#let me have my delusional optimism in peace

[machineheraldbabe]

laying in bed, trying to fall asleep, thinking about viktor’s potential to be a major player in season 2. what if. what if.

[lotusmi]

my success, my failures

honest post about my current life and thoughts on void 💌

Hi angels, this my most personal post and I don't know why, i felt like posting this. This is going to be an honest long post about my loa journey, void journey and whatever how my life went after I realized I was in control.

At first point I would like to recall: I am not a void state blog, I am not a void "master" (I am not assuming this, In 4d I sure AM!). My blog is more about LOA, the Neville Goddard Law, the Edward Art Law. The simple, beautiful Law that I felt in love with. I like the void state method, I have entered it a few times, I'll be talking on this in a while, first I'll tell my story until here on how I left the worst circumstances...

As I was someone like most of people are, I thought I was not the operant power. I have known the law of attraction for 7 years, and I belived I had to "beg" the "universe" to give me things, I would write letters to the "universe" asking for my desires, then I would try to have "good energy", write down million of affirmations in future tense and then wait in hope to be "deserving" of them.

As time passed by, I yes, had manifested some things with this law of attraction thing, but I never changed my state, my mindset, I did not even knew what was those stuff, I would still let myself imagine bad things happening to me, I felt unwanted, ugly, unlucky, with no freedom. I had also lots of limiting beliefs, had to drink water to subs work, listen to then million times, be deserving, be positive, afirm without saying "no/never" etc.

Things were getting worse, I felt always more unwanted, different, unlucky, inferior, all of that. My life was getting shitty, I would imagine me having fights with my parents, me crying, I would see myself as an victim of the world, and I stopped even trying to have optimism and using law of attraction, i literally gave up. At this point I had lost my faith, so I lived all my days complaining and begging God, universe, deities to "save me". In this phase I suffered like never, I was super depressed, my home was toxic and i mean TOXIC. I was anxious, I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to break free.

So at this point I was in the worst months of my life, I was not allowed to even have friends or use internet for more than 7 months straight. The things they did to me... I am even embarassed to tell about those things. I had to decide on persist or give up. So I said to myself I would do my better to ignore my outer-world and stop letting those things affect me, it was not easy. I would hurt myself and have a lot of anxiety crisis, but I found my peace within, I started living in imagination and seeing in my imagination what I most wanted to have, be. I was being delusional, I did not even knew about all of this LOA thing. I just wanted to escape of my reality.

In less than 2 months everything changed. I was more happier, and I was now allowed to do my things again, talk to friends, have my computer and all of this. I did not knew It was me, I thought it was a miracle.

Life went by, I fell in love, my selfconcept was shit, he dumped me. Still, at that time I did not knew about the law. I did not knew he did that because I assumed. I would imagine that he did not loved me, I would imagine him saying "it is over" at the point I would cry imagining, I felt that real, so I manifested. I was the cause. I did not knew.

After all of this I wanted to love myself and take care of me, I started learning about spiritualy, I learned that I am part of God. That I am God experiencing being human. I walked in love, started healing my trauma, I got a lot of it. In a meditation trying to communicate to my "higher self" I entered the void, blue gray, peaceful, beautiful... So still... I there naturally affirmed "I am calm, happy, love, ethereal". After this day everythin changed and I had no more reasons to be sad, I was healed.

But I was still in love with my ex and I only discovered the law because of it, I searched on how to manifest an ex, yea. It did not worked since of I let old story, circumstances, "false free will" let me down. But I discovered the neville subreddit, then the loatumblr, then the void, WHAT WAS, the void. And got to know I had entered it once, I wanted to do it again. I entered more of 3 times maybe until now, and also got some I AM state experiences. (They not the same to me since i feel emptiness from void and wholenesses from I AM + I AM state is golden and I see myself in other people bodies).

I learned about void with Halokisses, but at that point I thought it was some magical place, months passed by, my void concept got better but I still let circumstances bother me. I was not also doing my best to enter it to be honest. I was manifesting my life to be great even while manifesting entering in the void.

♡ What happened by this last months is that I just realized I love my life now, I love myself, my body, my friends, I have time to me, I have enough money to buy my things, I am free to do a lot of things. I never am bothered by circumstances + senses since I am in control of my states. and this made me feel like I don't even need the void altrough I still am going to enter it again, my void concept is beyond perfect right now that I fully know WHO I AM. At this point I am just so saturated about void that I relaxed about WHEN entering again because I am full convicted that I can do this and that I don't "NEED" it.

What I am trying to say is, circumstances does not matter, and you all don't need the void! You all need yourselves. I also want you to know that I AM not a "void master blog" all of that. I am someone who won the circumstances and manifested things, I am someone in love with Neville that want to help people, I am someone that did some subs for helping other people.

I know how it feels to be in a toxic home, feel ugly, be unwanted, have no friends, no money, be depressed, be anxious. I only told you the last 3 years of my life. I know how the void seems to be the only "way" and all of that. I know how it is like to just have someone to say "I am entering it for you" or wonder "When is my time?", I know how is like to think "you are the only exception" I know the void for about 8 months and I did not gave up. I manifested lots of things even while manifesting entering it. ♡ ALL I did was to change the story I was telling myself, the assumptions I held about me. I understood that 3d reflects 4d and so no matter what, everything is possible.

So please, stop begging me to "enter the void" for you or say "I can't do x so do for me". I am doing ALL I NOW can do to help you, I do posts, I reply asks, I make audios, I assume you all can do it. As soon as I enter the void I am of course affirming for you there. But until now I NEED, no, YOU need to save yourself, because even WITHOUT me, you can do this. YOU ARE THE CREATOR.

You don't have to pass by all that I had passed to realize WHO YOU ARE.

♡ My success story is I myself, I saved me. I am not depressed anymore, I am calm, happy, I am free. I never thought I could love myself this way!

₊and as soon I enter the void again, I will post my success, do more challenges, and I am even thinking of entering for it for you.

I hope this had inspired you and cleared things about me and my blog, I hope we all can help ourselves,

with love, Lotus - because I rised from mud. 💌

[impossibleprincess35]

I can bitch all day (AND HAVE!) about the blatant Satine erasure from "The Mandalorian," but I hoped she would get a nod in "OWK" - even as a consolation prize! The Powers That Be don't fuck with her, and honestly, I'm at peace with it because there are so many bad takes on her that it's better for my mental health if the SW fandom as a whole doesn't sink their teeth into her.

But that being said, if I couldn't have the dramatic political scenes I dream of, then I would have loved at least a name drop since Obi-Wan is the saddest man who ever sadded in the whole GFFA and if you're gonna fridge my girl for his character progression, you can at least let me have a crumb of his suffering, dammit.

Bail Organa shows up in Ben's little dirt sadmancave. BAIL: "Ben. I always thought that was an interesting choice. Satine gave you that name, didn't she?" OWK: A tiny flinch in his expression gives him away at the mention of her name. He looks down to compose himself, and then stares up at Bail, unamused. BAIL: "The Duchess of Mandalore was fearless in her pursuit of peace. I often wish for one more conversation with her to drink in her optimism. Sometimes I thought she was delusional." He chuckles to himself at the memory of his friend. OWK: He looks down again and clears his throat, then softly he says: "The delusion of a dreamer." He looks up with the hint of a pained smile on his chapped lips. BAIL: "I'm sorry, friend. I know you cared for her." OWK: "I loved her." He pauses, then says quietly, frowning to himself: "We loved each other."

Then whatever. I don't care. Play the Johnny Cash cover of "Hurt" for all I care. Just give me a mention.

But whatever. It's probably for the best.

[aaternum-a]

@phantasmaw appeared, ❝ Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. ❞ - from chae!

Personal perception of beauty skewers the world, doesn’t it? We decorate graves and paint after images of ghosts in spite of ugly truths. But it’s a requisite of peace to make poetry of loss. The hardest part of joining the fight is making sense of what you couldn’t save. And even in the face of a hundred victories, somehow a single defeat feels heavier. At least, to her, it does. She’s peeling off the skin of a clementine, letting thoughts fall freely from her lips as layers fall to the ground. “Y’know that should be a good thing. It really should. Sometimes an end really is a new beginning even if it hurts. But..” The slayer clicks her tongue in some off-beat pattern, trying to piece together her words. Diplomacy is hardly amongst her strengths when it comes to voicing the mess in her head, but she wants to make sense. “--People can be so cynical. And I know, I know. Maybe I should just let ‘em be that way. But I’m no good at minding my business. Especially when something hurt is in front of me.” She strips one slice away from the bunch and reaches over to place it in Chaewon’s palm, fine creases varying between her brows.

“I mean, here, in theory .. if I left these orange peels on the ground, someone could say I’m careless and sloppy. I made a mess. But y’know what, maybe the grass here could have used some new fertilizer. And now it's a beautiful mess making way for some garden flowers or bushes.” She sits in her analogy a moment, places a single slice between her lips. Of course, people are nuanced creatures with a laundry list of issues that can obscure optimism. Hope. She knows she can’t heal everyone, but god does she try. Driven by naivety and stubborn idealism. There can be balance with acknowledging the unjust and making something of it. That’s not delusional– at least she's convinced herself it isn’t. There’s a fine line where sanguinity bleeds into fantasy, but that hasn’t been crossed yet. Or so she believes. 

“Caring about others kind of sucks doesn’t it?”

Her nose crinkles as she lets out a soft, defeated laugh,dropping back dramatically to the ground, silver strands a wintery mess behind her head. She peels back another slice and extends her hand to offer. “Or maybe I’m the cynical one and I just have to hope every broken home I leave will somehow make use of the pieces left." A gasp for playful dramatics, but there’s an evident divide within herself. The reality that taking part in the battles still doesn’t offer anymore clarity than being a bystander. It just gives you more to do. It’s hard to love humanity in spite of the hurt it causes. She shakes her head as if to will the thought away, “I don’t know, we’ve only been traveling a short while. I’d love to hear your words of wisdom. I think I’ve spoken enough for the both of us.” Her lips curl in a lopsided grin, curious brow wriggling. 

“Are you the poet or the cynic, Deung?”

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 7- Year 1: February

(Ao3 link)

One thing Obi-Wan and Satine agreed upon was that despite their shocking discovery in an unsuspecting broom closet, they should do their utmost to maintain decorum. The very last thing they needed was every student getting it in their heads to explore the school for secret tunnels. Regardless of what this meant for their pending investigation(s), keeping the peace was essential if they wanted to get any further.

The second thing they agreed about was whom to share this information with, which considering the perilous circumstances that were already weighing on this school year, logically meant heading straight for Headmaster Yoda. For the busiest wizard in the school, he saw them quickly and took their accounts very seriously, even going as far as to follow them and excuse them from their studies for the morning to help clue him in.

Unfortunately, as far as agreement went, that was as far as it went between Obi-Wan and Satine. 

“You didn’t show him the robe.” Satine said tersely as they walked back to the common room to pick up their books for their afternoon classes. 

He sighed, knowing in the back of his mind that this confrontation was inevitably coming, even if he chose to ignore it all day, “You know why.”

“We took an oath to lead without bias.” She returned with the same level tone. “In case you’ve forgotten.”

“And I am insulted you would insinuate that’s why.” He walked along her step-for-step and felt the blood boil in his face. No, he would not break first.

“You’re withholding evidence!” She waved her hands around, turning her back to him so she could ascend up the winding stairs, “And you know it.”

“A discarded robe is hardly evidence when we know for certain that this alleged cheater has been masquerading as a Slytherin this entire time! If anything, it likely exempts Anakin as a suspect and quite possibly, Gryffindor house.” 

“Or,” Satine said archly, “Your tornado of a mentee has been running around the tunnels this entire time, as insinuated by a conversation we overheard between him and Rex.”

“My-” He shook his head, and while he would normally quell his rising tone, freely continued without hesitation when noticing they were alone in the common room, “My what of a mentee? You have the audacity to call me biased when you’ve had it out for Anakin this entire bloody time!”

“I do not have it out for him, Ben!” She implored, for once not as angry as him and more exasperated than anything else, “I don’t have the time or energy to hold grudges against 11 year old’s!”

“And yet,” He rounded the couch, dramatic as that may be, “At every single turn you insist on accusing him before even pausing to think about other possibilities.”

“Then read them to me!” She snapped, “Because here are the facts that I see: Anakin has admitted to discovering the tunnel system on Halloween night, Anakin is always popping up seemingly out of nowhere, Anakin is the only one to score 100% on Professor Windu’s homework assignments lately, we found his robe inside the physical tunnel, and Rex and Anakin were literally talking about his going out the night before.”

He clenched his jaw and stuck out his hand, tallying off rebukes to each of her statements, “Professor Windu and Yoda confirmed a trap door leading to those tunnels, making it quite possibly an accident, Anakin is a quiet and sneaky little boy, he is so frightened of Windu that he doesn’t want to set him off and actually tries in that class, I still stand by my previous statement of this being an easy frame-job, and that conversation was so obviously taken out of context.”

She rubbed at her temples, “I’m not sure what kind of “research” you and Qui-Gon do during your not-so-secret late night investigations, thank you for the invitation, by the way, but you are being absolutely delusional.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw went slack as he floundered a bit at her knowing that. He sniffed and straightened his posture. It never remotely occurred to him that Satine would want to be involved. He’d been far too concerned about Anakin to think of it. Any guilt that might have snuck its way into his chest was just as easily banished when he remembered why they were quarreling in the first place.

“You’re being petty.” He said calmly.

“Maybe I am.” She retorted and made her way over to the bookcase that led to the girl’s dormitory, “And maybe I’ll relent on pettiness when you decide to wake up and look at what’s right in front of you.”

***

Anakin was unsure what was up with Obi-Wan, but the older wizard seemed incredibly tense when he caught up with him by the prefect bathroom on the third floor. Evidently, Hondo had snuck inside and tried to promote his new business venture by scribbling his information on the bathroom stalls. 

“Why do prefects even get their own bathrooms anyway?” Anakin thought aloud, “What’s so great about you guys that you need to pee in private?”

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose and kept his stare straight, “I’m afraid I don’t have a proper answer for you Anakin.”

Anakin would normally pester for at least a slightly more riveted response, but it didn’t seem like his mentor was in the mood. Because of this, he read the room and assumed it was not the time to bring up the herbology essay he had due in a few days that remained untouched at the moment.

“You look tired.” Obi-Wan said after a long period without talking. 

“I was up late.” He said.

“So, I’ve heard.” Obi-Wan replied dryly and Anakin stopped in his tracks.

“Windu told you?” He whined. “Man, Echo and Fives were already giving me a hard time for costing Gryffindor 10 more points.”

Something in Obi-Wan stiffened again before turning back to look at Anakin with a calm yet scrutinizing stare, “He caught you out of bed late.”

“Yeah, I had a really bad dream about-” He wasn’t sure why, but Anakin knew he shouldn’t share his experience with Dooku and Palpatine to Obi-Wan. It was far from the concept of mistrust, but more because it felt sacred. Palpatine followed Anakin’s beliefs without question and saw them through to the end, even enlisting Professor Dooku along as well. Even then, Anakin hadn’t shared entirely what he’d seen. He didn’t want to until he knew for certain.

“-About the Zillo Beast.” Which was a lie and yet it came much easier than the truth of talking about the true threat. Maybe this was why Anakin was initially accepting of the beast’s death sentence. He thought it might solve something within him, but it didn’t and it wouldn’t. “I went looking for Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan paused and Anakin wondered if he was actually going to believe him, before softening and guilt twisted in the young boy’s gut. 

He placed a supportive hand on his shoulder as they continued to walk, “You shouldn’t wander the castle alone. It isn’t safe.”

“You do it.” He mumbled.

“I’m not the one with a price on my head.” His voice was gentle and he seemed considerably eased in comparison to the beginning of their conversation, but his eyes were still stern, “Though I can’t necessarily blame you for seeking out Qui-Gon.”

“Windu didn’t even listen to me.” Anakin said glumly.

“Professor Windu tends to look only at the facts presented in front of him,” And for once, Obi-Wan appeared to grow mad at this thought, “Which can admittedly delude one from the connecting factors.”

“It’s like he thinks I’m guilty of something that I don’t even know about.” He shrugged.

His mentor ran a hand through his immaculately combed hair and sighed, “I know what you mean.”

***

Cody tried to stifle a chuckle as he watched his two best friends try to pretend like they weren’t utterly pissed with each other during breakfast. Because it was “strictly prefect business”, neither had opted to share the dirty details of their most recent quarrel with Cody, but from what he could tell, it was personal.

Obi-Wan was typically the more apologetic of the two by nature. Satine tended to dig her heels into the ground to stick up for what she believed in while Obi-Wan was a bit more open-minded. Obi-Wan often said the wrong thing based on past bias that hurt Satine’s feelings and Satine usually let him know it with her own fires that upset him. He always knew they would bounce back, because they always did. It was the nature of their friendship and most of the time, he just had to sit back and watch.

The roles seemed to be reversed this time around, which was always an interesting change-up. Obi-Wan clearly was being headstrong about his beliefs this time, which eliminated it being over any sort of familial relation and Satine was exasperated with his mindset and had likely said something offensive in the process.

Did that stop them from sitting side-by-side and attending all of their classes and obligations together? Apparently not.

It didn’t mean they were above passive aggression. 

“Just to let you know, pretending that those pancakes are Kenobi’s face isn’t going to make the anger go away.” He quipped and Satine set aside her utensils, of which she was previously butchering her pancakes with.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything except:  “So, OWLS.”

It seemed the subject of OWLS was the only thing that prevented the two of them from biting each other’s heads off. He didn’t know how, since the idea of standardized testing always made Cody feel at risk of his own head exploding.

“Before you go all “post-Quidditch-loss” glum, I’ve devised a schedule to optimize all of our success.” Satine reached across the table and patted Cody’s hand.

He smiled, relieved that he didn’t have to say anything at all for them to understand his concerns.

“I might straight up fail out of my potions exam.” He grimaced, “I think I tie with Hondo for the most explosions in that class.”

“Except Hondo’s might be intentional.” Obi-Wan mused before shrugging, “So, we’ll pay extra attention on that one.”

“I’ve already accounted for that, actually.” Satine said curtly, but didn’t add in any snark, and showed him the color-coded schedule she’d assembled.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts is pretty low on the priority list.” Cody commented, not really thinking that much on it. They all did sufficiently well with Kenobi being the most proficient at the subject, as he was at most things. However, he expected it to be quite hard, with Dooku being behind it and all.

“Well,” Satine’s voice was even more clipped now, “It’s not like any of us will be needing it next year.”

It was the first time it had been mentioned- even indirectly, but from across the table, Cody had optimum viewership of the way Kenobi’s entire body seemed to grow incredibly taut. Truthfully, Cody had never asked what happened during his friends’ meetings with the headmaster. He figured they would all eventually be forthcoming with what transpired and Satine had done as such with her decision to work for the ministry, but Kenobi hadn’t said anything. 

He cleared his throat, “That’s alright. I mean, I don’t love spending my time thinking about that stiff, Dooku, anyway.”

His attempt at levity didn’t work much. It was almost like he hadn’t spoken at all.

Obi-Wan looked stuck between a scathing comment and retreating altogether while Satine seemed like she was daring him to do either. It gave her a different excuse to be frustrated or annoyed and that seemed to be what she wanted. 

Obi-Wan finally broke the silence between them, “Regardless of what we use, we ought to do plenty of research. You know, in-depth analysis that isn’t taken purely at face value.”

“That is true.” She said coolly, “But true research is, of course, at least acknowledging a clear trajectory as opposed to ignoring it simply because you do not like it.”

“True research is also about being able to trust your participant’s judgment.” He said, “Which is why only few are eligible to participate in the first place.”

“It’s got nothing to do with trust and everything to do with refusing to collaborate.” She snapped, “And- You know what? Nevermind. I feel like I’m talking myself in circles here. I’ll see you both at a later time for studying. I’ve got to go help Vizsla prepare for his potions project.”

“Be sure to make the smiley faces extra obnoxious this time.” Obi-Wan called after her. 

Satine gave him a not-so-friendly hand gesture and disappeared from the Great Hall with the only trace being the deflated Obi-Wan Kenobi, who watched where she left with a curious mixture of contempt and admiration.

“So,” Cody folded his hands, “Is Anakin prepared for his potions project?”

Obi-Wan grimaced, “Never actually told me there was a project. So, no.”

***

Anakin wasn’t exactly surprised to be summoned into Qui-Gon’s office that following day, given he was sure Obi-Wan passed on any concerns about Anakin to the professor. It was complicated in a sense, because while Anakin appreciated having people who looked out for him in favor of the alternative, he wanted to prove that he could sort out his own issues and didn’t need babysitters. 

“How can you lecture me about not getting any sleep when Obi-Wan has looked like a zombie half the time these days?” Anakin protested.

Qui-Gon poured him a cup of tea that Anakin would fail to feign enjoyment of and chuckled softly. “Do you truly believe I haven’t lectured Obi-Wan about his self-care habits?”

“I haven’t seen you do it.” Anakin said.

“Same as Obi-Wan isn’t present now, I try to keep my chastising towards only him. In any case, I did not invite you here to discuss your sleeping habits. At least, not in the way you believe.”

Anakin was thankful to have the teacup in order to have something to do. Even if tea did usually taste like rooty leaf water. 

“Have you ever heard of parseltongue?” Qui-Gon asked calmly.

He scrunched up his nose- both in response to the gross taste of the tea and in confusion over what the professor just asked him.

“Is that a disease?” He asked.

“No,” He chuckled and set his own teacup down, “It’s the language of the serpents as well as those who can communicate with them.”

“Who would want to talk to a bunch of snakes?” Anakin questioned, “I’d rather talk to a shark or dog or something.”

“Salazar Slytherin saw it to be a very useful trait. He didn’t just use it to speak to snakes, but influence them as well.” He said, “Most parselmouths, as the speakers are generally called, derive from his bloodline.”

Anakin tapped his chin, truly trying to think about what this had to do with him. It wasn’t like his dreams ever involved snakes. Then again, he had told Obi-Wan he’d been dreaming about the Zillo Beast, who while unlike a dragon as previously discussed in Palpatine’s class, could have been more like a snake.

“Is this about the Zillo Beast?” He broke the silence, which had previously only been filled by the soft crackling of the hearth central to Qui-Gon’s office. It made Anakin remember with clarity his moment on Diagon Alley, when the dark wizard was speaking to the flames.

“Not directly,” Qui-Gon said and pulled out a book that appeared to be some sort of translator, “The night of the holiday party when you were incapacitated, you were muttering… Words in parseltongue.”

“That’s not possible!” Anakin frowned, “I’m horrible at second language. You should have seen my French grades in school.”

“Parseltongue is not typically something learned, Anakin. It can be mimicked, but most of the time it is a purely genetic trait.” He said.

“But, that would mean...” Anakin didn’t have a proper answer for that. His mother had left him so in the dark regarding wizard lineage that he didn’t have a rebuttal for why he spoke a hereditary language among snakes. It sounded cool enough, but Qui-Gon was doing that thing adults did when they tried terribly hard to appear calm, even if they weren’t. 

“I don’t expect you to have the answers.” Qui-Gon said gently, “It’s quite possible you were simply relaying the message of the dark wizard that poisoned you. However, as word of these dreams persists, I’m concerned that you are… Seeing things that could be of assistance.”

Anakin squirmed in his seat, unsure how to possibly express that he was already looking into this with Dooku and Palpatine. However, neither of them had mentioned parseltongue. Maybe there was something Qui-Gon could decipher that they couldn’t.

“The word you primarily kept muttering over and over again, was “Vader”, which is German, for-”

“Father?” Anakin guessed, having to really dig in the crevices of his mind to a day where his school was not one of magical ability. 

“Exactly that.” Qui-Gon paused, “Forgive me if this is out of turn, Anakin, but do you find it possible that your father could have anything to do with this?”

“My father is a muggle. I never knew him.” Anakin said tersely and tried not to make it sound as foul as it tasted to say.

Qui-Gon’s eyes grew very sad as he nodded, “Very well. I will continue to search for any other utterances that strike out. And Anakin, please remember that you can always talk to me should your dreams trouble you any longer.”

“Yes, Professor.” Anakin said, but it felt more automatic than anything, because the mention of his deadbeat father, who didn’t so much as have a face to Anakin, made him feel a numbness that he hadn’t remembered for a long time. “Hopefully, I’m not busted by Windu next time.” He added, trying to add a sprig of humor to his voice.

Qui-Gon frowned, “When did this happen?”

“Two nights ago while he was on patrol.”

“Windu wasn’t supposed to-” He cut himself off in what seemed to be intense thought. “Well, I will talk to him.”

Anakin took this as his cue to leave, but turned back to catch Qui-Gon staring thoughtfully in space, feeling his skin prick from the unspoken accusations that floated aimlessly between them. Windu was not supposed to be roaming the castle either that night.

So, what was he doing?

***

“I’ve searched each path as instructed, Headmaster.” Mace Windu walked into the room without any warning of his arrival.The little headmaster was propped up on a stack of firm pillows in order to see over his desk, which no doubt had been designed for someone of the height of the average adult. His eyes were bright this evening and his long green ears perked up when he noticed he had company. 

“Found nothing, have you?” He spoke in that reversed verbiage that had become commonplace for Windu to understand. 

“The tunnel that led to the Zillo Beast is significantly newer than the rest of the tunnel systems.” He said with a nod of concession, “The infrastructure of these tunnels are ancient in make- whereas the tunnel that led to that dark lair was only meant to look old for aesthetic.”

“Sealed these tunnels should have been.” Yoda said gravely, “Meant for dark magic and smuggling, they initially were.”

Mace Windu knew this and while his peers and students would likely assess that he was an extreme stickler for the rules, he was not by any means unreasonable. He did not see the pure dangers of these tunnels for merely existing. Should they receive proper care and supervision, they just became different pathways to class. 

“Would you like me to seal them?” He asked.

“Tried many times, I have.” Yoda shook his head, “Against the will of the school, it is.”

Mace frowned, “Against the will of the school? With all due respect, Headmaster, regardless of all the magic in the world, this place is not physically alive.”

“Hmm,” Yoda gave him a look of appraisal, “Sure of that, are you?”

“It is not sentient.” He responded plainly, “It doesn’t have a beating heart or required source of sustenance. Biologically, it is not living.”

“Constrained, your definition of alive is.” He said, “The beating heart, the students are. The sustenance, knowledge is. Sentient, it is not, but intentions, it does have. For as long as it’s needed, alive, Hogwarts is.”

It took much patience to prevent himself from releasing an impatient sigh. Really, he knew what Yoda meant, but working amongst those that refused to see things straightforward could be frustrating. He supposed he was already spared enough from Qui-Gon’s presence for the night. Then, he’d be double-teamed.

“That does not help us with preventing another attack.” He said with folded arms.

“Then, the matter of the cheater, there is.” Yoda added thoughtfully.

“You’ve already declined my suspicions.” Mace said, trying too hard not to sound bitter about being rejected. 

“Keep looking, we must.” He pulled out a wrinkled map from his desk drawer. It was a map that was enchanted to show the whereabouts of every student in the school. It showed the blueprint of every location with the exception of the secret tunnels. His little green hand slid the map towards Mace. “Patrol the tunnels again, you shall, but tell anyone, you must not.”

***

He was in the hallway, late for class or at least he thought he should be. The sky was blue and he could hear birds, but the clouds looked stormy. He turned away from the window, but no one was there. In fact this wasn’t the hallway at all.

He was in the library, but it was loud and there were no windows. The book shelves seemed to trap him, he couldn’t walk towards the entrance, or try to find Obi-Wan at his usual table; whenever he tried it was only another shelf of books. He tried to grab at one, maybe there was a secret passage he’d missed somehow, but the books were stuck in place. He grabbed one with both hands and he pulled on it so hard his feet left the ground for a second, but still it didn’t budge.

He decided to continue down the passageway. He wasn’t even sure why that book stood out to him so much. Still, his hands itched to rip it from the shelf. It’s spine had been a deep blue, so deep in fact that it may as well have been black, he hadn’t caught the title, but it must have been important.

Before he could turn around and go back for it, a drop of water fell onto his hand. He looked up and realized it was too dark to see, looking behind him he could no longer see any books. The only light in the room were the walls, dazzling bright lights burst out of the carvings there. Stick figures were walking with him on either side and although they didn’t have mouths or really any way to make noise, he could hear them chanting almost like it was coming from the beat of his own heart.

“Vader, Vader, Vader,” It echoed in his mind even if he wasn’t sure he was really hearing it or not. He tried to tune it out as he continued, nowhere else to go, but the figures continued to follow him, glowing eerily in the dark.

He felt eyes on him, like he was being followed, but when he turned around there was nothing. He turned to continue forward picking up his pace. His heart was hammering louder and with it the chant did too.

“Vader, Vader, Vader,” He hit the end of the hallway. 

The Zillo Beast’s cage.

The beast was no longer there, but the bars had narrowed and there was no way for him to squeeze his way in, or escape from to the other side. He looked left and right, but there were bars there too, so he turned slowly, heart pounding, head filled with chants to see he’d been trapped. There was no way to escape. He pulled at the bars, even tried to climb them, but his palms were slippery with sweat and it seemed as if his strength had left him.

From the shadows he heard a deep voice speaking, but of what he couldn’t hear over the chant:

“Vader, Vader, Vader,”

Footsteps he felt more than heard were coming towards him at a painstakingly slow pace. He was pulling desperately on the bars, but his hands continued to slip. He saw a glint of silver from the darkness and he knew it was the blade he and Rex had seen. Then he saw the man’s robes, still no face, but it was damning enough. The dark robes, nothing fancy, but the inside was a deep mauve which stood out almost unnaturally in the darkness. The color was practically blinding, hypnotising him into standing still, hands sliding off the bars to fall at his side. Their surroundings had changed and he didn’t even notice, trees had sprung up around them and they leaned towards him as if to mock his suffering.

The sword was being raised, it glinted ruby red and the blade looked golden although he was certain it was meant to be silver. The hood of the cloak shifted though it still revealed no face; it did however allow the cloak to move in such a way that a wand was visible, if only for a, strangely long, second.

It was a twisting dark wood wand, blackthorn, he knew almost immediately because he’d seen such a wand before. It was a wand that did such elegant wand work for its owner, crafting the most beautiful charms.

A wand that belonged to Professor Mace Windu.

The sword swung.

***

Anakin’s eyes shot open and he pressed a hand, still twisted in his sheets, to his mouth to stifle the cry he was sure he’d made. He didn’t dare to move, eyes roving around the parts of the room he could see, but there was no glint of silver or gold, no mauve-lined robes, and no twisted blackthorn wand. He heard a rustle from behind him and he snapped instantly to a sitting position, grasping his wand he’d kept under his pillow in trembling hands pointing it towards the source of the sound.

Rex was rubbing his eyes and looking blearily at him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep and Anakin lowered his wand, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Although Rex had already done so, he couldn’t allow his voice to break the silence of the room. His heart was beating quickly and he could almost hear a voice speaking behind the sound, but of what, he did not know. 

“Are you ok?” Rex looked more awake now, and more awake translated to more concerned. Rex slipped out of bed and Anakin tried to focus on the soft patter of feet before Rex was climbing onto Anakin’s four-poster and whispering quietly, “Did you have a bad dream again?”

The fears and terrible memories swelled forward and Anakin felt his breath catch and tears slip from the corners of his eyes. He was trembling and he tried to stop by clutching his wand tighter, but all that did was allow a few golden sparks to fizzle out the end.

“It’s Windu, Rex,” Anakin said although he was sure the shakiness of his voice would not sound convincing, “I saw the tunnel again, but it felt different, like a warning, not a memory,” He was crying now, much as he tried to banish the tears.

“What do you remember?” Rex asked, he wrapped an arm around Anakin’s shoulders, and Anakin had to fight with himself to not cry into his friend's shoulder. He wanted his mum. She’d make things better. For the first time he really wondered if she had been right to stay away from the wizarding world.

“I was in the tunnel, but this time I got put into a cage,” He explained to distract himself, “He had that sword, the one we found and then there were trees.”

“And you’re sure it was Windu?” Rex asked and Anakin nodded frantically.

“His robes were lined with purple, like the scrap we found,” He pushed, “It was so bright like it wanted me to see, and the sword he had… it should have been silver, but it was gold and red-”

“Gryffindor colors,” Rex gasped, pulling away in shock.

“And I saw his wand,” Anakin wiped away tears, “It was Windu.”

“We have to tell Obi-Wan,” Rex whispered with a frown, but Anakin shook his head and practically leaped across the other boy to grab his shoulder.

“We can’t! Obi-Wan doesn’t believe me,” Anakin reminded him.

“But what if it is a warning? If he’s planning to do something-” Rex’s forehead wrinkled as he considered the little knowledge they had.

“He’s too cunning,” Anakin shook his head sadly, “The whole school thinks he’s great. Qui-Gon would hear me out, but without proof he can’t do anything! Everyone at this stupid school would rather have me dead then believe me!” 

This had been weighing on his heart for some time now. He looked to the wand in his hand. When it chose him, he had been elated, it had been one of the best days of his life. To be chosen to do magic and study away at a castle in the hills had easily surpassed everything he’d ever wished for. He wondered now, if it hadn’t been a blessing, but one big curse he was playing into.

“That’s not true,” Rex patted him on the shoulder, “I believe you,” Anakin felt his eyes tearing up again, but he threw his arms around his best friend before they could fall, “If Windu tries to get you, he’ll have to go through me too!”

“Thanks Rex,” Anakin failed at steadying his voice once more, “You're the best friend I could ever ask for.”

***

Anakin awoke to the feeling of his eyelashes being stuck together. So, he scrubbed at his eyes until he could open them enough to see Rex, who must have fallen asleep, still in Anakin’s bed. He was wrapped in all the sheets in a way only the youngest of such a large family could and he only woke up when Anakin tried to pull some of them back.

“Get your own blanket,” He grumbled without opening his eyes, clutching onto what he could with an iron grip.

“These are mine,” Anakin complained, tugging harder. Rex opened his eyes then and sat up, allowing the blankets to fall from his hands as he realized he was in fact, a thief.

“Ah, whoops,” He grinned sheepishly, “Sorry mate, Fives always did say I was a blanket hog.” 

Anakin just shrugged. As if both remembering how they ended up fighting over blankets in the first place, Anakin’s face fell and Rex’s drifted back into concern, “Any more dreams?”

“No,” Anakin shook his head, “But I’m not sure anything could top that last one even if I did,” He admitted and Rex just frowned, slipping off the bed and towards his trunk.

“Well if you don’t want to talk to anyone, maybe we should keep an eye on Windu?” Rex suggested.

“How so? Last time he caught me out of bed I got in trouble and I wasn’t even doing anything,” Anakin complained and Rex just gave him a look.

“The map, you idiot,” And he slapped a hand to his forehead, grabbing it from under his mattress.

“You’re right!” He held the paper up to the light before suddenly dropping it into his pocket and looking around to ensure none of the other first years were awake.

***

“So, Windu’s been going off property, huh?” Rex thought aloud as he and Anakin walked down the winding hill of the front entrance. Anakin’s eyes were glued to the map that rested on top of his textbook, trying to accurately see where the map tapered off. “That’s weird, I find it hard to imagine any of the professors having actual lives- let alone someone as stiff as him.”

“I just assumed they all lived at Hogwarts.” Anakin shrugged, “I guess that would be a little odd.”

“Some of them do.” Rex pointed out, “But yeah, I can’t really see any of them exactly going out on the town and grabbing a beer.”

“Most of them could use one.” He said and frowned, “It still shows us on the map.”

Eventually, a professor or prefect was bound to look and see the two first years drifting seemingly aimlessly across the lawn, looking like they were up to no good, and would surely corral them in. In reality, Rex really needed to study for Charms, but knew Anakin had the subject on lock. Despite being under clear scrutiny with Windu, Anakin had a natural talent for the subject that Rex might never understand. 

That being said, even coupled with the crunchy snow that they squashed beneath their boots and the damp wind that smacked them in the face, there was something about the wide open stretch of white landscape before them that promised the possibilities of great adventure. 

“The grounds are very large.” Rex voiced his thoughts, “I reckon it’ll show us all the way to Hogsmeade if we let it.”

Rex knew the smile that appeared on Anakin’s face quite well. It was one of both determination and mischief and admittedly, it sparked excitement with Rex as well. 

“I don’t see the harm in trying it.” He grinned and then gave pause, “Though, we probably should take an alternative route.”

“I could go for a butterbeer.” Rex answered with a smile that matched his friend’s. 

“I’ve never had one.” Anakin said.

“Great, a bonus mission, then.”

***

Satine prided herself on the ability to multitask. She could simultaneously observe that the first years were behaving as they enjoyed their time after school in the Great Hall, playing board games and chatting amicably, while also trying to mentally construct what she was to do for their latest Charms project.

It was an interesting one, for sure, which involved presenting a counter-charm in front of the class. She and Obi-Wan had paired together of course and despite her recent frustrations with the boy in question, had no worries about their imminent productivity.

Aayla and Stass, who always worked together, were not as confident in the merit of their own work ethic.

“Would you happen to know the counter-charm to my brain melting through my ears?” Stass groaned as she slumped off the bench and onto the floor.

They didn’t have to sit with her while she essentially babysat the younger students, but neither girl seemed to have anywhere else to be and Satine would be a liar to say she didn’t appreciate the company. 

“It’s only a counter-charm if it’s actually you know, countering a different charm.” Satine said with a smile, not taking her eyes off her scan of the crowd. She spotted Viz, who sat in the far corner to the right with a few other students around him. It was a relief to Satine that he’d found more friends. He’d been such a loner in the beginning of the year, only really seen occasionally beside Anakin Skywalker.

Satine bit her tongue. She was especially glad he found other friends.

“We could go simple, you know. That is always an option.” Aayla said, “A locking and unlocking display wouldn’t hurt us.”

“You know Windu will have a well-timed and well-deserved lecture about taking the easy way out.” Stass sighed, “He’d rather see us fail at something hard than opt for something too easy.”

“When you’re right, you’re right.” Aayla flopped backwards so she was lying flat on the bench. One of her blue lekku dangled over the side, just barely above the stone floor. “What are you and Kenobi working on?”

“We haven’t discussed it yet, actually.” Satine kept her hands folded in her lap and tried not to appear visibly cross with him, even if most could tell by the way they behaved around each other. It didn’t help when she could practically feel the curious stares of her prying and procrastinating friends.

“You haven’t come up with the full plans for the project?” Stass gaped, “But it’s been a whole week since it was assigned.”

“I’ve been a little busy, you know.” She pointed out, “Those essays for potions were not exactly what I’d call a fun time.”

“You still got the best grade in the class.” Aayla said.

“Second best.” She corrected almost automatically. “By a whopping half point.”

“Good thing you’re not keeping score.” She smirked.

Satine rolled her eyes. She really wasn’t. So, it was in her nature to be a little competitive when it came to academics. It was always in good nature. She was never mad when he scored better than her on something… Just, determined to be better for her own sake. 

She was already considered at a disadvantage at this school for being a muggle-born. She didn’t grow up with magic the way many had. Satine merely felt the need to fill in those gaps in whatever way she could. If it were always easy for her and she was simply always the best, she would grow uninspired. In comparison to this, she always had someone to walk in tandem with in terms of intellect, even if that person was presently being an idiot.

As if on cue, Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into the Great Hall, scanning the crowd with determined eyes until they landed on her. She cocked an eyebrow in response, contrasting the smile she might shoot him if she weren’t still cross with him. Most students liked to relax after the course of the school day, which might involve untucking their shirts, rolling up their sleeves, loosening their ties, or removing their jumpers. Obi-Wan was far from “most students” and almost constantly opted to dress with the primness of a new day.

He walked over to her, but kept turning his head around the crowd. Most students spared him a brief look of concern, noting that two prefects in one area was rarely a good thing, but seemed to recognize Obi-Wan and Satine’s close friendship and continued on with their antics.

It was refreshing in a sense, because the little first years were not nearly as concerned with their friendship as say, third or fourth years were. Satine could not quite fathom why.

“Hey, Kenobi! Here to talk strategy for the match?” Aayla teased as he got closer. 

Satine wasn’t sure how she managed to forget that Ravenclaw’s next Quidditch match was in just a couple weeks’ time, but she guessed her increasing annoyance with her most valuable player was a large component of this. 

Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll say no to advice on how to keep my head on straight against Ventress’s vital blows.”

“Keep the ball from going in the hoop for a start.” Stass offered.

“Mind-blowing. Please go into sports analytics.” Aayla playfully jabbed her friend’s torso with her pointed toes. 

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” Obi-Wan said with a smile that faded into caution when he finally regarded Satine, “May I speak to you alone?”

“That depends, are you going to acknowledge my thoughts and opinions or will you be ignoring all of that completely?” She replied sarcastically and not quite caring if they had witnesses. Obi-Wan could read that the moment he came into the room and she knew it.

“Satine…” He begged quietly in a voice he rarely reserved for anyone else.

She hated how her heart still skipped a bit when looking at him for too long and in favor of avoiding the embarrassment of flushing red in front of her friends, she slid off the table and wordlessly joined him across the room. They could still manage to watch over the first years if they needed to, but it was slightly more secluded.

“I’m assuming this doesn’t have to do with our Charms homework.” She said, but frowned as she noticed he was still searching the crowd with growing tension in his form. “What’s up with you?”

He gave another onceover across the room before returning his gaze back to her and she realized with growing clarity that he wasn’t simply looking from the perspective of a prefect that was trying to do his job, but someone who was actively looking for something else.

Or, as she considered the entirety of first years filling the Great Hall, someone.

“You’re looking for Anakin, aren’t you?” She said with the shake of her head. 

“And Rex.” Obi-Wan sighed, “They skipped their final class today.”

She knitted her eyebrows together, “So-”

“-For the record, this does not mean you were right.” He said pointedly. “These could be two completely unrelated incidents.”

“Oh, well, heaven forbid that ever be the case,” She drawled and crossed her arms over her chest, “And I wasn’t about to say anything of that matter, actually. It’s still my responsibility to ensure the safety of younger students, regardless of who they are.”

“I’m just ensuring you won’t use this as an opportunity to lay a preemptive “I told you so” on me.” 

She bristled, “It’s good to know your faith in me is ever persistent.” 

“I’m here for assistance, aren’t I?” He retorted.

“Are you?” She frowned, “Because you’ve got a funny way of asking for it.”

“Please?” He returned to that gentler tone that stroked something soft in her chest and she shoved it somewhere deep where she didn’t have to think about it… For now. 

She sighed, “Let’s check the common rooms first.”

***

Anakin walked the secret tunnels beneath Hogwarts with enough confidence to make an outside viewer think he carved them out himself. It certainly paralleled significantly to a few months before when he’d merely been eager to see them in the first place. Rex held his glowing wand over the map and huddled close to Anakin as they followed its lead to see just where the map trailed off. 

Even without the map, it was obvious they were no longer beneath the castle as it was beginning to feel like a refrigerator as they continued onwards.

“You know, this is an awful long path for a shortcut.” Rex muttered.

“Pretty straightforward too.” Anakin commented, noting that they had only made one or two minor turns in their trek towards Hogsmeade.

“I wonder what shop we’ll drop in on.” Rex said, though it wasn’t the first he’d thought of it. “It might look a bit funny to pop up behind a merchandise shelf in Zonko’s or something.”

“As long as Windu doesn’t catch us, we’re good.” He said, “He’s observing Slytherin’s Quidditch practice in place of Palpatine. I’d say we’re in the clear for now.”

“I gotta hand it to ya, mate,” Rex began, “Despite all the thinly veiled threats, you really don’t ever quit, do you?”

“Hogwarts is my home.” Anakin said sharply, his high-pitched voice echoing off the wet stone walls, “And I want to keep it safe. I can’t do that if some creep is trying to kill me at every left turn.”

If Rex was going to argue that they were too young to be so protective of their school, he didn’t give any indication of it. It was a relief to have someone in his life that wasn’t so quick to comment on the more augmented portions of Anakin’s statements. 

They walked a little longer in comfortable silence. The only space that filled them was the sounds of their boots sloshing around in puddles. Lining the walls was ice and while there didn’t appear to be any icy patches, the ground was a bit crunchy from snow previously tracked in. 

It was strange, Anakin was beginning to feel even safer in the tunnels than he did walking through the main corridors of Hogwarts. Of course, he felt plenty fine going to and from class as was expected of him. However, exploration of Hogwarts on the surface was strangely forbidden, clearly containing more secrets than the teachers could manage. It was easier to delve deeper.

Not only that, but knowing there was a straight escape out of the building if need be was a bit comforting for Anakin. Seeing as his life had been attempted twice at this point, it was always good to know. That, or if Sebulba figured out it was he who turned his bed into a swamp.

“Hey,” Any comfort he felt seemed misguided by Rex’s tone, “Have you taken this route before?”

“I told you, I’ve never been to Hogsmeade.” Anakin said, but when he tried to continue walking, Rex grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe to force him in front of him. Concern filled the wide brown eyes of his friend, who was only illuminated by the soft glow at the tip of his wand. “What?”

“If you’ve never taken this way before, then how does snowdrift get dragged in here?” He nodded towards the small little dustings of snowy residue that peppered inconsistently across the surface leading forward. 

Anakin frowned and held the map down to his side, giving Rex his full thought and attention for that moment, which was all the more chilling. As much as the tunnels had become a safe haven and escape for Anakin, they were also the primary mode of transportation for his alleged attacker. 

“It’s cold down here.” He added, trying to remain optimistic.

“Not cold enough to freeze.” Rex said.

No, that was also true. While muggle school had bored him, he did understand the basic concepts of temperature control and how water would only freeze when reaching zero degrees celsius. And there were puddles of murky water lingering throughout the tunnels. If it were truly that cold, they would have froze over as well.

He sighed, “Okay, so should we turn back or go-”

Anakin didn’t have the time to finish that thought, because any suggestion he was about to make died on his tongue at the sound of shoes hitting stone flooring at a rapidly approaching speed.

He didn’t have to encourage Rex to follow him as he turned on his heels and began sprinting in the opposite direction. While he nearly dropped his wand in the process, Rex staggered next to him, trying his best to keep up. Somehow, he managed to keep his wand aglow, which did help a little in terms of allowing them to make out what was directly in front of them. However, the speed at which Rex flung his arms made the light seem like it was flashing. 

The way back towards Hogwarts was dark and the brandish motion of Rex’s wand gave off the heightened sensation of a strobe- slowing time impossibly. Anakin balled his hands into fists as he ran, crinkling the revered parchment tightly through his sweaty fingers.

In those seconds, his mind raced to many things.

Windu.

Phantom.

Vader.

The footsteps grew louder and more frantic, even over the sound of his brain pounding in his skull. Whoever chased them was quick and determined, but not heavy on their feet. Anakin veered his head to the side, trying to catch Rex’s eyes in the flickering light of his wobbling wand, but only saw a blur of his friend beside him and tried to focus more on getting out of here. 

It occurred to Anakin, suddenly, what it would take to discover the identity of this masked evil and he squeezed his fist so unbearably tight that it hurt. He wouldn’t tell Rex, so his friend would go on, but he had to know. He could only run for so long.

So, he stopped to a complete halt, trying to hastily unwrinkle the parchment he’d previously crushed in his knee jerk reaction. The tension that was caught in his digits made this exceptionally hard as well as the way his heart threatened to burst through his chest in anticipation. 

The map would reveal the truth. He would have his proof. He would have his name. There would be no more doubt that the person who has repeatedly made Anakin’s first year at Hogwarts so uncharacteristically strange was-

-BAM!

The breath was stolen from Anakin as he bore the full weight of a shrouded body that had been hurtling towards him. For a moment, he was floating and the only thought that drifted across his mind’s eye was that he was no longer holding the map or his wand. He wanted to curse, but the words were also no longer a luxury he could afford.

He skidded to the cold and damp floor, splashing into a puddle with a grunt and a gasp. It felt as though he’d gone into shock as he briefly wrestled in the dark with his witless attacker, who also seemed to have their senses knocked out of them by the impact. 

Blood pumped into Anakin’s ears and pain finally caught up with him after a moment and he looked up into bleak darkness, but had the presence of mind to shove this surprise guest off of him. It was surprisingly an easy feat, not nearly as dense as the menace on Halloween had been when he’d snuck up on him.

Even in his haze, it was clear to him that this wasn’t the same person. This person was small and desperate, scared even. As they rustled a bit in an unsure scuffle, he could feel what seemed to be an emblem on the front of the robe. 

There was no answer of course.

As if also just coming to, the mystery person scrambled to their feet in equal terror as Anakin had initially felt, and stumbled into what would become a running position, the sound of distant footsteps hitting puddles as well as strangely, an irregular fluttering. In what small lighting Rex’s wand allowed for him, he could see that this person was a young boy.

“Anakin, Anakin!” Rex’s arms were underneath Anakin’s armpits as he hoisted him to a standing position. His worried voice indicated that this had not been the first time he’d said his name. “Was that-”

“-That was a student!” Anakin gasped as he dusted himself off, no matter how little good that was going to do when he now had ice and dirty water on his robe. 

“We ought to go after him then!” Rex urged.

“The map!” Anakin panicked, “I was trying to get a look at the map and I dropped it!” 

Rex waved his wand across the floor and both boys exchanged shocked glances when they noticed not only Anakin’s map and wand in a particularly jagged shaped puddle beneath them, but several different slices of parchment all around. Anakin wasted no time looking at them yet as he plucked the map from the water.

“What’s it say?” Rex asked.

“Bollocks.” Anakin cursed, “It doesn’t work when it’s wet, apparently.”

“Well, what kind of spell is that?” He complained. 

“I’m sure Palpatine never thought I’d be dragging it through mud.” Anakin defended slightly and winced, “I hope I didn’t break it.”

Rex bent down to pick up another piece of parchment and frowned, “Well, I think this answers any question of what he was doing down here.”

Anakin looked over his friend’s shoulder and wrinkled his brow, “Homework?”

“This isn’t homework,” Rex rolled his eyes and brought the papers closer to the light, “These are answer keys to the OWLS tests for the fifth years.”

***

Obi-Wan and Satine had searched what seemed like the entire school with growing trepidation. Obi-Wan, in particular, was trying his best not to seem shaken by his mentee’s absence while Satine wondered when and how she was going to suggest adult intervention.

She didn’t have to, luckily, because right as that moment felt inevitable, they stumbled across Anakin and Rex as the boys stood with hands on their knees, huffing and puffing outside of the Gryffindor common room. From her peripherals, she could see Obi-Wan relax substantially and she was also glad for their safety. However, such relief did not prevent varying questions from flooding her mind.

Obi-Wan beat her to the first one, “Where have you two been hiding?”

Anakin straightened with the alarm of someone that was trying to disguise having been caught. Doing what, Satine supposed they didn’t have definitive proof of. At the very least, they’d obviously been running.

“Um, cardio.” He so obviously lied, “For Quidditch.”

“In your full uniforms.” Satine said plainly and then looked to Rex, “Rex isn’t even on the team.”

The youngest Fett’s frown deepened, but after exchanging a quick glance with his best friend and co-conspirator, eased into what Satine could only assume was purposeful ignorance. “I’d like to be someday.”

That much, while true, was irrelevant. She wasn’t buying it and clearly, Obi-Wan wasn’t either. 

“You skipped class- Herbology, mind you, which is far from your strongest subject in order to run around like hooligans?”

“We didn’t mean to miss class.” Anakin justified, “We completely lost track of time!”

Satine rolled her eyes, “You’re really going to have to do better than that. For skipping class no other purpose besides playing hooky, I’ll have no choice but to assign detention for the both of you this evening.”

“Wait, okay!” Rex broke a bit, clearly not keen on spending his time with the likes of Krell and truthfully, Satine didn’t want him to either, “We were… Investigating.”

“Rex!” Anakin glared at his friend.

“No, do share, please.” Obi-Wan said, holding out a hand to cue Anakin to silence.

“We were trying to figure out who was behind this cheating scandal that’s going around.” Rex said and Satine furrowed her brow at the way Anakin slackened ever so slightly at this “admission” of truth.

“That’s the job of prefects and professors.” Obi-Wan reminded them, “Not first years.”

“Yeah, well, did either of you find this?” Anakin boasted as he held a surprisingly wet piece of parchment out in front of him, “Because a couple of dumb first years did.”

“I never said you were dumb.” Obi-Wan returned as he took the dripping paper away to take a better look at it. Over his shoulder, Satine caught a glance too and couldn’t help the small gasp that she took in.

“Where did you find this?” Satine asked in a treacherously concerned voice. 

“And why is it wet?” Obi-Wan winced and wiped his hand on the side of his robe. 

“Outside.” Anakin said, “Right near the entrance.”

“We were running, because we thought we saw the kid.” Rex added and for this bit, Satine could see that Rex was relaying what he believed to be the truth.

The heaps of snow that covered the rolling terrain did explain quite obviously why the parchment was soaked in some parts, but not why it existed at all. The OWLS weren’t for another couple of months and yet, the answers (albeit, smudged) were right in Obi-Wan’s hands. Neither prefect took to looking at them too closely in fear of glimpsing any of the answers in-context, but enough to know this was certainly the key for a Transfiguration exam.

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention.” Obi-Wan nodded at the two of them. He was very practiced at maintaining a cool composition, even if Satine could see the cracks in his display from a kilometer away. It seemed to placate Anakin and Rex, who were also trying not to seem jostled.

“Does this mean we don’t have detention?”

If Satine had it her way, she’d want to add further questions before making such a promise, but Obi-Wan seemed to have other ideas.

“For now.” He said sternly, “But see to it that your spree of vigilantism stops right here. The main priority for you two is to go to school and learn, not engage in criminal investigations.”

“Leave that to us.” Satine added with hands on her hips, “And remember that we might not be as kind next time you choose to skip class.” 

Both first years nodded their heads hastily and at Obi-Wan’s firm dismissal, jogged off to dinner, trying to beat the other through the doors. Instead of following them inside, Obi-Wan shared a concerned look with Satine.

“What do you make of this?”

“It was one thing when it was regular exams and essays,” Satine admitted, “But this is supposed to be a standardized examination. Whoever is doing this has contacts that run deep.”

“I know.” He said, “It’s good that you have seen reason.”

Feeling as though something halted and reverberated within her, Satine stepped back, completely incredulous. “Pardon?”

He frowned in confusion, “You see that this cannot be Anakin now.”

“I see no such thing!” She offset, “We’ve drawn no absolute conclusions yet!”

“He literally handed us the test paper, Satine.” He said. 

“Need I remind you that he clearly did not want to?” She argued, “Rex was the one to goad him into it.”

“He doesn’t have the sort of contacts to get access to this level of cheating!” He said, “And I’ve been with him almost constantly.”

“Almost constantly except today.” She reminded him.

“And you believe Rex complicit.” 

“I didn’t say that!” She said, “I don’t know what I believe and neither do you.”

“I believe Anakin wasn’t being wholly honest with us, but he’s not a cheater. If anything, he was likely trying to seek out more information on who freed the Zillo Beast.” Obi-Wan stood up straight, as if his more impressive height would give him an advantage in this spinning wheel of an argument. 

“And I hope that’s the case!” She insisted, “But even still, that is something he should most certainly not handle alone.”

“Anakin doesn’t trust the manner of investigation here,” He said firmly, “And frankly, I can see why.”

“That sounds a bit fishy to me, actually.” She said, “You and I have given him no reason for mistrust.”

“Well, I haven’t.” He said bitterly.

“Don’t you dare try to lump me in with Windu’s oversight regarding Krell.” She poked him hard in the chest, “I don’t believe with certainty that it’s Anakin, I admit, and I do have many more questions in relation to this whole mystery now, but I will not rule any potential suspects out.”

“God forbid we rule anyone out in an investigation!” He said, waving around the parchment, “Good thing you’re not an Auror, because everyone would constantly be a possible suspect of crime.”

“Yeah, well good thing you aren’t one either!” She snapped and it felt cold as it came out, but her mouth seemed to move before her brain could think, “Because not only does it require the courage to pursue Defense Against the Dark Arts, but critical thinking!”

His eyes widened a tad and his mouth fell open a tad, “I- Well, then. Why are you even investigating alongside me in the first place?”

“Ben...” She tried, regretting what she said if only a little bit.

“I’ll see you later.” He said shortly, “We’ve got a counter-charm to develop, no? I am smart enough to help with that, right?”

“I never said-”

“-No, but you did.” He laughed a little, even if it wasn’t funny to him, “And it’s okay. Really, it’s inconsequential since we both know that’s not where my path is going anyway.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but couldn’t figure out what to say. She didn’t believe Anakin was entirely innocent in all of this, but she wasn’t hellbent on his guilt as Obi-Wan seemed to believe she was. And regardless of how it came out, the most infuriating part of Obi-Wan not actively pursuing what he dreamed to do, was that he was perfect for the job.

***

Hondo Ohnaka specialized in many things. 

Bribery, scheming, smuggling. All things pirating, really, but most of all, he prided himself on his charms- both in the magical and personal sense. He’d never have such an aptitude to sell his scams if he wasn’t so damn convincing. Plus, there was his fearlessness. He did not fear trouble and almost welcomed it… To an extent. 

He took a very large hit when exempting himself from the cheating scandal. It was a shame, really, because it was just the kind of sleaziness that Hondo could have made a killing off of! It was not as though he hadn’t thought of it in the past, of course, but he didn’t have the means that this mystery cheater had. 

Even though he had been insulted that Kryze and Kenobi initially suspected him, he became truly offended when they believed he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. Naturally, he could. He totally could. And yes, he had inadvertently promised to keep an eye on things for Kenobi, because even though Hondo was a pirate at heart, he did have a soft spot for the prefect. It was dangerous, he knew, but Kenobi was one of the few people to be nice to Hondo in those early days.

It counted for a little bit, that was all. Should this cheater offer Hondo a great sum of the profit, that would be a different story and he’d hope Kenobi would understand.

In a way, his promise to play lookout benefited him in the long run, making it possible for him to sell his Valentine’s Day gags more in the open. He could keep watch for anyone exiting from any secret corridors or at the late night, seeming like his typical troublemaking self, while getting a first glance at the person AND making a profit or alliance.

He knew with Kryze involved that he would be on a short leash, but he would make do.

He was just in the middle of making a decent sell- heart shaped chocolates that were supposed to make you look like your crush’s exact type- when Anakin Skywalker seemed to appear from nowhere, running right into him.

“Hey, kiddo, watch where you’re going!” He scolded, only irritated because the chocolates hit the floor. His buyer, a sad sack named Max Rebo, raised and lowered his large blue ears in exasperation, before scurrying away.

“Sorry, Hondo.” The boy dusted himself off and bent over to help him pick up the candies. “What are these?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Hondo warned him when the boy raised the chocolate to his lips, “It could give you horrible diarrhea.”

Skywalker would surely tell his mentor what happened if Hondo got the kid sick and the last thing he needed was to miss out on the Valentine’s day sales. 

Skywalker winced and tossed it back into the heart shape box, “Can’t risk that twice this term.”

Hondo didn’t really want to know the bowel habits of the first year, but was curious what he was doing wandering the halls so close to curfew. He narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re not trying to move in on my turf are you?” He asked.

“What? No!” Anakin insisted, “I’m just running late is all.”

As an experienced liar, Hondo knew that while that was true, it didn’t answer his question in full. Besides, the boy looked a bit too nervous for someone that was being questioned by one of the least authoritative figures in school. It was mighty suspicious.

“You better not be!” Hondo assured, “Because I don’t take well to splitting profits evenly… Well, unless I’m mooching off someone else.”

“Are people really buying this stuff?” He asked.

“What? You don’t like?” Hondo asked, distracted from his suspicions to be annoyed at the implications from the kid. “You’d be surprised what people do for love.”

Skywalker shifted in his stance, “I don’t know if love is worth the stomachache.” 

Hondo placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to look wise, “Love is a stomachache, Skywalker.”

***

Despite how frazzled he still was from their encounter with the mysterious cheater in the tunnels (as well as with Hondo), Anakin was never too nervous not to be swept in the calming yet alluring aura that was Padmé Amidala. It was hard not to, when it seemed even without the aid of the map, that destiny tended to cross their paths in the halls.

As per usual, she was trailed by some other Gryffindor girls whom she was quite close with- this time, Saché and Rabé. However, Anakin could hardly notice them when her laugh seemed to fill the whole hallway… Until Rabé (he thinks- her friends all looked very similar to him) said something of interest.

“I take it you won’t be receiving any valentines this year from Sebulba.” She said.

“No, I don’t think so.” Padmé chuckled, “And I think he’s afraid I’ll send him one carved of toenails and earwax or something dreadful.”

“I’d say it’s a shame he finally went “fully mad”, but I can’t say I find it in me to feel bad for the bloke.” Saché added.

“I still do.” Padmé offered with a shrug, “Not enough to do anything crazy like date him, but people don’t just become like that, you know?”

“Still,” Rabé sighed wistfully, “It’d be nice if some of the boys around here had a proper romantic bone in their body.”

Padmé smiled knowingly and nudged Saché, whose cheeks matched her tie, “Not just boys. Have you thought about making something for Yané?”

“Oh bugger off,” She scowled, “I’ve got no time for romance as of late, thank you very much.”

“That’s a no.” Rabé teased, “You know she’s going to knit you something beautiful.”

“She’s going to make something beautiful for all of us, thank you.” Saché said, “Because she’s talented like that.”

“So are you, in your own ways.” Padmé said encouragingly. “You’ve just gotta put yourself out there. Who cares if you’re a year younger?”

Anakin swore his heart was floating somewhere midair- as if a passerby cast a Wingardium Leviosa spell on it without warning. How was someone so unassumingly beautiful? It felt somehow, like he was meant to overhear the advice, but knew if he lingered much longer he’d be noticed from his position around the corridor. Instead, he walked with haste to the library. 

What was he going to do?

***

“Okay, mentor, I’ve got a problem and you need to help me fix it. ASAP.” Anakin burst into the library and dropped his stack of books on the table in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan cringed at the glares they received from surrounding tables and raised a finger to his lips.

“Have you no mind for those that use the library as more than a place to nap?” Satine hissed, acting much less subtle in her approach.

“Sorry.” Anakin said, but was too caught up in whatever was going on to be genuine in his apology. “I just have a major problem.”

‘Major problems’ could be anything on the scale of miniscule to horrific when it came to Anakin, so it was difficult to decipher which this would be. Regardless, Obi-Wan made his peace with the fact that whatever studying he’d been planning would have to wait until later. 

In truth, he’d already been derailed by the undercurrent of tension presently wrapped around him and Satine. She was still cross with him and he felt likewise, but they’d both been too stubborn to give up their usual seat at the library.  

“What’s going on?” Obi-Wan asked.

True to his dramatic entrance, he flopped backwards across a row of wooden chairs with a heavy sigh. “Valentine’s Day is coming up.”

It was obvious that Satine was doing everything in her power not to roll her eyes, which while Obi-Wan felt a similar sense of exasperation, did not want to give her the satisfaction of agreement.

“That’s all?” He asked, voice carefully neutral.

“That’s all?” Anakin shot up in horror. “It’s quite possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

“You are aware it happens every year, aren’t you?” Satine asked.

He shook his head adamantly, shaking his shaggy hair, “This year is different. This year, I’m in love. I’m in love with the prettiest girl in school and it’s completely awful.”

“You do remember Halloween, right?” Obi-Wan asked, “When you were almost killed by the rogue Zillo Beast? Or at the holiday party? That, to me, is much more qualified to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Physical injuries have nothing on injuries of the heart.” He clutched his chest for emphasis and Satine couldn’t withhold the chuckle that seemed to bubble up inside her, though try as she might for Anakin’s sake.

“I’m sorry,” She smirked at his grimace. “I don’t know what’s funnier: the theatrics or the fact that of all the people in the world, you chose to come to him for romantic advice.”

Obi-Wan frowned, “And what’s wrong with asking me?”

“Yeah, what is wrong with asking him?” Anakin rounded on Satine, who remained cool under the pressure of both boys’ expectant stares.

“He knows positively zilch about love.” She said as if it were obvious, which prickled Obi-Wan in all the wrong ways.

“That’s not true!” He argued, even if someone else had asked him a mere ten minutes ago, he likely would have told them the truth. He just didn’t like Satine telling not only him, but his protégé what he did and didn’t know, particularly about this sensitive subject. “I know more than you do!”

Sometimes, he learned, it was best to call someone’s bluff. He just couldn’t tell if he was calling Satine’s or his own.

“Yeah, Obi-Wan’s the smartest guy I know!” Anakin slung an arm around him in support.

She crossed her arms, “Do share then, oh wise one.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it before opening it again. He racked his brain to say anything to wipe that smug look off Satine’s face. She seemed so certain that he was clueless and the fact that he was transparent in his lack of knowledge on the subject bristled him more.

The audacity of it all! Who was she to assume what he did and didn’t know? Then again, it shouldn’t surprise him, seeing as she refused to believe him of Anakin’s innocence in the cheat-sheet scandal. 

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.” He sniffed, “Anakin came to me, because he trusts and respects my opinion and believes I can fix this situation for him.”

“You can?” Anakin asked excitedly.

“He can’t.” Satine answered, “You don’t ‘fix’ a crush, particularly not someone else’s. If you knew anything about love, you’d have come to that conclusion on your own.”

“And what do you know about love? I don’t see you walking around with a boyfriend either.” He pointed out.

“By choice!” She snapped, finally, much to his satisfaction, seeming as heated as he was, “And anyway, at least I’ve been kissed before.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped, despite how little he wanted to display his shock at this revelation. He wasn’t sure what he felt in response to that, but he didn’t like the sickly feeling that crawled around his stomach. He mentally shoved it away as far as it could go so as not to further influence this argument.

“When?” He asked, voice cracking only a little, “Who?”

“Bryce Saxon when I was 10.” She said.

“Nice!” Anakin said at the same time Obi-Wan said, “That doesn’t count! We didn’t even know each other.”

“Why does that matter?” She asked, “Did my life not truly begin until I met you?”

“I-I” He stammered, “I just meant it’s circumstantial proof if we don’t know the person.”

“You don’t have to. Why would I lie?”

“To make me jealous?” He spat and when her eyes widened at that, he quickly added, “-That you have kissed someone while I haven’t.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got better things to do than lie about my accomplishments.” She said. “And you should know all about circumstantial evidence.”

Ah, so there it was. She was still lashing out about his disbelief in her claim. That only enraged him more. 

“As if kissing some twerpy bloke is an accomplishment.” He sneered, hating every bit of himself that was getting so riled up by this hushed debate. He and Satine argued all of the time, but never like this. The subject matter was sensitive and typically something they stayed away from. Or at least, he thought they did.

“Why do you naturally assume he’s twerpy?” She asked. “It’s not like you’ve got much room to judge.”

Was she calling him twerpy? Did that bother him?

“Regardless of what he was like, his existence is irrelevant, because an elementary-aged kiss is hardly the muse of romantics, which means it’s useless to Anakin.”

“That’s a good point.” Anakin said.

“Yes, well, Anakin is 11. I was 10. If anything, I’m more advanced than Anakin and would better assimilate my experiences to his.” She countered. 

“Also a good point.” He said thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan clenched his jaw. Would she stop bringing up that stupid kiss? “It’s best for advice to come from a mature and collected perspective. Sometimes, being caught in the hysterics of the situation is not the best position to be giving out any information.”

“That’s-” Anakin began.

“-I thought it was just a twerpy kiss?” She rose to her feet with her hands planted firm on the table.

“I’m not the one citing a peck on the lips as gospel reasoning to be fully informed on the throes of romance.” He met her with equal passion, their faces only centimeters apart. “I would also like to point out that I know much better what my protégé is capable of.”

“Do you?” She retorted.  

“Is this a bad time?” Anakin asked awkwardly, “Because I’m starting to feel like this isn’t really about me anymore?”

It was totally about Anakin, while simultaneously not. Obi-Wan certainly didn’t have it in him to explain.

“No, it’s a perfectly good time. Come along, Anakin. Let’s get you a Valentine.”

Obi-Wan stood up straight, keeping his glare fixed on Satine, who was just as formidable in holding a staring contest as he was. Oh, he’d show her. He’d ensure that this issue was resolved so that they could resume their normal studies. Then, she wouldn’t assume he was some… Love-less dolt ever again. And he wouldn’t have to hear about her stupid kiss with Bryce Saxon.

“Come to me if you’d like actual help, Anakin.” She called after them.

“He won’t need it.” Obi-Wan returned hotly. “He’s in the best hands.”

“So, what do I do?” Anakin asked after they were far out of ear shot and walking through the halls.

“I don’t know.” Obi-Wan sighed with dropped shoulders.

***

The two of them eventually returned to the library that evening, opting to skip dinner in favor of getting some research time while Satine wouldn’t be expected there. Anakin had really hoped to have a break from reading. His homework load was getting marginally larger as was, particularly in Charms, which while his favorite subject, had his least favorite professor.

“I can’t believe you willingly come here for all your answers. How do you find the patience?” Anakin asked.

“I’ve always liked to read.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s an escape.”

Not quite understanding what the handsome, perfect, rich student would want to escape from, Anakin continued his pacing.

“Maybe if you spent less time escaping, we’d have the answer to my Valentine’s Day dilemma.”

“I don’t spend all my time reading.” He said, “Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Yeah, you’re too busy busting the couples that are snogging when you could probably use a little of that yourself.” He said.

“I’m not a complete drag.” Obi-Wan said, “I’m trying to help you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, to prove a point to Satine. Which, by the way, you’re not doing so hot.” He said.

“Who does she think she is? Going off about how I don’t know anything about love?” He scowled, which proved Anakin’s theory that his annoyance wasn’t with him in the slightest. He was distracted in a way Anakin had never seen him all year and it was over something so silly.

“Well, to be fair… You don’t.” He said, “Or else I doubt we’d be literally looking it up in the encyclopedia.”

“Have you got any better ideas?” He quirked a brow.

“Of course not!” Anakin said. “I’m 11! You’re the prefect and my mentor! You’re supposed to know everything.”

“Where is that written?” Obi-Wan asked as he marked a page in the book he was skimming. Anakin always wondered how he read so fast. It was like he could just glance at a page and understand its contents.

“I don’t know,” He said, “But you are older and older people are definitely supposed to know more about this kind of stuff, especially teenagers.”

“It seems I missed that lesson, then.” He answered just as stiffly. “Just sit still and feel free to study for your Charms exam if you so wish.”

“How can I study when I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest every time I think about this girl? You have no idea what it’s like to see her and not tell her she looks beautiful, but also those words never come, because you don’t want to sound like a freak. And then when she is anywhere within the vicinity it’s like a slow but pleasant torture, because seeing her just makes things… Better, I don’t know.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” He said carefully. “Just like the rest of us.”

Anakin frowned, “What do you mean?”

Obi-Wan peered at him from over his book, “I’m not an alien. I have feelings! Everyone does. They’re completely natural, but you cannot allow them to dictate your every action.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” Anakin said slowly. “You like-like someone.”

He fiddled with his watch, which must have become a new nervous tick of his when under pressure. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but Qui-Gon says sometimes, it’s about what we don’t say that’s more telling about what we mean.” He pointed out, hoping he was using that phrase correctly. 

Obi-Wan pinched his brow and then slowly massaged his temples. “Okay, if it helps you, let’s just say I have had… Instances where I’ve occasionally felt… Emotionally conflicted... About someone.”

“Who?” Anakin asked.

“That’s hardly relevant to your dilemma!” He returned.

“So, what do you do?” Anakin asked.

Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan seemed strained, like he was trying to figure out the answer to that question and was coming up short every time a new thought seemed to cross his mind.

“Are you friends with this girl?” Obi-Wan finally asked, leaning on his forearms.

“She barely knows I exist.” He puffed at that.

“Then, I suggest you befriend her first.”

Anakin’s eyes bulged out, “Oh great! Never thought of that idea! Thank you so much, love guru.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “Find common ground and remember that she is also a person with feelings. In the trials of any relationship- whether it be platonic or romantic, you must always consider the other person’s position and feelings.”

“So, when do I get to kiss her?”

“Maybe never.” Obi-Wan said.

“What? I can’t believe I came to you at all! What kind of advice is that?”

“You can’t force something, Anakin.” He said. “And your intentions must be pure. Wouldn’t you rather have her in your life to some capacity than none at all?”

Though the prospect of just being friends didn’t have nearly the same amount of appeal as bestowing Padmé with the most glamorous Valentine’s Day gift of all time, it did feel a little more his current speed.

“Thanks, Obi-Wan.” He smiled.

***

“Satine, I’ve come to use your services.” Anakin said as he seemed to pop out of nowhere.

“How did you- Where did you-?” She stammered, looking around her, but then back at the expectant boy. “What are you talking about?”

“Love advice, of course.” He said, “But you can’t tell Obi-Wan I came to you. I think it’ll hurt his feelings.”

Satine couldn’t help but feel smug as she led them into an empty classroom, careful to shut the door behind her. Sure, she wouldn’t tell Obi-Wan that his advice had clearly not measured up as he’d been so positive it would. It wasn’t about being right, it was about how bemusing it was for either him or Anakin to assume he knew anything about romance. While she was certainly not trying to give off the impression that she knew everything, she was at least more aware of her own personal feelings.

Other people’s, of course, were questionable.

Sitting behind what would be the professor’s desk, she folded her hands. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Just to let you know, I’m not coming to you because I’m totally convinced that you’ll be able to help me either.” He said, “But… You are a girl and so is Padmé so, why not?”

She frowned. Who taught this boy how to ask for help before? He was nothing like Viz, who was polite and quiet, but also incredibly studious and perceptive. She was impressed at his quiet wit for such a young boy, but never had to worry he would say something to make someone else cross.

Anakin, on the other hand, was a troublemaker, and was insistent on making the entire school, but apparently Obi-Wan, know it. 

“And you are making me want to help you less and less.” She scowled.

“Not if you want to best Obi-Wan.” He wagged his finger, “Which judging by that heated argument yesterday, I’d say you do.”

She didn’t appreciate the word ‘heated’ being tossed here and there as though this were some passionate feud that was controlling every facet of their very being. Regardless of their present disagreement, which still boiled her blood when she thought about it, they were perfectly capable of continuing about their daily business. Their prefect duties never suffered, they still worked well together in class, and even studied together. Admittedly, the ladder was much more indicative of neither willing to give up their spot. 

However, she’d be lying to say that she wouldn’t benefit from proving a point, even if just to herself.

“Start by telling me what you like about Padmé.”

“She’s got this beautiful way about her.” He said, “Like she radiates sunshine. It’s almost like she’s an angel.”

She smiled encouragingly, “Yes, and?”

“She runs her fingers through her hair a lot, but it never messes it up. It’s like she doesn’t even try to be perfect, but she is.”

“Okay, what else?” She asked.

“Her smile just lights up the whole room. Of course, I usually only see it from afar.”

She narrowed her eyes, “Anything that isn’t based solely on her appearance?”

“Please don’t make this one of those rants.” He said, “Friendly reminder that Viz is your mentee, not me.”

“Sure, but Viz doesn’t corner me in the hallway looking for advice on how to talk to a girl.”

“I can talk to girls!” He said defensively. “Just not the love of my life.”

She wanted to admonish him for being dramatic, but Anakin had this insistently hopeful demeanor that she just couldn’t bring herself to break. Many young kids believe their first crush is to be their first love and later their only love. She couldn’t begrudge them for holding onto that hope. Her parents always said that the Kryze’s mate for life- referencing that they were each other’s first and only loves. That being said, she would never wish for her dear mother to remain alone simply because of those values. Sometimes, happiness meant getting beyond your first.

“It just seems to me, Anakin, that you’re less in love and more infatuated.”

“Huh?” He asked.

“It means you are more invested in the idea of Padmé than who she really is, because you haven’t actually gotten to know her yet.”

“Funny, none of these books that Obi-Wan and I found said anything about that.” He said as he placed them down in front of her.

She picked one of them up. “Enchanting Maneuvers for the Romantically Troubled”  

“Seriously?” She chuckled, “This was his big reference guide?”

“But he also told me to be friends with her.” He sighed, “Sounds like I’m going to be feeling this sharp pain for a while.”

Satine touched his hand. “This is just a part of growing up.”

“Is this how you felt with Bruce Sexpot?”

“Bryce Saxon.” She snorted, “At the time, a bit. He was my first kiss, but nothing more than that. If I’m honest with you, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be on the playground.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he had potato salad on his face.” She cringed.

“I don’t think that’ll be the case for Padmé.” He said, “She’s always pretty.”

“It’s not just about being pretty.” She said, “It’s about learning the things about her that aren’t so pretty and still accepting and appreciating them about her. It’s about getting to know her and finding out your commonalities and your differences and striking a balance. It’s about being a true friend to her, even without the promise of romantic entanglements.”

“Obi-Wan kinda said that too.” He groaned. “And you’re sure I’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Anakin.” She smiled, “I guess I can’t begrudge Ben too much. Though, did he tell you how to make proper valentines for someone?”

“No!” He brightened. “I can still do that?”

“Of course, you can.” She scoffed, “Valentines don’t have to be romantic, especially at your age. It’s all in the presentation.”

“Will you help me?” He asked shyly.

“Of course.” She smiled warmly, understanding a bit what Obi-Wan saw in the boy sometimes. His boyishness could be rather sweet. It didn’t change how rambunctious he was nor that he suspected he’s been up to something lately, but he wasn’t entirely just trouble. “And I must say, Padmé is a very lucky girl to be receiving all this fuss.”

“I should probably add that she’s a whole year older.” He said, “Making her unattainable, which Obi-Wan pointed out likely has its level of appeal for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” She questioned.

“He used the word ‘brash’, but I don’t know.” He shrugged, “I just want this feeling to either go away completely right now or to do something about it. I can’t just sit on this like Obi-Wan does.”

Satine’s eyes flew from the covers of the ridiculous books to Anakin, heart skittering in her chest.

“Ben likes someone?” She blurted.

“Yeah, it shocked me too.” He said.

To say she was conflicted was a massive understatement. On one hand, the possibility of Obi-Wan having a crush was… Intriguing from the perspective of his friend, who wanted nothing but the best for him (even when he pissed her off). However, speaking as someone who sometimes found herself stealing a peek at him over her library book just to admire the way the light caught his hair, it was reasonably quite disarming.

Then, of course, there was the part of her that was furious he never gave any indication of showing interest in another girl.

“If it even is another-”

“-Oh shut it.” She mentally battled. She needed to remind herself that she was still annoyed with the person in question. 

“Did…” She kneaded her hands, trying desperately hard to keep her voice level and of casual curiosity. “Did he happen to say who?”

“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes. “You know him. It’s huge that he just revealed he has feelings at all. That’s about as far as he’ll go for a while.”

“Right.” She tightened her jaw.

If Anakin noticed any piqued interest, he didn’t say anything, and she believed she knew enough about Anakin to determine that he pretty much said everything he could think of. Case and point: the fact that Obi-Wan likely did not want this information to get to anyone.

“Anyway,” He continued, “What am I doing for Padmé?”

She’d been lost in thought for a moment, analyzing every detail of their argument from the previous day. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for her to be contemplating her interactions with Obi-Wan from all possible sides. It’s what she’d been reduced to since the end of their fourth year when she’d had the horrifying realization that she may think of him as more than just a friend. But Anakin shook a hand in front of her face to get her attention. “Satine?”

“Oh!” She flushed, “Sorry, I got a bit distracted about… Charms homework. We’re going to do roses, Anakin.”

***

Cody appreciated that when Satine and Kenobi got into it that they tried their best to leave him out of it. It didn’t usually work since both prefects were very snippy and snarky at all times, let alone when they were in a quarrel. It certainly kept things interesting, especially with how quick their topic of debate could change.

“Okay, remind me again what you’re huffy about today?” He asked Satine as they walked from her Defense Against the Dark Arts class together. 

“Ben is the most infuriating person on this forsaken earth.” She spat, gripping her textbook a little tighter to her chest.

“You realize that doesn’t narrow it down in the slightest, right?” He smirked, but Satine clearly didn’t find it funny, because she shot him a glare before yanking him by the arm to the side, secluding them from onlookers with a nearby coat of arms 

“You know he likes someone?” She hissed. 

He frowned, “He’s a kind lad, I assumed he liked a lot of people.”

“No,” She groaned, “Like-like’s. Anakin told me.”

Cody considered this, “Kenobi’s got a crush, huh?”

“Yes!” She waved her hands in exasperation, “One that he didn’t elect to mention to either of us, mind you.”

“Well-”

“-We’re supposed to be his best friends!” She argued, cheeks turning red, “And while I understand that he tends to lock up his feelings in a little box and store it somewhere hidden, crushes are the sorts of things you share with friends, right?”

“Sometimes-” He started again.

“-Unless it’s someone we would disapprove.” She said thoughtfully, but the anger thrumming through her veins didn’t seem to simmer, “Which is positively ridiculous, because we’d be supportive, right?”

“Of course-”

“-I mean, it’s not someone of the likes of Ventress or anything.” She said definitively and continued walking, to which Cody followed, “That would be the only scenario in which I could see truly being keen on hiding it.”

He gagged, “If Kenobi’s type is pure evil, sure, maybe… But maybe he hasn’t told us because-”

“-He doesn’t even spend any time with other girls.” She said defensively, “Or boys! I suppose I shouldn’t presume, but he’s never mentioned, looked at, or spent an ounce of time with anyone else! Just us, most of the time. It’s extremely misleading as to who he could possibly have romantic feelings for.”

Cody cleared his throat, “Er-”

Luckily, Satine seemed more motivated to have this conversation with herself rather than it be an open discussion, so he didn’t have to think his way out of that one.

“-And what does that say about us?” She stopped in her tracks, face scrunched in thought, “That we can’t notice that our friend has gone smitten over someone else? Like… That’s ridiculous. I- We surely would have seen some signs.”

Cody shrugged, “Should he fancy someone, that’s his business, right?”

“Right, sure, yeah, but who?” She clenched a fist, “And… Why?” There was an obvious vulnerability at the end of that statement.

“Are you sure this is what’s bothering you so much?” He finally asked as they approached their next classes. 

“Of course!” She turned on him, daring him with piercing eyes to insinuate otherwise, “What if they’re not good enough for him?”

“I’m sure she is.” Cody said carefully and patted her on the shoulder, “I know it’s in your natural coding to worry about him, but I’m sure it’s no big deal. Your source is Anakin after all, right?”

“That’s… Fair.” She paused, but still seemed unsure. She sighed, “This would be a whole lot easier if he didn’t communicate his feelings as well as a piece of toast.”

Cody chuckled. Yes, things might be very different if that were not the case.

***

Obi-Wan pushed in the door to Qui-Gon’s office. He was early and he knew Qui-Gon was still at dinner, so he didn’t bother knocking since he knew Qui-Gon wouldn’t mind. He settled himself in the large armchair by the fire and grabbed a book off the top of his previously abandoned stack. He didn’t open it yet, instead he stared up at the portraits haphazardly reaching towards the ceiling.

They were arguing about his and Qui-Gon’s investigation, which wasn’t unusual. Qui-Gon’s office wasn’t the most riveting place for a painting to hang in hogwarts, but considering the professor’s love of a good debate they were allowed to yell over one another and argue about the latest gossip, whether that be the latest scheme or the actual criminal investigation was always up in the air.

“I say, I say!” Yelled a portrait from across the room, “It couldn’t have been Windu, he hadn’t been near the table all night!”

“May I remind you we’re wizards?” Another called, “You wouldn’t have to be near something for anything to happen!”

“I bet Windu let out the beast too!” Another commented, “Halloween night. He was an Auror, he’d know a dark spell or two.”

“But I saw him on Halloween,” Obi-Wan thought out loud, “I was in his office,” The portraits quieted before another shouted.

“I saw Mace run out of his office during the attack! There’s no way he could have been all the way to the library and back without notice!” And the voices erupted all at once.

Obi-Wan tried to think around the noise, although it was true that the two different attacks didn’t lend themselves to having the same suspect, he hadn’t considered it a possibility that both could be related. In fact it was a rather curious possibility. Surely the mysterious figure described by Anakin would have been furious for the escape of such a beast. Would they have been mad enough to attempt to poison a student.

The door squeaked open and Obi-Wan practically jumped up, letting the book he’d forgotten he was holding roll off onto the floor.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan greeted and the man looked surprised, but he wasted no time, “Do you think both attacks could share a suspect?” Qui-Gon’s brow quirked as he considered the statement.

“I suppose-“ Qui-Gon started.

“If you had been keeping a dangerous pet below the school and an eleven year old let it free, would you want revenge?” He pushed and Qui-Gon walked to his desk.

“Well I personally would not try and kill a child no,” He tried making light, but his face fell back into consideration, “I suppose it’s a possibility,” He decided.

“Professor Windu couldn’t have done it then,” Obi-Wan started to pace, steps sliding into familiar places on the stone floor.

“I’ve already determined that it wasn’t Mace,” Qui-Gon cut in and Obi-Wan screeched to a halt.

“What? When?” He pressed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He has several alibis and he even showcased to me the last 100 spells his wand had cast,” Qui-Gon explained, “It was good enough for me to believe his innocence and the book was only borrowed after we returned to school.”

“So who was absent on Halloween night, but at the party?” Obi-Wan asked, mostly to himself.

“That’s a good place to start, but don’t let such a narrow search cloud your mind.”

***

Cody was up before the rest of the guys in his year. Quidditch days always had that effect on him, it didn’t matter that this match was between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, it only mattered that he’d get a chance to watch his favorite game in the world be played. He wasted little time getting dressed. It was still cold outside with a little snow left on the ground, though he was sure it would soon fade away into spring. Professional Quidditch was usually played in the spring and summer months, but Cody always figured it was best that they got to learn to play in all sorts of conditions throughout the school year; that way he’d be ready for anything.

In the common room he found Anakin asleep on the couch, a transfiguration textbook on the floor just below a limp hand as it had clearly slipped when he’d fallen asleep. Cody debated with himself for a moment before reaching over and gently shaking the other boy awake. Anakin startled and looked around with wide eyes before they landed on Cody.

“What?” He mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and Cody grinned at him in response.

“You’d better clear up here before the prefects wake up. I doubt they’d be too happy to find a first year sleeping in the common room past curfew,” Anakin just blinked before moving his transfiguration book from the floor to the table.

“Yeah I guess you’re probably right,” Anakin yawned and Cody leaned on the back of the couch for a minute watching him shuffle parchment into a stack.

“Whatcha doing sleeping down here anyways? Is it Rex’s snoring?” Cody asked in jest and Anakin laughed, but shook his head.

“Rex doesn’t snore! He says you do though,” Anakin’s grin seemed to falter for a minute before he admitted, “I just haven’t been sleeping well lately,” Cody frowned, but tossed the expression from his face when Anakin turned to look at him.

“That’s alright,” Cody shrugged, “Things can get a little crazy at Hogwarts, but look on the brightside, it’s a Quidditch Saturday!” Anakin did perk up in interest at that.

“Obi-Wan’s playing right?” Anakin asked and Cody nodded.

“Ravenclaw vs Slytherin!” Cody announced enthusiastically, “It may not be as exciting as playing a match, but we’ll need to see who wins so we know where we stand,” He explained, Anakin looked a little more awake now at the prospect of getting to see another game.

He helped him shovel some parchment into his bag, “Why don’t you wake up sleeping beauty so you guys can go grab some breakfast before the game?” Anakin nodded and scampered up the steps towards the boys dormitories.

Cody smiled and shook his head before heading to the Great Hall to avoid Rex’s wrath, on the off chance that Anakin let slip whose idea it was. 

The halls were still relatively quiet- Ravenclaw house should be mostly awake by now, but they weren’t known for being as loud and rowdy on game day as Gryffindor. Slytherin would be up too, but it was even less likely to catch a Slytherin this high up in the castle on a weekend. The portraits were still just waking up. Some of the more energetic figures were chatting loud enough to annoy their neighbors. Cody wasn’t sure what the purpose in that was; if he was a portrait he wasn’t sure he’d want his neighbors to hate his guts. He must be missing something for he passed by a portrait of a princess glaring daggers at a knight who had taken to singing limericks.

The great hall was rather full and the Slytherin’s had taken to their assigned table, glaring at any who dared to sit with them as if that alone would expose their Quidditch secrets. Ravenclaw was a bit more spread out, sitting with their friends at the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables if they so desired. Obi-Wan and Satine were sitting at their usual spot at the very end of the Ravenclaw table and Cody didn’t bother considering anywhere else before sitting down across from them.

“Excited, Kenobi?” He asked as he started loading up his plate with pancakes. Obi-Wan, who had been staring off into space while sliding bacon around his plate, fixed him with his usual pre-Quidditch frown. Cody chuckled before pointing at him with a syrupy fork, “Come on, mate! It’s a great day for a game.”

“Yes quite. What I wouldn’t give to play in freezing temperatures year round,” He rolled his eyes, before cutting his bacon with a knife. Satine had been oddly quiet, not saying a word so far. She was facing as much away as she could from Obi-Wan without actually turning. It was surefire proof of them being in a fight. He supposed though they had been ready to pounce on one another for a few weeks now.

“Anakin slept in the common room last night,” It was the only non-Quidditch topic he could think up at the moment and it seemed to catch both his friends' attention.

“Is he ok?” Obi-Wan asked first, which was unsurprising. Concern was pinching his face and he turned towards the Gryffindor table to see if his mentee was around.

“He’s fine, I woke him up before he could get into any trouble,” Cody shrugged, “He said he’s been having trouble sleeping, did he tell you anything?” Obi-Wan shook his head with a frown.

“He mentioned having a bad dream once… But not that it was a consistent issue.” He said slowly, Satine’s eyes gleamed as she looked over to him.

“So you admit to not knowing everything about your little protégé?” She asked and he turned to glare at her in turn.

“I’d never said I knew everything,” He answered back with a heated glare.

“So you’re not all knowing then?” She dropped her fork and let it clatter onto her plate.

“Once again, I never said that,” He responded, stabbing a piece of bacon with his fork and shoving it in his mouth.

“I thought it was implied the way you’re desperate not to look at this from all sides,” She spat and he bristled.

“Did I miss something?” Cody asked, exasperated.

“It’s prefect business,” Satine answered with an apology in her eyes. He just shrugged and went back to eating his pancakes. He wasn’t sure he even needed to know with how often the topic changed. They went back and forth so much that it was like watching a Quidditch passing drill; his eyes flicking from one to the other waiting for someone to slip.

“Satine, I really don’t have time to go through all this right now,” Obi-Wan cut in eyeing the members of Ravenclaw’s Quidditch team gathering to leave.

“That’s fine,” She answered stiffly, “I’ll see you tonight so we can work on our Charms project,” Obi-Wan looked hurt, but he hid it well.

“I’ll be sure to let you know whether or not we win,” He stood from the table, tossing his napkin on his plate and was swept away by his teammates.

“You’re not going to the game?” Cody frowned. He hadn’t expected getting ditched, even though he supposed he could sit with his brothers. Satine deflated instantly, looking back towards where the Slytherin’s were heading out of the great hall.

“He’s absolutely infuriating sometimes, Cody,” She sighed, picking her fork back up

***

Obi-Wan pulled his broom out from the locker and although it was plenty shiny he grabbed his polishing cloth as well. Galen was going on about their strategy, but Obi-Wan’s mind was still back on Satine. He wished she’d see things from his perspective. Anakin had a notoriously bad habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that didn’t automatically make him guilty as Satine had thus far been implying. He was 11, a bit of a troublemaker on occasion, but he didn’t have it in him to do something so scandalous as running a cheating ring. It wasn’t bias, he told himself as he worked to get a hardly noticeable smudge off the broom handle. He knew Anakin had a pension for trouble, but Obi-Wan hadn’t seen or heard of him doing anything insidious, besides occasionally popping up out of nowhere and startling people.

In fact he was quite proud of Anakin- he stood by Rex when he was struggling, and he was getting better and better in his classes through practice and dedication. Though he did tend to get a little moony-eyed near that girl he was fond of, Padmé, it wasn’t like he’d have it in him to play schoolboy tricks to get her attention. Anakin was simply an easy target. Frame the first year who had had some unfortunate happenstance befall him not once, but twice.

“Earth to Kenobi!” Aayla sat down heavily next to him, grabbing his broom out of his hands and inspecting the handle, “I can see my reflection in this,” Her nose wrinkled and she twirled it around nearly wapping him in the head with it, “You do know we’re playing Quidditch not entering a broom beauty pageant,” Obi-Wan just folded up his polishing cloth into a neat square.

“Not all of us like coming off the field as a pincushion full of splinters,” He offered, delicately reclaiming his broom and standing to put away the cloth. He realized then that they were alone and he looked around.

“I thought being in the running for Head Boy would have you better at listening,” Aayla laughed, “We’re heading to the field,” She stood, kicking her broom up into her hand.

He hurried to shove on his helmet and he made sure his wand was securely pocketed in his Quidditch robes before he followed Aayla out towards the field.

He wished not for the first time that he could see such a sight from Cody’s eyes. The large field, currently covered in a layer of snow, was surrounded by stands that were filled to the brim with students willing to risk the cold to watch a good game. Cody could go on and on about how giddy he was walking to his position, but Obi-Wan had always only felt a sense of dread. Even now that he was a more seasoned player, he still felt his stomach flip as he passed under the tall (very, very tall), golden hoops. He took his position and waited.

There was a hushed silence- the kind that really only came in moments before a match. Students were still chattering in their seats, but they seemed far away. Galen was making a few gestures towards his other chasers, but no one on the team dared to say a word as if it would give Slytherin the ability to one up them at every turn. And then there was the whistle, piercing through the air and both teams kicked off the ground, rocketing into the air.

Obi-Wan was happy with his position as keeper, but on cold days like this, waiting for the bloodbath in the middle of the field to head towards him was a little more excruciating. Still, as most times they played against Slytherin, eventually they made a run for the goal post. This was fairly easy to deal with. One chaser headed straight for him and he saw the chaser’s eyes dart towards the right a second before she did. Obi-Wan pushed the handle of the broom and by all accounts it should have worked. He would catch the Quaffle in his free hand and lob it back towards centerfield. Only it didn’t work as intended, his broom had jerked quite aggressively the wrong direction before stilling once more.

He was no Cody when it came to knowledge of brooms, but he’d had this broom since his first year and it had never behaved in such a way. Something was surely amiss and he just hoped it was a one time fluke.

***

“Something’s up,” It was Cody who said what they were both thinking. Satine had her binoculars pressed firmly to her face as if it would let her see Ben even clearer, “I could have seen that shot from a mile away! Even the chaser looks confused,” Satine grabbed the back of Cody’s robes blindly and pulled him back from leaning over the edge.

“Ben has that look,” Satine told him, “He’s concerned,” Cody tried to steal her binoculars, but she batted his hand away with a sudden gasp.

Ben’s broom had jerked again and he was reaching for his wand, which made Satine grip the rail tightly.

“That’s a foul!” Cody yelled a half second before Satine saw a bludger fly over and knock right into Ben’s chest, causing him to drift back a little at the impact. “Where’s the whistle? Come on ref!” 

She pulled Cody away from the edge again. Ben looked shaken, but unharmed, however Satine saw with horror something small and thin falling towards the snow below.

“His wand, Cody,” Satine tightened her grip on Cody’s robe.

“What?” Cody asked, momentarily pausing his shouting. Satine took her eyes off the field just long enough to give Cody a semi-horrified look.

“Ventress knocked his wand out of his hand,” Satine pointed to where Ben seemed to be hovering uncertainly. The audience was drawn to the referee, calling for a penalty throw to Ravenclaw, but neither Cody or Satine really cared about an extra few points.

“If he was going for his wand, something’s definitely wrong,” Cody ripped the binoculars from her hands suddenly, “He knows the rules, you can’t use magic on your opponents. Your wand is only there for extreme emergencies,” Cody was looking around the field for something.

“I’ve never seen a broom behave like that,” She was squinting at the field, without something to magnify the spec of blue and silver, it was impossible to make out his expression.

“They don’t,” Cody said gravely and Satine’s heart jumped to her throat, “It’s foul play.”

***

It was shaping up to be a boring match, Slytherin had already scored and Anakin was feeling a little secondhand embarrassment for his mentor. Obi-Wan wasn’t much for Quidditch and unlike most of the people Anakin knew, he didn’t really talk about it unprompted, and even then he’d usually just remind Anakin to be careful. He didn’t remember Obi-Wan being quite so terrible at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff match earlier in the year.

“He should have got that one,” Anakin complained to Rex as Slytherin managed to score again. The Ravenclaw captain seemed to be glaring back at the keeper, but Obi-Wan seemed not to notice.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Rex commented, “Cody always teases him, but really, Obi-Wan is a fairly decent Keeper,” Anakin shrugged, but watched as thankfully Ravenclaw finally managed to score something other than a penalty.

“He’s jerking around up there like his broom’s possessed or something,” Anakin considered as Obi-Wan seemed to struggle in the air again. Rex leaned forward, frowning rather intensely.

“It does look like that doesn’t it?” He asked, but didn’t seem to be wanting an answer, “It kind of reminds me of that jinx Echo put on Fives after he stole the last of the holiday candy,” Rex considered.

“Who would want to jinx Obi-Wan though? He’s a prefect!” Anakin watched as a Slytherin approached Obi-Wan again, only for Obi-Wan’s broom to drop about a foot with no prompting that Anakin could see.

Those rooting for Slytherin cheered, but Anakin felt that cold sensation of fear. Surely the mysterious cloaked figure wouldn’t be going through Obi-Wan to get to him, right? That did seem like a stretch even in Anakin’s mind. Rex sat up straight and he looked around a little frantically.

“Where’s Krell?” And Anakin was on his feet in an instant. They spotted him, sitting alone in the front row of the Gryffindor section. He’d been given a wide berth- no one knew the whole story which Rex was grateful for, but a prefect doesn’t lose his title for only a small infraction. They saw his hand twitch and Obi-Wan jerked to the right.

“Oi!” Rex shouted and Anakin looked over to him in surprise, he flinched a little when Krell looked over at him with a disgustingly smug smile on his face. Rex swallowed, but continued, “Jinxing other people’s brooms is against the rules,” Krell just rolled his eyes.

“Oh how brave,” Krell scoffed, “Kenobi’s acting like a fool and you’re coming after me? It’s not my fault he’s a lousy player.”

“You’ve got your wand out,” Anakin stepped in front of Rex, “Obi-Wan’s a better player than you ever were, you were just jealous.”

“It’s not a crime to have my wand out. I don’t see any muggles,” Krell twitched his hand sending Obi-Wan to the right so Slytherin could score again, “What are you going to do about it?” Anakin took another step forward reaching for his wand, but a furious voice cut in.

“You’re going to put your hands up right now!” Satine had her wand out, as did Cody standing to her right, the fury burning in their eyes was enough to make even Anakin take a step back. Krell, however, didn’t move, just looked over at them with a sneer.

“And why would I do that Kryze,” He said her name like it was mud on the bottom of his shoes, “I’m pretty sure you’re all about innocent until proven guilty, or does that just apply to bloodthirsty beasts and not your fellow wizards?”

“You’re going to do it or I’m thinking we have a rematch from the Halloween party,” Anakin had never heard Cody sound this angry. This was much past his frustration at a missed goal or Anakin accidentally beaming a teammate in the head during Quidditch practice. Here, he sounded downright murderous. Anakin hadn’t attended the Halloween party or witnessed the fight, but by Rex’s expression, it may have started similarly.

“How do you expect Gryffindor’s Quidditch team to manage without their fearsome captain,” He goaded and Cody took a step forward only stopped by a hand to the chest by Satine.

“There’s no need for unnecessary violence. Put your hands up,” She jabbed her wand forward in warning.

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Krell crooned cruely, getting to his feet, “Not even if I did this?” He twitched his wand down and Obi-Wan dropped about a foot. It was clear by his snarling grin that it was only a warning. Satine took it as such and stepped forward pressing her wand to his chest.

“No, but I could trap one, if you were to find yourself in the position of turning into one.”

Anakin wasn’t that great with transfiguration, but if Satine was even half as good as Obi-Wan, it was a credible threat. Krell even seemed to realize that perhaps he was more at her mercy than he wanted to be so he sighed, a grumbling ugly sound.

“Fine, you win,” Krell narrowed his eyes at her. Satine took a step back, not lowering her wand.

“I’m glad you see it my way, now-” She started, but he cut her off with a knowing smile.

“I know, I know. Hands up!” And he threw his hands up, but there was the unfortunate consequence of him raising his wand in a swift, purposeful motion.

“Expelliarmus,” Cody yelled, but it was too late. Krell purposely dropped his wand off the edge of the stand and Obi-Wan had rocketed up and disappeared into the clouds.

***

Obi-Wan could see the sun, which on a normal day would be quite nice, but as it was he had just broken through the clouds and his broom was jerking and twitching like an angry hippogriff. He tried desperately to control it and then everything seemed to freeze as he was suspended in the air like any normal broom ride, save for the fact that Obi-Wan was clinging to the broom as tight as possible. For a moment he thought he was safe, but his broom seemed to sputter and he dropped a foot in the air. His broom was trying, practically wheezing to stay in the air, but whatever had been done to it must have inadvertently tampered with the magic.

Just as such a realization set in, he dropped like a rock. No amount of pulling on the handle was doing any such good except making them spin in the air enough to make him feel quite ill as the field came back into view. He stuck out a hand, trying to mimic how Qui-Gon did wandless magic.

“Aresto Memento,” He put as much passion as he could into the word, but nothing happened, not even a flicker. His vision was suddenly filled with gold as he smashed into a Quidditch hoop, there was a crunch and a sharp sensation that had him dropping hold of the broom, he made a mad grab for the polished wood in a desperate attempt, but his hand slid right off the polished surface and he plummeted to the ground.

***

Satine was frozen, wand still at the ready, but eyes glued on the unmoving navy blue smudge interrupting white snow. She wasn’t sure she even had a heart to beat anymore, or lungs to take on air.

“That had to be at least a 200 foot fall,” Cody didn’t sound like he was breathing much either despite his ability to talk, “Maybe farther, but the clouds are pretty low. It might be a record.”

“Cody please,” She choked out. He was in shock, but so was she and listening to the odds of their best friend’s survival was not going to sit well with her.

“Now that is a shame,” Krell’s voice brought her back to the task at hand. Ice filled her veins and she turned, looking him in the eye. He was leaning on the railing, chin resting on his hand and he looked far, far too pleased with himself, “But mistakes happen, don’t they Kryze? Fett?”

“The only mistake here,” Satine spit through gritted teeth, “Is that a prefect, a Quidditch captain, and half of Gryffindor are witness to your crime,” She steadied her wand at him, “You’ll be exceedingly lucky if you aren’t expelled for this,” He just waved her off with a lazy hand.

“You think I care about this shoddy excuse for a school? Everyone here is weak,” Krell turned and took a step towards her, “I have my sights set on somewhere better-” He took another step, but that was more than enough for Cody.

“Locomotor Wibbly!” Cody jabbed his wand towards Krell whose legs shook suddenly and he collapsed with a curse. Satine didn’t even bother reprimanding him for such a schoolyard jinx.

“Incarcerous,” She swished her wand and silvery ropes burst from it and wrapped themselves around Krell’s wrists. It was an extremely advanced skill, past even her year, but she couldn’t even find pride in such work. She turned wordlessly to the field where Ben was being loaded onto a stretcher by Madame Nema and Qui-Gon. His teammates were huddled together on the ground looking absolutely shocked and even the Slytherins were looking subdued. Satine raised her wand once more.

Golden sparks shot out of the tip dancing in the air until they formed a large glittering prefect’s badge, it would catch the attention of a professor, or with any luck, the headmaster himself.

***

“If you’re not careful you’re going to break something and end up with a bed of your own!”

Her voice was the first thing he remembered hearing and his eyes struggled to open. It was bright and he tried to bring his arms up to block the light, but one of them was holding something and the other felt heavy and it seemed to throb with every beat of his heart. He felt himself groan slightly as his eyes fluttered, trying to get used to the light. A hand met his shoulder immediately, but he still tried to push past it to sit up.

He was in the hospital wing, he realized. The tall arched windows and the room lined with cots really could not be a single other place at Hogwarts. He became aware of how much his body ached at the same time he was pushed back down onto the bed.

“Stay down,” Satine was leaning over him, her hair falling around her face as she looked down at him with a deep level of concern.

“Satine?” He asked and she nodded.

“Yes, Ben I’m right here, Cody’s gone to get Madame Nema,” She explained and he tried to look past her, but couldn’t see much of anything except for her blonde hair.

“You came?” He was trying to remember what events had led him here, but he did remember they were in a fight. He was surprised to see her at all.

“Cody and I saw your fall, of course we came! It looked rather dreadful,” He could tell she may be putting things a little lightly, but at least the pieces were starting to click into place.

“I thought you weren’t going to the match,” He sat up once again and this time ignored her gentle push to lie back down.

“I-” But she didn’t have time to finish because Cody was running over, expression brightening when he saw Ben awake and gazing at him, with Madame Nema right behind him.

“Glad to see you coming around, mate!” Cody ruffled his hair which he automatically tried to fix, but he instead looked, surprised, at the wrap fastened around his wrist.

“Mr. Fett, could you please not harass my patient?” Madame Nema was not one to waste time. Obi-Wan found himself poked, prodded, and questioned before even realizing what was happening.

“Well you had quite a fall there, Mr. Kenobi,” She explained, “You’ll be feeling it for a few days I’d imagine,” She handed him a potion which he didn’t bother asking about before downing it and wincing at the taste, “You’re lucky. Besides a nasty break in your wrist there, you’ve come out of this with only scrapes and bruises,” Obi-Wan frowned and looked at his hand.

“Can’t you mend bones?” He’d thought so at least.

“I did, dear,” Madame Nema tsked, “I can assure you it would hurt a lot more if I hadn’t. Just because bones can be mended, Mr. Kenobi, doesn’t mean we won’t be taking precautions,” He must have looked fairly sullen at the thought because Madame Nema chuckled, “It’s only for a few days and you’ll be right as rain. In fact you should be thankful, I dread to think of what would have become of you had you not managed to slow your fall,” He stared at the wrappings in curiosity. Surely she was talking about his unfortunate run in with the hoop. If Satine’s muggle science books were to be believed, something like that would take some of the momentum. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the attempted spell had done him any good. A wizard stuck between a rock and a hard place may have the ability to do some amazing things.

“You did land like a champ,” Cody broke his thoughts, he was grinning, but Obi-Wan could easily see the worry hidden in his eyes, “A real Quidditch fall. Probably how you avoided getting any brain damage. In fact in the 22nd Quidditch World Cup-”

“Thank you, Cody,” He rested a hand on his friends shoulder, “As much as I’d love to hear about the greatest Quidditch injuries of all time, perhaps another time.”

“Your loss,” He shrugged.

“Madame Nema,” He caught her attention just as she’d made to leave, “Are we done here?” Satine looked like she wanted to interject, but Madame Nema beat her to it.

“Are you implying you’re well enough to leave?”

“You said it yourself, ma’am,” He shrugged, a small smile building on his face, “It’s mostly just scrapes and bruises,” They had a bit of a stare off.  Madame Nema was quite stubborn, but unfortunately nearly no one could hold a candle to his own stubbornness, except maybe his blonde haired best friend who was currently glaring a hole through him.

“I’ll allow you to go back to your dormitory, on the terms of you going right to bed,” Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief and nodded quickly in agreement, “And I’ll see you back here again tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” He agreed and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

He made it out of the hospital wing before he stumbled and Cody was quick to catch him, swinging an arm around him like it was any other day. He tried not to use the extra support, but he found himself leaning into Cody as the ache in his limbs seemed to thrum with each step.

“I wish I knew what got into my broomstick,” Obi-Wan finally broke the silence with a sigh, “It’s never acted such a way before, I’m sure I looked like a great fool,” Cody and Satine both tensed up and they all came to a halt.

“You were a victim of foul play, Ben,” Satine told him softly and after hesitating, “Krell had your broom locked in a jinx,” He blinked and turned to Cody for confirmation. Cody’s lips were in a hard line.

“Really? Krell?” He didn’t think the other student had such a thing in him, though perhaps he was thinking of prefect Krell and not ex-prefect Krell. There wasn’t much left to hide if you were already disliked throughout the school.

“The headmaster’s dealing with him,” Satine nodded and continued stiffly, “We caught him in the act.”

“Well,” He wasn’t as mad as his friends looked, if Krell had been caught then justice had been served, “At least if it was just a jinx, I don’t have to buy a new broom,” Satine looked at Cody and Cody looked back at Satine before pulling the broken handle of Obi-Wan’s broom out of his pocket.

“About that...” And Obi-Wan groaned, Cody handed him the piece and he inspected it. Somehow it was still just as polished. Cody gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, “It’s alright mate I’ll help you pick out a new one, I’ve got this month's catalogue and there are some great new models!” He nodded absentmindedly. He would have truthfully just told Cody to pick whatever seemed best anyways. He then remembered that he had not lost track of one of his possessions, but two.

“Please don’t tell me I have to replace my wand as well,” He breathed out trying to stay calm, but it was difficult. An heirloom like that would be impossible to replace.

“No, no!” Satine reached a hand into her pocket and he had never been happier to see the sleek black wand, “I’ve got it!”

They continued walking while Obi-Wan inspected his wand for any damage, but not even a scratch had befallen it.

“So the game,” Obi-Wan over at Cody, “Who won?”

“I don’t know,” Cody told him, “We left as soon as we handed over Krell. I told Anakin and Rex to stay, but I’m nearly sure it’s over by now.”

“I hope I didn’t mess this up for Ravenclaw,” He hummed.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” Satine’s voice was like ice, but for once it wasn’t directed at him, “Whether Ravenclaw won or lost doesn’t matter.”

“Well it matters to Gryffindor,” Cody said before catching Satine’s narrowed eyes, “I mean, either way we’re planning to stomp you in the final match.”

“Well I’d much rather Ben be alive,” Satine rolled her eyes.

They reached the final hallway before the Ravenclaw door and Cody took off with a wave and a promise to let Anakin and Rex know he’d survived. He was grateful for it as hopefully Cody would be the one being pestered and not him. He and Satine approached the door to their common room, fighting to answer the Ravenclaw riddle first. Satine was the winner by a few seconds and gave him her best smug look as the door swung open. Stairs were becoming his enemy, but he made his way up them and into the chaos reigning in their normally quiet common room. Ravenclaw, it seems, had won after all.

***

“Can you believe Krell’s not getting expelled?” Satine looked up with a raised eyebrow as Anakin Skywalker dropped down dramatically across from her.

“That bastard has to have some kind of blackmail,” Cody growled, stabbing his pancakes with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“It’s alright,” Ben was looking between them with nothing short of exasperation, “He’s still being punished.”

“He was already getting punished,” Cody complained, “But at least now there’s absolutely no way he’s weaseling his way back onto my Quidditch team. A stunt like that should get him banned from every team in the country.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him expelled on my account anyways,” Ben shook his head, returning his attention to the french toast, dripping with syrup, on his plate.

“He nearly killed you,” Satine reminded him, “That should definitely be grounds for expulsion.”

“They say it takes a lot for you to get expelled around here,” Anakin told them as he loaded up his own plate. The clock tower rang before anyone could ask him where he’d heard such a thing and the owls were swooping in right on time. Ben checked his own watch with a frown.

“Madame Nema will be expecting me soon,” He didn’t sound too happy about it.

“I can walk you there!” Anakin perked up.

“You’ve hardly eaten breakfast Anakin,” He tried before sighing, “Well alright, finish your breakfast and we’ll go,” Anakin nodded before picking up his plate and darting off towards where Rex was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

“Satine?” Ben sounded hesitant and it was too easy to pull her attention off the Gryffindors and onto him, “Do you really think it’s Anakin?”

“Ben,” She sighed, trying to lower her voice though she knew if Cody was listening he wouldn’t say anything, “I’m sorry for yesterday, but I can’t throw out a suspect simply on the basis of trust.” Ben seemed to consider her, really consider her before he turned back to his syrup drenched toast and changed the subject.

“What do you think the odds of learning to cast spells with my left hand by tomorrow is?”

***

Anakin jumped up when the hospital doors opened and Obi-Wan slunk out, looking both ways like someone may see him.

“What did the doctors tell you?” He asked, following Obi-Wan down the hall towards the library.

“I’m fine Anakin,” He smiled, but Anakin wasn’t stupid; he saw the slight limp and the wrapped wrist and frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked softer and Obi-Wan stopped to look at him, “It was a really big fall,” Obi-Wan seemed to look through him, like he was trying to read his very thoughts and Anakin squirmed.

“I told you when you started that Quidditch is a very dangerous sport,” Obi-Wan told him, “I did get very lucky, but I promise I’m okay,” He then continued walking, but Anakin’s thoughts weren’t quite settled.

“What if the cloak guy tries to off me like Krell did to you?” He’d always felt safe in the air, but uncertainty seemed to be coming for him at every turn these days.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan had paused again, turning towards him and putting his hands on his shoulders, “Pulling a stunt like Krell did is a one ticket way to be caught. He’d have to reveal himself to us and if he wanted to do that, we’d have seen him by now,” It didn’t sit quite well with Anakin even though he knew Obi-Wan was right, but he followed his mentor down the hall anyways and tried to push mysterious cloaked figures out of his mind. 

***

Obi-Wan was walking at a brisk pace through the emptying halls. He was in the dungeons making his way towards potions class when he nearly ran right into an opening door. He managed to skid to a halt grabbing the edge of the door before it tried to close and peering inside.

“Anakin,” Sure enough his mentee was standing frozen under the door frame.

“Oh hi, Obi-Wan!” He said his name cheerfully, but he did look a little wary for being caught.

“What are you doing in here?” He checked the door, “The potions storage room?” 

It was odd, he knew Anakin liked potions class even though he didn’t have much of a knack for it, but there was no reason for a first year to be snooping around the eye of newt when he should be out in the greenhouses for herbology.

“I was just checking to see...” He trailed off as he looked at the walls of ingredients, “There!” He pointed up at something and Obi-Wan followed his gaze to a jar labeled ‘bezoars’.

“And what is it that you find so intriguing about that?” Obi-Wan crossed his arms.

“Well that’s what they fixed me with right?” Anakin asked with a shrug, “I just thought I’d like to see one. Professor Palpatine wouldn’t mind,” and Anakin wasn’t wrong, Professor Palpatine encouraged the students to familiarize themselves with the various ingredients. Only the most dangerous things were kept under lock and key.

“Yes, bezoars are a cure for most poisons,” Obi-Wan nodded, never one to pass up a moment to teach, “However, this would be a more noble quest if you weren’t meant to be in Herbology right now. Come along, I can walk you there and then at least you won’t get points for being late,” Anakin seemed nervous, looking around before he pushed Obi-Wan gently towards potions.

“I can’t have you walk all the way over there! You’re practically an invalid,” He complained and Obi-Wan sputtered to a halt.

“Excuse me?” He tried to turn, but Anakin was pushing him forward.

“You’re brittle! You definitely should sit down,” He instructed, “I don’t want you to pass out on me or anything.”

“Anakin! I’m perfectly fine,” Obi-Wan whirled around and Anakin took a step back with a frown, “I can make it to my class with no trouble. You on the other hand need to be in class in...” He checked his watch, “about a minute.”

“And I’ll get there in time if you let me go!” Anakin whined.

“There’s no way-” Obi-Wan tried to interject, but Anakin just shook his head and started jogging back the way they’d come.

“I’ve gotta go! You should sit down before you fall over!” He called over his shoulder.

“Anakin!” He tried, but it was futile. Obi-Wan sighed before his attention was drawn to a piece of parchment fluttering to the ground. It had clearly fallen from Anakin’s person, but there was no use chasing the boy down. He had half a mind to worry if Satine’s suspicions were about to come to life, however after a close inspection it was blank, save for some water damage.

“Revelio,” He tried, tapping his wand to the parchment. Ink seeped up towards the surface spelling out his name and he nearly dropped it.

‘Obi-Wan Kenobi should keep his nose out of other people’s business.’

After a moment of stunned silence, he let out a short burst of relieved laughter. It was just a scrap of joke parchment. He tucked it into his bag, well he supposed he’d return it to Anakin next time he saw the boy.

***

“First you were nearly late to potions and now Qui-Gon’s class?” Obi-Wan took his seat next to Satine, who greeted him with rolled eyes and a smile, “And here I thought you wanted to be Head Boy. What kept you?”

“Found a couple of first years trying to sneak into the girls bathroom,” He sighed, dropping his bag on the floor between them, “I can’t say I find the appeal. They’d likely end up with nothing more than being the subject of a few stinging jinxes.”

“Given my assumption of the boys bathroom, maybe they were simply looking for a cleanlier option,” She suggested, jest sparkling in her eyes as she moved to pull out a rather long piece of parchment, “Qui-Gon’s already said we’ll just be working on our project today,” She pointed towards the instructions scrawled on the blackboard, “He says we could use a day to work in class, but secretly I think he’s gotten himself enamored with another prophecy book.”

Satine was likely right, as Qui-Gon was sitting in the front of the room with a book propped open on his knee and a teacup held opposite. If he was taking a break from reading every book in the library, Obi-Wan couldn’t say he blamed him much. Random facts about charms still danced behind his eyes when he was trying to fall asleep at night and no matter how interesting they were, he hadn’t the skills to make much use of them.

“Have you got any spare parchment?” Satine drew his attention by running the feather of her quill across his cheek. He rubbed away the feeling with the sleeve of his robe, giving her a half hearted glare for her trouble.

“I’m sure I do,” He yanked his bag up by the strap, “Be my guest,” He figured he should order her some new parchment. She’d been taking notes for the both of them since Madame Nema still hadn’t given him permission to remove the wrappings on his arm. Satine had been refusing his thanks, but he still wanted to think of a way to acknowledge his appreciation.

“What’s this?” He blinked and looked at the folded parchment in her hands, “I know it’s not yours. You never fold your parchment.”

“Anakin dropped it,” He shrugged and watched as she inspected it, “It’s just a bit of a joke parchment I think.”

“You think?” She asked before setting it on her desk and pulling out her wand.

“I already tried ‘Revelio’ and all I got was an insult,” He warned her and she paused, thinking through her repertoire of spells.

“Revelio Maxima,” She tapped her wand once and just like when he had tried it words bloomed forth from within.

‘Perhaps, Satine Kryze, you should try harder next time.’

“See I tried to warn you,” He shrugged, Satine looked more thoughtful than offended and tapped her wand to her lips.

“This isn’t necessarily an insult,” She considered, picking it up and watching the ink fade away, “It was an instruction, maybe we should try something a little more creative?”

“You get instructions and I get insulted,” He sighed, but couldn’t help the curious smile growing on his face. He liked a challenge, but really what sort of Ravenclaw didn’t like a good riddle? He pulled the parchment in between their desks and got out his own wand, “Alohomora,” He tried.

‘Really, Kenobi?’

“It doesn’t like you much does it?” Satine giggled and tapped her wand against the parchment again.

They tried a wide variety of spells, running through any sorts of useful charms they could think of, before Satine guessed a phrase.

“Open Sesame!”

“I’m sorry what?” Obi-Wan looked over at her feeling perplexed.

“It’s a muggle phrase,” Her cheeks turned a bit pink at the scrutiny, “It’s a little childish, but Anakin was raised as a muggle.”

Their attempts continued, at some point they’d gotten onto much more complex, silly phrases and Obi-Wan was just about to try one that seemed to be on the right track when Satine had him pause, her hand landing on his slightly more damaged one.

“Wait, we shouldn’t be doing this in class,” She pointed out with a whisper, “What sorts of prefects are we?” Obi-Wan glanced around and normally he would agree, but Qui-Gon had still not once looked up from his book and the rest of the class was chatting quietly in pairs. It was hard for him to feel out of place in Qui-Gon’s classroom.

“Come on, one more guess?” He asked, batting his eyelashes at her. She shoved him gently, but sighed.

“Well then, show me up, Mr. Prefect,” She slid the parchment closer to him and he flourished his wand a little dramatically.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” He tapped the parchment. Immediately, the ink started seeping up, but this time it was not forming only a short sentence. It was forming a scroll with his name written in elegant font, and the one right beside it was Satine’s. In fact it looked quite a lot like Qui-Gon’s classroom.

Obi-Wan ripped the parchment off their desks and into his lap, hoping to keep it out of sight of his professor or their classmates before he could figure out what he was even holding.

“Let me see!” Satine pulled it towards her slightly and unfolded another part of it.

With every piece unfolded the picture became clearer that it was a map. A map showing every single magical person in Hogwarts and their exact location.

“Look there!” Satine pointed and he looked to see a broom closet. The drawn wall moved under her finger to reveal a path that led to the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory.

“That’s...” But he didn’t even know how to finish such a thought. This was the missing piece they’d been searching for and hadn’t even known it. A map that showed every corridor, person, and apparently, every secret tunnel in the entire school.

And it had been in the possession of Anakin Skywalker.

“Ben,” Satine said his name slowly, looking at him with a cautious expression, “We have to-”

“-I know,” He interrupted her. This was not a coincidental test key or a robe on the ground, this was practically an arrow pointing towards Anakin, exclaiming loudly that he was the culprit, “We need to go straight to the headmaster,” He swallowed. Satine stood up and raised a hand and he followed her folding up the parchment in his hands.

“Yes Satine?” Qui-Gon looked up from his book with a frown, “Is everything alright?”

“We need to go to the Headmaster’s immediately,” she announced, “prefect business.”

***

Anakin was in a foul mood. First he’d nearly been late Herbology, barely making it away from his mentor in time to use the tunnels. And then he’d discovered that for the second time this year, he’d misplaced the map. 

“Where have you been?” Rex asked, looking away from reading through Cody’s corrections on his history essay, “I thought we were going to go over tonight's plan?”

“Well here’s the plan. There isn’t one,” He grumbled, “I must have dropped the map somewhere, but I’ve looked everywhere!”

“You lost it?” Rex gasped, dropping his essay on the table, “What if someone bad finds it?”

“I don’t know!” Anakin hissed, trying to keep his voice down. There were other people in the Gryffindor common room, and although most liked to leave first years well enough alone, he didn’t want any eavesdroppers, “But I’ve gotta find it before Windu-”

The portrait hole opened and Anakin nearly jumped out of his skin as Professor Windu bent and twisted his way into the common room. All eyes went to him immediately, but he said nothing, just scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on Anakin.

“Skywalker, come with me.”

As he followed Professor Windu out of the portrait hole, all he could think about was every regret he’d ever had. Thankfully there weren’t many, but he did wish he’d written his mum more, or gotten to kiss Padmé. He contemplated what his last words would be before he ran into worn robes that had stopped in their tracks.

He looked up at Professor Windu, waiting for him to pull out that sword from his dream, but his professor did nothing except turn to a large winged statue.

“Root leaf stew,” Was all he said, but stairs suddenly started growing out of the ground, spinning around and around until they stopped forming an elegant spiral staircase.

“Um, what-?” He’d been through nearly every passageway in the school, but this was not one he knew. He hoped he wasn’t being led to another hidden beast, but Windu simply crossed his arms.

“The headmaster wants to see you.”

Anakin climbed up the stairs and was relieved when Windu didn’t follow. Still, if this really was the headmasters office, this couldn’t be good.

Yoda’s office looked much like Qui-Gon had described it to him, with portraits of all the past headmasters staring down at him. Under less intimidating circumstances, he wouldn’t mind a fair look around as there were shelves of books and strange objects- maybe even some contraband stored somewhere. Headmaster Yoda, however, caught his eye almost immediately and waved him over and into a chair across from his desk.

“Know why you are here, do you?” Yoda’s voice echoed just slightly in the otherwise quiet room and Anakin shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Win- I mean, Professor Windu said you wanted to see me,” He said nervously. Normally in these sorts of situations, he’d explain why he didn’t do it, but unfortunately he really didn’t know what ‘it’ was this time. Yoda nodded at his words, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing.

“Heard of the cheating scandal, have you?” Yoda asked, laying his little hands on the desk before them, “Rewritten, the O.W.L.s had to be,” Anakin’s brows furrowed as he tried to figure out where this was going.

“Yeah, I mean I know the prefects are looking for who it is,” And like being hit with a ton of bricks, or perhaps a bludger, it dawned on him what was being insinuated, “Hold on! You don’t think I’ve done it?” Yoda looked at him, expression rather grave.

“Found, evidence has been. That the culprit, you are,” Anakin stood up swiftly.

“What evidence? I didn’t do it!” Yoda just blinked at him, waiting until Anakin begrudgingly collapsed back into the plush chair.

“Show you, I will,” He finally said, opening a drawer in his desk and pulling out a long black cloak, “Found, this was, in a hidden passage by your bed.”

“But that-” He interrupted, but was given a thoroughly chastising look.

“Your name, it has,” He tapped the tag of the robe, but pulled out the O.W.L.s key he’d found before he could interrupt, “Gave this to Satine and Obi-Wan, you did. Dodged their questions, also.”

“Headmaster-”

“Hush,” Yoda held up a hand, “Alone, these things are not,” Lastly he pulled out a square of parchment. Anakin felt sick at the sight, his map, water damaged and all, was placed between them, “Fell from your robes, this did,” Anakin’s mind raced. He knew he was innocent, but this was not a good look, “Open it, why don’t you?” Yoda suggested, sliding it towards him, “Otherwise, check your wand, we will.”

“Headmaster, Professor,” Anakin felt small as he pleaded, “I didn’t do it, if I was going to steal cheat sheets then why wouldn’t I use them myself!”

“Scored 100 on Professor Windu’s holiday assignment, did you not?” Yoda questioned, “Impossible, that is, without the key.”

“What? No!” Anakin roared standing up again, “I did that fair and square! My mum could tell you too!”

“Even so, too much,” Yoda tapped the map with his own wand and the map swam to life, “This is.”

“So what? You’re going to expel me?” Anakin kicked the desk furiously, “For something I didn’t even do?”

“Expel you, I will not,” Yoda fixed him with a careful expression, “But given detention and suspended from the Quidditch team, you will be.”

[reynesofcastamere]

Jagged Crowns(1/2)[β]

(A/N: I had a bit of an internal debate as to whether I should keep writing while...Well, some parts of our world are in a rapid spiral towards a fascist dystopian nightmare due to centuries of institutionalized racism, ignorance, and hair-trigger violence, among other things. I understand that I will never fully comprehend what POC have suffered, because the system has been rigged in my favour since before I was born. There is much and more that can and has been said on the subject, but to summarize: It is not my intention to further harmful ideas/depictions or to hurt people via this self-indulgent outlet. If I have done so(and not given appropriate warnings), please do not hesitate to inform me so that I may correct this. That said, warnings for: gore, violence, death, intrusive thoughts, mental breakdown/hallucinations, and suicidal ideation. The prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka helping Maul through his own struggles, since he’s pretty much on the verge of insanity at all times.’ Unbeta’d.)

In the end, there is no need for a chosen one. No bright, wide-eyed youth to take up a burning sword and the incalculable burden of ridding the galaxy of an oppressive evil. The reality turns out to be less of a legend and more of a horror story.

The Royal Palace is littered with the dead and dying, but there is only one that matters. Sidious is still immensely powerful, but his body has grown old and slow, and there are only so many guards he can sacrifice to protect himself. Overcoming his Force lightning, preventing bones and organs from being crushed, protecting their minds from invasion and violation: That is much harder. But finally, finally Maul strikes off the Emperor’s head as Ahsoka’s twin ‘sabres pierce his shriveled, black heart. She steps back. He keeps going, slicing and hacking until the throne is in pieces, the floor is a cross-hatch of burning lines, and what was once an Emperor is nothing more than a pile of charred meat and cloth.

“Is this...Am I free? No, this was too easy. Master always has a contingency plan.” He does not even realize he is voicing these thoughts, too occupied with searching the Force for something, any trace of Sidious’s presence. Foolish child. You thought you could defeat ME? I know your every pitiful thought, every scheme you concocted while you wriggled, a blind maggot encased in filth. “Be silent.” Maul snarls, fingertips coiled around his anterior horns, palms pressed into his eyelids. “Focus. Focus. Search for him, he cannot hide from us.” There is another voice, outside his head, but he cannot hear it. He has to know. Yet despite the venomous hiss that tries to steal away his concentration, there is...nothing. The Dark Side is empty of even the barest wisp of his Master. “Gone. Gone at last. Finally I have achieved Bane’s will...” He laughs, long and erratically pitched. Not a comforting sound, or even a sane one. Wait. There is something. He uncovers his eyes and re-opens them. Someone before him, unlit ‘sabres in hand. Another rival apprentice. Another test. “Have I not done enough to prove myself?” Maul whispers, disbelieving and enraged all at once. No. You must destroy all who would stand in your way if you wish to claim my power. Prove that you are worthy and strike them down! “Yes, my Master.” He had dropped his sabrestaff before -careless, stupid, he could have been killed-, but it leaps eagerly into his hand and activates as he begins his assault. He cannot seem to get a clear picture of his opponent, their form shadowed and not entirely solid around the edges. He sees their weapons clearly enough, though, especially when they clash with his own. His rival is on the defensive, parrying his strikes but not counterattacking. He cannot hear their words past the blood rushing in his ears, infuriated by this insult. Is he so weak that they do not even think him worth the effort of assaulting?! Maul drives them back, seeking to disarm, to maim, to kill, but he cannot connect. He resorts to yanking their legs out from under them with the Force, lips curled in a feral snarl as he raises his sabrestaff for the final blow...Then the Light bursts into his mind with the force of a battering ram, and he can feel-These thoughts, this presence, he knows it-Mine, this warmth is mine, cast from the star forever out of my reach. Ahsoka Tano looks up at him, eyes wide from exertion and fear. “Maul. Please, stop.” His legs give out from under him, weapon deactivated and slipping from his suddenly-nerveless fingers. He does not know how long it takes for her to come to him. Seconds, or perhaps years, her hands circling his face as their lips meet. He pulls her close, fervent and desperate in his passion. Yes. This is fitting. One last time, before the end. “You must kill me.” A whisper when they part for air, watching her blink in confusion. “What are you talking about?” “I have never fought for your hope of a restored Republic. You know this. You have prepared for it. Sidious is dead and I will inevitably take control of his Empire. Unless you stop me.” “I don’t have to murder you to accomplish that.” “Ah, so you are content to truss me up like a rabid animal and let your superiors toss me in a cage or cut off my head. How noble.” “No.” “Why? Because you believe that they will not take the opportunity to rid themselves of a long-standing nuisance? Or that they will simply leave me in peace because our goals aligned temporarily?” He summons her shoto to his right hand, snarling in frustration as he presses it to her left. “You are neither sentimental or naive, Ahsoka Tano. Do not hesitate.” For a moment, it seems as if she will go through with it. As if white light and the deep blue of her eyes will be the last things he sees. It is not the nature of the Sith, to surrender to death’s embrace so readily. But Maul has...never been a true Sith, and he is so very tired. The voices in his head are blessedly silent, yet it is only a temporary reprieve. Without purpose, without vengeance or ambition, he will lose himself again. “Stop running, Maul.” Her voice is firm, and oh, she burns bright enough to blind him, but he cannot tear his eyes away. Ahsoka takes her weapon from him, sets it down, and entwines their fingers instead. “You’re right. I know who you are and what you can do. I also know you’re capable of more than that.” He cannot breathe. What has she done, to make him feel this way? That there might be hope of being...something other than this? “Did you really think I didn’t notice all these years? The small acts of compassion and honour...Palpatine didn’t rip those away from you.” She is so warm, so willing to offer up these things he has blatantly denied himself and others. “A foolish dream.” Maul rebuts, but there is no real strength behind it. His left arm holds her more tightly, both for emotional and practical purposes. He is not certain how much longer he can remain even partially upright. “It doesn’t have to be. Join me.” Ahsoka offers. “There’s still Vader, Thrawn, and a whole mess of other Imperials to defeat or force surrender from. But after...We can try to build something of our own.” Her right thumb lightly brushes over his cheek. “Won’t be easy, but it’s a chance for both of us to try something different.” “You will regret this decision. Soon.” He points out dryly. There is only so much optimism he is willing to endure, even in this state. She only laughs. “And you haven’t driven me insane. Yet. I don’t expect either one of us to be perfect at this from the start. Just to try.” Her hand curves down and around, lightly dragging her nails up his nape and eliciting a low rumble from him. “Aren’t you going to give me your answer?” Her smile cements the fact that she is utterly devious beneath her relatively-harmless exterior and he will get her back for this later. “You. Are an unrepentant tease. And I will greatly enjoy administering your punishment.” He growls, both impressed and frustrated by her manipulation. “But I am willing to see whether this insane notion of yours will work.” His agreement brings a smile from her, but not before she rolls her eyes and gives a small, exasperated exhale. “‘Yes’ would have worked fine, you know.” “And since when have I ever passed up the opportunity to frustrate you, my Lady?” “Ass. Mmmmph...”

“Care to rephrase that?”

“No. You are the worst. But I might be persuaded to change my opinion.”

“Let us see if I am up to the challenge, then.”

This is merely the beginning of a very long, hard road. Yet neither one of them will walk it alone, and that makes all the difference.

(A/N:Things I didn’t include in the top note because it was getting a bit wordy: This is set around 5-ish BBY, so Thrawn isn’t a Grand Admiral yet, only an Admiral(or possibly Commander, depending on when his promotion happened). Obviously certain canon events didn’t happen (ie Malachor), and Maul and Ahsoka have been in a sort-of relationship for about a decade at this point. Also, sorry, they didn’t have sex in the throne room. Just makeouts and soul-searching. This is absolutely a starting point. Neither character is ‘cured’ of their various issues/traumas by the end of this installment even if they are being semi-cute and flirty. This is...not what I would consider a realistic way to handle someone being triggered/having a delusional episode, but I digress. *notices that fics that have started with gore or violent imagery have mostly ended in fluff* -_-....Hm...Well, that’s a pattern. Or possibly a problem. Cheers, everyone!) 

[katbug313131]

Grand Mage: Cold Delusions

A small writing with Wind and my own character in it! They’ve just gotten snowed into a cave after getting separated from the group during a snow storm. Also a warning for mentions of mild abuse and violence.

She cradled the tiny hero in her lap, pulling her cloak tightly around them both. His body heat spread throughout it, causing a warm feeling of pain to blossom across her skin. She was so cold. She put all her energy into making sure he was alright and okay and warm, and he wasn’t going to let her be cold anymore.

The sailor pushed his back against her, making sure to pass along as much body heat as possible. Her lips were blue, skin pale, and despite her attempts to hide it with a closed mouth, he could hear her teeth chatter. Her cloak. Her magic. She used it all during the time he was unconscious to heal him and keep him warm.

Grey-blue eyes appeared without life more than before, and with lids threatening to close, never to open again. He had to do something to keep her awake.

“Do you have any siblings?” It was a sensitive subject to all the links, regarded as something personal that one would only choose to share if they were able. Wind, the youngest of them all, was lucky to have family about.

“What about you? You said you had one didn’t you? What was her name?” The mage redirected the question onto him, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Aryll. I really miss her, but I’m sure she's strong enough to be fine without me there. What about you? Any siblings you’re missing?” It felt odd to ask, since Magic always acted like she was alone, and it even felt like she never had companionship before.

A moment of silence passed. 

“Yes.” Solemn. Her tone had so much emotion in it, all in one word. He shouldn’t have asked.

“I have-”, she paused a moment, “had many siblings, but the one I miss most, that's my younger brother.” Her voice was calm, but betrayed emotion, a quiet sadness that teemed with peace.

“What was his name?” The tiny hero asked, shifting to get comfortable in her lap.

“Arbole.” Before Wind could say anything she spoke his mind. “Would you like to hear about him?”

“Yes.”

She was silent for a time. Wind could practically hear the gears turning in her head, and see her split eyes flash with memories despite being empty. Everything became colder, telling the boy that the sun had set, despite the magic fire before them.

“He had hair just like mine. Black like the night sky without stars, fluffy like a tornado tore through it, and soft like a child's blanket.” Her head tilted and she set it down on his own. “I remember one day, he came crying to me, saying that our father wouldn’t let him grow his hair out. I had the brilliant idea that I would grow out my hair for him, since dad would let me, and he loved that. He really did. He’d brush and braid and do all sorts with it, he loved it long, and he loved it like it was his own.”  It wasn't a fluid speech, nor did it sound very conscious, but her rambling the sailor decided, was better than her falling asleep and not waking up.

“Is that why you have that long braid in your hair?” Magic’s hair was odd. It was mostly short, but at the back of her head was a long strand of hair that she always braided, so much longer than the rest.

She hummed. “Back home, in my Hyrule, it's a symbol of letting go and forgetting the past when you cut your hair. And I really, really, wanted to keep some of it long, just for him. So I could never forget.” She nuzzled her cheek against his hair. “I didn’t want to forget him, or his face, or the things he liked and the things he loved to do...” She trailed off.

“Magic?”

“Hm?” 

“You alright?”

“Mmhm.” He was worried she had passed out finally, but it seemed her eyes glazed over, despite her scars. “I think, I think I can show you him.” Wind stayed silent, letting her get through the fog in her mind.

She raised her head, and breathed in deeply. And when she breathed out, a beautiful blue dust spread through the air. It swarmed before them, the fire dying down enough for it to be seen, before turning into the shape of a person.

It was a child, a preteen at most, but most definitely younger than the little hero. A small smile adorned them, with open eyes that Wind couldn’t see the color of, due to it being small lights linking together to show a figure. He could see short hair that flowed in every direction, slightly chubby cheeks, and a puffed out chest showing confidence. 

“I can barely remember it, his face. My sight has been gone so long that when I try thinking of it, all I can see is darkness sometimes. I forget I can show memories like this, but you can see him, right?”

The boy was silent for a moment, absorbing all the little details that could be seen.

“It’s amazing, he’s got wild hair just like you said.” She laughed lightly, and without much energy, though it sounded content nonetheless.

“Your hair reminds me of his, that's the little bit he’s like you, other than the slight optimism.”

He shuffled in her lap, “Who else is he like?”

“Time, a bit of Wild as well.” She huffed, seemingly amused with herself.

“How's he like them?” He needed to keep her talking, until her lips weren't so blue, and her skin not so pale.

“Ha, he always acted so confident when other people were around. Unless it was me or Sarita, he would always act so strong and diligent, I get it though. We were born to a mistress, you see, not the family lady at the time, and that made it difficult to prove our worth. And so he acted like he was big and strong so he could get the attention he needed as a kid. So he could prove himself.”

“And what about you? Was being a mage good?”

“Ha, ha,” she trailed off with light laughter, the sailor being able to feel her chest heave with the motions, “I wasn’t a mage then, I was a swordster just like everyone else in my family.” The increase of the painful tingles on her skin caused her to move, just a bit, to try and get the warming process over faster.

“I was a prodigy. Well, that's what they called me, that’s what my father called me. Fourteen short years of training with a blade and showing my skill and he decided..” This fade wasn’t from exhaustion, the boy could tell, at least not physically.

He moved his hands from his lap, and placed them on her forearms, pulling her closer.

“What did he decide?” 

“He decided I would unsheathe the sword. We-we were the Great Family you see, and this blade was passed down for centuries upon centuries. And he decided, a year early compared to the tradition, that I would unsheathe that blade, not attempt, he was absolutely sure I would wield it.”

“I..I, there were so many people there, at the ceremony. Kings and royalty of other places, and important people I didn’t even know. It was terrifying. I was at the center of it all, no knowledge of if I could do it or not. My father assured me I would unsheathe it, but deep in my heart, I felt otherwise. I was right. I was right.” Her breathing became uneven, and tears slowly fell from her eyes. She was shaking, not from the cold, but pure emotional force.

“I failed to wield the blade. In front of all those royals and leaders and legends, I failed. I failed to become one of them, despite what my father said.” She paused for a moment, a soft hiccup escaping her.

 ”The sword, no, the spirit in the sword denied me. It embarrassed me right then and there, and I hurt my family’s pride, everyone's. And my father..oh by Hylia-he was furious, embarrassed, tarnished. He bragged about me for so long before this, claiming something that wasn’t set in stone. And when everything he said became nothing more than childish boasting, he imploded, and exploded, too.” Her temperature rose during her speech, the tears warming her face and dampening the young hero's hair. The hero of wind didn't dare move, nor flinch at the warm droplets now rolling down his head.

“He, later that night, confronted me in my room. He shouted and screamed, and broke things and swung the blade about, he was it’s wielder at the time, and I knew, I knew what was going to happen.” Her words spilled out, rushed and panicked, the fear of reliving it in her mind pushing her forward. “He took that sword, the one that denied me, and he…” She took a shaky breath.

“And he blinded me with it,” her voice quivered, “and my hand, he put that cursed thing right through it. He-he said something along the lines of, ‘this is so you can never wield a sword again, so you can never embarrass this family again’, it hurt. It hurt.” Her tears were in full form, and she whimpered quietly, digging her face into his hair.

“I-I passed out after he, after my hand was-pierced, and when I woke up, everything was ashes. Everything. My whole home, the whole valley, my whole family. I-I miss him so much,” she hiccupped,” I miss his smile, and how he loved cooking with me and Sarita, and-and-” 

Lurching, she moved her head away from him. “I deserve it all. For being a failure, that was my punishment. Losing him and everything else.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” the boy said quickly, moving his back from her and dropping his hands, raising them to soothe her. His little appendages floated in the air for a moment, unsure of what to do. He shouldn’t have brought it up.

He took a risk. Some of them don’t like being touched, some of them don’t like telling people things, or receiving comfort from anyone. But he took the risk, and he hugged her.

He held onto her torso, hugging her tightly, being kind to avoid her stomach.

“Hey, Magic, Magic,” he placed his head over her heart, listening to the rapid beating and feeling her chest heave with the effort of breathing, “it’s okay, you’re okay now.” Neri once mentioned how people spill out trauma when they can’t hold it anymore, and when they feel safe, and to someone they trust. He wanted her to trust him after this, to feel better if possible. It wasn’t just about helping her physical health now, if she trusted him, even when delusional from the cold's effect, he wanted to help her.

“You’re strong, Magic, you know that, and to all of us, you’re not a failure. You’re an amazing and wonderful person. You help people and hurt people, but that’s life- and you didn’t deserve what he did to you or what happened to them. You didn’t deserve it.” He tightened his hold, if he was a little stronger, he’d probably keep her from breathing. “You can’t wield that blade, but it doesn’t change the fact you’re an important person to us, that you’re just as much a good person as the rest of us, Magic.”

“Marion.”

He stilled a moment, as her breathing slightly hiccupped. He mumbled out a ‘huh’, just barely audible.

“That, that’s my name. I’m not a Link, like you all, sorry.” She tilted her head down, sniffling and avoiding the boy's gaze. He leaned back, but didn’t let go, hands gently hanging on her waist. A soft smile found itself on his features.

“That's a lovely, lovely name.” She laughed softly, and then her face was solemn again. Her shaking still persisted, though it wasn’t as bad as before. And her skin was turning red, while her lips lost some of the blue that painted them. Her body was warming up.

Wind opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again. Settling on hugging her once more. Words won’t fix the emptiness that she felt now, but sometimes, actions are more comforting than words. And the links? Well, they knew that best.   

[dememarquette]

Stockholm

It has been a rough year. Complete Hell, actually, but we made it. We're home. Home. 2018, where the leaves are turning red, cable can be paused, and our old record shop exhausted itself into extinction.

That's all I needed. After death, my standards dropped through the concrete. I found gratification in the mundane. I appreciated the small things. I enjoyed the understated conversations, the intimate ones, the quiet. Just- Any time absent of violence. Pain. When I didn't have to worry about the orders being screamed at us, or the anxiety living under the heel of someone much bigger and nastier. Was it a lot to ask? Generally, no. Following a thwarted attempt at societal collapse? Maybe. We made it back half a year ago. That was six months on the run. We were fugitives. 'War criminals.' We avoided trouble by bouncing back and forth from Hell, running missions, training, and staying on the move while ensuring Buné's new order- Point is, I've been exhausted. I leaned against our apartment. I lost track of what city we're in but when you're anarchists of the divine, it stopped mattering. I didn't want to think about it. I didn’t want to think at all. I let my world fall into serenity and I took peace in as cars passed. I felt the breeze on my skin, the procession of life outside the damned. There was normalcy in the city. I offered smiles to the pedestrians that walked by. I reminded them of a preacher, the charismatic one they used to watch every Thursday night. I obviously wasn't the same guy. I was a disheveled, sadder version, but some smiled back- Before a loud crash sent them running. "Son of a BITCH." Metal clanged against stone. One girl dropped her umbrella. She ran. Her rubber boots beat the pavement until she turned a corner, a block away. "Mother. Fucker. LIED." Adria kneed a recycling bin. "I should have known this would happen. It was too fucking easy." "Too easy...?" "No one gets promoted that quick! Doesn't MATTER if you do all his dirty work," The bin split. "Start an apocalypse," Glass shattered. Garbage blasted down the asphalt. "Beat the new guys in!" I had no idea what part of the last few months had been anything short of excruciating. I just knew better to argue. I picked up the discarded umbrella, shaking off the puddle. "Is it off the table, then?" I asked, spinning it. "Obviously not! I'm up here aren't I?" "Why, then?" She violently bucked her leg. A tenacious grocery bag that clung to her boot. "He wants another job! Another fucking errand before I can prove myself, get OFF! Stupid-!!" She dislodged it, but not without throwing out her calf. The cops would be here in fifteen minutes. In twenty, she would be destroying our wall instead. We weren’t getting that security deposit back. "I thought that's what Glenshollow was."  I shuttered the umbrella's canopy closed. Peace was over. "Proving yourself." "Yeah well, it wasn't enough!" "'course it wasn't." It never would be. There was always more hoops, more grunt work. She punched a trash can into the street. It launched past me, aluminum warped. When her fist whipped back around, it specked the wall, corrosively leaving hissing black holes in the brick like the spray of a Tommy. "One more." She huffed. "Just- one more. He says I'm close." "When you're immortal everything is close. What if he never promotes you? What if he is a liar, like he's always been?" "Shut up." My brows furrowed. "Adria. What's the point in trusting him if-" "Shut up. This was the limit. I knew it. There was no reasoning with her. She glared, shoulders heaving with a finality saying I was a much more satisfying target than a garbage bin. I let it drop. I receded to the street in silence. Back against the wall, I stood at my post: Protecting the outside world from Adria. - - - The attack on Delgado yielded over 200 casualties. Months of preparation amounted to a twelve hour skirmish. Powers above squashed the epidemic in no time. It was an incursion controlled by dinner yet the effects rippled through the decades. History was made. It was covered up, then made again, but Buné never cared about petty tragedies and coverage above the surface. He cared about what happened after. It was a victory, not a failure. Overnight, his army doubled. They arrived onto his doorstep in droves. Marked. Branded by their wrath, the shambling husks were primed soldiers. Their consciousness’ were forever crippled into malleable potential Buné can use. Due to her stellar efforts, Adria earned respect, boons, and prestige. Just not the title. Her notoriety made her optimal for missions back in the present. He turned a blind eye to her angelic compatriot, and gave her a team. None of whom she cared for, but she thought maybe her parade of volatile dumbasses was a start to prime her for the big leagues. It wasn't. 'Lieutenant' was a bar being raised higher, and Adria's patience was burning out. Having a team didn't mean jackshit if she was still at the bottom. There was no repose to be had under someone else. While I also yearned for a delusionally quiet life- It just wasn't feasible. Details arrived the following morning. "What is this?" I wandered into the kitchen to find Adria pouring over blueprints. They were three feet by one thin drafts of paper, and full of intricate blocks with barely legible text. I'm by no means an architect or mechanic, but ‘boat’ was a safe bet. She was sitting there, nails knotted in her bangs, reviewing them like she had any idea of what they meant. "His assignment." "And this is what will supposedly get you promoted?" I said, skeptically. "It better." 'Or else what?' I wanted to ask. "And this is supposed to be harder than zombies?" "It's not supposed to be harder. It's finishing what we started." "How does that make sense?" I said, picking at another sheet. I didn't trust our 'team' to go get milk without fucking up, much less a heist? "I do what I'm told so I can get out of this shithole." While I intended to correct her on the ‘we’ situation, of that we could agree on. No matter how far this rabbit hole goes, I was sure there was something to be found at the end of it. Call me an opportunist. I hopped onto the counter. Tilting my head, I realized if you removed the claws, fangs, subterfuge, this felt familiar. I imagined a kitchen. Countertops crowded claustrophobically with congratulations and community love. A bare room that felt like bustling potential and a new lease on life rather than a pit stop. I scooched closer, crossing my legs to wedge between an imaginary dinette set and unpacked vacuum- She knew me by now. Too well. I could see it when her shoulders tense, her eyes snap to meet mine. ’Don’t-’ All that mattered was that her subconscious beat her to it. “So if you're promoted soon…” I rehearsed. “How are we going to celebrate?" Finding no room there, he crossed his legs instead. She was unpacking a mess. An obstacle course of bins, stacked impossibly high. There was no space except the marble. Adria had a hard time throwing anything vaguely sentimental out, and the collective town of Ashwater sent her off with enough supplies to stock a bunker. In lieu of helping (as he had invited himself over to do) he read over her acceptance letter to the Modena Police Academy three times over. He had the message memorized, and its creases too. The edges were folded from her happy dance, and the text smeared from her tears. How many Shakespearean ways could he recite it to her? How many ways could he decree her new title? The answer was a lot. But when that stopped being fun, he asked. "Soooo with this new promotion.” He slid closer. “How are we celebrating?" This came after a mandatory lunch. 5 box milestone. 15 minute break, then a ten. Finally dinner, and now a catch-all celebration. She looked up at him grinning, arms full of silverware. She was hopelessly behind, and would’ve had the place done at noon on her own, but what could she say? "How about we celebrate by...unpacking the kitchen?" "C'mon dep- oops." "Detective." “Detective Kyriakoulopoulos.” He waggled his brows. “It’s time to party! One does not become the most esteemed detective of the wild, formidable city of Modena every day.” "Not yet!" She swiped the letter. Before he could protest- talking with his hands, like he always did- she grabbed them, effectively silencing him. He was pulled to the floor, where his strategy switched. He hooked both arms around her waist, pulling her in. She’d weakly protest. "Come on,” She said, not fighting it. “I need to make it look like I got something done. My family is coming over tomorrow." "And they're going to be real disappointed if they don't have anything to unpack.” He grinned. “Think of Basil and Elyse, all bored. They want to help." “And you don’t?” "...Champagne?" When she came to I was off the counter. It'd been days since her last episode. Weeks. So few and far between, on days where she was kicking some guy’s teeth in, I worried they were gone for good. But she blinked. I held my breath for the fallout. Only she saw these memories, but I felt them. I lived in them every time her eyes went dark, when her lips twitched, and I knew she was following the subtitles. In those quiet moments where the pit of venom in her heart receded, Adria crawled back from her grave. Always in painfully brief snapshots, but she was there. These were the tick on her EKG, the surge in hope telling me she was still alive, under all the cruelty and malice. She didn’t receive them as well. She never did. They hit like a jackhammer. No matter how light, they weren’t her life, they were fake, and she didn’t give a shit about them. Getting as worked up as I did was a small betrayal but one I couldn’t resist. She hated me for it- But still. She was quick to tell me how useless I was when she didn’t oblige. How I would mope for weeks if she couldn’t recite this ‘stupid fantasy’ back. It was the only thing I had, despite promises I’d made to the contrary. We never said it, but we both knew. "What did you see?" I asked, breathless. She dug the heel of her palm into her eye socket, burrowing into it like she’d scrape it off her retinas. “No.” She growled, low. "Adria..." I begged. “NO, Demetrius.” She snatched the blueprints. “I don't have any time for this shit today! I have work to do." “Please.” "Mission. First. Are you going to come with me or not?" The answer was a given. - - - Under the cover of night, we hit the docks. I wasn't given the specifics. That wasn't to imply they did, because they didn't. Wrath demons maximized their shadiness. We never had any idea what we were walking into because Buné expected us to handle it- especially his aspiring lieutenants. There was no hand holding. We had a location, a number, and a time limit. Be a good soldier, and that's all there was to it. Adria corralled us to a neighboring container ship. The ship Buné marked- The Sandfly, an antiquated naval cruiser- bobbed beside us. We were to board, grab our shit, and leave. Casualties didn’t matter. Fifth didn’t care about getting dirty if you had something to show for it. Even so, sneaking past enemy lines didn’t mean a thing when there was friendly fire. She and her ‘team’ had been trading blows the whole way here. One lost a tooth, another revived an ancient blood feud, and a third tried for Adria’s head in a manner that was custom. He was promptly put down. "ENOUGH," Adria slammed him into a metal wall. Spines chipped on impact, and the wall buckled. It wasn’t the first time she cracked a bone on her own soldiers, and she never laid hands on them without leaving something to remember. His wound audibly sizzled and but it was so routine no one revelled in the example. "ALL of you are idiots, but if you want to live, get your shit together NOW. Buné does not care about you stupid peons, and I don’t even remember your names! Do you understand? You're fucking expendable." Three grumbled reluctant acceptance. The forth hissed from the ground. Her patience was thinner than mine. I stood idly by, impassive to the petty demon squabbles. They tended not to mess with me. Not seriously, anyways. They didn't care for me being here. I couldn’t escape errant comments but I never cared about hecklers. Adria abraded anyone who tried harder, and operating under her coriaceous wing meant I learned how to defend myself. Procedural power-grabs out of the way, we moved as a group to board. Those with the spare limbs to do so glided to the bridge with no problem. I needed the extra help- not without snide remarks but Adria shut them up with a heel through their feet. We convened on the other side, up to five injuries before mission start. "I go in first.” She debriefed after egos were bruised, and rebellious spirits squashed. “On my command you will join, one at a time! Any sooner I'll kick your ass back down to Hell. I want us in and out, no showboating. Understood?!" "Yes." They said. No one was ignorant of how important this mission was to her career. She told me on the way here she’d bury anyone who stood in the way. But I was the one interrupting this time. "No-" I said. "Wait." I held a hand to the wall. Nonsensically I felt comfort since boarding- and not because Adria held me by the waist to fly me over. I felt warmth. A metaphysical type. One that replaced the ever-present rotting in my chest I've come to associate with Adria (it’s an acquired taste, psychologists would claim). Whatever this ship was emitting- this cloying homesickness- couldn't be good. My disruption was met with the usual scorn. Special privileges meant I could speak out when others got a boot to the face. She took any input from me during these missions seriously. For reasons that were obvious- I didn't talk much otherwise. "What?" I moved my palm with the wave of energy. The feeling persisted down the entry hatch, and upward, as if part of the ventilation. “Let me go in first. I think it's a trap.” "Of course it's a trap. What else would it be?" The other demoness on our team spat. "Since when is your pet calling the shots?!" "He's going to get us killed." It wasn't unusual for members of her meathead party to be disgusted when I said anything. Perks of sleeping with the boss; I had seniority, even if it didn't align with their thug rules. One bland look and she threw out their objections. "Back off!” She snarled, slapping them behind her.“He's going first." "But-" "No arguing!!" I dipped inside. Their fragile hierarchy devolved into fighting. Stealth was never part of their operation but Adria had been in the game long enough to hold off all four. I padded down the corridor, unconcerned, and tracing the path. The ship was a relic of the past. The whole thing was corroded ceiling to floor, suffering a carmine splattering of rust. Stairs were welded grates, and the doors were embedded with port holes too scratched to see through. It was an asbestos goldmine but I wasn't looking for the ways it'd kill a person. Where the heat ended, the nauseating rot of corruption was back, even if I knew our team was far behind outside. Demons. "-Two of them are in." A radio transponder scratched. Sound feed bounced off the metallic halls. Luckily, I'd been quiet. "She's not." "What's she doing?" Said the room's inhabitant. "Standing guard?" I slid around the door frame. His back was to me. He flicked a lighter in his hand, reclined all the way back in a dubious office chair. On, and off went the flame, prompting me to look above. What I was feeling above was the sprinkler system- conveniently blocked in this room. As tempted as I was to trip a holy water shower, knowing she'd be safe, I knew better. "Yeah." Said the radio. "Seems like it." “She's not one to be a pussy.” "Well she is tonight!" "Maybe she needs encouragement.” He hunched over the command station. It wasn’t modern enough to be outfitted with anything more than ham radio and inscrutable dials. I approached from the behind. I wasn't armed. I never carried anything on me because I never came on these missions to do anything but protect Adria. Anything that could truly hurt her was beyond a pistol or rusty shank. “Shake down one of her lackies, make it real loud. She'll come running." "While you're in there and I'm out here?" The conspirator barked a laugh that crossed the feed like a spike in static. "Hell no. She isn’t known for her patience. Give her time." I wasn't going to. I gripped the back of his chair. Using all 150 pounds to my name, I tipped it. It's wheels spun out from under him. He crashed into the floor, the collision ringing out like gun fire. I took advantage of his momentary disorientation to stomp on his wrist. "What was that?" The disarmed radio chirped, fuzzy. "Was that them? Are they in?" It earned a good kick under the desk. Volume whirred as it spun, revolving on the tile, but safely dispatched. By the time I turned to him, he'd gotten to his feet and was bracing for me. Rigorous training meant I knew how- in theory- to respond to hand-to-hand combat. I was no natural. I didn't have the years of combat these guys did. I didn't have to fight my way out of a sewage pit to survive. I had the eye for one move at a time, not chains. I thoroughly leaned on what she taught me. Eye which foot was forward, recognize where he was putting his weight, while minding my own. So while I was able to lean away from the first hook he threw my way, that's where my advantage expired. The second his fist whirred through the air past me, his leg compensated for the dodge and lobbed the office chair into my knees. No matter the power behind it, in our cramped space with plush seating, that move was good for nothing except bruised knees. She taught me to be skeptical- so as I stumbled awkwardly back, my hands flew up to my face. He hopped the chair. Feinting for another hook, his opposite hand drove heavy punch to my gut. The small, obstacle-ridden area did not give him much of a charging period for momentum but he wasn’t exactly lanky or baby-soft. It hurt- God, it hurt- but pain meant a lot less when you could habitually heal faster than the damned. My block fell to latch onto his forearms. I grabbed him before I could go down. I was winded but he was wailing. I fired them up- I pumped wave after wave of bright energy into his forearms, clinging for dear life. Contrary to the way I set this fight up, I have nothing flashy. Months under her tutelage taught me none of her instinctual killer moves, technique, or style. Maybe for a lack of trying but this was it. My God-given and only finisher- it never failed me before. Why would I stop now? My ribs just stopped aching when he bucked. He took three solid jerks to try to rip my arms out my sockets. All failed when I kicked at knees, and hung off his arms like my next kick was going for his gut. It didn't- he'd drop me, and Adria swore that loss of balance is deadly. Instead I bowed and jumped, headbutting for his jaw. He tucked his head to protect his throat. I got his nose instead, but noted from pitch of the swear, I was doing a whole lot more damage from the arms. I seeked to remedy that. Before I could go for another, he dissolved the height difference and dropped. He twisted- twirling under my arms like a grade school dance. Just when my arms were at the apex (having never let go- his arms were gruesomely soggy in my grip) he jutted up. I arched across his back, then over his shoulder, into the air, and then on the floor. I crashed into the ground dazed, lifting my head just in time for his spined tail to pull a filing cabinet drawer into my temple. It was a miracle I stayed conscious. The collision whited out my vision. Pain lanced through my brain like an electric volt, my head humming. But I didn't need to see him when I could feel him. Those senses worked on another level. I blindly reached out. I found his leg, one hand after the other. Forgoing healing, I devoted every spare bit of Holy power into a lateral pull-up that caved his calf between my fingers. The splitting headache motivated me beyond precedent. His flesh squished, bowing with the pressure fingers exerted like memory foam that didn't bounce back. He collapsed. The muscle was rendered useless, and his cry was ear-shattering through the cellar, and the only thing that pierced the intense ringing in my skull. The lighter fell out of his opposite hand. I swatted that under the desk, too, to join the radio paging frantically for updates. They were right; she would come running when she heard us. I felt her now. "You were going to kill her." I pulled myself to a slouch, hand slipping on the rustle of papers and demon grease of my palms. “You were going to kill her.” He was emerging blearily through the spots in my vision. His hands hovered over his disabled calf, unable to tend to it after I shaped it into an apple core. "What do you care?” He half-cried. “For fuck's sakes, you're the fucking laughing stock of the whole circle. The bitch calls you her pet-" She did that in front of me. "She thinks you're wrapped around her finger!" And she does. Glow from my hands reached my elbows, reflecting in his inverted eyes like cataracts. "Remind me why you care about our relationship?” "Relationship? Is that what you call it?" His leg wobbled. While one arm reached for leverage, the other was after something in his back-pocket. "She's using you. She doesn't love you." She says that to keep up appearances. I followed him to his feet, unconcerned that my vision hadn't fully returned. This fight wouldn’t last much longer. "You were going to kill her." I repeated. "What happens when you fall, huh? What happens when this catches up to you and you aren't worth shit to her anymore? When she has no use for y-" My eyes flicked upward one second before her hand plunged through his neck. Knowing just the way to circumvent his spine, four fingers wiggled through the opposite end of his windpipe. Venom bubbled out his mouth before blood did. Poison seared canals through his lips. Chips of his eroded teeth landed in his lap. His body tipped. "What's with you and talking to them?" She snarled, irritated. She flicked excess onto his back. His final syllables gurgled into the tile, and my power guttered with it. "You were wasting time. You should have taken care of that!" "Sorry," I said, still. I got around to healing my temple, clearing up the humming. Just in case she had anything to refute about what she heard. She didn’t. "What's I say? No time for playing around. Let's go." - - - Shortly after taking care of the riffraff, we had the cargo. It was delivered back to Buné at once. Theoretically this was supposed to prove Adria was competent at not just societal overthrow, but leading too. I didn’t care enough to join that meeting back. I went straight home to cook dinner and mentally prepare for disappointment. When she returned, she slammed the door as per usual. I had dinner on the way, and was wrestling a can opener for dessert. She wasn’t immediately razing the town so it must’ve been good news, despite the firm set of her brow implying the contrary. “What’s the word?” I asked, confused. "My coronation is tomorrow." “...For lieutenant?”

Her promotions thus far have been unceremonious. ‘Now you don’t have to live in the mire,’ ‘Now we won’t beat the shit out of you,’ ‘Now you don’t have to work minimum wage to support a zombie apocalypse.’

"I didn't picture Buné to be one for fanfare." "Yup." "That's- that's great! Isn’t it?" "All that's left now is to get rid of everything holding me back." I frowned. She said it so cold. So sterile, and she hadn’t made eye-contact with me since she walked in. She just threw down her brass knuckles and kicked off her boots under the table.. "-Me?" She snorted. "No, not you." For the barest of seconds I felt relief. With the way fifth worked, that probably meant axing some a big cat, or turf-war over a street above ‘sea level.’ It concerned me as much as any of her new hobbies. But that relief turned to restlessness, and that restlessness to desperation now that we were both here, back in our quiet kitchen, absent of screaming and bloodshed. It was 2 AM and this time was traditionally ours. “What did you see?” I asked. “Earlier I mean.” She glared, snapping out of whatever she was daydreaming about. “You think you deserve that?” I didn’t respond. “You didn’t even take care of the scraps today. You acted like that guy was going to make you cry.” I looked back at her. Looking at her like this used to make her face fall. Back when she felt things like remorse or concern. This Adria held her ground, yielding only when dinner was going to burn. “Whatever. You can make it up to me tomorrow.” “For your coronation…?” “Yes.” She knew how I hated going to demon things. “It’s not going to be in Hell.” She elaborated, when it must’ve been apparent on my face. “Where then?” "Ashwater." I stopped, pot boiling behind me. "...What? How is that what’s holding you back? You want nothing to do with it." "Buné's orders. He wants to make sure. You coming or not?" "Of course.” I said, my conscious late to catch up. Funny how it deteriorates with disuse. “It’s not going to be a team thing, is it? “Nope. You and me. Just how you like it.” “Good.” - - - That night when she showered, I stole her phone. This was double suicide. She'd kill me if she found out, and she'd kill who I was talking to for good measure. If that happened she'd rot in Hell forever, and they would never have a chance. She'd never have a chance. I ducked outside, and shut the sliding glass door behind me. I cowered behind the curtains. Finding the number required an incognito tab. I punched the number through the cracked glass, and prayed for an answer. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon-" I beat against the balcony rail. It was several painful seconds of ringing, but at the third note, I had an answer. "Hello!" She answered, drowsy. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Margie!" I cradled the phone with both hands. "I need you to pass on a message. Now." "Huh-?" Her sleepy customer service persona dropped. In the background, a Gilmore Girls rerun muted. "Who is this? I don't understand-" "Get the Kyriakoulopoulos' out of town. I don't care how you do it. I don't care where they go. But get them out of Ashwater. All of them." "What-?" "They are in danger," I swore, wishing she could see my face. I couldn't intone the right amount of peril. Not with Adria listening one thin motel wall away. "But they're in danger if you tell. Trust me on that." "Who is this-?" "It doesn't matter." "Deme...?" She faltered, in disbelief. "Deme? Is that you?" I squeezed my eyes shut. "Just do it. Please. It's their only chance. I don't care if Theo has a gun. It won't help, not against this. It will only make things harder. This is your only warning, for the love of God listen. You're the only one who can help. I trust you." "But, this is- I?" I hung up and blocked the number. - - - The following day we made the drive out to Ashwater. I rode backseat, arms wrapped around her waist. If I had to pick any aspect of our new life to love most, it was this. The very concept of a motorcycle was terror before immortality was in the equation, but this was a way to be close. I learned to love it: it was a way to hang onto her that felt organic. Nothing at all like the way she touched me now. It was a two-hour journey that breaked thirty minutes outside Ashwater. She'd nearly toppled the bike when she jumped off. I held it in place, as she hit up a gas station. She pulled two cans from the saddlebags, and kicked the machine until it caved. It spilled gasoline over her fingers in exchange for a crumpled twenty. "What's this?" "Preparation." I lifted the glass of my helmet. "Preparation?" "Buné says I can't commit without burning some bridges." "Literally, huh." Not necessarily a novel concept in our lives. "Sort of like the hideout?" Her head whipped to me- indignant, before letting it go. Cyrus was never on the discussion table. Any proximity to the subject was too close, but whatever was on her mind disarmed the usual backlash. It gave me a little hope that this is what he meant. Lord knows I'd be more than happy to burn down an elementary school if it meant I was wrong. “Help.” “On it.” Together we straddled four full tanks on the bike. But instead of the compound, our first stop was her old police building. Their town never needed more than two people. It was no surprise when there were no cruisers out front. Cameras were new but our faces were shielded by a thick plate of black plexiglass of our helmets. They wouldn't know how to explain what they saw if they saw it. Demetri and Adria were gunned down at the corner of Lancaster and Franklin. They had a monument in their honor, maybe some ghost stories, but they have been dead for years. Dave, too. She doused the front. She sprayed their unfunded equipment with gasoline.. We watched it burn from the tool shop across the street. Kitschy knick-knacks aside, tourism didn't change the town integrally. Ashwater was asleep by ten. The fire alarm blared, but no one was around for miles. Assistance in arson was no small sacrifice but it’d been gutted of Adria from the inside out. I wondered if she realized the irony of this- burning away a past she supposedly didn't remember. “Why does Buné care about the police station?” I asked, as the front buckled. Electrical equipment I helped fund popped, shooting sparks into the flames. She crossed her arms, staring into the flames. Her expession, unreadable. Adria was never a mystery when it came to her face- I was reading too much into it. There was just nothing there. “It’s not why he cares. It’s why I care.” “You care?” “Not anymore. Come on,” She said, kicking back into gear. “Next stop.” When we moved out to Modena, we didn't leave anything behind. I wondered if she remembered her house on the edge of the property. In her false timeline, it was never hers. She hit the road as a delinquent. In reality it was probably repurposed since her move. Perhaps sold, or given to Celia when she graduated. I wasn't volunteering its existence, and she seemed to ride past it without incident. My gut rolled as we pulled up to her parent's place, though. I was right- even though I was hoping we'd detour. I'd love to burn Cyrus' shit a second time, spit on his memory. I would be just as ecstatic as she was- But she stopped out front, kicking the stand, and parked. No cars lingered in the driveway. There was the daunting possibility Melina's van was in the garage but I needed, needed, to believe Margie worked her magic. "Stop, no." I followed at her heels. My charade broke after she marched up to it in grim determination. "This isn't necessary." "'Isn't necessary'?" She jerked the gas can at the house. Three years ago we enjoyed pie and coffee on the stairs. We listened to Celia's poetry where the gasoline splattered the wood. She was spitefully through, going as far as to break a window for further access. "Those people never cared." "Then why does it matter?" I arced around her as a bodyguard of the front door. "Fuck them. Fuck them all, let's just go. You think he’ll double check a small town in the middle of nowhere? " Tension was heightening. Something snapped. She pitched the empty gas can at the porch, breaking the glass inches from my face. I flinched "SEE? This is what I'm talking about!" She stabbed a finger into my ribs, knocking me back. "This bullshit is why I couldn't get promoted! It's you! It's fucking you! You haven't learned since Mark!" "Me? You said it wasn't-" "Yes, you! You and your stupid, insane sentimentality! This fake life you’re holding onto!" "How is it- NO" She struck a match. I snatched the end in my palm, snuffing it. "Don't." She slapped my hand, grabbed my arm. Bending it in a way it didn’t belong, she slammed me against the door. "What's your hold up, huh?! Spill it.” She threatened. “Give it up. I don’t give a shit about any of this- why do you!" I squirmed. How do I explain? It’s the one thing that’ll bring her back. It’s the last enduring piece of her life that’ll exorcise this monster she’s become. "They cared.” I kept my hands up, placating. "I know you don't want to hear it but they did. J-just go inside. Once. I can see it from the mantle-" I'd burn my whole arm if I had to, I'd throw myself into the fire to spare it. "You'll see the pictures- you don't even go that far ! The halls are covered, Adria. Covered. They have a shrine for you. Remember the school play-? Tree number four? That's how I knew about it." "I DON’T CARE what you think you know! That isn't a thing! It's not a fucking thing, Demetrius!" God, just look to to your left. In the window, where she was smiling. She was missing teeth in a family portrait from the 90's. “LOOK-” "No." Her grip loosened. She lit another, holding it outside of my range. Her nails narrowly clipping it together. "Y-you don't even have to!" My voice cracked. In a spark of courage, I pried her claws and jumped past her. I grabbed the knob. It was locked but that barely can be considered an obstacle compared to the Hell we'd been through. I'd break a window. I'd throw my shoulder out, I'd bust the door in. I'd rob their house, dragging every knickknack onto the lawn like a fucking yard sale to get one memory out of her. Her unhappy childhood wasn't real if there was photos of her playing the recorder at six. She wasn't dead if I could prove she tripped across the stage at her high school graduation, and she wasn't a thug if Melina had clippings framed every time she made the paper thereafter, a hero in their smalltown. "I'll find them for y-" "Don't even think it," she said, icy. "You don't have to come! I'll show you. Buné doesn't have to know-" "NO," She wrenched me inches from her face. "Walking through that door means you're attached to a fucking lie. Are you?" She shook me when I didn't respond. "Are you?! Are you wasting my time?" "No!" "She's dead. You said you understood that so prove it. Prove it, Demetrius." But why are you ignoring the truth? Aren’t you even curious? Don’t you want to see? The look in her eyes said it didn’t even matter. My fingers twitched on the handle. I knew I didn't care if she lit the building with me inside if it meant I had proof. A piece of our past. Hers was a family of love, encouragement, and support that created the most perfect being I knew, but this Adria didn't understand that. Her eyes were heartless and black through the tinted glass. She didn't care if anyone was inside. She didn't check. She’d be just as quick to dismiss cold hard proof as planted evidence of my delusions. Either that, or that Adria was never something she wanted to go back to. I swallowed and let go. My arm dropped to my side. "So." I said, numb. “What's the plan?" She knocked me aside. I stumbled to the other side of the porch. "We get rid of it. Just like the police station." "Great." I said, hollow. "Not so fast." She jammed a tank in my chest. I looked down at it. The acrid scent burned my eyes, even through the helmet. "What?" "This is a test for you." "I don't understand-" "You care a lot more than I do. Clearly." She started at me, cold and hard. I was one wrong answer from failing. “...Fine.” Without taking the time to acknowledge what I was doing, I shook the gasoline over the house. Thinking about it meant I’d see my Adria smiling back. In her uniform, at attention from the living room. My heart twisted. I dropped the light. It went up in minutes. Heat buffeted my face when I lifted my helmet. I hoped physics of some sort would spare the pictures in the frames, maybe a magnet on the fridge but in truth I wasn't looking at them right now. I staggered back to where she was sitting in the dirt. Legs crossed, she watched it burn. We answered everything with fire. It wasn't a stretch to want something out of this. The optimist, opportunist in me says it can't be a waste. I needed something. Anything. Anything that reassured me I didn't sever my own past in the process. I needed to know I wasn't throwing away all physical evidence. Everything that could bring her back. Her memories took shape in the stupidest things. Like a touch at the theater or stupid joke in the car. I pleaded for her to see something . But she watched on with no emotion. No bitterness, no remorse- Nothing. Perfectly blank. Perfectly alien. Her head tilted as we smelled the rubber dripping of Damon and Elyse's bikes, leaning against the side. I breathed in the ash of her destroyed home. I buried my head in my arms. shutting my eyes tight. There was numerous moves I could make here. So many callbacks to the formative flames that made us who we were- 'Fancy meeting you here.' 'Just like that?' Just any time we won. How we reacted with humor, conquest, and of course. Fire. But this wasn't the same. We stayed. We sat there until the roof crashed into the lawn. "Did you wanna know what I saw?" she said, after I'd gone quiet for too long. The smoke in the air was turning to a different scent. Chemical. I imagined this meant the kitchen was up in flames. with it, all of the kid's art, and Melina's recipes. "Yes," I answered, muted. She had removed her helmet. Her green eyes reflected the fire monstrously, until they adopted a brownish tint. Her braid- dark, but not black, fell across her back. Messy, but in the way I remembered it. My heart skipped- the first real thing i felt in a solid hour. "It was a small one." She said. "The first time you held my hand." I picked my head up from the grass, confused. That was not the set-up I used. I brought up her promotion. Usually prying was hopeless. She didn't delve deep into these things, as they were never her life, but I had to try. "Tell me about it." I said, quiet She watched the burning building, hugging her knees. For not remembering her old life, she sure was mimicking it. She looked softer as she tried to recall. But too soft- it was forced. "It was easy.” She said. “I just remember how easy it felt. Carefree." The first time I held her hand I was on a lot of morphine. We both survived a grievous monster attack. Carefree was a funny way to put it. I stayed quiet, before I noticed she wasn’t going to go on. "At...the hospital?" "Yes," she said, too keen. "At the hospital. And what happened after. What she said to you then." My eyes slid to hers, suspicion clawing. She must've known how hard it was to look at her. How much this felt like a continuum of her sick trial. "...The first time she accepted a date, to Jo's? Once we were both patched up?" "Yes." My breath hollowed within my chest. "Yeah." I said, dead. "We always were saying how she had the best coffee in town, didn't we?" "Yup." I buried my face in my hands and laid on the ground, wishing I could sink into the dirt. It took salt in the wound to realize this isn't who I was. I wasn't a man who lived in the past. There was always something new and exciting ahead. I thrived in the moment, and I planned five paces ahead, but this is where I've been months. Disjointed. A fraction of my former self, whittled down into core needs brought out of my by Adria. I am not who I should be and this wasn't who she should be. I needed to go. I needed to cut the dead weight and leave. Today was the last straw- that sick joke was it- She's not there anymore. She was gone. My Adria, the one who always knew what to do, my loving, compassionate, spitfire Adria- would be as disgusted by this monster as I am. And the monster I've become, chasing it. This house was a pyre. A testament to the last chance l had. Adria died in Mark’s basement but I was the one who took every last trace and cremated it. But if there was nothing left for me down here, why was I here? I was doing more harm than good. I could have left her memory in peace. I could have treasured that golden smile, those fond memories, and the way she got high of danger- not sadistically drunk off it. I could have mourned, at left her be in her prime. Instead, those memories were being replaced. They were overwrit by violence. How many times could I watch this Adria cave in a head, before I forget how she'd kiss mine? How many times can I watch her lose her temper, felling the world into destruction behind her before I forgot how she'd cry at pound commercials? How many times can I watch her callously disregard the innocent, before I started to forget how she'd stop at nothing to save them all? At what point is there nothing left of Adria, and I am just as complacent in her murder? The answer should have been never but it was already starting. I aided in the apocalypse. I accepted her deal. I torched her parent's house. I didn't know if she knew what I was thinking or if it was some twisted reward for playing by her rules but she leaned into my shoulder. Her lips were parted, enough to feel the heat of the threat without the intention. I looked to her mouth. Fangs she forgot to hide pressed against the bottom, the pitch black shine reflecting the flame before she licked away the venom. I wasn't looking at my Adria's face. I was staring at a choice: what felt nice versus what was right. But what felt right and what felt right didn't co-exist outside of us. It was learned- and she taught me that yet this year of living off scraps took it back. Without Adria I regressed to where I started: selfish man driven by whims. If I held onto nothing but the way she make me felt, I could have saved her. If I remembered how her embrace was rough, but tender I'd know this Adria was an imposter. If I had held onto nothing except the way she felt against me, I'd reject this monster that gripped me obsessively like a vice. But I didn't. In these long months I forgot it all. I couldn't bring myself to do without, because even a cheap imitation was something. And eventually- everything. I collapsed on the grass, dragged by her hold. She held me against her, rolling until her wings blocked out the firelight. Until the smell of Hell replaced the Melina's singed garden. Until the possessive traction of her lips made me forget I was kissing this demon on Adria's grave I was never going to leave.

[rachieandthewaves]

The StarKidverse (conceived from my sixteen year old mind)

so um I saw on twitter that @thatsthat24 was interested in seeing some Starkid multiverse theories. Since the announcement of Black Friday, which takes place in Hatchetfield like TGWDLM, people are pretty excited about the idea of a shared universe of Starkid musicals. I came up with one when I was sixteen and found it in the depths of my OneNote. I decided to revive it for the kicks and I’ve updated it accordingly to recent musicals. Let me know your thoughts!

FIRSTLY

The evidence that Starkid musicals exist in the same universe:

In every musical, characters say "Gasp!" instead of actually gasping.

Whenever there’s a chase scene, they face the audience and run on the spot.​

They each have their own unconventional view on religion (in Starship, they believe God is dead. In AVPM they have "wizard God." " etc.)​

Some characters are aware they are in a musical and can communicate with the audience (Aladdin, Ron Weasley, Ja'far, the Dad in Trail to Oregon etc.)

Without further ado, let’s get started.

ANI 

ANI is the definite proof that some musicals do share a universe with others, as they make reference to Starship (the girls auditioning as slaves make a joke about Bug’s home planet, Geonosis) 

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, there was a war of the stars taking place​

This advanced civilization had mastered biological engineering and space travel, as shown in the events of ANI: A Parody

​During this time period, these space-faring people began searching for other systems to colonize.

One of them was our solar system.​Originally, they tried colonizing on Mars, where they built a school, but soon realized that it was unsuitable for life.

FIREBRINGER

The advanced civilization then discovered Earth, which was suitable for life. A representative of the space people was sent down to Earth (Chorn) to live in prehistoric America and see if humanity was worthy of ancient power and knowledge.​

However, humanity in its early stages was violent and chaotic. While leaders like Jamilla advocated for logic, peace and duty, Zazzalil relied on optimism, leisure and hope.

Once humanity realized that progress could not be achieved without both, Chorn bestowed the first community of humans with ancient power and knowledge using a Jedi mind trick.

For many years, the first community of people helped develop humanity into prosperity. While science, logic and reasoning helped us understand the world, wishes, dreams and belief helped us improve the world. ​

After a while, the first community achieved biological engineering and became supernaturally powered beings. They developed devices to harness their powers, called "wands"

​During the Salem Witch Trials, the first community were denounced as "witches and wizards" and their scientific advancements were deemed as "magic." As a result, they lived in hiding in one place in America, where their community continued to grow and thrive.​ 

While these gifted natives became a thriving community of innovation and pioneers, the development of the result of the world became dramatically slower.

THE TRAIL TO OREGON

By the 19th century, humanity's progress had halted.​ Diseases such as dysentery were rampant. ​

While the rest of the world was in shit, there was one state in the world that was rich in scientific discovery; Oregon. ​

This was the place where humanity was first gifted with ancient knowledge and power.​ Firebringer takes place in prehistoric Oregon.

Since Chorn healed Grunt’s arm, the settlers of Oregon had made terrific advancements in medicine that mend ailments almost instantaneously.

This is also why, when Father/Mother/Son/Grandpa crossed the county line after dying of dysentery, they were instantly revived by the sheer power of Oregon.

The natives in Oregon were afraid that if they exposed their magical ways and advanced technology to humanity, they would be rejected.​

Little did they know, more magic people were being born around the world as a diaspora emanated from Oregon

​By 2009, they set up a secret school for these genetically enhanced individuals for their safety.

AVPM/AVPS/AVPSY

For a long time, the witches and wizards lived in peace and secrecy. It was during this time they discovered the early concepts of time travel (the time turner), created advanced artificial intelligence (The Hat and Scarfy) and had mastered space travel to visit and take control of the  Jedi school on Mars. 

This was the First Golden Age for people descended from the Oregon natives, because it was an era of great prosperity and peace.​

In case you hadn’t guessed, Pigfarts was the failed colonization effort on Mars.

In 2012, during the events of A Very Potter Senior Year, Gilderoy Lockhart exposed the wizarding world to humans. 

HOLY MUSICAL B@MAN!

This is when the theory goes a little bit sideways in terms of timelines.

According to my theory, Holy Musical Batman would be set post-2012 but Alfred mentions that the year was 1997. However, the presence of smart phones and Barack Obama contradicts this statement, therefore I’m guessing he was just confused about the year.

 Basically, humanity is very accepting of the wizarding world.

They used their gifts to help defend the world.

This also established Earth as a universal pinnacle for acceptance of the abnormal, attracting alien life such as Superman.

became known as superheroes and supervillains and began to integrate into modern society.

Some superheroes used their innate Oregon-originated gifts to fight crime. However, the widespread usage of Oregon-based technology made crime-fighting possible for billionaires like Batman.

This era became known as the Second Golden Age. After the formation of The Super Friends, it was the first time that humans and superheroes (the Oregon natives) had cooperated with each other.

​But many ordinary people were jealous of their gifts and tried becoming villains themselves; many of them with “shitty” themes as they could not afford Oregon technology. As a result, the villain crime rate went through the roof.​

Humanity blamed the superheroes for the rise of a dangerous new world order and decided to eradicate them​

They tried harnessing their technology for their own malevolent purposes​They started using young people in their experiments and reproduce genetically enhanced individuals of their own, but the experiments had a very different effect on reproductive organs.

ME AND MY DICK

The experiments produced a small community of people with anthropomorphic hearts, dicks and pussies ​

These young people tried living their daily life but they were shunned for their reproductive organs (this is why fictional Joey Richter is afraid of introducing Dick to people and is amazed when he learns Sally has an anthropomorphic vagina of her own.)

​As a result, the reproductive organs were forced to start their own society and warned any human who discovered it against telling anybody in fear of persecution. (These worlds had their own governing systems such as the Council of the Pussies.)

THE GUY WHO DIDN’T LIKE MUSICALS

The original space-faring species that gave humanity ancient power and wisdom saw the bastardization of their gift on earth. 

Their gift had led to mutilation, unethical scientific experimentation, prejudice, corruption and crime. As a result, they decided to return to Earth and correct the mess themselves. 

They thought that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom and decided to enslave humanity using song and dance; a creation originating from Firebringer and something the aliens thought would bring humanity together, just as it did back then.

STARSHIP

Humans eventually responded brutally. They used Oregon technology to develop robots to fight the alien invaders. However, when the alien threat was gone, the robots turned on their creators and ignited a “robot war” with all of humankind.

During the Robot Wars, The Super Friends were defeated. With nobody to protect them, in order to combat the robots, the humans developed a space agency called G.L.E.E., used for conquering and colonizing other planets. The agency was controlled by an evil leader named Doctor Spaceclaw.​

During the events of Starship, Bug and February fell in love and returned to the starship together. On their many travels across the galaxy, they discovered many different relics, such as an sentient carpet and a lamp containing a god-like being called a Djin.​

When they returned to earth, February and Bug hid their treasures and settled down in a cave; an itty-bitty living space far away from the conflict. Only February and Bug could access the cave and the treasure.

Eventually, Doctor Spaceclaw discovered the lovers' treachery. They were captured, experimented on and turned into one golden scarab (a bug.) Therefore, they became the key to the cave.

TWISTED

Years later, the robots were defeated and humanity had to rebuild the earth from the ashes.​

Generations of mating between the natives and ordinary humans had cancelled out the starkids' magic abilities. ​

This new world order of kingdoms was started by corrupt leaders like Doctor Spaceclaw, now known as “sultans.” Therefore, the world became a superficial place full of privilege and poverty.​ The effects of the cheery, delusional alien influence of TGWDLM were still prevelant, as most people valued whimsy and optimism over practicality and reality.

The story of the two lovers that Scheherazade tells Ja’far is the story of Bug and February. They are the golden scarab. 

In the end, Ja'far entrusted the power of sultan to a person who believed in both the value of duty and science and hope and belief; The Princess. She is able to unite everyone and eliminate division in the kingdom by declaring everyone a princess, thus leading to the Third Golden Age.

Bear in mind, I was sixteen when I came up with most of this theory so don’t hold back if you have criticisms.

[ghostmartyr]

I mean, if you look at it logically, it isn’t necessarily that things are getting worse, it’s that the things that were making it manageable are slowly being eaten away and reminding me of all the horribleness. In theory, that could even be helpful. No happiness and delusional optimism getting in the way of remembering that there’s a problem not getting fixed. Or it could create space for other, new happy things. Which exist!

Or I could just make a fun game about how many days/years past the end of my tolerance zone I’ve lasted. I am so awesome. Keeping breathing like the bestest human.

I’m switching between despair and hysteria because I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing or how to make it better, and it isn’t quite 9/10 doctors agreeing on that, but it’s enough to be depressing. Or maybe they’ll respond to this latest mess with some brilliant insight that saves me and this time next week I’ll be perfectly cured and it’ll all be fine.

Look, I’ve just gotta say, here, for the record.

This is stupid.

Like, I’m not sure what I’m accomplishing here, except finding new and exciting ways to somehow lower the bar for my expectations, but if there was a point to this, I feel like it’s been lost. This is the kind of suffering someone writes for their character when it’s November and they don’t know what they’re doing but they have to meet a word count for the day, and misery fills pages.

It would not get away with this in its final, published form. “No,” the editor would say, “you want to give people a reason to turn the page, not throw themselves and the book into a dumpster fire.”

Only wait, the author goes, “You don’t understand my vision!” and crowdfunds a release and then a decade later writes another book, changes their name, and goes to a publisher again and begs for an editor to maybe take a look and hack and slash the thing before the regrets sell a million copies.

The new book does better, but the cult classic of the original never dies, and eventually the author derails into a fit of insanity because people will not let the mistakes go and they jump off a bridge or something.

Then they probably live, only with permanent damage, and wonder if this is karma and they should have just let their damn character from the first book die in peace instead of prolonging their suffering for five dozen chapters.

The part where none of that sounds fun or relevant to meaning is what I relate to most in that tangent.

Also, to the me up there who started this: No, actually, I’m pretty sure that nothing getting better + a significant increase in pain does mean things are getting worse. Not to steal your thunder or anything, I realize that the parts about nothing good sticking around are accurate, but no, things are getting worse. We’re just hoping they’re getting worse in that darkest before dawn way. Fuck.

There’s a chapter/segment/thing in How Not to Write a Novel about how a writer’s job is harder than God’s, because a writer’s plot has to make sense. ...Yes Lord I’m throwing shade at your scene blocking. Kill me off and we can have a nice long talk about it.

It’s like someone wrote a code for a story, said the hero should suffer now, then forgot to give ‘now’ a value, so it’s just stuck in the eternal now instead of a momentary now. Coincidentally, if you erase the n, you get ow, and I feel that.

And I don’t know, from a Watsonian perspective, I’m kind of lonely and sad and angry, because everything sucks, and every bright spot of light I’ve found is a train that’s about to be used as a hammer. And I would dearly love to argue that I’m being melodramatic and it couldn’t possibly all be that bad, but I actually can’t think of a single damn thing that makes me happy that hasn’t been used to brutally assault my emotional health.

Probably because I have none of that, so I am currently incapable of just being happy, but that limits the attention to the part of my life where every fucking thing is conspiring to go sideways, and I am actually allowed to find it upsetting that nothing I do in life has any positive meaning because I am a drain on society and would be better off dead.

I don’t want to be doing this every other hour. It’s getting ridiculous, and I would love to say it’s not sustainable, but facts not in evidence.

And maybe the focus on how pointless this is is the wrong way to go, because fine, I can deal with pointless, but you know what? If it’s pointless, let’s just go wild here and make it pointless in a . . . happy way! Instead of the one where I want to shoot myself! Or what, can happiness not be pointless because its very existence is conceivable as point enough for anything?

Everything is terrible and life sucks. Tomorrow will probably be worse. Yay. A keystone of mental health in some schools of thought is being able to reliably stick to a routine, so I’m obviously doing very dandy.

...FFS, this should not still be getting worse. Why the hell am I bothering if it’s just going to keep getting worse? I’m not even a person anymore. Just some shattered collection of fried emotions shivering in a corner and occasionally working up the nerve to pretend that life isn’t awful (something which is, naturally, punished swiftly because that is obviously the wrong way of going about things).

This is devoid of meaning and I want off.

[thefabulousfulcrum]

Why can’t the world’s best military win its wars?

via Salon

ARNOLD R. ISAACS

"This time, they think they have it right."

So declared an Associated Press story reporting an upbeat assessment by this country's top military officer at the end of a five-day visit to Afghanistan earlier this spring. Marine General Joseph Dunford Jr., chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was heading home from the war zone, the AP reporter wrote, "with a palpable sense of optimism" about the U.S.-supported war against Taliban and Islamic State fighters there.

Light at the end of the tunnel, perhaps?

 The story didn't say whether any of the reporters listening to General Dunford asked why it had taken more than 16 years for the world's leading military power to come up with the "fundamentally different approach" that the general believes has put U.S. and Afghan forces on the path to success. (None of the changes he mentioned really sounded fundamental, either.) Still, it's a question worth asking: If Americans are right in ceaselessly telling themselves that theirs is the most powerful country the world has ever seen and that their military is the "greatest fighting force ever," as President Trump calls it, should it have been this hard and taken this long to find a way — if they really have — to defeat enemies whose war-making resources are a tiny fraction of ours?

As has happened often during our current conflicts, that piece of news from Afghanistan got me thinking about an earlier war that I witnessed first-hand as a correspondent for the Baltimore Sun during its final three years.

In Vietnam, as in subsequent American wars, the United States and its local allies had staggering advantages in all the conventional measures of military strength, yet failed to win. It makes me wonder: If U.S. political and military leaders and the American public remembered Vietnam more honestly, if painful truths hadn’t been cloaked in comforting mythologies, might this country have responded more intelligently and effectively to the violent challenges we’ve faced in the current century?

Consider, for example, the persistent story that America lost in Vietnam because U.S. troops fought with one hand tied behind their backs — because, that is, the politicians were "afraid to let them win," as Ronald Reagan once put it. The implication is clear: we could and should have won that war by doing more of what we were already doing or keeping at it longer (and should do the same in other conflicts, if military force does not seem to be succeeding).

But did the United States really lose in Vietnam for lack of force?

Not exactly a limited war

Plenty of facts suggest otherwise. Take the amount of destructive power the U.S. employed. "Devastating conventional firepower unparalleled in military history," a study by the Army’s logistics command called it, adding that, along with extraordinary tonnages of air and ground ordnance, American commanders fought with virtually no restrictions on mobility, equipment, or supplies: "The logistics scene was characterized by almost unlimited supply, remarkable high operational readiness rates as applied to equipment, a seemingly endless flow of ammunition and petroleum, and immunity for the most part from external fiscal restraints."

Even to one who heard a bit of the gunfire from time to time, the statistics on U.S. firepower are mind-boggling. Pentagon records show that, for long periods, the American military and Saigon government forces fired ammunition at rates up to an astonishing 600 times higher than the enemy's — 100,000 tons of ground munitions a month for all of 1969, for example, compared to just 150 tons from the Communist side. In 1974, with U.S. forces no longer directly engaged in combat and allied South Vietnamese commanders moaning nonstop about shortages caused by reductions in American military aid, Saigon's forces still used 65 tons of ammunition for every ton fired by the enemy.

Those figures don’t include air ordnance, which would make the ratios even more grotesquely one-sided. Over the course of the war, U.S. aircraft dropped approximately twice as many tons of bombs on North Vietnam, South Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia as combined Allied forces dropped on Germany and Japan in World War II.

In light of those numbers, the claim that America's war in Vietnam was fought under undue restrictions is less than convincing. If U.S. troops couldn't win — or leave our ally in a position to win — after fighting for seven years with an almost unimaginable edge in firepower, technology, and mobility, the much more logical conclusion is that U.S. military doctrine and Washington’s concept of military strength simply did not apply to that conflict.

And what about the doctrine that a later generation of U.S. soldiers took with them into Afghanistan and Iraq?

"Full spectrum dominance" was the watchword in a 2000 document, “Joint Vision 2020” (updated from a 1996 version), which the authors described as a "conceptual template" for the U.S. military's evolution over the two decades to come. Its language was even more hubristic than that slogan suggests: "a force that is dominant across the full spectrum of military operations -- persuasive in peace, decisive in war, preeminent in any form of conflict... prepared to win across the full range of military operations in any part of the world... [with the ability] to defeat any adversary and control any situation across the full range of military operations."

Defeat any adversary? Control any situation?

Nine-tenths of the way to the year 2020, U.S. soldiers, with all of their firepower and technology, have not achieved anything close to total dominance on the battlefields where they have been engaged. They have not dominated poorly armed fighters. Or insurgents planting low-tech, low-costexplosive devices. Or local cops and officials whom we would like to stop shaking down citizens and undermining the public support we say is crucial for counterinsurgency warfare.

To put it bluntly, the experience of the last nearly 17 years makes "full spectrum dominance" sound like a delusional fantasy.

When the large-scale U.S. intervention in Vietnam began, the great triumph of World War II was just 20 years in the past. That war was the formative experience for the generation of senior officers who led the American military into Vietnam, so perhaps their arrogance was understandable. The inventors of full spectrum dominance and the commanders they influenced came along almost exactly the same number of years after Vietnam, which makes their illusion of omnipotence harder to understand.

At the other end of their respective wars, members of both groups insisted (and continue to insist) that the fault was not in their strategy or how they conducted it. Instead, they claim, they were denied success because the politicians limited them too much or made them stop too soon. There's no way to prove or disprove counterfactual statements of that sort, but given the length of time they had to win those wars — twice as long (in Vietnam) or three times (in Iraq) or close to four times as many years (in Afghanistan) as it took to reach victory in World War II — that claim, like the one-hand-behind-the-back argument, has a very hollow ring to it.

Time to revise Sun Tzu: Know your friend

If my computer's search function is working properly, the words "ally," "allied," "host government," and "local forces" appear nowhere in the "Joint Vision 2020" paper. That's a telling omission. In Vietnam and our more recent wars, the weaknesses of Washington’s local partners — which U.S. officials have been stunningly reluctant to — should be seen as the fundamental reason those wars have been so unsuccessful despite the overwhelming advantage in material resources that U.S. forces and their allies possessed.

There's an implication here for the American approach to intelligence (in both the narrow and broad senses of the word). While rethinking what military power means, perhaps we should reconsider what intelligence means, too. In particular, it would be useful to revisit the classic premise — stated more than 2,500 years ago by the Chinese sage Sun Tzu — that the first goal of intelligence is to "know your enemy." It certainly would have been helpful in the last half-century's wars if American commanders had known their opponents better. In Vietnam and since, though, by far the most damaging intelligence failure wasn’t not knowing our enemies well enough, but not knowing our friends. Consistently in these wars, Americans have overestimated their local ally's capabilities while remaining blind, whether purposely or not, to the grave weaknesses of those forces.

In Vietnam, American weapons, dollars, and advice created a South Vietnamese army that, on paper, should have easily defended its country, as Americans told themselves it could. But U.S. money and material did not make that ally's commanders effective or competent, or compensate for the inadequate leadership that was, in the end, the critical reason for South Vietnam's defeat by a much poorer but more skillful, disciplined, and resourceful opponent.

A strong case can be made that the American-allied Saigon regime's single most toxic weakness was pervasive corruption. It wasn't just that corruption angered and alienated the South Vietnamese populace, including the regime's own soldiers. That was damaging enough, but the greater damage was that corruption fatally undermined the ability of both the government and the army to do their jobs. A 1966 memorandum by a study group in the U.S. mission in Saigon made that point in sharp terms:

"There is a deadly correlation between corruption at high levels in an administrative system and the spread throughout the system of incompetence, as higher-ups encourage and promote corrupt subordinates, and protect them from the consequences of poor performance of duty or direct disobedience of orders. Such a system demoralizes and 'selects out' the able and the dedicated who do not play the game."

An author of that paper and the principal drafter of the section on corruption was Frank Scotton, one of the longest-serving and most knowledgeable U.S. officials in Vietnam. Writing on that theme in his memoir, "Uphill Battle," Scotton quoted a Vietnamese general who told him that "he could name many corrupt officers, but not a single one who was both corrupt and an effective commander." That general was eventually fired for his criticisms of the regime and sent into exile. 

The study group put a "marked reduction of corruption" first on its list of recommendations for necessary reforms in South Vietnam. But in my time there, beginning nearly six years after that memorandum was written, the South Vietnamese system I observed still perfectly matched Scotton's description. Exactly as he had noted years earlier, the most honest and capable officers I met were also the most frustrated and demoralized. By the time I left in the final evacuation from a defeated South Vietnam nearly three years later, I was convinced that corruption was the single biggest reason the Saigon government had lost the war. Nothing I’ve learned since has changed my mind on that.

Return of the ghost soldiers

I don’t have the same firsthand knowledge of Iraq or Afghanistan. But even from afar, it's hard not to hear history rhyming, if not repeating itself.

Occasionally, news from those wars comes with a shock of absolute recognition, as when it was revealed — after the Islamic State offensive in Iraq exploded in the fall of 2014 and city after city fell to relatively small groups of — that the American-trained Iraqi army's real strength was far lower than its strength on paper. That was because as many as 50,000 of the troops on that army's rosters — the equivalent of four full — were “ghost soldiers,” men who did not actually exist or had deserted but were still being paid, with their commanders pocketing their salaries. The city of Mosul, for example, was ostensibly defended by 25,000 government troops when the Islamic State militants attacked. The actual number was less than half that many -- in some units, an even smaller fraction. This, it should be noted, in a force that had received something like $25 billion in U.S. support in the decade after the 2003 invasion.

The same practice — along with the broader pattern of corruption that it exemplifies — has been evident in Afghanistan. In one contested province, officials acknowledged in 2016 that almost half the soldiers and police on government payrolls did not exist or were not present for duty — even though improving the effectiveness of Afghan security forces was supposed to be a top priority for the Americans offering training, advice, and funds.

The story in Vietnam, for all intents and purposes, was identical. In an army where every dollar of soldiers' pay, as well as every weapon, vehicle, bullet, and pair of boots, was funded by U.S. aid, the Vietnamese had names for two variations of payroll padding: "ghost soldiers," men who had been killed but whose deaths were not reported so that their commanders could keep collecting and pocketing their salaries; and "flower soldiers" (that is, ornamental ones) who stayed home with their families while kicking back their pay to their superiors. That meant South Vietnam's real fighting strength was considerably less than official reports indicated. Routinely, battalions that nominally had 300 men had only half or a third of that number on hand — exactly as in the case of those Iraqi units filled with “ghost soldiers” that were defeated in Mosul.

The broader parallels between the army and government we supported in Vietnam and those we have backed in our twenty-first-century wars are also clear. In all of them, corruption and poor governance in general were rife and would prove crippling obstacles to achieving U.S. objectives. And in all of them, Americans were almost completely ineffective in doing anything about either problem.

As journalist Douglas Wissing wrote in his book "Funding the Enemy," a massively researched report on far-reaching corruption in Afghanistan, instead of taking any meaningful action against corruption, the U.S. government for the most part "either ignored it or enabled it." That conclusion is borne out, though phrased more diplomatically, in numerous reports by the Special Inspector General for Afghan Reconstruction. After describing one of many ways the Taliban were able to tap into American funds, Wissing noted that all the money they got their hands on was spent for weapons, motorcycles, and mobile phones; their religious scruples stopped them from keeping any of it for themselves. Mordantly but aptly, Wissing added, "at least the Taliban made honest use of the U.S. taxpayers' cash."

New plays, same script

The world of 2018 is vastly different from the world of a half-century ago. Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Iraq are very different countries, and the wars in each reflect different origins and circumstances. The U.S. military today bears almost no resemblance to the American force that fought in Vietnam. So comparisons are hardly simple. Still, the boiled-down narratives of those wars look strikingly similar: large-scale U.S. military forces with limitless firepower are sent to defeat a far more poorly armed enemy and spend years trying to do so; meanwhile, American aid officials dole out hefty amounts of money and advice intended to create a good government and a prosperous country, or at least good enough and prosperous enough so that most citizens will choose the side of the war we want them to support.

In the end, however, the goal the Americans fought to reach — a stable local regime that is able to effectively defend itself, legitimate in the eyes of its citizens, and friendly to U.S. interests — is not achieved. Eventually, after we stop trying to accomplish the mission ourselves, we assume we can help a client force reach the same objectives by teaching them how to fight essentially the same way we did, except with even slimmer resources (a lot fewer helicopters to lift out their wounded, for example, which their soldiers got accustomed to while the rich Americans were still there). Not surprisingly, that policy doesn't work so well either.

It's hard to fathom why those scenarios weren't more quickly and widely seen as illusory, especially the second or third time around. In part, no doubt, it was a case of being lowered into water reaching the boiling point too slowly to realize what was happening. And Washington’s and the Pentagon'sthinking surely also reflected the sugar coating Americans tend to spray over painful memories — the Pentagon website commemorating the Vietnam Waris a prime — to avoid remembering them accurately. Even so, after Vietnam you'd think military professionals and the rest of us wouldn't have gone on as long as we did in subsequent conflicts without realizing that America’s very idea of war in these last decades needs reexamination and so do the stories U.S. commanders keep telling themselves, their superiors, and the rest of us about our accomplishments and our allies' capabilities.

As is almost always the case, describing the problem is easier — much easier — than solving it. This one will take a big and wrenching change in deeply rooted structures and beliefs, and in personal and institutional perceptions of self-interest. (Can we really stop telling ourselves that the United States has the best military in the world?) We have already paid a monumental price for our faulty understanding of war and of the real world. Failing to learn those lessons, even at this late date, will only drive that price tragically higher.

[thinkingaboutsanfrancisco]

Enthusiastically accepting to partake in my ceremonious gesture, S declares that he wants to top us off with a toast of his own and, judging by the formal clearing of his throat, this is going to be good. I just know it; it excites a bubbling within me as I anticipate the short but spiritedly explicit vain that his tipsy toast is going to take...

Here’s to those who wish us well...and those who don’t can go to hell.

However, his liquid courage oozes beyond what my jocular ass would’ve said or settled for. He’s spirited alright, and still surprisingly succinct for someone who’s about to down shot number four, but there’s not a hint of sarcasm to be found when he seizes the moment: “To finding friendship in the most peculiar places. To me finally being able to breathe again, to you conquering your first shot and coming out tonight with my crazy ass and actually seeming to enjoy it quite a bit — it’s fucking great to see you smiling this much, J...”

It’s great to have something to smile over. 

I still can’t believe it. Somehow that’s been afforded to me on this night after this awful sleep-deprived week in a nightclub out of all places and fuck it feels good—albeit a little strenuous since I can’t even remember the last time I’ve held one this long—but whatever, I can’t stop. I am starting to enjoy myself here and I think it’s because he miraculously took my mind away from everything else. I can’t hear the abrasive music anymore; it’s not gone, vibrations of the bass linger in the background, but that grating pressure in my head has cleared significantly and I breathe a little easier as I listen to the rest of his proclamation; wishing upon us eternal exuberance, laughter, good times and good people. He’s ambitious; those things are so scarce in life that I should be doubting him as delusional for such a demand, but his optimism is too inspiring. I forget sometimes that there’s nothing wrong with merely wanting something. Those are incredibly generous and kind things to want for someone, actually, especially when said someone is quite the cynical, neurotic, and derelict bastard…

But I want all of those wishes to come true for us too.  

“Cheers,” I say, the sight of the tequila sloshing around in his glass when it meets my sturdy, empty, one merits a chuckle out of me as their gratifying clink rings in my ears. Empty and full, sufficient and lacking; they look so strange next to each other and, nausea be damned, I wish I would’ve done just one more to have celebrated this properly, y’know...third time’s the charm and all. However, when I look over at the tray, I realize that would’ve been impossible: empty glasses are all that remain outside of the one in his hand, which he’s still holding—along with a gaze on me that keeps me smiling at him.

C’mon, go ahead... you’ve earned it. 

He believes so too and gulps it down before daring to contemplate this sacred sentimentality. I appreciate his self-cognizance, but I think the alcohol’s affecting him more than he admits, because I know he’s openly emotional and... I’m okay with it. I have been. Seriously, Sunday was this week and I was there. I was there when the morning sun was pouring through the windows to fuel his infectious haze of happiness and, twelve or so hours later, I was there sitting beside him while he cried when it all crashed down. That night might’ve opened up a painful Pandora’s box for me that I’ve since spent every single waking hour regretting ever prying at it, but I never regretted staying with him. I don’t want him to suffer such purgatory again and much prefer his sappy tears tonight, but I’m happy to beckon the call if he ever needs it. 

There’s certainly no need for me to pray about it, S...I’m just glad you’re okay. 

“I think I’m qualified,” I remind him and the peace that instantaneously washes over his face says it all; he thinks so too. 

A profound silence settles upon us as we bask in this affirmation and it’s so perfectly pure that I don’t prod it. He’ll talk when he’s ready and I’ve got nothing else pertinent to add, so I soon find myself focused on the sensation of slowly straightening out a strand of my hair and twirling loosely it around the end of my finger, wondering about this one minor thing that starts to distract me...

When is she coming back? 

It’s slightly tormenting because I can see her—she’s right there— but her back is turned to us as she rapidly tends to far more taxing orders of those in the cue, and, at this point, I wish she’d come over here so I can tell her not to worry about my silly order. It’s not like I need it and I’d feel really bad if she got chewed out by some drunken dipshit for taking a break to tend to me all the way back here...

“Alright, where’s the fucking bartender at? I need more shots, like instantly,” S speaks up and, before I can gesture to how swarmed she is on the other side so that he’ll understand to be extra-cool with her about it, he suddenly remembers something: “Wait, did you say you were nauseous?” 

I nod, because yeah, I still am. It’s calmed down significantly from earlier to where I don’t feel like I’m going to die like I did, but...I don’t feel as good as I did a minute ago either. It’s at least threatening to come back and, while S’ remedy would probably stabilize me, the fact that I’ve now made it a deal worsens me. 

No, you don’t have to. Seriously, I’ll be fine. It’s not worth the trouble of bothering her, especially when she’s beyond busy. 

I don’t think he intended for her to hear his plans — he’s about as surprised as I am when she turns to our side, rushing over with my bulky glass of Coke in her hand. Freshly poured, it’s so filled to the brim with carbonation that I fear the top might spill on the both of us when she sets it down, but it doesn’t. Like a true professional, she apologizes profusely for the wait, and I offer her as much of a steady and polite smile as my guilt will let me muster.

“No, it’s fine, really. Thank you.” 

Seriously, she’s got nothing to apologize for. I know it’s just a Coke, but it looks immaculate. The abundant foam has fizzled out some, but the ice cubes and straw are still surrounded with all of those tiny, sparkling, little bubbles that make restaurant Coke so much better than the shitty bottles from the vending machine that go flat. Bringing the straw closer to my lip, one sip of the cold, familiar, syrupy, goodness instantly satisfies me. It was worth the wait. 

She’s relieved enough by my answer to jest, “These Friday nights are getting to me...” 

Yeah, they’re getting to me too. 

My overzealous reaction of amusement at this invites another thick layer of irony when I swallow too rough and the carbonation shoots straight up to my fucking nose, acidicly tickling the shit out of it and making me feel like a seven year old for not being able to handle my damn soda—like I didn’t feel stupid enough already. I’m safe, though. Nobody notices. Tamara is busy explaining how to get her attention and S latches on immediately; graciously ordering his next round of shots and...that glass of water for me, even though I’m now pretty happy nursing on my Coke. The sweetness of the syrup is starting to weigh on my stomach, but the sugar and caffeine do have my brain working better. 

Once I finish this, I’ll probably be good to go. 

Which...isn’t going to happen as soon as I thought. She’s back in a blink, balancing a new silver tray with one hand and gripping onto the glass of water with the other before she places it right next to my cola. The two, bulky, mostly full glasses of different drinks look so weird next to each other in front of me, as if the first one wasn’t satisfactory enough for my particular taste or something that’s clearly not the case. I can’t even stop sipping on it long enough to thank her again and put a thumbs up on the counter when she asks if there’s anything else.  I’m good too. 

She walks away and I only hear him finish shot number five. 

“I’m feelin’ good, J…” S sings, breaking to chuckle at himself, and my eyebrow raises up as I smirk. 

Oh, I know you are. 

“Feelin’ really nice right now…um, anyway, so drink your fucking water, man. It helps. Any time you feel like you’re gonna throw up, take a sip of ice-cold water. You won’t feel sick anymore. It’s like impossible to throw up after drinking ice cold water. It ain’t just for nausea though. You should always drink water in between drinking alcohol…I should probably order a water too, but fuck it, I can get it later, it’s okay.”

Holy shit, you’re not letting me get away with this, are you? 

Granted, I brought this alarm upon myself. If I truly wanted to silently soldier on, I would’ve kept my mouth shut, but... it slipped out. I didn’t tell him that for sympathy or with any expectation that he was going to help me— I didn’t think there was any way that he could—it was just...a fact, one I needed him to get so he’d understand why I wouldn’t be indulging in anymore of the shots he offered. I’m not usually this sick, but I’m so used to living with nausea in general that his gentle yet firm insistence pushing me to work through it is...weird to hear. It’s been a while since someone refused to let me wallow like I always want to and forced me to get up to make myself feel better. The last one must’ve been...

Ray. 

She was a true friend for that in February, but it’s only been in this past week without her where I’ve fully comprehended that. I was very fucking sick then, but especially in my head. It’s wild to think that the tipping point of my breakdown was on the verge of being fucking Pre-Calculus, but I was so unbelievably petrified and stressed about everything back then that I could’ve been set off by anything. She saw me struggling and suffering at rock bottom and, no matter how much I tried to evade her that day, she didn’t let me get away with it. Her acts of kindness were small too, yet my debt to her will forever remain chained to my soul. However, the length of that chain is short in comparison to the one that I’ve been rapidly linking here with S. He was never supposed to be my friend at all, much less the wonderfully considerate one he’s been who is so overjoyed about our friendship that, not only did he give a beautiful toast and wish upon all of these overwhelmingly nice things for me, he keeps doing them...he’s been doing them...

And I don’t know why he does.  

Doesn’t he realize that he shouldn’t bother trying? There’s nothing for him to gain from being friends with someone who hasn’t made it easy for him— who hasn’t made it easy for anyone since I’ve spent years being so desolate and reclusive that I don’t know how to. Can’t he see that it’s a worthless pursuit? Look at me: S went through so much effort tonight so I could feel better and belong and all I’m capable of doing with it is stubbornly stirring the straw, selfishly making myself suffer more all because I just can’t fucking understand...

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

[hollywoodjuliorivas]

Local

Young Asians and Latinos push their parents to acknowledge racism amid protests

Charlie Mai, 24, center, and Henry Mai, 22, left, with their mother, Mary Byrne, at their home in Arlington, Va. Their father threatened to leave during an argument over the George Floyd protests.

Charlie Mai, 24, center, and Henry Mai, 22, left, with their mother, Mary Byrne, at their home in Arlington, Va. Their father threatened to leave during an argument over the George Floyd protests. (Jahi Chikwendiu/The Washington Post)

By

Sydney Trent

June 21, 2020 at 4:14 p.m. PDT

The argument began as soon as Charlie Mai and his brother, Henry, announced their plans to attend a Black Lives Matter protest that evening in D.C. Their father was not having it.

Glenn Mai, a retired FBI agent, had been raised in Dallas by Chinese immigrants who had taught him that he would succeed if he just worked hard.

“Chinese culture is very much about working within the system,” Glenn, 54, said, and during decades in law enforcement, he’d come to believe the system worked.

His son, Charlie, 24, took a different view. “My father deeply believes that everyone has a fair chance, which is just basically untrue,” said Charlie, an artist who fled New York for his family’s home in Northern Virginia because of the pandemic. “It’s very Asian to me, that view that if everyone just works hard, then everything will turn out right for them. I’m definitely a little reactive to that because I think that’s delusional.”

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That June morning, amid the yelling and tears, Glenn threatened to walk out when it became clear that Charlie and Henry, 22, planned to defy the city’s 7 p.m. curfew. In the end, however, he drove downtown to bring his sons safely home, and the argument over the protests, police brutality and systemic racism has since softened into an extended conversation.

During the civil rights movement, black parents and their children may have disagreed over speed and strategy, but their shared experience of discrimination united them on the cause. Nonblack allies, many of them Jewish Americans, were a clear minority in the 1960s.

A 1963 Klan bombing killed her sister and blinded her. Now she wants restitution.

By contrast, the youth-led protests unfolding now in response to the killing of a black man by a white Minneapolis police officer are much more diverse. There are large numbers of African Americans who have supported the Black Lives Matter movement since its 2014 founding and many native-born black and white newcomers whose lives have often differed dramatically from their parents. But there is also an unprecedentedly large segment of protesters from other backgrounds. Some are descended from immigrants who moved to the United States generations ago, while many others come from the families that have arrived in great waves since the civil rights movement spurred passage of the landmark Immigration and Naturalization Act in 1965.

“I think what you are seeing is a decades-long transformation. . . . We have arrived at a real cultural shift,” said Jose Antonio Vargas, founder and chief executive of Define American, an immigration advocacy organization, and a former Washington Post reporter.

A woman holds a sign that reads “Latinos Unidos con [united with] Black Lives Matter” as protesters march in Revere, Mass., on June 9.

A woman holds a sign that reads “Latinos Unidos con [united with] Black Lives Matter” as protesters march in Revere, Mass., on June 9. (CJ Gunther/EPA-EFE/Shutterstock)

While the dynamics between black and white Americans get most of the media attention, Vargas said, the makeup of this new movement “is way more complex than that.”

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In forming “a new kind of majority” with black and white protesters, these Asian, Latino and other young allies are uniting in fighting anti-black racism and in many cases, are pushing their mothers and fathers to understand why change is necessary, said Vargas, whose view is shared by other experts, young protesters and their parents.

“There aren’t a lot of places for optimism right now,” Vargas said, “but this is one of them.”

'It's been really humbling'

Gisselle Quintero observed the pained expression on her 15-year-old cousin’s face as he absorbed the video of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin kneeling on George Floyd’s neck for almost nine minutes as he gasped for air.

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The teen, who is half African American, had come to live with her family in their Marysville, Calif., home, and Quintero has come to regard him more like a brother. As protests engulfed the nation while her conservative farming community remained quiet, the 18-year-old college student decided she had to act.

Teens have been gassed and hit with rubber bullets at protests. They keep coming back.

“It upset me to see how unjustly black people are being treated. I have a platform in this little community, so I knew I had to do something to help out,” Quintero said. In early June, she posted news on social media of a protest in front of a mall near her house. Her parents, Mexican American business owners and strong Trump supporters, vocally opposed her plans.

Black Lives Matter demonstrators protested police brutality in downtown Marysville, Calif.

Black Lives Matter demonstrators protested police brutality in downtown Marysville, Calif. (Melina Mara/The Washington Post)

The Marysville community is diverse but politically conservative.

The Marysville community is diverse but politically conservative. (Melina Mara/The Washington Post)

“At first, my parents were like ‘This is stupid. All lives matter,’ ” Quintero said. “They didn’t understand the big picture of it, that the system is so messed up, that nobody deserves to have a knee on the neck for eight minutes over a $20 counterfeit bill.”

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Quintero said she grew up hearing her grandparents tell stories about how they were prohibited from drinking at “whites-only” fountains after long, hot days of working in the fields. “They just kind of suppressed those memories” and tried to distinguish themselves by their hard work and achievement, Quintero said. “And they’re still not being accepted by the white community.”

“I have gotten a sense that a lot of the Mexican community is somewhat racist,” Quintero said. “It’s crazy. You wouldn’t expect it.”

Her protests swelled to hundreds of people over several days, while her mother, attending to make sure Quintero was safe, found herself captivated by black speakers’ stories about their encounters with racism. “Each day, she kept coming out, and she kept feeling it more and more,” Quintero said.

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Finally, on the third day, her mother brought Gisselle’s father, Wilfredo.

“He started leading chants,” Gisselle said. “At the end of my last protest, my mom made a speech about how she didn’t support Black Lives Matter at first, but hearing everything as a mother, it really opened up her mind. It brought tears to everybody in the crowd.”

Elizabeth Quintero, 39, agrees that while she and her husband as antiabortion Catholics still support Trump, her views about the Black Lives Matter movement have changed.

“In our town, there are people who are racist, but I haven’t really experienced it myself,” said Elizabeth, who identifies as a white Latina and whose family came to the United States several generations ago. “I didn’t have any insight into it. . . . It’s been really humbling.”

Gisselle Quintero, 19, who organized a Black Lives Matter demonstration in Marysville, stands with her Trump-supporting parents, Wilfredo and Elizabeth Quintero, who have embraced her activism.

Gisselle Quintero, 19, who organized a Black Lives Matter demonstration in Marysville, stands with her Trump-supporting parents, Wilfredo and Elizabeth Quintero, who have embraced her activism. (Melina Mara/The Washington Post)

In Portage, Mich., 18-year-old Alexa Delon took a different tack with her parents as protests unfolded in nearby Kalamazoo.

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Since Trayvon Martin was shot to death in 2010 in Sanford, Fla., by a vigilante, “I have come to see that America doesn’t care about our black community,” said Delon, a Mexican American college sophomore.

That America, she said, has sometimes included her father, a cleaning company employee, and her stay-at-home mother, who she said raised her with contradictory values.

“My parents taught me and my siblings to love everybody for who they are, that skin color doesn’t matter,” Delon said. On the other hand, they once told her “to be a little more cautious around the black community because they are known to be hoodlums.”

Delon said she and her brother have been challenging her parents to cast a critical eye on the news they consume from Spanish-language television, which she said focuses disproportionately on looting and acts of violence during the largely peaceful protests. Her father is now exploring her recommendations on Twitter.

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“They need to understand that what you see on the news is not always the truth,” Delon said. “The more we let our elders know that this is wrong, it will have a snowball effect.”

'The language of privilege'

Many Latinos arrive in the United States with their own anti-black beliefs rooted in the histories of white European colonialism and slavery in their native countries, said Jasmine Haywood, a program officer at the Lumina Foundation who has researched anti-black racism among Latinos. As they try to assimilate, they often adopt anti-black attitudes “that come from the white majority,” Haywood said. These include stereotypes that black people are violent and lazy.

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“There is no group that can escape the pervasiveness of whiteness and white supremacy,” Haywood said.

A black protester’s pain: Handcuffed by police at 9, hit by a rubber bullet at 22

Yet young Latinos, Asians and members of black immigrant groups are more likely to share classrooms, neighborhoods and friendships with descendants of American slaves. And they have been influenced by the hip-hop music that has given voice to the black experience, Haywood and Vargas agreed.

“This is where the power of popular culture cannot be denied,” Vargas, who is Filipino, said. “You can’t love black culture without loving black people. There is so much more exposure and so much more empathy.”

Signs left by demonstrators are taped to a construction fence near the White House.

Signs left by demonstrators are taped to a construction fence near the White House. (Stefani Reynolds/Bloomberg News)

Haywood also credits the efforts of young Afro-Latinos in prying open minds. On social media, they have “called out white Latinos on their privilege and for not using their privilege,” said Haywood, who is an Afro-Latina of Puerto Rican heritage.

By comparison, many older Asian Americans do not grasp “the language of privilege,” said Kim Tran, a diversity consultant who is researching the growing solidarity that young Asian Americans feel with the Black Lives Matter movement.

Because privilege “is inextricable from whiteness,” said Tran, 33, it doesn’t resonate with most Asians.

The language of privilege “also denies the experience of a lot of Asian elders who have been through tremendous pain and terror themselves,” said Tran, whose family came to the United States as refugees in 1975 at the end of the Vietnam War.

Many older Asian Americans, in particular, subscribe to the “model minority myth” pushed by white American culture, she said. The myth, Tran said, was first applied to Japanese Americans as they tried to assimilate back into American culture after their internment during World War II and then spread to include other Asian groups. It places Asians at the top of the social pyramid as morally superior to other marginalized people in their family work ethic, intelligence and determination to succeed.

The myth offers “a way for [Asian immigrants] to fit clearly into the fabric of America,” by promoting the very American idea that hard work will always lead to success. At the same time, she said, it ignores advantages in education and immigration policies that some Asian American ethnic groups have enjoyed, while others have not. It also ignores racism against African Americans.

“Does it divide people? Absolutely,” which is the intent, Tran said. “Does it rely on anti-blackness? Absolutely.”

'I've been wrong'

Glenn Mai enjoyed a comfortable childhood in Dallas, reared by Chinese American immigrant parents who fled the Cultural Revolution and built a thriving technology company. He joined the Cub Scouts and attended an elite private school where he was one of just a few Asian Americans. Mai’s parents had minimal interactions with African Americans, he said, and his mother, in particular, “is sort of frightened” of them, although he attributes it less to racism than being “racially unaware.”

He finished college at Carnegie Mellon University in the 1980s with a degree in electrical engineering like his father, before rebelling and heading in another direction. By joining the CIA and later the FBI, Mai said, he believed he could make a difference within the system. As an agent who worked frequently with local law enforcement on cases, he had not witnessed police brutality toward black men and has often felt police are unfairly attacked, he said.

Meanwhile, his sons took different paths. After graduating from Bard College as a theater major, Charlie Mai embarked on a life as an artist in New York City. He explores themes of race and culture in his sculpture. His younger brother, Henry, majored in sociology, hungrily consuming courses on race and mass incarceration. Both Mai sons have black friends and believe that African Americans face structural barriers that white Americans do not.

Charlie Mai, left, and his brother, Henry, sparked what their mother, Mary, called “the biggest blowup of our family’s life” when they announced plans to attend a protest in Washington.

Charlie Mai, left, and his brother, Henry, sparked what their mother, Mary, called “the biggest blowup of our family’s life” when they announced plans to attend a protest in Washington. (Jahi Chikwendiu/The Washington Post)

Growing up in a diverse environment, “you learn very quickly that everybody’s issues are your issues. . . . If these are people you love, you have to support them,” Charlie Mai said.

On June 1, when Charlie and Henry set out to protest, their father was most upset by his sons’ plans to break curfew, fearing that they would be swept into rioting and get hurt as night fell. Lawbreaking and violence, he said, subvert any cause.

Mary Byrne, who is Irish American, was more supportive of her sons’ belief that protests could lead to change. But that afternoon, “we had the biggest blowup of our family’s life,” said Mary, 54. “F-bombs were being thrown around.”

Charlie and Henry left the house to head to Washington, winding up at Lafayette Square. Inside, Glenn fumed but stayed glued to the news. He watched on TV as federal officers began using tear gas to clear protesters from the square so that President Trump could have a photo op with a Bible in front of St. John’s Church. His sons were toward the back of the crowd but close enough to witness the chaos and cough at the gas.

Late that night, with Charlie and Henry safely home, Glenn confessed to a slight change of heart.

“You’re right, the social contract has been broken. I’ve been wrong,” Mary, recalled him saying. “The government was not protecting the people.”

While he still thinks it’s best to work within the system, Glenn Mai admits that the protests have already forced some societal changes. And the incident in which Buffalo police forcefully shoved a 75-year-old protester to the ground, causing a head injury, served as a lesson for him on police brutality.

Even so, he plans to spend his retirement birdwatching, not becoming an activist. “To a large extent, it’s their fight. It’s not a fight I choose,” he said.

The Mai sons have been giving their father books and articles on race to read, but Charlie predicts “a longer road ahead” to prompt his father to action. He sees value in their dialogue.

“Who are we as a younger generation to ask our parents to take down these shields all at once?” Charlie asked. “They didn’t want to build these defense mechanisms. How can we say we’re sensitive to these issues if we’re not sensitive to our own parents?”

CORRECTION: An earlier version of this story misstated Mary Byrne’s last name. This version has been corrected.

Jessica Contrera contributed to this report.

[fullregalia]

reflections on the year of delusional thinking.

A whole year has gone by yet again? L’shana tovah to you and yours, first and foremost. Secondly, what a year it was. A year of moving on and moving out. When I finally sat down to think about it (just now), I realized that I’ve actually done a heck of a lot since last September. I traveled to England and Copenhagen, got into grad school, moved to a new city, finally let go of some ~personal baggage~, finally subscribed to the Who? Weekly Patreon, and yet still have not tried an impossible burger. I also read some books that impacted me (namely, Trick Mirror), discovered music that moved me (Big Thief!), and ate some food that confirmed the sound judgement of moving to Philly (Goldie falafel and a tahini shake, who could ask for anything more?). 

I actually want to write mostly about Trick Mirror in lieu of further Rosh Hashanah navel-gazing. Albeit, the subtitle, Reflections on Self-Delusion, allows for some personal retrospection. Jia Tolentino’s mind is, as I like to say, highfalutin and lowbrow. She contains the best of the culture: ability to engage with the warped world we’ve created for ourselves online while articulating the more fundamental human truths we seek in literature and public discourse. In Trick Mirror she covers capitalism, faith, optimization in the name of wellness, systemic fraud, the current state of feminism as a sword and shield, and the wedding industrial complex. 

The book is a reflection of our current cultural and moral crises. I’m about the same age as her and grappling with the same existential questions. As is the tradition of the High Holy days, we grapple with this accounting of shortcomings from the year past and hopes for the year to come every fall. How are we to live in a world where VC money facilitates the destruction of social welfare while lining the pockets of charlatans and megalomaniacs? Where do we turn for spiritual comfort when faith falls short? (For her, Houston’s rap scene, for me, waterfront parks and Shostakovich I guess?) How can we be (or perform) “our best selves” when the insidious influence and treadmill of consumerism continually leaves us insufficient?

Tolentino doesn’t so much prescribe solutions as present the tensions we all live with. Her capacity to see, articulate, and clarify these feelings is nothing short of a stunning gift. Every essay was dog-eared and I savored the experience of seeing the world through her eyes, taking myself out of my head for a few hours at a time (as her writing always does).

I finished the book last night, and thought that while we still have writers like her to help us process these times, we might be alright. It filled me with gratitude to be reminded that I’m not the only person who feels sometimes paralyzed, sometimes guilty, sometimes furious, and sometimes ambivalent these days. 

So, as we begin another year, filled with apples and honey, impeachment and medicare debates, we once again reflect on what we’ve done to contribute to the noise, and perhaps think about how we can find the signal to a more prosperous year for ourselves and, importantly, those around us. Being in the thick of school, I am trying to take it one day at a time. I had the chance to watch a dance performance out on a lake in Fairmount Park yesterday and it filled me with momentary peace and tranquility. Wishing you many moments of peace in the year ahead, both Hebrew and Gregorian (December will get here faster than you think!). As I was continually reminded this past year, in absurd and difficult times, besides finding solace in nature, laughter will always help.

[dinomightofficial]

Analyzing Agre’s Text and connecting Ideas.

07/06/2017 - 18/06/2017

This is the research phase and analysis of the given text in which our assignment depends on. The following details is the building blocks and ideas that will become my visual essay, another blog entry will be made with the actual assessment contents.

After much proof reading and re analyzing of the content in the text with not only myself but also with other people in my table I have found out that or realized the inner context within these paragraphs from Agre’s text. These understandings are not merely from my own perception of the text but also through the boot camp exercise on day one of the debriefing and also through conversing with other classmates within the studio space. In a way, the construction of these paragraphs that highlight my and others ideas and understanding of the text can act as my note taking process as well as my research phase for the visual essay. To critically think is to be critical which I find is more often than not is despised which is ironic for the practice of this assignment.

Boot-camp

On the day of the debriefing the boot-camp took place and the *kinda-ish* triad group began discussing about our given assignment and the text in general. One thing I had noticed during the lengthy discussion was the fact that there were no focused and specific topic regarding what we were supposed to be talking about. Instead the group went off in a tangent and began talking about domestic violence and if anything to do with Agre’s text was mentioned it was always (In my opinion) out of context with the authors intention. I guess it makes sense to discuss and be confused about how violence in tech and the process of critical thinking practice has got to do with one another but never was AI and the texts context talked about which I though was quite interesting.

The topic of domestic violence and just violence in general was the core topic of the tables talk and I began to think that this exercise was redundant in that not just our group but alike many others in the studio discussions went off in a tangent to the topic the paper intended us to discuss. The term “Critical thinking practice” was barely ever mentioned. Not the most useful session for this assignment.

Taking notes

As for taking notes and logging down ideas that I gain from analyzing Agre’s text and also by discussing with many other people in the studio I have gotten a wider understanding of what the assessor expects to see in my visual essay. These paragraphs below are in a way how I have interpreted the text by discussing them with others and are the notes that are ought to be connected and portrayed in the visual essay.

Paragraph 1 - analysis

Computer technology is with no doubt revolutionary in our daily lives and its impact in the way society operates and the changes that it brings about it still ripples through to this day (1). However, I feel like it is kind of an overstatement to treat this technological revolution with specialty and exception because as a trend every generation has a new type of technology. From the jet age to the atomic age to the space age every sort of age declares itself to revolutionize the future and change every aspect of our lives. In the context of AI however I feel as though it is not quite there yet to be even considered a large impact in today’s society although its peak is to be expected incredibly soon at this rate (2).

Paragraph 2 - analysis

Innovation and technological advancements in almost every field now a days is so advanced that major breakthroughs are in the sub sub categories (3). Perhaps it is the psychological construct to believe that I for one will never make a ground breaking discovery or innovation that will change the world or it is merely pity to think so (4). I know that optimists will say I’m delusional to think like this. Communities and researchers do their daily jobs to advance human civilization on a daily basis as their day-job and here I am pondering not if I will ever make a ground breaking innovation but merely if I will even get by the next five years just fine or not. The author notes in this paragraph that he finds it utmost difficult to maintain “constructive engagement with researchers whose substantive commitments [were in his] perspective wildly mistaken” which initially sounded arrogant and and almost rude at first but later made better sense to me in the context of this assignment. To critically think do we ever progress through superstition and myths and to be skeptical is to make changes in society that would have otherwise remained misconceptions had people like this author did not remain skeptical.

Paragraph 3 - analysis

‘Be skeptical’ remains the continuing ethics for this segment of the text when being a researcher or technical innovator. Skepticism may be interpreted incorrectly in this context but for the purposes of Agre’s text it will continue to mean ‘critical’ or ‘to critique’. However, I would have to disagree with the author in this segment of the text: “Technical research can only develop from within the designer’s own practical work” especially for the context of development in AI. Artificial intelligence is a programming structure that can be taught to some extent, although to get a the best understanding self induced learning is optimal but AI development is so advanced these days that even the creators themselves do not fully understand how they work (5). However, I do agree that more often not the greatest and most effective insight of ones profession can only come from self induced learning and realizations through trial and error.

Paragraph 4 - analysis

Paragraph four mentions that critical technical practice is a combination of design and “reflexive work” in which “computer work brings uncomfortably together” in which I must repudiate. Computer work is incredibly dependent on logical thinking, electronics, mathematics and possibly in the near future; quantum physics and neuroscience (6). However, in the applications of critical thinking practice I feel like it kind of makes sense to reflexively build on your own work but perhaps it applies to so many other practices and professions and not only design.

Paragraph 5 - analysis

Build up on practice. Daily and continues work will build up your own skills and ideas that will eventually and inevitably become a critical thinker through its practice. 

Connecting analysis with violence and boot-camp

Agre’s text and my analysis of it derives from my new and influenced understanding of ‘critical thinking practice’. I initially found it difficult, cumbersome and almost pointless to connect these practices and ideas with ‘violence in Auckland’ which is tied to our exercises in boot-camp. From my newer understanding of the text I think that the intention of this text is for us to reflexively reflect on what we think ‘critical thinking practice’ is and be skeptical about everything but not so much as to deny all previous logic but to strive to improve on ideas and practices when I may think that is impossible to do so. Violence in Auckland is I feel an esoteric term that most people don’t even think about it. Perhaps to rein-vision our previous understandings of how to tackle this issue is to be the purpose of this process and to reflect on what could be improved on. To critically think about this topic in a creative technologists standpoint is to solve these issues through new and almost risky ways that combat and change the way people view these topics.

Addressing challenging issues as a creative technologist

To address, tackle and solve challenging issues around the world is to be an innovator, an inventor, an intellect. Barely would anyone ever say that ‘that person’ would be a creative technologist. Creative technologists are merely just artists with a techno vibe, maybe, but perhaps that ought to change. To think critically and tackle old and traditional ideas with a twist and a fresh perspective is a creative technologists job and perhaps this is the sort of mindset that could create innovation in fields people previously deemed fulfilled or exhausted. Agre’s text connotes the process of being a critical thinker with insightful personal experiences, these examples and ideas conveyed throughout the text inadvertently promotes critical thinking through all professions and lifestyles but as a creative technologists I personally feel that it best describes my work efficacy goal. The topic of violence in Auckland will be tackled by creating a visual essay that brings attention to the situation and label it with negativity to give people a perspective and mindset of violence and negativity. People who are violent don’t really think about it necessarily as a bad thing and in some cases can be brought in such a manner and just perceive it as a normal behavior.

The holy grail - The big reference in influence

(7) -  http://www.iep.utm.edu/skepanci/ (C.ii)

Below are four segments of this particular article that was in most humble ways an eye opening text for thinking critically and what it truly means to be skeptical.

“According to Sextus, one does not start out as a skeptic, but rather stumbles on to it. Initially, one becomes troubled by the kinds of disagreements focused on in Aenesidemus' modes and seeks to determine which appearances accurately represent the world and which explanations accurately reveal the causal histories of events.”

“One cannot intentionally acquire a peaceful, tranquil state but must let it happen as a result of giving up the struggle. But again, giving up the struggle for the skeptic does not mean giving up the pursuit of truth. The skeptic continues to investigate in order to protect himself against the deceptions and seductions of reason that lead to our holding definite views.”

“So it is more appropriate to look past the disturbance that may be produced by individual, isolated beliefs, and consider instead the effect of accepting a system of interrelated, mutually supporting dogmatic claims.”

“Arriving at definite views is not merely a matter of intellectual dishonesty, Sextus thinks; more importantly, it is the main source of all psychological disturbance. For those who believe that things are good or bad by nature, are perpetually troubled. When they lack what they believe to be good their lives must seem seriously deficient if not outright miserable, and they struggle as much as possible to acquire those things. But when they finally have what they believe to be good, they spend untold effort in maintaining and preserving those things and live in fear of losing them.”

References (Secondary sources)

(1)  http://www.historyworld.net/wrldhis/PlainTextHistories.asp?historyid=ab11

(1)  https://www.britannica.com/technology/history-of-technology

(2)  https://www.technologyreview.com/s/603216/5-big-predictions-for-artificial-intelligence-in-2017/

(2)  https://www.newscientist.com/article/mg22930661-800-vision-of-singularity-questions-ai-intellect/

(3)  https://www.technologyreview.com/s/601441/moores-law-is-dead-now-what/

(3)  http://www.economist.com/news/leaders/21569393-fears-innovation-slowing-are-exaggerated-governments-need-help-it-along-great

(4)  https://www.fastcompany.com/3044316/the-myths-we-all-believe-about-breakthrough-thinking

(5)  https://qz.com/865357/we-dont-understand-how-ai-make-most-decisions-so-now-algorithms-are-explaining-themselves/

(5)  https://www.wired.com/2016/05/the-end-of-code/

(6)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhHMJCUmq28

(7) http://www.iep.utm.edu/skepanci/ (C.ii)

[stxrkillcr-blog]

RULES !!  Post a song that reminds you of your muse and then tag 6 people whose songs you want to see!

tagged by: @stillsolo

i come with knives - iamx

I always feel like this song was playing when he first became General, this is just such a fitting song for his rise to power. Every time I hear it I picture him making the speech before using Starkiller Base for the first time.

It was kinda hard to pick between this, Don’t Mess With Me by Temposhark or Volatile Times also by IAMX.

Kinder und sterne küssen und verlieren sich Greifen leise meine hand und führen mich Die traumgötter brachten mich in eine landschaft Schmetterlinge flatterten durch meine seele

The paradox or our minds Too much to believe, too much to deny You fool me again to quiet my pride But I’m a human, I come with knives

I never promised you an open heart or charity I never wanted to abuse your imagination

I come with knives I come with knives And agony To love you

Kinder und sterne küssen und verlieren sich Greifen leise meine hand und führen mich Die traumgötter brachten mich in eine landschaft Schmetterlinge flatterten durch meine seele In der mitternacht.

The monotony And the rising tide Is under my skin, is crawling inside Adrenaline to rewire my mind I'm only human, I come with knives

I never promised you an open heart or charity I never wanted to abuse your imagination

I come with knives I come with knives And agony I come with knives I come with knives To love you And agony To love you With agony

I come with knives With agony To love you

Kinder und sterne küssen und verlieren sich Greifen leise meine hand und führen mich Die traumgötter brachten mich in eine landschaft Schmetterlinge flatterten durch meine seele In der mitternacht [x2]

In der mitternacht [x2]

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS?

[ COLORS ]  red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. grey green.

[ ELEMENTS ]   fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars (mental; physical). scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. piercing.tattoos.

[ WEAPONS ]    fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. whips. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pistol. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. words. bat.

[ MATERIALS ]   gold. silver. platinum. brass. copper. lead. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

[ NATURE ]    grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. river. meadow. lake. forest. desert. tundra .savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains.

[ ANIMALS ]   lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. mice. lizards. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. rats.

[ FOODS/DRINKS ]  sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. bread. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. condensed milk. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. rice. ambrosia. soup. stew. whiskey.

[ HOBBIES ]    music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. meditation. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. percussion. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. mahjong. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running.

[ STYLE ]    lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet.rings. pendant. hat. ballcap. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. robes. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup.

[ MISC ]    balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. grief. happiness. optimism. realism. pessimism. legacy. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs.

TAGGED BY : @stillsolo

you can tell a lot about a person by the music they listen to. put your mp3 player, itunes,spotify, etc. on shuffle & list the first 10 songs & then tag 10 people, no skipping !

REPOST & DON’T REBLOG !

1. Let’s Dance - David Bowie 2. Old Money - Lana Del Rey 3. Goner - Twentyone Pilots 4. Whatsername - Green Day 5. Six Shooter - Queens of the Stone Age 6. Flaws - Bastille 7. Goodnite, Dr. Death - My Chemical Romance 8. Chicken On A Stick - Justin Hurwitz 9. Private Fears In Public Places - Front Porch Step 10. Buddy Holly - Weezer

TAGGED BY: @stillsolo

CHARACTER STRENGTHS.

RULES:    bold  the  characteristics  that  apply  to  your  muse !    Tag  your  friends !

Tagged by: @stillsolo

adaptable |  adventurous  |  affectionate |  ambitious  |  artistic  |  athletic  |  assertive  |  beautiful  | brave |  charming  |  clever  | compassionate |  confident  | considerate |  cooperative  |  courteous  |  creative  | curious  |  decisive  |  dependable  |  determined  |  diplomatic |  easy - going  | enthusiastic |  fair  |  fashionable  | forgiving  |  friendly  |  fun - loving  |  funny |  generous  |  gentle  | hard - working |  heroic |  honest  |  hopeful  |  humble  |  imaginative  |  incorruptible |  intelligent  |  intuitive  |  inventive  |  jocular  |  leader  | lively  |  loving  |  loyal  |  merciful  |  musical  |  observant  |  open - minded |  optimistic  |  organized  | outgoing  | passionate  |  patient  |  playful  |  polite  | popular  |  practical  |  resourceful  |  self - assured | selfless  |  sensible  |  sincere  |  strong  |  studious  |  thoughtful  |  tough  | versatile |  warm - hearted  | well - intentioned |  wise  |  witty

CHARACTER FLAWS. RULES:    bold  the  characteristics  that  apply  to  your  muse !   Tag  your  friends ! 

Tagged by: @stillsolo

absent-minded  |  abusive  |  addict  |  aggressive  |  aimless  |  alcoholic  |  anxious  |  arrogant  | audacious  |  bad liar |  bigmouth  |  bigot  | blindly obedient  |  blunt  |  callous  |  childish  | chronic heroism |  clingy |  clumsy  |  cocky  |  competitive  |  corrupt  |  cowardly  |  cruel  | cynical  |  delinquent  |  delusional  |  dependent  |  depressed  |  deranged  |  disloyal  |  ditzy  | egotistical | envious  |  erratic  |  fickle  | finicky |  flaky  |  frail  | fraudulent  |  guilt complex | gloomy  |  gluttonous  |  gossiper  |  gruff  |  gullible  |  hedonistic  |  humorless  |  hypochondriac | hypocritical |  idealist  |  idiotic  |  ignorant  |  immature  | impatient |  incompetent  |indecisive | insecure | insensitive  |  lazy  |  lewd  |  liar  |  lustful  |  manipulative  |  masochistic | meddlesome  |  melodramatic  |  money-loving |  moody |  naive  |  nervous |  nosy  |  ornery  | overprotective  |  overly sensitive  | paranoid  | passive-aggressive | perfectionist  | pessimist |  petty  |  power-hungry  |  proud  |  pushover  | reckless  |  reclusive  | remorseless  | rigorous  | sadistic  |  sarcastic  |  senile  |selfish  | self-martyr |  shallow  |  sociopathic |  sore loser  | spineless  |  spiteful  |  spoiled  | stubborn |  tactless  |  temperamental |  timid  |  tone-deaf  | traitorous  |  unathletic  |  ungracious  |  unlucky  |  unsophisticated  |  untrustworthy  | vain | withdrawn | workaholic

Repost! Don’t Reblog! Last Movie I Watched: – Moana Last Song I Listened To: Breezeblocks - alt-J Last book I read: – In Fury Born - David Weber Last Thing I Ate: French Fries If You Could Be Anywhere Right Now:  Right where I am, relaxed in bed. Fictional Character You Would Hang Out With For A Day:  Only one? Wade Wilson, he’s a riot I’d have so much fun even if I’d probably get dragged into a shit ton of trouble. Tagged by: @stillsolo

Pick any of them and tag me! I love reading about your muses. tagging: @legatumiism @whatyoustartcd @kyloren-sithlord @serratedlight @smugglingscavanger @theslavewhoranaway @thedestrcyer @night-vale-jace @nightvalecoroner @iblamethatguy and anyone who wants to do it