the stairs moved and swiftly knocked them at an alarming velocity towards another shifting staircase. As predicted, when he moved, Maul moved, but not fast enough and stumbled as the stairs shifted, toppling over a railing in the process. 

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin sat up and rubbed his head. 

He quickly inspected the boy, satisfied that there was no blood, but there would definitely be a large bump on his head from whatever fall he’d taken. They didn’t have time to dilly dally. They had to go. He grabbed Anakin by the hand and pulled him the rest of the way down the stairs to the ground level, flickering his eyes up to notice the dementors closing in on them like nightfall. 

For a brief moment, as the dementor positioned itself ready, Obi-Wan saw the future of Hogwarts as it was to be should Maul truly claim the school. He saw destruction, fire, betrayal, hate. He saw so much hate in the form of enraged yellow eyes. He couldn’t seem to feel his hands or his feet as the tunnel of darkness closed in on him. There was no life, there was no hope, there was no purpose. 

All he wanted was for it to be over… Just put him out of his misery. 

Why hadn’t Maul claimed them yet?

He saw his friends suffering at his failure. He saw the school itself burning to the ground. Cody was on the ground of the castle, a fiery hole in his chest that hadn’t cooled, unmoving and unblinking. Satine was surely next as she sobbed alongside him. Everything was painted in gray. 

In the reflection of the green aura that tainted the dementors’ ragged cloaks, he met Anakin’s equally disillusioned gaze. That spark that refused to ignite earlier dragged like flint on steel and rubbed rapidly, starting to warm him up and remind him not of the bright spots of life, but of what he’d come here to do.

Positioning himself in front of Anakin, Obi-Wan yelled, “Expecto Patronum!” 

Only an azure burst of light did not come from the tip of his wand, but somewhere above the dementors, taking the form of a beautiful blue and florid owl before circling and encompassing the dark phantoms with a blinding light. In the process, it knocked Maul backwards up a staircase and bolting forwards towards the person responsible. 

He knew that patronus. 

“Qui-Gon!” Anakin pointed up even further, where Obi-Wan’s mentor had thoroughly derailed Maul’s plans of following them by engaging in a violent trade of green and red bouts of magic back and forth, dancing along the stairs rhythmically, away from them, as though they were partners in an arranged production. Glass windows shattered and more dementors joined the game, never once standing a chance for Qui-Gon Jinn, though Maul proved himself quite the martial artist. 

“We’ve got to help him!” Anakin began to move, which stalled Obi-Wan from his shocked reverie and he grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“No, you’ve got to get to safety!” Obi-Wan said and held him close to his face, “You are in no shape to be fighting a Sith lord.”

“Neither is he!” Anakin pointed out the obvious, which was that Maul’s aggressively acrobatic fighting style was only going to wear Qui-Gon out should they continue to edge towards a dead end. Qui-Gon would have very little room to maneuver and parry should they corner themselves in a tower or a narrow walkway. “And neither are you.”

“I have to help him.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s the only way.”

He couldn’t explain it too, because it just felt like he needed to push forward. The logical thing to do would be to run back to Ravenclaw tower with Anakin in tow and reunite with his friends in safety, but he was drawn to the fight and not for any sense of bloodlust, but refined purpose. 

“I won’t let you!” Anakin cried, “It’s my fault!”

“Like hell it is!” Obi-Wan chastised and shoved him forward, “You are in control of your own actions, not Maul’s. The only action you should be doing is getting the hell out of here.”

“But-”

“No but’s, Anakin! If you never listen to me again, listen to me now: run. Hide. Get help, whatever, but you stay as far away as your little legs can carry you, alright? You are the future of tomorrow. This is only today.”

It wasn’t what he promised Qui-Gon, but if Anakin was away from Maul, he was safe, so if Obi-Wan could help delay that, he would. 

“Where?”

“Exactly where you need to be,” He said.

“I can never get those stupid riddles!”

“Trust me, you will.” Obi-Wan said. “Just run.”

“And what about you?” 

“I’m right behind you,” Though as they stared at each other, they both knew it was a lie. With tears staining his cheeks, Anakin nodded and ran in the opposite direction. Obi-Wan watched him until he was far enough away before turning and racing back up the steps again. Just as he did, they began moving, knocking Obi-Wan around rather roughly and almost backwards again, but he kept running and even dove forward to catch the next staircase by the hand.

For a moment, he was suspended above by only one hand, forcing himself to use all the strength in his body to lift himself and keep climbing.

Qui-Gon and Maul kept moving, the sound of glass shattering in their wake. 

***

Against every fiber of his being that told him to stay and fight, Anakin ran. He aggressively swiped tears from his eyes with his arm as he did so, trying to keep his vision as clear as possible. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. Gryffindor’s common room was the other way and he would never understand the Ravenclaw riddle to get in.

Obi-Wan had only told him to go, but not where, though he’d looked at him with conviction as though he had given him a clue. Anakin was far too distressed to think of any clues. Fear swelled in him, as he considered what his two mentors were sacrificing in order to protect him, to protect the future. They believed in him, but he didn’t quite believe in himself at the moment. Maul was going to tear through this entire school and if there was one thing that was proven, it was just how inescapable that was. 

He was supposed to be a hero, but he was trying to escape. It had always been the plan, but he’d never expected to have to do so alone. He was supposed to save them all, but he’d learned the hard way that he was no match for Maul.

His feet rapidly hit the ground, never once breaking stride as he tred onward. There was only so far he could go before he ended up right back where they were. He needed a place where no one would find him. He needed a safe haven. 

But between the Zillo Beast, Dooku, and now Maul, he’d learned that there was no real sense of security in this wizarding world. It was fantastic in both the best and worst ways possible, with no room for the mundane quiet of peace. Anakin never typically cared when it didn’t involve a sadist breaking in and trying to murder him. 

As he rounded a particularly sharp corner and briefly considered hiding in an empty classroom under a desk or in a chest, his eyes went round as he noticed not one, not two, but three dementors lingering near the dungeons. Slytherin’s common room was nearby, but they’d never let him in.

“Skywalker, what the hell are you doing?” Windu dropped in from seemingly nowhere, banishing the now mob of dementors that were swirling around them like a tornado. 

“They’re everywhere!” He yelled.

“How did this happen?” Windu asked.

“Maul turned them against everyone! I don’t know how!”

Windu grimaced as they closed in on them and kept Anakin close as he flipped his cape to the side and valiantly pointed his wand with the lethal confidence of someone who had done it many times before. From Windu’s wand, a glowing blue ram burst through the wall of spinning black to create a pocket just big enough for Anakin.

“Run!” He shouted and once again, Anakin obeyed. 

He needed to make sure he paid attention if he got to live to see the day patronuses were taught in school. Clearly, it was going to be an important lesson and one that Obi-Wan didn’t quite grasp yet.

Other professors were on the front lines of this massive fight against dementors whether inside or outside. Anakin leapt around one that was trying to suck the face off of Professor Ki-Adi Mundi, but was immediately banished by the vigilant Professor Shaak Ti. He never received more encouragement to keep pushing forward and away than he did in that moment.

Who would help Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan? Who would save them if all of the other professors were trying to handle the immediate threat of the dementors turning on them? His heart started to rattle as he kept going, approaching a dead end and slinking against the wall. The dementors came quicker than he anticipated even possible. Their long and bony fingers reached for him, ready to pull him into his own worst nightmares imaginable and to make them living realities. He’d snuck many horror movies in his time, but he’d never seen anything worse than them. 

Where was it written that the Chosen One would need a soul to save the universe? Nowhere, it would seem, because this didn’t qualify as death, but a fate worse than. He pointed his wand out, hoping he could also learn the patronus charm on the fly, but felt the immediate disconnect between his words and his wand. They were just words in the end.

He pressed himself against the door, never wishing more than to be anywhere but here. He wished he could have found where Obi-Wan was referring. He needed it. He needed that refuge if he was going to be brave and if he was going to fight back one day.

He needed- To open his eyes?

Because once he did so, he realized that he was in a completely different room that he’d never seen before. It wasn’t empty, exactly. There were old books stacked on some rickety tables. Cobwebs lined the portraits on the walls that chatted amongst themselves. They stopped dead in the middle of conversation when they spotted Anakin.

“Er- Sorry for interrupting.” He said with a wave.

“Who the blazes are you?” The dusty portrait of a man with dark hair and light brown skin frowned deeply at Anakin. 

“Don’t be rude, Master Ketu.” The hooded man in the portrait opposite to him nodded at Anakin, “Congratulations.”

“Do you even know what’s going on out there? There’s nothing to be congratulated for,” He said.

“Boy, have you no concept of what you have uncovered?” The man called Ketu pressed, his arms crossed over the numerous medals of honor that hung from his neck. 

Anakin looked around him, “Uh… A dirty old classroom?”

He pinched his nose, “I swear, these children grow more ungrateful by the years.” 

“To be fair, we haven’t seen a new child in over a century.” The other man said placatingly, “And there’s no way he can be worse than him. I am Ters Sendon, archivist and historian and this is Master Ketu, former leader of the old Je’daii order.”

“Je’Daii?”

“He hasn’t even heard of us.” Scoffed Ketu.

“An old group of warrior wizards who used to combat the ancient Sith during the old wars.” Ters said and Anakin gasped when he lifted off his hood to reveal horns protruding from his head just as Maul’s did. “What is it?”

“You’re… You’re like him!” Anakin backed away, nearly stumbling over a stray chair as he did, “You’re like the Sith lord that’s currently taking over our school!”

“I’m no Sith!” He protested.

“You look like him?”

“So? Sith is not a race, it’s a religion.” Ters said, “There are good people that look like me and plenty of bad people that look like you.”

Anakin considered that and realized as he looked at Ters Sendon that he didn’t bear any of the malicious traits that Maul had. There was no hate radiating off of his gaze, no yellow or orange to his eyes, no hostility in his voice. He didn’t even really look like Maul aside from the horns. As opposed to a stark red and black patterned face, Ters was more the color of leather, with beige swirls around his eyes and nose.

Ketu, not nearly as bored as he was before, stroked his black goatee, “You mean, the Sith have returned?”

“I’m supposed to defeat them someday.” Anakin said, “I’m the Chosen One. Or at least… I’m supposed to be, but I’m hiding…”

“Well, you’re much too young to fight a Sith, my boy.” Ketu said.

“Everyone’s been saying that and I know that, but how can I let other people take the fall for me?”

“Take it from someone who has seen plenty of golden haired heroes that were supposed to be chosen for greatness, you must accept that they are not fighting for you.”

“Ketu! How is that helpful?” Ters asked.

“Because it removes the pressure that comes with the position. Everyone has their place in this war, but you… You must survive. You must survive so that many others can live.” He fixed Anakin with a stern look, “That is why the Room summoned you.”

“The room?” Anakin looked around, “This place is special?”

“The Room of Requirement manifests itself only to students who truly need it.” Ters explained, “In your case, it’s to hide from this dastardly foe that breached your school.”

“If only I were alive… I’d bring this Sith to his knees.” Ketu sighed wistfully. 

“I can’t just sit in here and wait!” Anakin yelped, his voice echoing around the room. 

“Clearly, whatever you were running from had outnumbered you. You were whiter than a ghost.” Ters said, “And I’ve seen many ghosts.”

“Ghosts can come in here?”

“Not here, no.” Ketu shook his head, “We are the only portraits in the school that cannot move, but in our time, there were ghosts too.”

“Why can’t you move?”

“We must protect the integrity of the room,” Ters explained, “And a good thing too, because the last boy would have destroyed the place to prevent anyone else from finding it.”

“The magical enchantments were too powerful for him then, thankfully,” Ketu whistled, “I wonder where he got off to…”

“We need to get more people in here, to protect them!” Anakin said. “How can I let others follow me?”

“I think they may be safer where they are.”

Anakin wasn’t so sure. 

***

Qui-Gon had but one clear goal when parrying and deflecting the onslaught of fast green bolts that erupted from Maul’s wand: get him out of the castle. Hopefully, from there, other professors stronger than he could prevent him from entering again. Qui-Gon was no fighter by nature. It took a great deal of strength and focus and connectivity with his inner peace to remain in line with Maul’s attacks. He was definitely no one’s first choice in fighting off a man who murdered countless aurors in his wake.

However, the moment he saw Maul and his possessed dementors hovering over Obi-Wan and Anakin, he knew that this would be his fight after all. 

He’d never faced anything like this in his life- growing up in a time of peace was like the beautiful summer and late fall that preambled a harsh winter. Well, the ruthless attempts at his head led by the tenacious Sith was more of enough proof that winter had arrived with the full impact of a blizzard at their heels. 

Qui-Gon tried to analyze and predict the Zabrak’s next attack, hoping that his strategic capabilities would balance him against the superior fighting style that was the combination of martial artistry and power. There was much hate that spewed from every fiber of Maul’s being, so personal that Qui-Gon almost took it as such. It was like every person who stood in his way somehow became Maul’s target enemy and it was obvious he wasn’t used to anyone lasting this long.

Well, Qui-Gon did have the high ground when he snuck up on Maul and took him off guard, effectively clipping the wings that the dementors brought him. He wouldn’t even begin to question how he’d did it, save for that it was obviously an ancient magic known to the Sith. As they crossed the archway to the empty Great Hall, veering away from the direction of the student dormitories to Qui-Gon’s relief, and Maul was allotted true space to spew knives and broken shards of glassware towards him at once, Qui-Gon realized why this man hid all year.

He did not hide to feel out their positioning or to even tease them. Any of that had only been a cherry on top for the malignant evil before him. No, Maul waited it out to grow, to improve his strengths, to ready himself for this fight, because regardless of the ease at which he slipped through their clenched fists, he still expected a grave one.

“Protego!” Qui-Gon shouted numerous times in numerous directions, shielding himself from every blow Maul flung at him, but dodging an incoming killing curse as well. 

That was going to leave a mark on the walls. 

The candles came crashing down, bathing the entire room in a gray hollowness that he wasn’t used to, but didn’t ponder. It was only fitting that a Sith was trying to take everything good about this place with him. Well, he wouldn’t have it, not on his watch, anyway.

Their beams collided, his disarming and Maul’s for the kill, creating the collaboration of blinding green and red at the middle. It resembled a golden snitch at the heart of the contact, but despite having dueled Dooku just last year, Qui-Gon felt his arm, and eventually his whole body by extension, growing weak. Dooku had been going easy on him and he knew it. Maul would do no such thing.

Maul tapped further into his heat, bearing a tight grin as he pushed harder, showing just what the dark side could do, but Qui-Gon did not and would not envy his pain or his suffering that led him to such darkness.

“You were just a child, did you even get to choose?” Qui-Gon asked, trying to possibly tap into any shred of humanity left within the empty cavern that took place of Maul’s soul. That included, bringing up a history Maul did not want to remember. 

“You don’t know me.” It only emboldened his opponent’s attack, making the push and pull of their tug of war look a great deal more green than red. 

“Perhaps, I do. We were students here once, right? At the same time even.”

Maul remained silent and focused. He would not monologue for Qui-Gon. It seemed he was the sort of foe not worth quarreling with. 

“Give me the boy.” Was all he said.

“I cannot do that.” Qui-Gon shook his head.

“Then you will die.” He smiled. 

Sweat gathered at his temples as he pushed harder, channeling the peace that existed in harmony at his core, willing the spark to burn brighter than it ever had. If not ever again, now would be the moment.

It was not looking good. 

Until, an unprecedented blast of blue sent Maul skidding across the table, sliding into every stray glass and plate that had been left in shambles on the way. He was up and charging within a matter of seconds, which was remarkable on its own right, but this also meant that Qui-Gon didn’t have much of a second to breathe or consider that the wizard that entered the room was not a colleague or auror, but Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Obi-Wan!” He shouted and moved to jump in front of him to be a last standing shield from Maul, as if that would do anything, but the boy was quick and immediately took to pursuing Maul with his own attacks.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said.

“But I am, and we can talk about this later, no?” Obi-Wan gritted as Maul whipped out a second wand from his utility belt and let his robe drift to the ground. It seemed he came prepared for this very situation. It was a very unfortunate way to learn Maul was ambidextrous as he was just as proficient with his left hand as he was his right and was able to perform the same spell from two wands.

“We definitely will.” Qui-Gon fired back, but had to concede that the very last thing they needed to be doing to get out of here was arguing with each other. Not to mention, a very small part of him couldn’t help but be proud of Obi-Wan’s prowess for being so young. 

He’d never seen him like this before- so sure of himself and so determined, as well as so underdressed. His robe and jumper were completely discarded somewhere along his way here and the sleeves of his collared shirt had been pushed up. While still wearing the tie that symbolized his house with pride, he suddenly looked much older than the boy he knew. 

Even more than that, he successfully and quickly reflected Maul’s own curse back on him, sending the Sith dizzily stumbling around, though never once losing speed. 

With Obi-Wan at his side, he was able to take Maul on at a more even level, even with the two wands. He and his mentee practiced in sync together. They’d never formally fought alongside each other, but where Qui-Gon moved, Obi-Wan moved, and the two took to dejecting each and every distant move displayed by Maul.

That was not to say it was easy, of course. Between the physicality and ferocity of Maul’s magical and non-magical aggression, it was still throwing the both of them through the ringer. Obi-Wan’s face was red, but laser focused and never relieved with pride if he managed to land some sort of attack. 

They left out the doorway they came and through the third floor corridor, only further exhausting themselves the smaller the quarters became. Maul began to literally bounce off the walls, running up them and doing backflips to dodge and alternatively, to gain traction. As his history showed, he wasn’t purely invested in the magical portion of a fight, but the physical combat as well. 

Up the stairs they went to the very top, a difficult task when Maul decided to turn the steps into slippery goo in his wake and fire on the railings. Qui-Gon had learned the latter of that sequence on his own the hard way. Obi-Wan charged ahead, more athletic than he gave himself credit for, and twice as brave. It was a lethal combination, though not one Qui-Gon would fool himself into believing would be enough to seizing Maul completely. They needed to distract him until Windu found them.

They needed help.

Maul was quite pressed when Obi-Wan managed a leg-locker spell on him, though it was only one leg by his aim. It wasn’t his fault, since Qui-Gon had to shove him aside to avoid wand arrows that came straight for his head. 

Even still, there was no doubt that they were fighting better together. 

The ceiling of the pointed tower crumbled, specs of dust and later actual pieces of infrastructure raining down on them and hurrying their pace. When reaching the small bridge that connected the two towers, Maul blasted the center as he ran ahead.

“Where’s he going?”

“The classrooms, it seems.” Qui-Gon answered as he tried to catch his breath. “Anakin-”

“-Is safe.” He said with resounding certainty, his blue eyes sharper than glass as he regarded him with shoulders back and his jaw squared. He was still shorter than Qui-Gon, but it was evident now more than ever that he was a child no longer. Yes, Obi-Wan was ready. Or was it that he had no choice but to be ready?

It pained Qui-Gon’s very soul, because children fighting the battles of adults never soothed him. They leapt over the chasm and through the already crumbling tower that dwindled all the way down, catching Maul at his heels after a few flights of rapidly following suit. He was either leading them to the belly of his trap or he was trying to shake them. Qui-Gon didn’t know how that spoke for their success as his opponents, but was willing to take any wins offered to them.

They were far from finished in their pursuit, as the tower began to physically shake back and forth. Taking this battle to heart, or whatever stood in place of it, Maul turned, charging up the stairs with a sword at hand pointed straight at them.

On instinct rather than through thought, Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan hard against the side of the wall, narrowly preventing him from meeting the tip of the blade. 

“Stupefy!” He yelled, but missed and Maul went for the younger man again, a tight smile on his lips as he flipped forwards against the current of gravity and spun the sword straight towards them. Obi-Wan, who was stronger than he looked, caught Maul’s wrist before the finality of the attack could be completed. Using his entire body weight, he flung them down, doing his own half-assed little stunt to avoid being stabbed. 

Qui-Gon seized his moment to attack, turning the coat of arms by the doorway onto Maul, giving them three fighters on their side. This didn’t stop Maul, who only seemed delighted by the challenge and swung at the ground to encourage it.

Obi-Wan scrambled off the ground in time and trotted alongside Qui-Gon as the knight moved forward and Maul backed himself up to the wall of the rounded tower, clashing his sword with the knight’s, meeting every swing with one of his own caliber. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon, meanwhile, tried to use this brief moment of distraction to their advantage and fired whatever spells could come to their mind. 

Obi-Wan had gotten even more creative and used a tongue fattening spell, likely trying to limit his airway.

It didn’t seem he even minded the limited mobility, though it only seemed to anger him that he was wasting his time. Maul had the advantage, being alive, but the knight had nothing to lose. Sometimes, that wasn’t a strength. 

In a fit of unbridled rage, which was the only way either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan could describe what transpired next, lightning rang through the sword and Maul leapt into the air, bringing the blade straight through the empty head of the knight and using the momentum of this force to fling the still sparking helmet towards them, hitting Obi-Wan directly in the stomach and sending him flipping over the railing with the added help of Maul diving forward to punch him square in the face. 

“Immobulus!” Qui-Gon hollered, pointing his wand at Obi-Wan’s collapsing body just before he could hit the bottom stone at full-force. He was knocked out, nothing more, or maybe that’s what Qui-Gon needed to convince himself to continue edging through this battle.

The sword came down, achieving not a speck of flesh, but slicing Qui-Gon’s wand clean in two against the marble railing to their right. It was the closest he’d ever been to Maul and he understood why few wanted to approach him. He could feel the turmoil within this shell of a man, who was only driven by his own hate. He was like a walking timebomb who was expected to walk the earth like a person.  

“When I’m done with you, I’ll kill the kid too,” Only he wasn’t referring to Anakin, but Obi-Wan.

“You won’t have the chance,” Qui-Gon said and kicked up his foot to toss the former knight’s sword into own hand. He was taught to wield by Count Dooku long ago, adopting many different tactics. It had always been in a gentlemanly fashion before, but Maul knew no such artistry or decency in this field. He was a predator and while he may have been playing with his food, he would still want nothing more than to collect the prize.

They backed out of the exit, Qui-Gon pursuing Maul as their blades clinked and clanked at rapid speed, each performing offensively without any pauses or breaks. Qui-Gon took his first success as they approached the classrooms and he managed to knock one of Maul’s wands free and clattering onto the ground. The Sith swordsman paid no mind, flipping backwards and inviting Qui-Gon to chase him into yet another trapped space.

He knew he was better where he could be afforded more breathing room, but at the moment, this was not a battle where Qui-Gon dictated the rules. Rarely, did the heroes get to do much of that in history. It was all about adaptivity and believing in oneself and the magic that lay within them. 

“I am one with magic and the magic is within me.” He chanted on a harmonic loop inside his head, ignoring every fiber of his being that broke apart as they crashed through Professor Palpatine’s office of all places.

Perhaps, he was trying to pay a visit to his favorite professor. He looked disappointed even through the mask of focused disdain that he wasn’t present. He would never have known that Anakin might have been hiding here, after all. He lingered around the castle for a little while, but not long enough to see the students interact. 

Thinking a bit like his enemy, Qui-Gon seized the weakness, going in for an elongated stalemate of the inner strengths, bringing them up close and personal.

“Who do you work for?” He asked calmly.

He knew that nothing splintered more than serenity or moreover, when their dastardly deeds took no effect on their desired target. Predictably, Maul clenched his yellow teeth to bare.

“I work for no one.” He scowled and shoved them apart, spinning and beginning a new onslaught of attacks that Qui-Gon met and dodged. The dodged shots ended up as holes that would need to be patched later and each designated attack seemed to chip away at him more and more.

Maul might have possessed an eternal source of energy from the cruelty at his very core, but he did not envy him for it.

They shuffled onto the external viaduct, which stretched back to the courtyard outside the Great Hall again, back towards the common rooms. He couldn’t let that happen. Qui-Gon knew that this was it. This long stretch of smooth stone that expanded over the chasm beneath them, was where this needed to end.

As if reading his mind, Maul closed in on him, making Qui-Gon overshoot a swing and nearly set himself off balance. Maul’s sword came down hard on the stone balustrade to their side, cracking it with the power and magical tenacity it contained, before retracting and kicking Qui-Gon in the sternum.

He rolled, backwards, and landed on his feet just in time to collide blades harshly, feeling like the swords might break if they strike again. This didn’t stop either of them and Qui-Gon desperately tried to seek out a window to take the advantage. And then, he found it. Maul’s gloved finger twitched just as he was reaching for his other wand- a dirty trick in a match of the blades, but Dooku might have done the same in his modern state. 

Luckily, Qui-Gon didn’t necessarily need a wand. 

He snatched the wand from midair by the sheer willpower of doing so.

“Petrificus Totalus!” And while Maul leapt to the ground, his frame stilled in the air as he caught the end of the charm, hitting the ground hard with his sword stuck frozen in hand.

He let out a heavy breath of relief. He pointed the wand at Maul and tossed the blade to the side and knelt over him. Only the man’s face could move, so he didn’t grow too close at risk of literally being bitten, but Qui-Gon looked at him sternly.

“What business do you have with the boy?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Maul chuckled lightly, “To destroy him.”

“But for what? Because he’s a threat to you?”

“No,” He would have shaken his head if he could, “Because he’s a threat to all of us.”

Qui-Gon frowned, “That- No, he will bring about an end to monsters like yourself and whatever master you refuse to name.”

“Don’t you see?” Maul said, “He is the monster.”

The words trickled through Qui-Gon’s ears like rain hitting the hard sidewalk. That couldn’t be true. He was to bring balance. Though, it was never exactly said how. It couldn’t be. The prophecy spoke of a united world and for the hero, which was Anakin, to prevail at great sacrifice.

Or at least, that’s how he interpreted it after much studying. 

“That cannot be.”

“It has been written in fate. I have seen it,” And by the legitimate fear that plagued Maul’s gaze, he could tell the Sith was not lying about having been exposed to a plethora of horror, “He is but the pawn in a greater plan. Just like you and just like me.”

“He’s so much more than either of us,” Qui-Gon shook his head, keeping the wand steady at his throat, poking the skin ever so slightly. “Especially you.”

“I am merely trying to save us all,” Maul begged, “Just as you think you are. We are not that different. Skywalker isn’t either.”

“Anakin is the hero of this story, not you.” Qui-Gon said, determined now, “I will see to that.”

“No,” And just as quick as he fell, he moved too fast for Qui-Gon to even blink and the sword that had seemed frozen in time was thrust right into the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach. Immeasurable pain soaked through him as he felt blood from all over rush through him and a varying list of parables cross his mind.

Maul brought him so close that their noses touched, “You won’t.” 

He unsheathed the sword from the pit of Qui-Gon’s stomach and let him fall backwards, hitting the stone unceremoniously as sound seemed to fall behind in slow, deep motions. The blood rushed from his body and breathing suddenly became labored beyond measure. He was faced with warm sunlight, though he found himself only growing colder by the second. Slowly, the bright blue around the high sun was becoming a tunnel and getting fuzzier. The pain in his stomach was less aching as it was dull and detached from him. He saw stars and galaxies and far more than the human eyes could see.

He saw blackness that occluded the stars and realized strangely that it was a man in a dark cape. This was Vader, he knew somehow, but he couldn’t quite explain why. But there was more and as he looked into the stars that gathered in the eyes of his helmet, he saw the fates for what they were. There was so much loss in this montage of multiple realities that spawned in front of him. There was agony, hate, betrayal, death. So so much death beyond his own.

It was strange, to realize that he was dying and to not really care about the logistics of that. Instead, he cared for what he saw next: happiness, love, family, weddings, babies, revolution against an unjust cause, rebirth. 

He saw the back of a man with white hair and a beard to match and while his heart initially spoke to him of his mentor, he found that the eyes that turned to meet him matched another that would grow to be wiser than them all.

He saw the good in the blond boy that everyone else feared. He saw the duality of the young brunette who was capable of far more than her small stature dictated. He saw friends he did and didn’t know. He saw them all come together and he saw them win. It was an imperfect future, full of not one, but many heroes. 

Some that were chosen ones merely by their own volition. That fact settled hard and heavy. There was still much obscurity to meet the hope. Nothing, even at these far reaches of the universe, was written in stone. If there was one thing that was clear: Anakin was the key. 

And in a flash he was back for a moment, given one last breath of life and to meet the tear stained eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He failed. But there was still hope. 

***

“NO!” His cry was anguished and angry, his vision red like the blood dripping off the blade. He had already been running, hurrying to catch up with his mentor, not willing to leave him alone with that monster for more than a second longer than necessary.

He clearly hadn’t been fast enough.

He sprinted, faster still, wand automatically raised and flourished. A crack was heard as red light burst from his own wand and slammed into Maul, knocking him back a few feet and causing his sword to fly from his hand and over the bridge. He hadn’t even uttered the words, but his wand seemed to read his mind, connect with him and in this brief moment of connection, he hurtled as many spells as he could think of.

It was a dance of light. Maul had managed to pull his own wand out and was doing a fair job at blocking each colorful strike, but had yet to get an opening to counter. Obi-Wan tossed another stupify at Maul and it hit his protective spell so hard sparks flew.

“You’re too late,” Maul kicked a loose stone towards him, managing to distract him long enough that Maul could send a killing curse his way. He just managed to block it, the green spell falling apart just inches from his face. He staggered backwards nearly falling over the edge before launching another volley of attacks.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Obi-Wan growled, although the pang in his chest reminded him of what he’d seen, what he hadn’t been fast enough to stop. He cast a smoke spell causing them both to be hidden within a dark cloud. Obi-Wan crept silently to the side, the only real chance he had was to catch Maul off guard. Just a few more steps-

A gust of wind kicked up from the center of the cloud blowing away the smoke screen and revealing an almost smug looking Maul. He grinned wildly, his yellow eyes gleaming like a tiger going for the kill.

Obi-Wan just managed to dodge as the spell Maul hurled blew a hole through the already crumbling parapet. He returned the favor with another stunning charm that did little more than knock Maul off balance.

Obi-Wan, however, took the opportunity rushing forwards a curse on the tip of his tongue before Maul fell backwards slamming a foot into Obi-Wan and kicking him back.

He stumbled to regain balance, but his foot slipped and time slowed as he desperately clawed for the edge of the bridge with his free hand. He swung there precariously, heart beating a mile a minute as he tried to think of something, anything. Maul grunted, he could only assume he was standing up again, making his way slowly towards what was surely Obi-Wan’s doom.

He looked to his wand, he couldn’t risk a spell, if he missed and hit the viaduct, he would surely be falling to his death. If he didn’t… Well he didn’t want to think of the terrible fate that would bring him. He swung his arm up, hand still gripping his wand, but allowing for him to pull himself up just high enough to see. Maul was approaching, wand twitching as he surely thought through every nasty spell he had at his disposal.

The dying sun came out from behind the clouds, reflecting its light off of something silver on the edge. A sudden burst of hope filled him as he whispered a series of spells that he hoped Maul took as nothing more than him praying for salvation.

Maul didn’t pause.

Obi-Wan dropped hold of the ledge flicking his wand upwards in order to soar up through the air landing behind Maul, just steady enough he was able to catch the silver sword, sapphires glittered across the bottom, a sight to behold if he weren’t busy lunging with it.

Maul had turned just in time to watch as Obi-Wan used every bit of strength, every bit of magic left in his body to bring the sword clear through his middle. The sadist had the decency to look surprised, shocked that he could be foiled by a scrawny 17 year old when so many had tried and failed before. Obi-Wan brought up his foot and kicked, returning the favor of pushing the Zabrak off the viaduct, he didn’t bother watching him fall.

The clatter of the sword falling out of Obi-Wan’s hand and onto the stone brought him out of his adrenaline induced daze and he turned his head almost robotically to where Qui-Gon still lay. He was breathing, but barely, each breath looked laborious even from afar.

“Qui-Gon!” One moment he was standing over where he committed a high wizarding crime and another he was on his knees next to his mentor. He ripped off his top layer and pressed over the wound desperately trying to stop the bleeding even though he could feel that his trousers were already being soaked through.

“No, no,” Qui-Gon batted his hands away, but it only gave Obi-Wan the determination to press harder.

“It’ll be alright, you’ll be fine,” Obi-Wan repeated to himself as he focused on the task at hand. A shaky hand caught his wrist and he tore his eyes away from the gore and met Qui-Gon’s deep blue eyes. Eyes normally filled with mystery and whimsy were focused just enough to quelm his fast-racing thoughts.

“Obi-Wan,” He pleaded, “Anakin-”

“Anakin’s fine!” Obi-Wan shook his head angrily, “I already told you he’s-”

“I need you to see that Anakin gets his training,” Qui-Gon grasped for his attention again and he gave it though he struggled too, “Anakin must become a wizard, he is the chosen one,” Qui-Gon spoke the words with a strong conviction as if he had been born with this knowledge and hadn’t found out along with the rest of them last year.

“Yes, sure, but Qui-Gon-” Obi-Wan tried, but froze when Qui-Gon struggled for a breath.

“Promise me Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon managed to pant, “Promise me you’ll see to it.”

“I promise,” He answered, they looked into each other’s eyes for a beat more before Obi-Wan returned to his task, wishing quite desperately that he’d gone with Satine to those first aid classes instead of the dueling club, “But don’t worry about that now, I-”

Qui-Gon’s breathing ceased.

There were no other sounds. He couldn’t hear the birds in the sky or the breeze through the trees; it was only silence. He felt his mouth form words, but couldn’t hear them. He moved his hands from Qui-Gon’s middle towards his shoulders shaking him once, twice, three times. He felt tears trailing down his face and he tried to wipe them away, likely just smearing his own face with the blood of both that murderer and of Qui-Gon. Merging the two of their beings together like they were twisted up into some horrifying cycle of fate. He pressed his head, body trembling, to Qui-Gon’s chest, praying to hear even an unsteady heartbeat.

All he could hear was silence.

He stayed there, unable to move and hardly unable to breathe at Qui-Gon’s side, sitting vigil for his mentor, his most trusted ally, the wisest man he knew. Eventually the bubble was bound to break and if it wasn’t Qui-Gon growing cold under him it was the hand that fell on his shoulder.

He flinched, whipping to the side prepared to fight another enemy, but his hands fell at the guarded look of Windu’s eyes. The professor tried to pull him away, but he broke out of his grasp with more strength than he’d thought he had left.

“Where’s Maul?” Windu crouched beside him, gently pressing Qui-Gon’s eyes shut. Obi-Wan couldn’t find it in himself to speak and he shook his head to try and convey that, but Windu just grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, “I need to know if he’s still around.”

“I ki-” He tried, voice croaky and ruined in his silence, “He’s gone. Dead.”

Professor Windu said nothing, just placed a hand on his back for a moment more before standing. He swished his wand, brilliant red and gold sparks bursting out and filling the night sky, announcing to all that they were finally safe. However, after the display of colors he did not lower his wand and instead kept it raised, the tip glowing softly in the night’s sky.

Professor Plo Koon was the next to join them, his eyes sad and mournful under the light of their two wands. Then one by one the professors arrived, each taking in the scene and lighting their wands in silence. Obi-Wan felt much too numb sitting there on his own, magic exhausted from the fight, to locate his own wand much less light it in honor. Qui-Gon had never been much for ceremonies anyways, but the thought brought him no comfort. 

The unspoken vigil ended as Headmaster Palpatine lowered his own wand, followed by Professor Windu. Obi-Wan was stood up by the latter, this time he found no fight left in him, and escorted towards the castle. He kept an eye on Qui-Gon’s body for as long as he could, but surrounded by the Headmaster and various professors it was impossible to see long before he crossed the threshold into the school.

[jbhofstee]

Hello! This is a writeblr for an aspiring author! I go by JB Hofstee and I prefer to write in supernatural and fantasy genres at this present time. I have two projects currently simmering on a back burner while I attend college. Their summaries and primary characters are going to be under readmore for anyone curious!

PSI Files - Multi Book Supernatural series

Clarity Fergus always knew she was different. And she wanted to use that to help people—both living and dead. After an incident in her hometown, she finds herself involved in the Bureau, an international organization which keeps the balance between the natural and the supernatural. Clarity joins the organization and works to solve cases around the globe of supernatural and natural beings disrupting the balance.

Main Characters

Clarity Fergus - A young American human woman with spiritual powers, sense auras, and the ability to speak with the dead. Having suffered high social anxiety, Clarity learns how to cope and grow into herself once she finds herself working for the Bureau.

Gershom Black - the enigmatic detective who is one of Clarity’s trainers. Often the serious and more balanced view, his severe outlook covers up a deeply caring personality and deeply buried guilt. His words oftentimes contradict his actions, almost as if he naturally tends to walk a line.

Dáithí Murty - a water type of Fae from Scotland called a tangie, Daithi is the magical and tech of the trio, a forced detective for the Bureau and Clarity’s other trainer. He acts more lighthearted and is a bit flirtatious, but beneath that lies a deep sea hiding away his true personality and intentions.

Supporting Characters

Todd Anderson - a dhampir detective for the Bureau and the former apprentice for Gershom and Dáithí, Todd is a quiet and reserved type, preferring to think before he speaks or acts. Very observant, he sometimes states his observations out loud, though, which can cause some discomfort. He has good intentions, but he tries to keep people at arm’s length due to fear of his nature.

Gwen Collins - a half-fae, half-human young woman who works as an archivist for the Bureau. Very friendly and bubbly, she often is seen sporting a new shade of pastel hair each week. Gwen is on the backend, getting information from the archives for detectives, frequently for Gershom’s team.

Robert Faeway - The stoic Deputy Director of the Bureau, Faeway was once human, until necromancy and science were used on him to bring him back, turning him effectively immortal and super-human. a turn of the 1900s century man, Faeway was far more scientific and less spiritual and this still translates into much of his mannerisms to this day.

Lady Emilie - a being who creates and protects portals, she’s often found at the entrances to the Bureau, typically in what’s designed as an antique shop. A very knowledgeable woman in her own right, she has no issue moving pieces how she pleases without telling anyone. Her goal is to help maintain the balance so the threads don’t converge and collapse, though, so there is little malevolence to expect.

Piotr Stolarz - a trickster poltergiest from Poland who can’t seem to cross over. Even as he took revenge against those who wiped out him and his family, he can’t seem to find the reason why, starting to extend his punishment to members of their families until he’s tracked down by the Bureau. He eventually becomes an ally and is considered an anomaly due to his inability to move on.

The Stonekeeper - A Fantasy Trilogy

A banished darkness threatens to return from the Wastes. Yet the kingdom is in shambles after the murder of the king, his wife, and their unborn child. The barrier keeping the dark prince in the Wastes is weakening and the only way to strengthen it is to find the royal family’s ancient elven stone. Which is in the possession of a young woman far from the capital, in a village of no consequence...

Main Characters

Lucasta Henda - Working on her mothers’ farm and training to be on the village guard, Lucasta owns a golden stone necklace she always wears. Level headed and strong willed, Lucasta is not the kind to take nonsense and does not tolerate injustice. Despite her desire to remain in her village to protect it, she knows she must leave it to keep it safe.

Val Guiscard Thankarat Amadeus - a disgraced mage, labelled a warlock, Val values his freedom above all else. The wealth of his family couldn’t tempt him to remain in a gilded cage, so he left. He reunited with his elder brother, though, to help him with a mission to guarantee the kingdom’s freedom. After the murder of his brother, Val must continue it on his own.

Mira Loch - Lucasta’s childhood friend, highly knowledgeable from her connections with her monk uncle who would send her books as presents, she also serves on the village’s guard as an archer and healer. Mira is not the type to shy away from sharing her knowledge and is not fond of being patronized. She refused to be left behind when Lucasta left the village.

Lian Wu - Her family having fled civil war in her homeland, Lian Wu was found to be slightly gifted with magic, not enough to be a mage, but enough to be trained to be a guard for a mage so they would not fall to the dark arts. Lian was paired with Val’s elder brother to be his guard and he escaped her watchful eye for his mission. Frustrated, Lian managed to track down Val, Lucasta, and Mira, learning the truth and joining them on their quest.

Pyrrus Aneirin Maddoc - a nobleman, Pyrrus is known to be a highly honorable man and his family to be fiercely loyal to the royal line. Pyrrus offers his allegiance to Lucasta and her group, offering to travel with them to assure their legitimacy in the capital. Trained as a warrior and a politician, his skills and reputation prove to be invaluable.

Sciéno - An ancient elf who was awakened by the dark prince’s invasion of the temple he and the other sentinels were sleeping in, only to be awakened to guard. He was the only one to awaken and had to destroy the room his comrades were in to keep their secrets safe. After running into Lucasta and her group in an ancient ruin, he reluctantly agrees to assist them, if only to keep the dark prince from gaining all the ancient stones to have the powers they possessed.

Prince Dubhan - Dubbed the dark prince, Dubhan is the son of the Emperor from centuries ago who ruled over the kingdom with an iron fist, bleeding the people dry for his dark arts. The Emperor was defeated by the ancestor of the royal line and he and his son banished to the Wastes. While in the Wastes, Dubhan learned how to consume the energy of other beings, especially mages, to strengthen his own power and killed his father in this manner to begin his return and take back what he believes is rightfully his.

[kaypeace21]

Your El post was great and made me realise why I have so much of a problem with how she is portrayed in fanon, as if she didn't miss out on her whole early childhood development? So much fic about her completely ignores her intellectual delay and what the actual effects of her trauma would be. M*leven writers in particular really tend to make El some kind of self-insert instead of paying attention to who she really is and how she behaves. Pretty certain now that M*leven's not a healthy endgame.

El psych post here.

Aw, thanks. Yep , a lot of supposed ‘El fans’ (not all) don’t really care about El as a person. It’s sad cause she is a really interesting and engaging character - but most reduce her to her telekenesis and being Mike’s girlfriend. Some see her as a  chosen one/power fantasy character they can project on to, to feel powerful. And some just fantasize about being with Finn, (so project on to El) . Others also just like the cliche of “main girl/guy” getting together. Or just refuse to let go of a ship they got so worked up about in s1, so choose to live in denial about how s3 spells out how mileven is doomed (and how even s2 hinted at this). Others simply ignore her trauma, neglect, and lack of socialization and how it clearly affects her. And ignore how getting into a relationship with a boy she knew for less than a week , who she asked “Will you be like my brother? Why not?” / and even asked if they’d go to the dance as ‘ friends’?” Before he kisses her -is questionable to say the least. Especially, cause only a day or 2 before : she just learned what a friend even was. Yet , people expect her to automatically and inexplicably understand the distinctions between platonic, familial, and romantic love? Or even the distinctions between crushes, physical attraction, or actual romantic love? They paralleled Hopper/El to mileven to show how she’s confusing her familial love for Mike with romance (they showed that by paralleling them to sibling/cousins too) .See parallels here.

El was dating Mike for 6 months, despite asking Max “How do I know what I like?” That’s something she should have known BEFORE dating someone!  Girl , said she’s not even sure she likes kissing Mike cause he’s her “first boyfriend”- and after dumping him/  this kiss convo, she swoons at a new boy in a magazine. Poor El doesn’t need a bf she needs a stable support system (of friends and family) to help her learn about the world and herself-before even thinking about romance.

Do some not think it’s a little strange a 14 year old is SO into teddy bears (like Holly who carries one in s3)? And don’t see it’s actually a hint she’s delayed? Not to mention , El in s2 was just taught (by Hopper) how to tell time and what the word “compromise” meant . And in s3 , she  doesn’t even know what a State is . While , in contrast, Mike in s2 was talking about “ectotherms”,  schooled Hopper about computer programming , and won the science fair 4x. The knowledge imbalance/gap is just - VERY problematic .

Some will delude themselves and think El in a year will just magically catch up with her friends . While others low key LOVE how behind she is and like the idea of her being completely reliant/dependent on Mike to teach her things  -ick. I saw a mileven say El in s4 would probably believe in Santa and Mike would lie/trick her so she’d think he’s real.And they acted like that was romantic . And they saw no problems with that whole can of worms. I could not deal with how problematic that post was and all the likes/ and 28 reblogs.😑

No normally developed teenager would hear about Santa and actually believe it.Call me crazy, but maybe a boy who is intellectually gifted shouldn’t be with a girl who he could theoretically trick into thinking Santa is real. And y’know, maybe El wouldn’t like to be LIED to since she dumped Mike for lying to her in s3.

But, I understand that this fandom has a lot of young fans, despite the Duffers’  saying this is “not  a kids show” . So a lot of these kid-fans (unlike most adults and some teen fans ) don’t comprehend why such a gap in knowledge between 2 people in a romantic coupling is problematic (not cute). Or why being so attached to a partner (to the point of neglecting other relationships) isn’t healthy . Especially when they have the (then future) girlfriend violently push the guy’s gal-friend cause they smiled at eachother and she was jealous, have that same couple never apologize to eachother for lying/stalking eachother , have the couple have nothing in common, nor have conversations that better help them understand one another but in fact cause even more confusion- so instead they just kiss all the time . It’s a mess. When older they’ll probably... hopefully... understand why mileven was considered SO... questionable.

[raffinit]

for ur sylvaina prompt ask if ur still doing it: as a sign of good faith during peace negotiations, jaina invents a few spells (w/ her brother as a willing test subject) for sylvanas and the forsaken. spells to help improve taste, for example. little things to help an undead get through the day a little easier, things that only the forsaken or those who lived with them would know about. basically jaina helps with forsaken accessibility and sylvanas not knowing what to do with that

thank you to everyone who bought me ko-fis

bc of you i can actually put a read more cut on this with my VERY OWN COMPUTER SOBS

back to regular updates soon i promise, i just have all these beautiful prompts

-------

It began, like most things, curiously. Or rather — with curiosity. It was a trait of hers that drew mixed results at times; more in her vibrant youth than in her middle age. Her mother once told her that she had enough curiosity to kill ten cats, and Jaina had worn it then with pride.

She learned, with time, to contain her curiosities. To apply them scientifically; because science allowed for more curiosity than she knew what to do with. Science was her excuse for setting the curtains on fire when she was nine.

Science was her excuse for portalling abruptly into the war room and landing on the table during a council meeting.

Science was why she stared so intently at Sylvanas Windrunner.

Or perhaps, more accurately — it was purely curiosity at that point. The Banshee Queen was an unreadable figure, an inscrutable force that left Jaina all but reeling with each passing day the Horde and Alliance drew closer and closer to sealing a peace treaty.

She never thought she'd live to see the day.

What she still couldn't quite put her finger on was — ironically — Sylvanas.

The Warchief did many things that were incomprehensible for one reason or another. But to Raise Derek — what could Sylvanas have possibly gained, short of perhaps tormenting them with the knowledge that she simply could?

Her reunion with Derek had been a tearful one; rife with things that neither of them could fully comprehend. Clutching her brother close, clinging to him tight, she caught the figure of the Warchief in her periphery; caught the strange melancholy on Sylvanas' face.

It was there for only an instant. Sylvanas' ear flicked, then her burning eyes flashed to meet Jaina's.

Jaina blinked and the Warchief was gone.

Reconnecting with her brother came in stages. Baby steps. They had become vastly different people — too changed to reminisce without sorrow in its wake.

Still, beneath it all, beneath his Undeath — Derek was still Derek.

Derek, who teased her fondly about all that he could. He who boldly tested the limitations of his Undead form in ways that brought back memories of a childhood spent clambering over tree branches and diving off cliffs.

"What does it feel like?" she asked one day, when her curiosity became too much.

Derek paused, lifting his head to stare off into the horizon. “It feels like…living behind a curtain, honestly,” he confessed. “I feel present…but my presence feels…” he shrugged. “Muted, almost. As if I exist on only a fragment of this plane. I’m stronger than I ever was; I can do things I couldn’t even imagine.”

Jaina ducked her head to meet his eyes encouragingly. It was still unsettling, in some way, to look into her brother’s face and see the burning unnatural shade of his gaze. “But…?”

“But I do miss it,” he sighed, a wistful look on his face. “Eating, drinking. Sleeping. I’m never tired, but sleeping’s never just been about being tired, has it? I’d like the privilege of choosing whether or not I want to rest.”

Jaina felt that deeply.

She blinked then, head tilting curiously. “Do you not taste things anymore? I’ve read some things about that, but I thought Forsaken could eat. And sleep. There were inns in the Undercity.”

“I understand about as much as you. Perhaps even less so,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. He gave her a soft, self-deprecating little smile. “But here I am, lamenting the things I’ve lost when I should be grateful to even be here to begin with.”

She smiled at him faintly, though her mind was already reeling with thought. With the myriad of ways that she could — that she should — help.

“…what if you could do those things again?” she asked.

Derek paused and turned to stare at her curiously. Whatever it was that he saw there on her face made a knowing smile spread across his lips. “I know that look,” he said. “That’s a science look.”

Jaina smiled slowly. “Are you up for an experiment?”

“Always,” he said gamely. “Anything for science.”

-----

They tried spells first. Little experiments of magic that Jaina imbued her brother with in slow, gentle touches. The Light burned, but too much arcane made Derek sway like a sailor drowning in his cups. Some spells rekindled too much of Derek’s living form; made him inescapably aware of the damage his body had borne. 

The agony on her brother’s face made for many sleepless nights and haunted dreams.

“This one makes everything smell,” he said one today.

Jaina brightened hopefully. “Good smells?”

“Like eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Farty eggs. Like kippers in the morning.”

Jaina huffed and waved her hands briskly to recall the spell. “Maybe a potion instead.”

It took her another few weeks to pull together a functioning elixir. Nights spent hunched over her desk, sleeping with her cheek pressed to page after page of notes from ancient tomes and books helpfully “borrowed” from the vast library of Stormwind City.

Derek watched her some days, peering over her shoulder like a curious child at the window of a bakery. She indulged him as much as her patience would allow; until eventually his persistent questions and hovering made her all too aware of the cramped space of her temporary rooms in the Keep.

“How about you sit,” she said, jerking her chin at the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Tell me about what it’s been like since you’ve...Risen.”

Derek peered at her wordlessly but obliged, settling himself comfortably into the armchair. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Jaina shrugged. “Anything, I suppose. Everything? The Forsaken are an enigma to us. The Warchief most of all.”

“I don’t have anything to report,” he drawled. “She never spoke of plans to double-cross the Alliance, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I just meant as a person,” she replied in exasperation. “What was the Warchief like...up close?”

Derek blinked and sat back into the armchair, staring for a few thoughtful moments into the fireplace. At length, he said, “She’s a lot kinder than you would think. When I first...Awoke...she was there. She wouldn’t leave me until she was sure I could manage it on my own.”

“Manage what?”

“Existing, I suppose.” He twisted around in the armchair and peered at her over the back. “Did you know; she said I led her to my body?”

Jaina blinked. “What?”

“My soul, that is. She said she could hear it. She could hear all of us.” Derek’s voice softened with thought, and something like pity. “All of the souls lost at sea. The ones who never made peace with it. The ones who refused to rest.”

Incredulous, she asked, “She can do that?”

Derek nodded sagely. “So it seems.”

“Hmm.”

Eventually, she held out a vial of something that looked like it was made of something between the aether and sewage water. “Here.”

He took it in hand, tilting the vial this way and that and swirling it gently. “Couldn’t it have looked like a pint of mead or something? Why do all potions have to look like bog water?”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, bringing the vial to his lips —

“Just a sip, first,” she warned, eyes wide with apprehension. “Hold it on your tongue for a moment and let it coat your mouth before you swallow.”

He complied with a slight nod and Jaina watched as Derek’s jaw moved in a slow flex; as if he were considering a particular vintage of port. His glowing eyes blinked in surprise and he pulled the vial away to stare down at it thoughtfully. “Doesn’t taste as awful as it looks.”

Jaina’s eyes lit up eagerly. “So you can taste?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, then winced hard. “Yes,” he croaked, glaring down at the vial in betrayal. “Farty eggs and kippers.” He stuck out his tongue and tried to scrape the taste off it with his teeth.

“Are you sure you’re not just confused with the smell of the sea?”

He gave her an exasperated look and corked the vial. “I think I’d know what the sea smells like.”

Jaina sighed, reaching up to run a hand through the already-tousled mess of her hair. “Back to the drawing board.”

Their success plateaued for a time; there was nothing more that Jaina could do that yielded any further result, and the frustration was building. She took to wandering the stress of Stormwind, watching the Forsaken as they bustled about. They were wary still — all of them, but the Forsaken moved with darting glances over their shoulders and the reflexive flinch of beings long-accustomed to violence.

Some mornings, she dared to test her tongue at Gutterspeak; pulling what little Derek had managed to teach her. They stared at her at first, eyeing her with open distrust and hostility that made her wonder if the words her brother had taught her weren’t inflammatory somehow.

Still, she persevered, walking among the Horde by herself when she could. Most meetings between the Alliance and Horde ran long, and there were some evenings when she would catch the glimpse of rich purple and feathered armour around the bend when she walked.

Sometimes, she would catch the Warchief’s eye as she passed. Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed at her brightly, watching as a cat would at a passing flicker of light before nodding once in greeting.

For how distant she was from the Banshee Queen, Derek seemed to have no qualms with approaching Sylvanas.

At times, she saw them talking — in quiet asides that halted abruptly the moment any other individual came within earshot, and it prodded at Jaina’s curiosity once more.

“I never thought I’d see you so friendly with the Warchief,” she remarked one day.

Derek shrugged. “She brought me back. For whatever reason. And despite what anyone might think...she...cares.”

“Cares?”

“Ask her yourself,” he replied, nudging her in the shoulder.

She didn’t, only kept her efforts of mingling with the Forsaken. Most were wary of her still, barely acknowledging her words or pointedly ignoring them.

Then one day, a Forsaken replied. His words were guttural and harsh in tone, but the words were almost...friendly. “Good morning. You must use your throat more.”

Jaina obliged readily and welcomed any and all criticism that came. Some were malicious and stung, but a majority of those who engaged her seemed...bewildered at her willingness to learn. “Haven’t others tried to learn Gutterspeak?” she asked.

The Forsaken shook his head. “Gutterspeak is beneath the Alliance, isn’t it? ‘Tis the language of us Forsaken.”

Pursing her lips, Jaina said, “All peoples should have a right to their own language.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, eyeing her with something less than hate.

Though most were wary but polite, not all members of the Horde were as accommodating. She dared to approach a warlock troll one day, blinking in surprise when he curled his lip and sneered at her.

“Why would I be sharin’ de secrets of da Horde wit’ ya?”

“Because I want to understand more about your people,” she replied staunchly. “I’m only trying to help —”

He barked out a laugh, the sound calling the attention of the nearby folk. Orc and goblin and trolls watched on, murmuring among themselves as Jaina fought back the embarrassment building in her belly.

“Leave her alone, Zaejin,” an orc said. “You’re not stupid enough to challenge the Lord Admiral.”

“Mebbe it be time someone did,” Zaejin growled back. In his hands, a dark, swirling ball of energy formed.

Jaina backed slowly away from them, smothering the prickle of arcane itching at her fingertips as more of the Horde began to gather. Something solid and cold bumped against her back and she helped softly, spinning around in alarm —

“Lady Proudmoore.”

She stiffened, staring up at burning red eyes.

Sylvanas peered down into her face impassively. A hand reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her in place. Those blazing eyes flashed back to the crowd. 

Before Jaina could speak — to explain, or perhaps protest — Sylvanas insinuated herself between them, all but looming over the warlock. “Have you any qualms with the Lord Admiral that I have not heard, Zaejin?”

The gathered Horde froze, darting nervous looks between them as they shuffled back. Zaejin bowed at the hip, refusing to lift his gaze from the ground. “Warchief. How are we ta trust de Lord Admiral’s intentions —”

“Has she given you cause for concern?” Sylvanas drawled. “Has she trod on your toes? Planned a military coup to usurp power while we are in peace talks with the Alliance?”

“Who knows with de likes o’ her,” Zaejin grumbled, casting a resentful look at Jaina.

“Then this peace treaty is a waste of time,” Sylvanas said. “If you’d like us to return to war, only say so, Zaejin. I shall leave the Lord Admiral to deal with your insubordination herself.”

At last, Jaina found her voice. “It’s alright,” she croaked, darting a slightly bewildered look between Sylvanas and Zaejin. “It’s understandable that he would be...wary still. There is too much between our factions to expect everyone to be content with peace talks.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked, her burning eyes flashing with amusement as she inclined her head. “That much is true. Regardless.” She reached out and laid a hand on Jaina’s shoulder, squeezing just so to leave the woman gaping wordlessly at her grip. Setting her eyes to the crowd, she said, “Let it be known; so long as we remain in Stormwind, the Lord Admiral is free to walk among the Horde with my blessing.”

A rich plume of power began to bleed from her shoulders effortlessly and Jaina fought back a shiver at the raw strength of it. “Have you any protests, warlock?”

Zaejin said nothing further, only glared. Boldly, Jaina reached out and touched Sylvanas’ elbow, casting a speaking look up at the Banshee Queen. “I think your point’s been made, Warchief. Let us do as you say and lay our animosities to rest.”

Wordlessly, and strangely, Sylvanas complied. “I shall escort you to your quarters, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina blinked. It didn’t exactly sound like an offer so much as a command, but she quelled the instinct to bristle and nodded mutely.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, when they were a fair distance away. “That was...unnecessary, but thank you.”

Sylvanas inclined her head; the weight of her hand lingered at the small of Jaina’s back. “If these peace talks are to bear fruit, we can’t have the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras assaulted in the streets. And we can’t have you levelling half the street in retaliation.” Her eyes slid sidelong knowingly.

Jaina huffed. “I could have managed with a little more tact than that.”

“I have no doubt,” Sylvanas said. They walked on for a time in a stilted sort of silence, until the Warchief folded her arms behind her back and remarked idly, “How have your experiments been going?”

Jaina paused in her step and stared.

Shrugging, Sylvanas said, “Derek likes to talk.” It was strange to hear her brother’s name on such a foreign tongue. “I understand the desire to...process the state your brother returned to you in. Not many of the living had such a kind reception to their Undead loved ones.”

“...He told me you gave him the choice to come back. Despite everything.” Jaina’s gaze was hard and searching, but not unkind.

Sylvanas’ ears swivelled and flicked, but there was nothing in her face that gave away the Warchief’s thoughts. She shrugged. “...I do not Raise those who do not wish to be raised. Not without purpose."

“And what was your purpose here?”

Sylvanas peered at her thoughtfully before turning back forward. “I did not Raise him with the intention of misusing him. I know the stories the Alliance tells about my powers. My goals and aims.”

Her burning eyes slid sidelong to Jaina for a moment. Quietly, she said, “I will not lie and say that the possibility never crossed my mind. But the Forsaken have never been mine to use. They are my kin, not my servants.”

The weight of Sylvanas’ words stunned Jaina; brought every story about the Dark Lady and her relationship with the Forsaken into question. Many thought her a tyrant — and she was, in many ways — but this was not one of them, it seemed.

Jaina ducked her head almost in shame before nodding once, meeting Sylvanas’ gaze steadily. “I believe you.”

Sylvanas made a noise in her throat, tilting her head curiously at Jaina. “...Does he regret it? Some do.”

“No,” Jaina replied, and the honesty of her response surprised even herself. “I don’t think he does. I think he’s...trying to adjust. And I want to help.”

Sylvanas nodded slowly. “Do let me know, should you require another test subject. I would be curious to see what you could achieve,” she said.

“Wh—?”

“If you require information from the High Necromancer, I shall provide it,” Sylvanas continued, pausing as they reached the tower. Glancing up at the spire, she turned to Jaina. “It is my duty as their leader, is it not? To ease their burdens. I would like to help, if I can.”

Jaina blinked rapidly, then found herself nodding. It was the only thing she could think to do. “Y-yes, alright — I — thank you??”

A slow, curling smile spread across Sylvanas’ face. “You’re welcome. Until another time, Lady Proudmoore.”

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Let me give you my life

Pairing: Loki x Tesseract

Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism

Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.

Chapter 3: Verse 3

Chapter warnings: math, fantastic racism, death (not graphic)

Chapter summary: the orders

Previous chapter, AO3, next chapter

If I'm a pagan of the good times / my lover's the sunlight

Loki storms the library once again, this time searching everything about the Tesseract and this Entropy they call him all the time.

Entropy still remains a mystery, but there are even more writings about the space stone than the ones they've seen before.

"It says here that they worshipped you," Loki says, but only internally. He's in public, speaking to the walls would make him appear mad.

"People express loyalty in different ways," they answer, always softer since the deal.

"Is that what you want? Loyalty?"

"Among other things, yes. But mostly trust that I will not hurt you, cause I won't," they promise. Loki already knows this.

Can't break something that's already in pieces.

"Brother!" Thor yells as he walks in. Loki's shoulders tense, this idiot never warns them.

"Tho-thor," he answers, eyes on Thor as they drab a chair and side beside him. "How come you be i-i-in here? You ha-ha-hate books," they raise an eyebrow at their brother.

"I'm here to see how you're doing. You've been acting oddly lately," he answers, those blue eyes scanning Loki.

"People grie-grie-grie-grieve in different ways, Th-thor. I a-a-a-assure you, I'm fi-fine," he hums, turning back to the book.

"Loki. After all this, just remember that I'm here for you, eh? You needn't face anything alone," Thor insists, placing a big and steady hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki's body nods, and smiles, watching as Thor smiles back before leaving. Loki's mind wonders if this is all a mistake. Thor was, is grieving too. Maybe this is all too much…

But Thor wasn't there when Gæirasson offended Loki, neither time. In fact, Thor has been a ghost since Frigga's death.

"You have my trust and loyalty, until the end," Loki decides, feeling in their core how relieved the Tesseract is by the answer.

"Allow me to show you another secret then. Look at your hands but don't touch anything and don't let it spread," they answer.

Loki lets the book and brings his torn from the picking hands under the table, always watching them. Black ropes start appearing and tangling themselves on their fingers, creating a calming sensation and demanding more ground, but Loki doesn't allow it. Out of all kinds of magic, this is by far the most powerful one he has ever seen.

And the most chaotic.

To keep the Goddess on my side / she demands a sacrifice

Like every day, the official Tesseract session is late at night, while Loki should be sleeping. Signs of their decreasing amount of sleep are becoming more and more visible, but they don't care.

"The o-orders?" he asks.

"You need to know some things first. In order to keep you from dying, King Laufey made a deal with one of us. Your life for acts of service. You need to do some things before being free," they do speak like they did on the first days, but somehow still softer.

"Acts of s-s-service?" he questions. So, the stone just needs hands and will borrow theirs?

"Yes. There are things that will keep the stones safe from those who seek them to do harm. Asgard has two, and you need to make sure that some things are set to their protection. It's just one thing, really. But you need to use your new powers to do so,"

Loki nods, the movement small and cut, like a soldier's.

"Ready to-to comply,"

Drain the whole sea / get something shiny

"First order. Free yourself from everything, good and bad," the Tesseract says. Loki blinks in confusion.

"H-how?"

"What bad do you carry into you? The possessiveness, the jealousy, this ego you named pride, all this fury… you don't need them from now on. Let them go," they insist.

"L-let them go?"

"Act as if they don't exist, don't give them your attention. The same thing goes for your bright side. You faith in your moral compass, your deep feeling for everything you care about. Both of those sides will keep you from moving on. You mustn't listen to them anymore," they explain, as if it's something easy.

"So… y-y-you want me to be-to be your li-little m-m-minion?" he raises an eyebrow. Is that what they agreed on? Being a tiny pawn but just on a different chess board?

“No. Not exactly. You are not to abandon them for my own good, but for yours. The acts might hurt these sides of you, you need them in one piece,” their voice softens.

Loki takes a breath, in and out as slow as possible, and nods again. “What-what sh-sh-should I-I do?” even though the stutter stays, he refuses to let his voice break.

They swear they can feel the stone smiling.

“Listen to me, and don’t act upon them. Also, learn how to control possibility magic,”

Possibility magic? Is that what the black ropes are?

“Learn how Midgardians think of possibilities. It’s close to how your new abilities work,” they advise him. So, this is what being under the orders of a stone is like? Homework and pretending? it’s nothing they don’t know how to do for hundreds of years…

“And after the-the week?”

“the fun starts.”

Loki smiles wide, wider than he has ever smiled even before Frigga’s death.

something meaty for the main course / that’s a fine looking high horse

The week passes peacefully. Loki doesn’t have to worry about how to do what, the Tesseract is there to help them with it and lets them just decide how to do what and, oddly enough, the Midgardian science was calming.

At least, more calming than war theory. And less graphic.

He was chilling on the training grounds and working on the newfound magic, until the Tesseract came.

“It’s time,” they say moments before a blinding blue light covers Loki.

With the blink of an eye, they’re at a castle’s yard, hiding behind a bush.

“Prevent the war, you know how,” the Tesseract says again.

On the contrary, Loki has no idea where he is and what he has to do.

At least not until a guard passes by, near the bush, their armour bearing Gæirasson's symbol.

They smirk, moving from shadow to shadow and into the castle, where they cast an invisibility spell to navigate without worrying about getting caught.

What you've got in the stable? / We've a lot of starving faithful

In the grand hall, Loki finds the old lord. They're discussing an attack, in which he is the main character, of course. They're to strike tomorrow evening.

Loki has to hold himself not to laugh. Instead, they sit and wait. Wait until Gæirasson ends the council and heads to their bedroom. And Loki follows. Until the corridors make a room, with six doors to navigate through.

It would be such a shame if they suddenly closed shut, locking the two foes inside.

The old fool chuckles. "I know you're here, Frost Giant. I can smell your people's blood," he looks around.

Loki chuckles back and drops the spell, standing right in front of the man.

"Is it this? Or do your aged joins hurt with the cold?" he titles his head, showing his signature mischievous smile.

"Why are you here? To negotiate? We've been past this part," they growl. Loki doesn't break the smirk, but lets a glow pass their eyes. Green, but with icy blue undertones, and a pitch black shadow.

"No. We are here to talk about monsters. For, as you can smell, the blood of my siblings who you slained are screeching for it"

That looks tasty / that looks plenty / this is hungry work

"Do you know anything of my people's belief regarding the Norns?" Loki asks, circling around the man like a predator waiting to strike.

"Why should I care about the opinions of monsters?" he spits, trying to mimic the glare.

"Oh, because it's interesting. We believe in the norns, like you do. But they don't create the strings, they knit them. Twisting and turning and combining and separating people, and letting us choose where to go on each knot. Fascinating. Oddly enough, the mortals have a similar way of thinking, at least the ones who are closer to science. They name it possibilities, and write it with numbers,

"Let me give you an example. There's a fifty percent possibility that I will continue this conversation with my normal face," Loki speaks, letting the Æsir glamour fade and rising to his Jötunn height. "But I won't choose this path because your ceilings are low and I would have to bend my neck," they continue, after walking a few steps and letting their horns scratch the ceiling. The glamour appears again, bringing him to his Æsir skin.

"And there's always the possibility that you die, because of your old age and the stress of the war you created. And the only reason people remember you is as an example of why not to piss me off," he grins, the black ropes tangling around his wrists.

"And the possibility, in Midgardian terms, is one hundred percent," they leap closer and grab the old man by his collar, staring right into the fear in his eyes.

"I have a message for my people in Hel, deliver it when you see them. Tell them to rip this old cunt apart, yet keep one piece for me for when I arrive," he spits, watching as the ropes tangle around their throat and mummify them in front of his eyes, making the fear and anger burn out.

They throw the corpse on the floor and open the doors as the Tesseract casts another light, revealing Loki's chambers as it fades away.

"You shouldn't have scratched the ceiling with your horns," they say, worried.

"And? I laughed at the face of one old fool already, what's a second one? And if I am to join my family, let at least my exit from the hypocrites be dramatic," he laughs, ready for the guards to storm in and take him to the dungeons.