writing-on-the-wahl

[writing-on-the-wahl]

EEEEE I LOVE THEM:) this is such an engaging and well written story and the tension is just *chefs kiss* ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Survival Mechanisms ~ George Weasley

This is part three, so make sure you read Is It Still Punishment if It's Worth It? and Clumsy, Clumsy first!

Warnings: none

Word count: 4k

The N.E.W.T. preparatory witch was absolute rubbish.

With the exams looming, Umbridge had allowed for a dodgy witch from the Ministry to host an exam study session of sorts on the Patronus Charm. It was hard to believe that Umbridge could hate so many things and yet endorse a witch that wore a hat with green shamrocks and orange balloons.

A load of the Gryffindors were lounging around on the seats that had been pushed against the walls, having produced a fully corporeal Patronus. They cracked jokes and laughed with each other. Every so often, one of them would lazily sweep their gaze across the room at the students still struggling with the spell. Their palpable arrogance seemed to bounce against the stone walls, weighing down the room. 

I gripped my wand tightly enough to feel every ridge of it against my skin.

Why were they still here? If they’d successfully completed the exercise, they could take their boisterousness somewhere else, preferably over the balcony of the Astronomy Tower. 

“Expecto Patronum!” I said firmly, circling my wand. The most pathetic stream of silver yet flowed from the tip of my wand, disappearing in an instant. I grit my teeth, circling my wand again. “Expecto Patronum!”

“No, dear,” said the supervising witch, waddling over to me. “The wand movement must flow. Like this.” She demonstrated, and the silver form of a dog burst forth, running through the air in the classroom with its tongue hanging out.

I ducked my head in thanks, and she walked away to help a Hufflepuff. I glared after her, imagining transfiguring her stupid hat into a flower pot of marigolds. When I turned back to the fake dementor, it wasn’t the only dummy standing there.

George leaned an elbow on the dementor’s shoulder, looking at me with his grin reeking with complications. “All right?”

I extended my wand towards the fake dementor, waiting for George to get out of the way. But he remained squarely where he was. “What?” I asked tersely. 

“Nothing.” His tone was far too smug for that to be true. “You’re just cute when you’re frustrated.”

Just then, George Weasley should’ve thanked every star in the sky that I wasn’t born a Welsh Green, otherwise he’d be a pile of cinders. Gritting my teeth, I flicked my wand at him, trying to scare him away, but George didn’t so much as flinch. “Go away,” I finally said. “I’m busy.”

George stood up straight, his arm leaving the dummy. But instead of going to join his housemates, he ambled closer. He had such a funny and easygoing way of walking. He put one foot in front of the other like it didn’t even matter where his feet ended up, because he was content wherever he was. “Struggling, are we?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

George side-stepped the spurt of silver that left my wand, and when it faded, he looked back at me. “Do you want help?”

“George, I’m not in the mood,” I warned. 

“What’s your memory?”

I shot him a withering glare. “I’m not telling you.” 

George brought both his hands to his chest, sticking out his lower lip. “You wound me.”

“I will if you don’t get out of the way,” I seethed.

George tilted his head to the side in the way he always did when he seemed to be sizing me up. Then he bent down and leaned in, and I prepared my wand, ready to cast the Revulsion Jinx if he so much as laid a finger on me. “Meet me on the sixth floor,” he said quietly, his words tickling my ear, “by the portrait of Edgar Stroulger.” 

“So you and your Gryffindor pals can ambush me?” I bit back, turning my head to look him directly in the eye. “Absolutely not.”

“Do you never trust anybody?” George’s soft question paired with his unassuming eyes almost made me feel guilty.

“If you want trust,” I replied, “go bestow your relentless charms on a Hufflepuff.”

George straightened, looking down on me with furrowed brows. For a moment, we simply stood there, staring at each other. Had I finally gone too far? Was he going to throw in the towel? Would he take the advice I wasn’t sure I meant and go find someone easier to talk to?

Then his face split into a grin. “You think I’m charming?”

How could he do that? I’d never known someone who could receive such acidic words from someone and spin them as if they’d been given a compliment. “Why would you help me?” 

“Because we’re friends now.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” George’s eyes flicked over to the witch who’d just finished demonstrating how her own patronus walked on all fours, “you said you don’t snog your friends. We’ve never snogged, therefore we’re friends.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the flipping of my stomach. “I don’t think that’s how logic works.”

“Innit?” George straightened. “If you want help, you know where I’ll be.” And with that, he walked in his unhurried way out of the room. 

The dark eyes of the dementor dummy bored into mine as I considered my options: staying and hoping the witch somehow became more helpful or taking a chance on George. I glanced at the witch, who was leading one of the other Slytherins in what appeared to be a breathing exercise. 

Okay, clearly George could offer as much, if not more than, the witch. But the humiliation of failing in front of the witch meant nothing compared to how I would feel if George laughed at me. 

Could I take that risk for the benefit of learning this charm?

I looked out the door George had just walked out of. 

-

Stopping at the entrance of the Study of Ancient Runes classroom, I glanced around the corner, waiting for any sign of danger. Seeing none and walking slowly, I rounded the corner, coming face to face with the portrait. 

Edgar Stroulger, the inventor of the Sneakoscope, looked warily down at me as he reached into his wrinkled purple robes to pull out the Dark Detector. It didn’t light up, spin, or whistle, which meant no one was doing anything untrustworthy nearby. 

Did George pick this portrait to make sure that I wasn’t planning anything sinister? Or did he pick it so that I could be sure he wasn’t planning anything sinister? 

Suddenly, the portrait swung outward.

My wand slid into my hand in an instant, and I pointed it, ready for action. “Calm down, it’s only me,” George said lightly, stepping out and closing the portrait behind him. 

I waited a beat, just to see if George would start squirming, but he didn’t look the least bit concerned by having the tip of my wand an inch away from the tip of his freckled nose. 

“Another make-out spot?” I asked, finally lowering my arm. 

“Not yet, but there’s always time,” George replied with a cheeky grin. I waited for him to lead me somewhere, but he just stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at me. 

“What?” I finally asked.

“You came.”

Were the words born of surprise? Excitement? Disappointment? I was unnerved by the fact that I couldn’t tell. “I don’t like failing.”

“Everyone knows that,” George chuckled. He gave a grand bow, indicating the hallway I’d just come through. “Shall we?”

I eyed George. Were we going to the Ancient Runes classroom? Or did he have somewhere else in mind? Was he bringing me to a second location? Wasn’t it common knowledge that one was never supposed to let a kidnapper go to a second location?

“Well, we can’t practice charms in the hallway, can we?” he said, correctly interpreting my silence.

I sighed. “I’ll follow you then.”

George smiled and swept down the hallway, walking straight towards an empty stone wall. Was George about to walk right into it? And if so, did I have time to get snacks to watch? Just as I started to debate this, before my very eyes grew a large door, as if it’d just pooled out of the wall like melted chocolate. 

“How did you–” I started to ask, a bit breathless. “How did that door just…appear?

George looked pleased at my response. “Hogwarts is full of surprises.”

I shook my head. If anyone would know about a secret door in Hogwarts, my money was on the nosy Weasley twins, but still. 

George opened the door and made a little bow. “After you.”

My curiosity winning over my paranoia, I walked inside, glancing all about the room.

There was no furniture, only a wide-open space with a fire burning in the hearth across from the entrance. A few training dummies, similar to the ones the witch had been using, lined the walls. There lay an inherent conflict in the room between the cool, blue light from the windows which bounced off the mirrors and the yellow light of the glowing chandelier.

“Alright,” George said, rolling the sleeves of his uniform above his elbow as he brushed past me to stand in the very center of the room. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

I followed him, dutifully pulling out my wand and keeping my eyes focused on one of the training dummies and not George. “Expecto Patronum.”

“You’re spiraling too big,” George said.

I tried again.

“No, not like–here.” The next thing I knew, George was at my back, his hand moving down my arm to encase my wand hand. “Smaller, softer.” My lips parted as his warm breath skittered across my cheek. His wrist moved, guiding my wand through the motions. “It’s not meant to be harsh.”

I glanced at the mirror across from us to see that George’s eyes weren’t focused on my hand, but on my face, which was steadily turning crimson.

If bringing me to this room was some sort of romantic move, I was determined that it would fail. The portrait of Edgar Stroulger would not become another make-out spot, and neither would this room. At least not with me. I kept my eyes studiously forward, waving my wand as instructed.

“Brilliant.” He spoke in a whisper, but it felt as though he were shouting. 

"Expecto Patronum!" Silver mist flowed from my wand, more than before, and it didn’t fade as quickly. 

“Better,” George said encouragingly. “Again.”

“Expecto Patronum!” Same result. 

“Try again.”

I repeated the action, and the silver mist was gone in a moment. “Augh, this bloody charm is impossible!”

George rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and the appraising manner with which he looked at me made me nervous. “What are you picturing when you’re trying to conjure it?”

“Not–”

“Y/L/N.”

I lapsed into silence, keeping my lips stubbornly closed. Under no circumstances was I going to give him ammunition.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” George said softly. “I’m not harboring some secret plan to humiliate you. I’m trying to help, so will you please let those walls of yours down and let me?”

I just glared back at him, folding my arms tightly.

George sighed, moving to stand between the dummy and I. “Mine is a food fight with my family.”

The admission made me blink. Why would his response to my closed doors be to open his own? In spite of myself, I was interested. “Not some prank?”

George ducked his head, and I suddenly missed his smile. “No, not some prank. We were sitting down to dinner, and my dad leaned over to give my mum a kiss and he accidentally knocked over the cauldron, spilling pea soup everywhere.” George wrinkled his nose, as if he could smell it still. “My brothers and I were covered in it, and the whole dining room was dead silent…and then Fred threw his soggy roll at Bill, and next thing you know,” George smiled broadly, “we were all throwing food, even Mum, and Mum never willingly creates a mess.” 

Even though I hadn’t been there, his memory was captivating enough that I could picture the large family laughing and slipping as they reveled in each others’ company. 

George lifted his wand, and a burst of fear shot through me. 

But before I could hurl a spell in his direction, he whispered his own: “Expecto Patronum.”

A magpie flew forth, soaring about the room with minimal flapping of its patterned wings. If patronuses could make noise, I had a feeling this one would sing the most beautiful song. Not because it was trying to compete with or impress anyone, but for itself, to represent the sheer joy that kept it aloft.

Then, it veered towards me, flying so close that I could’ve sworn I felt the brush of feathers on my leg as it began to circle. It flew higher and higher with every rotation until a silver cloud of mist surrounded me. Then, it shot away again, flying about the room. 

“The Patronus is an outpouring,” George said quietly. “It’s the happiness that can’t be contained, therefore it must leapt forward.” 

I’d never been much good at outpouring. Everything I held dear was held behind my walls, for sharing things was the fastest way to spoil them.

But I wanted to learn this charm. How could I protect Clem if there was a gap in my magical prowess? 

“What are you picturing?” George asked again. 

I folded my arms. “I’m not telling you.” 

“C’mon, Y/L/N, your wand movement’s good, you’re saying the incantation right. There’s only one thing that could be keeping you from casting it.” 

I grit my teeth. If there was anything more insufferable than George Weasley, it was George Weasley when he was right. “I was…thinking of…getting my Hogwarts acceptance letter.”

George didn’t burst into laughter or devolve into mocking like I expected. “Why’s that a powerful happy memory for you?”

I looked away, staring at the door and stifling the wish to run through it. “My parents were going to send me to Durmstrang.”

“Oh.” George rubbed his neck. “Well. That would’ve been a shame.” There was a silence before I finally nodded, not wanting to say anything else on the subject. “Maybe try a different image?” he suggested. 

“Like what?” I said hopelessly. “Hippogriffs tap dancing?”

George’s eyes gleamed, and the magpie landed on top of his head. “Now that’s a good one.”

“George,” I said warningly.

George rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. The longer the silence extended, the more I wished I could simply use George’s memory of his family food fight. Finally, George blew out his cheeks, imitating a frog’s vocal sac extending with a croak. “Don’t curse me for asking this–”

“No promises.”

“–but why do you protect Clem so strongly?”

I stared at George, confused. Not by his actions, but by the small part of me that actually wanted to answer his question and share about the biggest love of my life. But I couldn’t shake the deep-seated fear that this information would somehow be the key to bringing me down.

“I swear to you,” George said softly as the magpie ruffled its wings, “Clem’s safer from me than my own siblings, because I won’t turn his teddy bear into a giant spider.” 

I debated inquiring about the story that clearly lingered behind his oddly specific word choice, but decided not to. Letting out a long breath, I looked away. 

“I was six when Clem was born,” I told the floor. It was much easier to speak to the stone floor than to the intently listening redhead. “I’d always wanted a sibling, but my parents struggled with having kids. Even when my mom was pregnant, the healers at St. Mungo warned her that she might lose the baby at any point, but my father…” I sighed. “He wanted a son. You know, carry on the family name and all that.”

Mercifully, George stayed silent, as if he knew one word from him would make me clam up and one joke right now would earn him a trip to the Hospital Wing with a pair of permanent elephant ears.

“They let me hold him, and he was so much heavier than I thought he was going to be.” I smiled softly. “I’d never seen a baby before. I thought babies were just…small people, but they’re not, they’re chubby and wrinkly and they’re red all over.” I glanced at the mirror and George’s unmoving reflection staring intently at mine, willing me to finish.

“I don’t think six-year-olds know much about anything. I definitely didn’t, but when I held my brother…” My courage quailed. I shook my head, raising my wand to attempt the charm again.

Suddenly, the magpie flew past me and then George was in front of me, his hand holding mine still as he looked down at me with something I couldn’t name or deny. “Finish it,” he said softly, but earnestly. “Finish the story.”

I couldn’t form the right words at first, but George didn’t say anything to break the silence as I struggled. “When I held my brother,” the image of my baby brother started almost glowing in my mind, “I knew what love was.”

George’s slight, answering smile was quite possibly the most genuine thing I’d ever laid eyes on. He released my hand but didn’t step away. “Try it now.”

I didn’t look away, not wanting to puncture the peace of the room with the incantation. I looked deeply into George’s brown eyes and whispered it. “Expecto Patronum.”

The room lit up with the silver mist that poured forth from my wand, more than before. At first the mist pooled beneath my wand, and then, rising up from the pool, rose a large but graceful four-legged creature that ran around the room.

A lioness. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumbled, but there was little heat behind the words. I couldn’t be ungrateful for the creature, not when it moved so freely about the room, as if it were as glad as I was that it existed. “Don’t laugh,” I warned George as the patronus walked a circle around him. “And if you make a joke about me being in Gryffindor, I’ll turn you into a toad.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” George followed the lioness with his eyes as she trotted closer to me, leaving trails of mist behind her. “Makes sense though.”

I studied the markings by the lioness’s noble face. “How?”

“Strength. Ferocity.” His eyes flicked up to mine. “Beauty.” 

I blushed, and the lioness started running again, as if energized by the heat in my cheeks. The magpie swooped to join the lioness, who playfully swatted at it before leaping into the air to join it. 

“So…what other spells are you and your friends mastering in this room?”

George’s glance cut quickly towards me, and the magpie dissipated. “What?”

I allowed the lioness to dissolve as well. “There are multiple training dummies, and whatever spell you have on that door, clearly you don’t want people inside.” I tilted my head at him. “And you’re brilliant, George, but Defense Against the Dark Arts has never been your strongest subject, and considering Umbridge’s educational skills…I can't believe you're doing it on your own."

George looked scared, and as much as I enjoyed finally seeing a bit of fear on his face, I couldn’t let it remain there for long. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret as long as you keep mine.” 

George furrowed his brow. “Your secret?”

I stared at him, tongue-tied with disbelief. Did he really have no idea that he held a vulnerable secret? Had he not recognized that the knowledge of how deeply I loved Clem was a valuable piece of information? A vulnerability that could be easily exploited?

Too late, it seemed to dawn on him, and the sheer delight in his demeanor made me quickly walk for the door. “Wait–” he said.

“Time to leave, isn’t it?” I said shortly, but George caught up with me, blocking my way.

“You’re trying to blackmail me?”

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. “Can we forget about it?” George burst out laughing, doubling over. I shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m…sorry,” George wheezed, clutching his stomach. “You’re just so cute!”

“Excuse me?” I shrieked.

“What do you think you are,” he said, gasping for air, “MI6?”

“It’s a survival mechanism,” I mumbled, and his laughter started anew. Heat rushed into my cheeks. 

George only laughed all the harder.

My goodwill evaporating, I shoved him. Hard.

The aggression in the gesture didn’t move George that far, but his laughter stopped as I stormed out the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, jogging after me, still looking amused. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry.”

I turned to look at him and saw the door melting away again. 

“Besides,” George leaned against a pillar, “friends keep each other's secrets.” He looked so comfortable, so unbothered. I didn’t know many Gryffindors who would willingly share the same room with a Slytherin, and here was one of the most Gryffindor of Gryffindors, staring down at me without a hint of a long-suffering sigh. 

“George?” 

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to be my friend?”

George rolled his eyes, pushing off from the pillar. “Enough with the paranoia, Y/L/N.”

“No, I’m not paranoid, I just…I’m confused.” 

George looked at me suspiciously for a moment before the suspicion dropped. “Well…why wouldn’t I?” he asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re smart, and I happen to think your survival mechanisms are extremely endearing.”

“I’m also a Slytherin.”

George groaned. “Not this again.”

I stepped forward, craning my neck to look up at George. “You’re goofy, but you’re not naive. And I can’t believe that you haven’t been given any grief about your interest in me.”

George pursed his lips, clearly unable to disagree and wishing he could. 

“So why are you risking it?”

His brown eyes searched my face as he seemed to gather and ponder his response. “Maybe I was curious,” he said at last. “About the terrifying, mysterious Slytherin that never lifted a finger to harm anyone.”

“I’m not compassionate, George,” I replied. “I never lift a finger to help anyone either, and that’s just as bad.”

“No, I know you’re not, that’s not what I’m saying,” he replied. 

“Well, then what are you saying?”

“It’s…it just…it seems like…” He trailed off, and while the suspense wouldn’t kill me, I was considering killing him.

“It seems like what?”

“It’s like you try not to exist.” George’s face took on an expression of deep perplexity. “You don’t make yourself smaller, not like some people do, you just…float through this castle like the ghosts, leaving no trace and only the occasional word.” 

He stepped closer, and it took everything in me to remain still and allow him close enough to easily step on my toes if he wanted to. “You’re more than just a Slytherin, Y/N. Just like I’m more than just a Gryffindor.”

“Are you sure about that?” I replied, more breathlessly than I’d anticipated in my head. 

“If I wasn’t,” he smirked, “we wouldn’t be friends.”

I blinked at him. He really was curious. And his curiosity was, in turn, making me curious as to what kind of man stood in front of me. “George?”

“Hmm?” he said. 

I gnawed on my lip. “Thank you.”

George’s face went slack. 

“For helping me,” I added, hoping confusion was the only reason he was looking at me like that. “I…appreciate it.” 

There was a beat while George stared at me like my breakfast pumpkin juice had been spiked with Ear-Grow potion and my ears were starting to resemble an elephant’s. 

Then, a bright, dazzling smile spread across his face. “Cheers, Y/N.”

I lingered for another moment before giving George a sharp nod and quickly descending the stairs, silently asking the universe why my heart felt like it was swelling.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[writing-on-the-wahl]

AHHHHHH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!

You are an artist with words and so so clever and this was just delightful to read!! I love their rivalry and sass 😈🥰

Is It Still Punishment if It Was Worth It? ~ George Weasley

Summary: Y/N runs into George Weasley after her detention with Umbridge (aka me finishing a request from ages ago)

Warnings: Umbridge *shudders*

Word count: 2.4k

As I left the atrocious pink office, nothing around me stirred, as if the whole castle was frozen, lying in wait for the dawn. Light streamed through the open doorway, heralding my late release from detention. 

“Off to bed, dear,” said that sugary, poisonous voice behind me. “Don’t let Mr. Filch catch you lingering instead of being safe asleep in your bed.” Was it my imagination, or did the throbbing of the back of my hand pulse in time with her voice? 

I wanted nothing more than to scurry away as fast as my legs would allow, but like any predatory animal, Professor Umbridge could smell fear, so I simply bowed my head as demurely as possible, avoiding her deep-set gaze. “Yes, professor.” I could feel the horrid woman’s toad eyes following me as I walked down the wide staircase, heading for the dungeons. 

The door closed behind me with an ominous thud, and the light disappeared. 

Stopping in my tracks, I immediately turned the corner to a little alcove, slumping next to the window. I stared at the colored glass, depicting a dragon breathing flames up into the sky. My wound gave a particularly violent throb. “Ouch,” I hissed under my breath, staring down at the shiny red letters.

I must obey the rules.

Cradling my aching hand to my chest, I let out a long breath. Every pang seemed to ring through my whole body, and yet, instead of acting as a deterrent, I was all the more resolved in my actions. If Umbridge had forced my brother to write those words and endure this pain, even her title as High Inquisitor would not have saved her from my wrath. 

“Well, that’s a first.”

I jolted. At first, I wondered if it’d been the dragon that spoke—often things at Hogwarts spoke when one might think they shouldn’t. But the dragon didn’t move. I looked around me, just in time to see the tapestry further down the stairs shift, and a red-headed boy came out from behind it.

George Weasley. Certified troublemaker with an un-shuttable gob and downright homemade values, the very personification of Godric Gryffindor’s ideal student. 

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

George gestured to my hand. “I didn’t know she punished Slytherins too.” He spoke the word without distaste, but with an emphasis all the same.

I just shook my head and left my alcove, heading for the Slytherin common room. There was no point in arguing in Slytherin’s favor; the history in this castle chronicled many a Slytherin who tried and subsequently had to run for the Hospital Wing before a toenail-growing hex grew too painful to walk.

Unfortunately, the redhead sidled into my path. I took several steps back, checking for the location of his wand, prepared to whip out my own before he could cast anything. But his hands were empty, and judging by the way he watched me, his head was regrettably anything but.

“You’re in my way,” I said calmly.

“Malfoy shouldn’t have done that.”

The simple statement made my lungs falter for breath, but I kept my face impassive. “He didn’t have a choice.”

“No, he had a choice.” George’s maddeningly certain tone set my teeth on edge.

I scoffed, walking down the staircase. “You don’t understand, you couldn’t possibly understand what he faces.”

“Oh, yes,” George’s voice grew louder and mocking, following me on my heels, “poor little rich Malfoy, head of the Inquisitor Squad, can’t handle–”

“Sod off.” My gritted teeth added all the threat I wanted, but George wasn’t deterred.

“What a slog it is, having everything one could possibly–”

I whirled around, my hands finding George’s chest to shove him as hard as I could. “You don’t know what it’s like!” I hissed, glaring at him. “You and your brothers just do whatever you fancy at the moment, whatever wicked thing halfway crosses your mind. Well, not all of us have the luxury of doing what we want.”

George looked as serious as I’d ever seen him. “He could’ve spared you this and he didn’t. No true friend would scurry off to Umbridge to report you like that.”

For a moment, I considered starting a row, but Umbridge’s office was still within earshot, and I didn’t want another round of writing with that cursed quill. So I chose not to acknowledge him, walking down the stairs with my head held high, reaching the bottom of the stairs and quickly walking down the corridor, hoping my feet could outrun George’s mouth. But when I looked to my right, there was George, loping alongside me.

“Seriously–”

“Seriously, George, shut it.” I came to a stop, glaring up at him. “What are you even doing here? It’s past curfew.”

“Some of us are taking turns behind the tapestry,” he said easily. “Watching in case any first or second years get turned out of Umbridge’s office with bleeding hands.”

“Oh?” I tossed my head, moving my hair to one side. “And if it were a Slytherin first year, would you have greeted them the way you greeted me?” If my kid brother had been the one walking out of the office, I silently asked, would you have comforted him? 

“Perhaps, but I’m willing to bet that they, unlike you, would accept a hug and a trip to the kitchens for some dessert afterwards.”

My stomach rumbled, and I placed my uninjured hand over it. “Well, I’m no first year, so you can go.” I resumed my furious pace.

George easily kept up. “It wasn’t fair of Malfoy to do that.”

Was it impossible for him to leave well enough alone? “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“Everyone knows you were just protecting your brother.”

I seized the collar of George’s robes, dragging his face down an inch from mine. “Don’t you dare–

“I’m not going to tell,” George said, remarkably calm considering how quickly his position had changed. 

“How am I supposed to trust that?”

“I’m not Malfoy.” 

I considered him for another moment before letting him go. He straightened, smoothing out his robes. “How did you know?” I asked. 

George gave a short laugh. “You’ve never touched a broomstick outside of Flying class, and yet I’m supposed to believe you even have a broomstick to bring into the castle?” He shook his head. “Anyone with eyes knows you’d do anything for your brother, so of course Umbridge is the only one daft enough to fall for your switcheroo.” 

I pondered his words for a moment before turning to walk back to my room. Like before, George kept time beside me. “She shouldn’t have given detention just for having a broomstick.” 

I shook my head. “There are rules.”

“And rules were made to–”

“–be broken?” I rolled my eyes. “Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Gryffindor.”

“Says the Slytherin who just got out of detention.” I bit my tongue, trying to stay silent. “You should tell your head of house what Umbridge’s doing, maybe Snape’ll do something about–”

I let out a short laugh. “See, there’s the difference between you and me, George–”

George leapt forward, covering my mouth. Next thing I knew, I was being tugged behind a statue, finally pulled to meet George’s alarmed expression.

This was it. I should’ve known better than to trust a Gryffindor. Now he was going to hex me or curse me or even forgo a wand altogether and use his own two fists. 

 Eyes wide, I tried to shove him away, protesting loudly from behind his hand. “Shush!” George said harshly. “Filch!”

I instantly stopped fighting, my heart pounding for a different reason. If George and I were caught by Filch right now, not only would I have another detention with Umbridge, but word would get out. I couldn’t even imagine the trouble I’d be in with my house if they found out I was out at night past curfew with a Gryffindor, and a Weasley at that!

The light of the lantern the caretaker always carried with him after hours grew closer and closer to the statue we crouched behind. George lifted his hand from my mouth, pressing a finger to his lips. I rolled my eyes. As if I didn’t already get the memo. 

“Anyone about, my dear?” Filch’s haughty voice asked. Mrs. Norris meowed back, and I heard the sound of a dark chuckle. “We shall find them and Professor Umbridge might allow us to try our new manacles.”

George and I met eyes. 

He made a stop gesture and then started to creep forward towards Filch. What could he possibly be planning? Filch would see him! 

Then it occurred to me. The noble idiot was about to sacrifice himself so that I would stay undetected. 

Oh no you don’t, I thought, seizing the back of George’s robes, dragging him back. I was not about to owe a Gryffindor anything. I pulled out my wand and my tissue, setting the tissue on the ground. 

Snufflifors, I mouthed. 

The tissue morphed into a white mouse, which immediately scampered down the corridor. Immediately, Mrs. Norris sped after it. 

“My dear!” Filch protested, running after her, the light from his lantern growing farther and farther away until George and I were left alone in the dark. 

“Wow,” George stated the way Filch had gone, “that was quite impressive.”

The compliment made my cheeks warm. “Well, some of us jump into things without thinking about the consequences and some of us actually use our brains for more than pranks.” I shoved my wand into my pocket, about to storm down the corridor. 

“So you thought it through beforehand?”

“I didn’t necessarily plan to get caught by–”

“No, you thought through taking the blame for your brother?” 

I stopped short, allowing George to catch up with me. I eyed him warily. Was he fishing for evidence to get my brother in trouble? Or was he fishing for other reasons?  “Of course I did,” I said finally, deciding that my word against George’s was hardly any competition. 

A strange look twinkled in his eyes at that. “You actually thought about getting in trouble?” I didn’t reply. I should’ve known that I wouldn’t need to, because George could easily carry a conversation by himself. “You knew you could lose house points? And Hogsmeade could become off-limits to you? And that you might end up with words scratched into the back of your hand?” 

My silence was the only answer. Truthfully, he was right. I’d thought through all those possibilities. 

I’d earned Slytherin enough points throughout the years that any deduction wouldn’t damage my reputation, especially not under Umbridge’s reign. As for Hogsmeade, the castle itself was large enough to keep me from feeling claustrophobic. And, yes, I even budgeted for the possibility of getting detention with Umbridge; that’s why there was a Soothing potion waiting for me in my room. 

What I hadn’t anticipated was Draco being the one to report me. 

So much for being friends. 

George shuffled closer, bringing me to the present with his brown eyes. “You thought through the possibilities, and you still did it?” I nodded, and a grin broke out on his face. “Are you sure you aren’t supposed to be in Gryffindor?”

I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat. “How dare you,” I said blandly. 

“I’m serious,” he said with a smile that said the opposite. “You’re quite the little risk taker.” 

“Is it really risk-taking,” I murmured, “if you’re prepared for all the risks?” 

The inner corners of George’s eyebrows turned upward, his smile dimming to a more serious affect. “Was it worth it even though you got caught and punished?” 

“Is it still punishment if it was worth it?” 

His freckled face relaxed at the question, smoothing out until it was without pucker or twinge. “Should there be a rule against it if it’s still worth it?” he murmured.

I brought out my hand, looking down on it so I could once again read the message waiting there. The shiny letters didn’t hold any answers within their crimson hue. “I’m not sure.”

A hand reached out to touch mine, and my breath caught when I saw, on the back of George’s hand, familiar words, written in narrower handwriting.

I must obey the rules.

“Funny,” George said softly. “Regardless of what happened beforehand, we ended up the same.”

I slowly dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Not quite.” I smiled sadly. “I’m apparently friendless.” 

“Not friendless,” George murmured like a promise. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

I studied him, searching for any sign of deception. His hair darkened over the years. In our first year, they could only be described as flaming, his hair as dangerous as his tendencies, but now they’d tempered into a comforting copper hue. His freckles also faded, though there were still just as many of them. His eyebrows normally promised even more trouble than his mischievous eyes, but now, nothing in his face seemed disingenuous. “Can Slytherins and Gryffindors even be friends?” I asked.

“Is it risk-taking if you’re prepared for all the risks?” George echoed.

I gave a short laugh. “Touchè.”

“Besides,” George said with a smirk, “you can do with friends better than that old tosser.”

I wanted to laugh, truly I did. Or perhaps I wanted to care little enough to be able to laugh. But alas, I cared too much, so I simply shook it off. “I’d better go, before Filch actually finds us.” 

“Fair enough.” George dropped my hand, and I missed the warmth immediately. “See you around, Y/N?”

I took great care to lessen my smile into a smirk. “If you’re lucky,” I replied.

George gave a relaxed salute before walking back the way we’d come, presumably to take up his place behind the tapestry.

I watched him go. Funny, I may not have been a first-year, and he may not have taken me to the kitchens for dessert, and yet…I was still glad for anyone else who might leave Umbridge’s office when George waited for them behind the tapestry.

-

If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy my other George fanfic: Seven Years of Bad Luck

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ahhhh thank you 🙈🙈🙈

I definitely have a plan for a part two 😈

Partner in Crime

For @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge Extravaganza

Song prompt submitted by @starry-night-author - I hope this does what you'd imagined justice!

(song info at the end, read the snippet first :)

Empty shadows and dim streetlights. 

A locked door and a pair of headlights. 

Henchman slid down further in the passenger seat of the dark sedan parked strategically across the street from her quarry as the pale lights pulled around the corner and the silence of the empty street was shattered. 

--already late, got to hurry. He might have already left and if I blow this job--

Crooked tires and a slamming door. 

--do I have all the supplies? Yes, you checked twice you numskull, the code, the code, don’t drop anything--

The figure fumbled over their bags until a single finger snaked out towards the shining metal buttons that stood out against the weathered side of the of the old brick mansion that took up half the block. 

--there we go, 64729, yes now the handle, no!--

A thick folder smacked against the ground, and the  crouched awkwardly with their laden arms to reclaim it, turning enough that the streetlight gleamed off the smooth cheeks of the fresh-faced hero. 

When the door finally slammed shut behind them, Henchman dropped her focus, and the chaotic thoughts faded into the quiet buzzing of a trapped fly. 

Four weeks of nightly surveillance, and she finally had the last code they needed. 

Her pen scratched across the inside of her wrist. 64729. 

As the minutes turned to hours, she let her eyes close and her mind wander. He wouldn’t want to wait, not with the XX approaching, Everything else was already in place. Tomorrow, the wait would be over. 

The sky was two shades lighter when the door finally opened again. 

The figure reimerged, hands empty, and darted to their car, head ducked and eyes scanning the shadows. 

The red tail lights were still visible when Henchman blinked, and he was beside her, the driver's door already clicking shut. 

His thoughts hummed, flying by like a bullet train, smooth and blurred like they always were. “You got it?” It was more a statement than a question, and Henchman pressed her lips together to keep from beaming at the unspoken praise. 

“I got it,” she confirmed, twisting her arm to show him the numbers on her wrist. 

This thoughts zoomed, as fast as he was, until the train slowed into a single track of a toy train running circles under a tree as he caught her hand and slowly kissed the inside of her wrist. 

Genius, brilliant talent, indispensable. 

Henchman was glad for the shadows that kept the heat in her cheeks hidden. 

When his mind raced, it was like a override channel, white noise she could focus on to tune out the chaos of the crowds around her. 

But she loved even more the rich texture of his mind when he slowed down and his thoughts turned to appreciation. His praises never failed to make her melt. 

“You’re incredible, H.” 

She barely stopped herself from responding with “No you are.” It would have been too corny, and unnecessary. Villain was a genius, and he knew it. 

His thoughts picked up again, flying by but at a pace she could follow. A silver keypad, a brick hallway, a gleaming brass safe. His forehead brushed her as his thoughts slowed to a stop as the safe swung open and revealed their treasure. 

She looked into his dark scheming eyes, so close to hers. 

“Tomorrow?” 

Villain smiled the wicked smile she loved so much, and, in her mind, he leaned forward an inch until their lips finally met. 

He sat back into his seat, already running through the plan again. 

“Tomorrow.” 

-------

Hurry, hurry we’re going to be late!

Two cappuccinos, one americano, one diet americano, three blacks, two chai-- no three? Was it two? Mia, Thomas, Mindy? Did she have one?? Who am I missing-- 

Four blocks down and take a left--

I should have picked the black shoes, I can already feel the blisters forming. 

Can I just quit and sell books online? I don’t want to people today… 

Get out of the way you moron it looks like rain twelve dozen is not enough cute dog there she is I want oh sorry they’re calling again now please sweaters work open mine stopmyturnclosebootslatepeopleparkwalkinggo--

“Henchman.”

Large hands dropped on her shoulders, and the flood of voices disappeared as the purring hum of thoughts wrapped around her. 

Villain slid one hand down her shaking arms to grasp her hand. 

“Henchman.” 

At the second time, she looked up at him. 

“You can do this. Twenty minutes and we will be back at base.” 

Base. Headquarters. Safety. Home. 

The sanctuary Villain had made for her where no other minds could drown out her own. 

Henchman turned back to the street crowded with light and people. So different from its quiet shadows of the night. 

“Henchman.” 

She pulled her eyes back to Villain. “Six minutes of focus, and then it will be over.” His hand on her shoulder tightened. “Six minutes, just like we practiced.” 

She forced a swallow and a nod. 

His mind ran through the plan once more, and she did her best to follow as the voices pressed against her. 

When Villain was satisfied she wasn’t going to fall apart, he released her and stepped back. 

“We’ll just walk down the street like a happy couple and slip inside.” 

The nod came easier this time. It was an image she often pictured. 

The hand that was still wrapped around hers shifted until their fingers were intertwined, and her heart stuttered as he pulled her out of the alley and into the stream of pedestrians. 

The warmth of it occupied her mind until Villain pulled her to an abrupt halt and before she’d registered they’d stopped, the door was open and they were slipping into the narrow brick hallway. 

Henchman lost track of the turns as Villain pulled her through the labyrinth of hallways. 

Using the humming of his thoughts as a buffer as she used her powers to avoid guards and patrons as he dragged her through the repurposed mansion. 

Three minutes and fourth two seconds since they left the safety of the alley, they came to a stop in front of a wide mahogany door. 

Villain picked the lock in the blink of an eye. His hand on the handle, he turned back to her. 

Henchman shook her head. 

No minds were present behind that door. 

The safe was covered by the painting behind the desk. A cheap imitation of a Monet that was worth less than the gaudy frame that held it. 

Henchman dropped into the leather desk chair with a sigh of relief as Villain went to work at the safe.

The whirring of the safe handle was the only sound as Henchman shuffled through the desk drawers, pocketing a golden hilted letter opener and a ruby crusted pennant ring. 

Leaning back in the chair, she enjoyed the pillowing cushion of silence that eased the pounding headache that was building behind her eyes. 

Through the window she heard a dog barking and the distant echo of a siren. 

Henchman sat up with a jolt as the final tumbler dropped into place and the door to the safe creaked open. 

“Wait!” 

A cloud of mist exploded from the safe; her warning too little, too late. 

Henchman doubled over as the tear gas burned her eyes. The door they’d closed behind them slammed open, and the flood of mind-voices returned like a tidal wave. 

A room that blocked out the thoughts of others. Oh how foolish she’d been. Villain had created for her just such a space. 

The voices crested with the throbbing in her head that had returned tenfold.  

The loudest of the voices was filled with derision. 

“Did you really think we were such fools?” 

A hand on her shoulder. 

She ignored the judgment in the hero’s question and looked up at her partner in crime. His eyes were creased with regret. 

Villain. 

It was as if he was the one reading her mind this time. 

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. A ten lane freeway rather than a bullet train. 

Analyzing all the possibilities. 

But Henchman already knew the answer. 

He’d come back for her. 

She lifted her hand to his on her shoulder. 

“Run.”

The song for this prompt was Partner in Crime by Madilyn Mai

Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword @sorrow-and-bliss @technikerin23 @deflated-bouncingball @talesofurbania1 @rivalriotrenegade @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ooooo this was so good!!! WORK BUDDIES 🤣🤣 ahhh I love it!! The tension! The flirting! The blatant denial!! eeeee 👏👏👏

Thank you so much@save-the-villainous-cat !!!

“You don’t seem too nervous…” The villain circled them lazily, looking the hero up and down as they took their time to walk around them.

Tied to the chair and a little too drowsy from being drugged, they found it quite irritating to stare back at the villain. Besides, the lights were too bright and the room was a little too dirty.

“What are you gonna do? Torture me?” they asked, slurred even.

“Mmm…a little old-fashioned, no?” They came to a stop behind the hero, leaned down and grabbed their jaw, fingers digging into skin like claws. “You know I like it better when you stay pretty.”

The hero’s heart started to burn and they really couldn’t tell for how much longer they could take this. They had been flirting for months now and the hero was seriously falling for their enemy.

The touches, the words…sometimes the hero was quite sure they were going insane. And falling for one’s enemy was exactly that — insane. Not even would the hero suffer but the villain would too. No matter how many solutions the hero tried to come up with, it never was the future they craved.

Maybe it was the one they deserved. Being unhappy and burying their feelings…

“Hm…aren’t you a sweet thing?” The villain’s lips nearly touched the other’s neck lovingly. But it wasn’t enough for the hero. They wanted more.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me some important stuff? You’re fooling around.”

“Hm.” The hero felt the breath on their neck and for a second, they decided to close their eyes and actually enjoy the close proximity between them. “Fine. I need some information regarding…a few projects.”

“You know I’m doing shifts outside, right? You know I’m actually not chained to the desk all day, right? You know that I’m the last one to get information on those projects, right?” The hero turned their head until they could see their enemy.

“And yet you’re my favourite.”

“Touché,” the hero answered. They had to smile. The villain walked around them once again until they were — thank god — standing in front of the hero. They looked good. Way too good.

The determination on their face was easy to find attractive.

“I…I really like you,” the hero said. They had to smile like an idiot, they couldn’t help it. However, the villain’s face suddenly changed from playful to bitterly serious.

“Don’t say stuff like that,” they said.

“What?”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” they repeated. Their eyes were glued to the ground. “We’re work-buddies, nothing more.”

“Work-buddies?” The hero wasn’t sure if they should be offended or sad. And yet, they could see a blush on the villain’s cheeks.

“Or enemies, if you prefer that.”

“We almost made out a week ago,” the hero reminded them. “We’re not work-buddies. You flirt with me constantly.”

Was this all a game to the villain? Did they play with feelings that easily?

“Flirting and being in love isn’t the same thing,” the villain tried to argue but the hero was already shaking their head.

“I didn’t say I love you.”

“You wanted to say it, though” the villain said. “Because you do love me, don’t you?”

“I’m not allowed to date my colleagues. You know, since we’re work-buddies.”

In this moment, even the villain realised that they would not get any information out of the hero today, even if they tortured them till the end.

"Please Don't Say You Love Me" by Gabrielle Aplin, requested by @writing-on-the-wahl

And thank you to @thepenultimateword for this cool idea!

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Partner in Crime

For @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge Extravaganza

Song prompt submitted by @starry-night-author - I hope this does what you'd imagined justice!

(song info at the end, read the snippet first :)

Empty shadows and dim streetlights. 

A locked door and a pair of headlights. 

Henchman slid down further in the passenger seat of the dark sedan parked strategically across the street from her quarry as the pale lights pulled around the corner and the silence of the empty street was shattered. 

--already late, got to hurry. He might have already left and if I blow this job--

Crooked tires and a slamming door. 

--do I have all the supplies? Yes, you checked twice you numskull, the code, the code, don’t drop anything--

The figure fumbled over their bags until a single finger snaked out towards the shining metal buttons that stood out against the weathered side of the of the old brick mansion that took up half the block. 

--there we go, 64729, yes now the handle, no!--

A thick folder smacked against the ground, and the  crouched awkwardly with their laden arms to reclaim it, turning enough that the streetlight gleamed off the smooth cheeks of the fresh-faced hero. 

When the door finally slammed shut behind them, Henchman dropped her focus, and the chaotic thoughts faded into the quiet buzzing of a trapped fly. 

Four weeks of nightly surveillance, and she finally had the last code they needed. 

Her pen scratched across the inside of her wrist. 64729. 

As the minutes turned to hours, she let her eyes close and her mind wander. He wouldn’t want to wait, not with the XX approaching, Everything else was already in place. Tomorrow, the wait would be over. 

The sky was two shades lighter when the door finally opened again. 

The figure reimerged, hands empty, and darted to their car, head ducked and eyes scanning the shadows. 

The red tail lights were still visible when Henchman blinked, and he was beside her, the driver's door already clicking shut. 

His thoughts hummed, flying by like a bullet train, smooth and blurred like they always were. “You got it?” It was more a statement than a question, and Henchman pressed her lips together to keep from beaming at the unspoken praise. 

“I got it,” she confirmed, twisting her arm to show him the numbers on her wrist. 

This thoughts zoomed, as fast as he was, until the train slowed into a single track of a toy train running circles under a tree as he caught her hand and slowly kissed the inside of her wrist. 

Genius, brilliant talent, indispensable. 

Henchman was glad for the shadows that kept the heat in her cheeks hidden. 

When his mind raced, it was like a override channel, white noise she could focus on to tune out the chaos of the crowds around her. 

But she loved even more the rich texture of his mind when he slowed down and his thoughts turned to appreciation. His praises never failed to make her melt. 

“You’re incredible, H.” 

She barely stopped herself from responding with “No you are.” It would have been too corny, and unnecessary. Villain was a genius, and he knew it. 

His thoughts picked up again, flying by but at a pace she could follow. A silver keypad, a brick hallway, a gleaming brass safe. His forehead brushed her as his thoughts slowed to a stop as the safe swung open and revealed their treasure. 

She looked into his dark scheming eyes, so close to hers. 

“Tomorrow?” 

Villain smiled the wicked smile she loved so much, and, in her mind, he leaned forward an inch until their lips finally met. 

He sat back into his seat, already running through the plan again. 

“Tomorrow.” 

-------

Hurry, hurry we’re going to be late!

Two cappuccinos, one americano, one diet americano, three blacks, two chai-- no three? Was it two? Mia, Thomas, Mindy? Did she have one?? Who am I missing-- 

Four blocks down and take a left--

I should have picked the black shoes, I can already feel the blisters forming. 

Can I just quit and sell books online? I don’t want to people today… 

Get out of the way you moron it looks like rain twelve dozen is not enough cute dog there she is I want oh sorry they’re calling again now please sweaters work open mine stopmyturnclosebootslatepeopleparkwalkinggo--

“Henchman.”

Large hands dropped on her shoulders, and the flood of voices disappeared as the purring hum of thoughts wrapped around her. 

Villain slid one hand down her shaking arms to grasp her hand. 

“Henchman.” 

At the second time, she looked up at him. 

“You can do this. Twenty minutes and we will be back at base.” 

Base. Headquarters. Safety. Home. 

The sanctuary Villain had made for her where no other minds could drown out her own. 

Henchman turned back to the street crowded with light and people. So different from its quiet shadows of the night. 

“Henchman.” 

She pulled her eyes back to Villain. “Six minutes of focus, and then it will be over.” His hand on her shoulder tightened. “Six minutes, just like we practiced.” 

She forced a swallow and a nod. 

His mind ran through the plan once more, and she did her best to follow as the voices pressed against her. 

When Villain was satisfied she wasn’t going to fall apart, he released her and stepped back. 

“We’ll just walk down the street like a happy couple and slip inside.” 

The nod came easier this time. It was an image she often pictured. 

The hand that was still wrapped around hers shifted until their fingers were intertwined, and her heart stuttered as he pulled her out of the alley and into the stream of pedestrians. 

The warmth of it occupied her mind until Villain pulled her to an abrupt halt and before she’d registered they’d stopped, the door was open and they were slipping into the narrow brick hallway. 

Henchman lost track of the turns as Villain pulled her through the labyrinth of hallways. 

Using the humming of his thoughts as a buffer as she used her powers to avoid guards and patrons as he dragged her through the repurposed mansion. 

Three minutes and fourth two seconds since they left the safety of the alley, they came to a stop in front of a wide mahogany door. 

Villain picked the lock in the blink of an eye. His hand on the handle, he turned back to her. 

Henchman shook her head. 

No minds were present behind that door. 

The safe was covered by the painting behind the desk. A cheap imitation of a Monet that was worth less than the gaudy frame that held it. 

Henchman dropped into the leather desk chair with a sigh of relief as Villain went to work at the safe.

The whirring of the safe handle was the only sound as Henchman shuffled through the desk drawers, pocketing a golden hilted letter opener and a ruby crusted pennant ring. 

Leaning back in the chair, she enjoyed the pillowing cushion of silence that eased the pounding headache that was building behind her eyes. 

Through the window she heard a dog barking and the distant echo of a siren. 

Henchman sat up with a jolt as the final tumbler dropped into place and the door to the safe creaked open. 

“Wait!” 

A cloud of mist exploded from the safe; her warning too little, too late. 

Henchman doubled over as the tear gas burned her eyes. The door they’d closed behind them slammed open, and the flood of mind-voices returned like a tidal wave. 

A room that blocked out the thoughts of others. Oh how foolish she’d been. Villain had created for her just such a space. 

The voices crested with the throbbing in her head that had returned tenfold.  

The loudest of the voices was filled with derision. 

“Did you really think we were such fools?” 

A hand on her shoulder. 

She ignored the judgment in the hero’s question and looked up at her partner in crime. His eyes were creased with regret. 

Villain. 

It was as if he was the one reading her mind this time. 

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. A ten lane freeway rather than a bullet train. 

Analyzing all the possibilities. 

But Henchman already knew the answer. 

He’d come back for her. 

She lifted her hand to his on her shoulder. 

“Run.”

The song for this prompt was Partner in Crime by Madilyn Mai

Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword @sorrow-and-bliss @technikerin23 @deflated-bouncingball @talesofurbania1 @rivalriotrenegade @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Eeeeeeeeek the slow burnnnnnn!!! Ah I love it!!

“WHY AM I NOT READY?!” Ahhhshjsnejeksjd

☺️☺️🥺🤩

Rescue Me, Part 2 ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi

Dedicated to @sassysaxxy for quoting my own writing at me, showering me with compliments, and sending me your screams and other genuine reactions to my snippets. Your enthusiasm as a reader ignites my enthusiasm as a writer. I hope you enjoy this! 💗

Summary: Y/N is succeeding as Obi-Wan Kenobi's padawan, but who knew succeeding brought other kinds of difficulties with it?

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: war

If you haven't read part 1, here it is!

I swiped at my forehead, wiping the moisture that had collected there away with my sleeve. Obi-Wan warned me about the thickness of Felucia’s climate, but I hadn’t realized this was how it felt to breathe in equal amounts of water vapor and actual air. I felt as though a mesh swatch had been implanted in the back of my throat, making me work twice as hard to gain half as much oxygen. 

All the Coruscant patricians spending hundreds of credits on expensive moisturizing hair and skin treatments just needed to visit here. 

Obi-Wan’s voice flowed through the comm in my ear. “We need more fire towards the east!” 

“Units C3 and 4, fire three clicks east!” I shouted over my shoulder. The brief telltale clatter of the artillery units calibrating behind me was nearly deafening. 

“Yes, sir!” two clones chorused. I twisted my neck slightly at the sound of it. All Jedi were called ‘sir’, but that didn’t mean I would ever get used to it. 

“How’s the view from up there?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“It’s stunning. Too bad you can’t see it.” His huff made me grin as I raised my binocs to my eyes, looking out at the southernmost front in some hope of catching sight of him. But the only thing I could see were the white flashes of clone armor and the streaking red and blue blaster bolts. “How’s the view from down there?”

“Clanky.”

Droids. 

“How many of them?” 

I heard the telltale sound of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slicing through metal. “One less now,” he grunted. 

I sighed. “Only a few hundred thousand to go.”

The war continued to gnash its way through the galaxy, and few planets were as devastated as Felucia. Sparsely inhabited, the value of the planet came from nysillin. The Separatists and the Republic had been battling for months over control of the precious healing herb. My master and I had only been here for a few days to resolve the current standoff, but I was ready to leave the moment we were allowed to. 

Directly in front of the mountain I stood on was Master Plo Koon’s battalion, arguably the most important part. If the middle of the field was lost, the battle was lost. To the south was Obi-Wan’s battalion, steadily gaining ground, in no small part because of my master. 

The northern regiment, the smallest group of the three, was currently at a standstill. Commander Cody reported no action and no sightings of the Separatist forces, and so, that battalion was currently out of combat.

My position with the artillery gave me the perfect vantage point, not only of all three fronts, but of the village at my back, one of the only villages the Separatists hadn’t managed to pillage. It would stay that way, if the Republic had anything to say about it. 

My master’s voice crackled in my ear. “There’s more trying to cut through the mountains.”

“Unit B, two clicks to the south!” I relayed to the closest artillery gunman. 

“Yes, sir!” He immediately started punching in calculations for trajectory, and I preemptively clapped my hands over my ears to try and hear Obi-Wan’s next words. 

“When the droids fire up their backup generators-” My master’s voice garbled, becoming unintelligible amidst the horrid clatter from behind me.

“Repeat orders!” I requested, pushing my comm-link further into my ear in the hopes of hearing better. But instead of getting clearer, the words got softer and more garbled before completely cutting out.

“Obi-Wan?” No response. “Obi-Wan, can you hear me?!” No response.

I waved over at the comms technician. “I’ve lost Master Kenobi. Can you restore the connection?”

“Right away, sir.” The clone’s helmet tilted down as he started tapping on his screen. Then, his fingers stopped. “Uh…sir?”

My brow furrowed. “What’s the problem? Is the machine malfunctioning?” 

The helmet shook from side to side. “No, sir, it’s not the machine, it’s something external.”

“What about Master Koon? Can we reach him?”

“No, sir, I can’t locate any signals on any frequency, much less hone in on what they’re saying.”

“No other signals?” I said under my breath. Surveying the ground below me, I searched for any suspicious movement, anything that could resemble a jammer. But the battlefield resembled how it looked before with conflict on the central and southern fronts. Desperate, I panned to the north. My eyes caught sight of the glimmering of the shiny, gray armor of battle droids.

“Oh no.” I quickly adjusted the settings and let out a gasp. 

Four clicks ahead of Commander Cody’s battalion, the Separatist AATs were charging. And because of the foliage, Commander Cody wouldn’t be able to see the tanks until they were already within range.

“Scrag!” I ripped the binocs from my eyes, breathing heavily as I stared out at the valley. 

“What’s going on?” one of the clones asked. 

I didn’t reply, still staring. What was I supposed to do? Communications were down. If Commander Cody’s unit was overcome, the Separatists could easily incapacitate the artillery before storming the village.

It’d be a massacre.

And they didn’t even appear to have a jammer with them.

The group marching on the front were still a few minutes away from firing distance, which meant I had a chance to act. How should I seize it? How could I seize it? I was here, with the artillery, removed from the battlefield. 

“Obi-Wan,” I said weakly into my comm, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “What do I do?” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down.

In the darkness, Obi-Wan’s wisdom came back to me.

From the Force were we formed and to the Force will we return, he once told me. Sitting cross-legged, his tone perfumed with his seemingly infinite patience, even as I struggled to master the elusive practice of meditation. The Force is your ally. Let it use you, and it will let you use it.

Sentiments that appeared contradictory, but instead formed a perfectly balanced harmony, like the Force itself.

The beginning and ending of all things.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the humid air before breathing out, letting the cacophony of worries and what-ifs go.

I am here, I thought. 

And the Force answered.

“Commander Y/L/N?”

My eyes flew open to reveal a nervous looking clone.

“What is going on?”

“Communications are down, and there’s a massive force about to reach the 3rd regiment.”

“What are your orders, sir?”

“Fire two kilometers in front of the 3rd regiment’s line and keep firing!” I gave a strained smile. “You’ve just gotten a promotion, trooper.”

There was no path leading up or down the mountain. The artillery was only set up here after being transported by a slow carrier, and I wouldn’t be able to land that thing down on the field. A target that big would be shot down by the Separatists immediately. 

So I stepped right to the edge of the mountain, looking down below. 

I reached out with the Force, took a few shallow, bracing breaths, and jumped.

One of the clones let out a cheer, but the sound whipped away as I free-fell, gaining speed. The wind whipped past me in a roar, and my eyes watered so badly, I had to shut them.

Blindly, I reached out for the Force and felt its aura surrounding me, imparting soft comfort instead of hard, cold fear. The wind around me slowed. I suddenly felt as though I were floating instead of tumbling. I opened my eyes, and I could see the whole valley. 

A searing warning came, and I immediately tucked in my head, bent my arms and legs, and waited for impact.

My feet touched the ground, and I immediately rolled forward.

I stayed there for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest as I fought against the water vapor to catch my breath. 

Then, I took off running, ripping through the Felucian vegetation as I sprinted towards the northern front. 

No other planet I’d been to had plants which compared to the size of the ones on this one. The cyan pitcher plants, shaped like the bulb of a flower, stretched far above my head while long, wispy red growths bent and curled every which way. The dangling parts of the yellow plants made them seem like they dripped with sticky yellow syrup. The dull light from Felucia’s yellow sun was colored by the translucent nature of the plants, shining all manner of different hues around me. All the plants grew so fast, it was all the Republic forces could do to keep clear paths between battalions. If I hadn’t been on the mountain looking down at the battlefield a moment ago, I might’ve taken a wrong turn. As it was, I knew precisely which paths to take.

My heart raced when the white tents and equipment came into sight. I tore through the camp. “Where’s Commander Cody?” I asked the first clone I found. He wordlessly pointed, and I rushed in the provided direction. 

A helmetless Commander Cody stood above a projected map of the area, the very view I’d just seen from my position. The commander looked up, clearly surprised to see me. “Commander Y/L/N? What are you doing here?”

I skid to a stop. “I saw the Separatists moving on this position, they’ll be here any minute.” My own voice sounded so even, a marvel considering how out of breath I should’ve been. 

Commander Cody cursed. “That’s why the long range comms aren’t working.”

I nodded.

“We have to hold this line while Master Koon and Master Kenobi are informed and push their lines forward.” Cody turned to one of the clones standing beside him. “Take my speeder to inform Masters Koon and Kenobi of the situation!” The clone nodded and ran the direction I’d come. 

“How long until the troops can be deployed?” 

Commander Cody’s face went grim. “There’s only a platoon assigned to the front. The rest are sleeping or eating. The clankers will be here before I can get them ready.”

I started running towards the front. “I’ll buy you that time!” I called over my shoulder.

Subtly reaching out with the Force, I let the life forces of the clones ahead of me guide my path, and it was a good thing I did. 

The only reason I recognized the edge of the battlefield when I reached it was the gradual dwindle in the number of large pitcher plants, allowing for a slightly more unobstructed view ahead. Heart pounding, I dodged the ferns and giant mushrooms, waiting for the thick air to suddenly fill with blaster shots.

SCREECH!

That was my only warning before a shell screamed over my head. My heart dropped, because I knew I hadn’t reached the squad in time. 

“AATs ahead!” the voice of a clone yelled, and all hell broke loose.

The air filled with blaster shots, and I was surrounded by the high pitched whines following their discharge and the heat that followed them. I deflected as many shots as I was able, trying to reach the platoon. I spotted the camouflage helmet of a clone scout trooper and bounded towards it. 

“Where’s this fire coming from?!” one of the clones behind me cried from his defensive position. “We didn’t hear a warning!”

I managed to reach whom I assumed was the squad leader: an ARC trooper I recognized: Driver. “Commander Cody is rallying the troops now!” I shouted over the noises of combat. 

Driver gave a curt nod before crouching out from behind the pitcher plant to fire a few shots at the Separatists and then rolling back to safety.

I glanced around at the other clones I could sense, all valiantly returning fire. Nine clones and a Jedi had no hope of winning against the infantry corp that was bearing down on us, but we just needed to buy time.

Another shell barreled towards us, and I threw my hand out, diverting it into the trees. Sending a glare at the AAT that came so close to destroying the platoon, I deflected every blast I could. “Hold your ground!”

But it couldn’t last forever.

“Dank’s been hit!” one of the other squad members yelled.

Distracted, I looked behind me to see the white-clad body of a clone on the ground, not moving. Turning away to parry another shell, I reached behind me with the Force to feel Dank’s life.

I felt nothing.

And in that nothing, suddenly, everything slowed down.

A shell came hurtling towards me, slowly rotating in the air as it came closer and closer. With a yell, I threw out my hand, sending the shell back in the direction it’d come from. 

The explosion of an AAT made the corner of my mouth twitch up. Take that, I thought with satisfaction. 

“Engage!”

I dared a glance over my shoulder to see scores of clones running out of the foliage, taking cover behind the pitcher plants and returning fire.

Commander Cody joined me behind the pitcher plant I was using for cover. “Took you long enough!” I called over to him. He waved his hand in the air, dismissing my teasing. “Have either of the masters sent back word?” The commander shook his head, and my heart sank. To win this battle, it was imperative that the other two battalions pushed forward. Cody could hold the line, but he wouldn’t be capable of pushing the Separatists back. 

I ducked behind another pitcher plant, gripping my lightsaber in front of me as I panted for breath. “Obi-Wan,” I said quietly. “Where are you? Why aren’t you here?” I shut my eyes, tuning out the commotion around me.

I am here.

The Force rose up, the crackles of energy surrounding me.

Obi-Wan. I need Obi-Wan.

The answer was a grab of my consciousness. The Force dragging it at top speed, not bothering to weave through the trees and fighters. It was an odd sensation, to fly through solid things and feel only the energy that knit them together.

Then, I felt the light.

“Obi-Wan,” I breathed, my own voice sounding far away. “You need to attack.” The light didn’t react, and I knew he hadn’t felt me. Reaching out with my conscience, I prodded the light sharply. “Attack.”

Suddenly, I got ripped away, flying back to the confines of my own body. I opened my eyes, once again hearing the blasters firing.

Had he heard me?

I wasn't sure.

I peeked over the edge of the plant. The hundreds of droids were nearer, and with it, the crowd of AATs. I was about to turn away when an AAT in the middle caught my attention.  Standing with its top half outside the hatch of an AAT, was a droid, tapping onto a large, welded addition to the AAT.

It could’ve been anything, but I knew better. 

Eighty meters away, there it was.

If I were still with the artillery, I could order them to fire on that AAT, but I was in the battle, and my options were limited.

I scanned the field. The fighting was thick, but the foliage was thicker. With Cody holding up the rear, I might be able to sneak past the droids, get to the jammer, incapacitate it, and turn the tide of the battle.

I’d need back-up.

My eyes fell on Driver, and the plan started to form. “Driver!” I called. The ARC trooper turned, and I waved him over. “On me!” Without hesitation, I started on a zig-zag path, darting from cover to cover, never staying still enough to be a target. Driver and two other clones followed me.

It was harrowing, leaping from side-to-side, hoping that no droid would notice us before we got around. Finally, we got to the edge of the battlefield.

“What’s going on, sir?” Driver asked.

I peeked over the tree we hid behind. “We’re going to take out the AAT that's jamming our comms,” I told them breathlessly.

Driver and the other two clones exchanged looks, but none of them raised an objection. They nodded at me, and together, we snuck through the foliage, trying to keep the battlefield within sight, but remain unseen.

Finally, we reached as far as we needed. Maybe fifteen meters into the battlefield, and we’d reach the AAT.

I singled out the AAT with the welded addition. “That’s the one!” I shouted above the clamor on the battlefield. 

“Click,” Driver yelled, “you’re up! We’ll cover you!”

One of the clones nodded, his hand drifting to his belt where a number of dangerous looking items lay. He took off in a zig-zag jog, ducking around droids and staying low to the ground.

I watched him, my anticipation rising.

Click reached out to lay a hand on the AAT when suddenly his body contorted. I caught sight of a blaster mark in the center of his chestplate before he crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Horror rose up in me, and with it, the distress of the two clones standing with me.

I shook my head. Time to do my job. My eyes shifted to the thermal detonator on Driver’s belt. 

“I need your detonator!” I hissed at Driver. 

Driver’s helmet shifted slightly, and I could feel the sense of duty that tugged at him. “Sir, I should be the one to–”

“Driver, now!”

Grabbing the detonator from his belt, he tossed it at me, and I caught it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I sprinted into the battlefield, the air around me filling with red and blue blaster bolts alike. I didn’t check my surroundings to see if the droids or other AATs had noticed me, trusting the Force to warn me of an impending threat. 

I felt the blaster bolt before I saw it and ducked, the bolt whizzing over my head. I didn’t bother to look in the direction it’d come from, solely focused on my target. 

Finally, I reached the AAT and jumped onto it, throwing open the hatch door. Hitting the activation button, I dropped the detonator into the interior and slammed the hatch closed. 

I slid off the AAT as fast as I could. Dropping beside Click’s body, I hooked my arms underneath his armpits and yanked. 

Another clone appeared beside me. “Sir, we need to lea–”

The detonator blew. 

The vigor of the blast threw me backwards. I landed hard on my back, my head snapping back.

“–and do it now!”

I nearly cried with relief upon hearing my master’s voice through my comm. 

“They’re retreating!” said Commander Cody’s voice in my ear. “Push forward!”

I lifted my head up in time to see droids retreating…right in our direction.

The clone beside me let out a groan, and I caught sight of the bashed side of his helmet. I was on my feet in an instant, slinging his arm over my shoulder and practically dragging him with me. 

Driver ran from the tree, coming to the clone’s other side. 

Together, the three of us reached cover, just in time to hear the shouts of victory and aggression as the clone forces ran forward, chasing the Separatists away. 

Driver and I leaned the clone against the tree. I could sense his pain, which only increased my guilt. This clone had just been trying to get me to safety and ended up injured because of it. I was not going to let him die like the others. I crouched in front of him, reaching out to inspect his helmet. “What’s your name?” I asked softly. The clone didn’t respond; his arms were out to the sides, as if he were trying to balance himself. Resting a firm hand on his shoulder, I asked again. “Soldier, what’s your name?” 

“CT-7563.” Even through the modulator of his helmet, I could hear that he tripped over the numbers. 

My eyes flicked to Driver, who now kneeled beside me. “What’s his other name?”

“We call him Exit,” Driver answered. 

I grabbed both sides of the helmet, preparing to ease it off. “Okay, Exit, I’m going to take off your helmet so I can see your wound better.”

I could feel Exit’s hesitation, but when he raised no objection, I gently tugged on the helmet, pulling it off his head. 

The right side of Exit’s head was already swelling, and there was a nasty gash oozing blood into his buzzed hair. Exit blinked rapidly, and I wished I had a flashlight to check his pupillary response. But I didn’t have a flashlight; I didn’t even have a bandage to stop the bleeding.

I glanced around to see what was available to me, and my eyes fell on a red spotted plant—the very plant responsible for this skirmish. “Here,” I said. I delicately plucked a leaf. “Chew this, it’ll help.” 

Disoriented as he was, I didn’t expect Exit to hold up his hand. “I s-shouldnnn’t.” 

I threw him a stern look. “There’s more than enough to go around. Chew it.” Exit obediently put the plant in his mouth, and Driver knelt down to help him up. “Help him back to the FOB, will you?”

“Yes, Commander Y/N.”

Another clone joined them, and together, they brought their injured brother onto the battlefield, towards the camp. 

I stopped, crouching onto the ground to take a moment. As my adrenaline receded, the muscles of my neck started to ache from the detonator’s kickback. I could only hope for no more explosions in the near future. 

Click’s body still lay where I’d abandoned it, and the sight made my chest feel tight. 

“May the Force be with you,” I murmured under my breath as two clones walked up to their brother, rolling him onto a stretcher so they could carry him off to the field. Had he died on Coruscant, his body would be cremated. But I’d been in this war long enough to know his body was headed for a mass grave, marked only with the helmets that no longer had anyone to claim them.

The only funeral rites these warriors were likely to receive.

A hand patted my shoulder. “You did good,” Commander Cody said. Through the thicket of gruff and stern words, I could make out the undertone of pride. 

I sighed, knowing it was undeserved. “I deserted my post.” I reflexively tightened my grip on my lightsaber. “I was supposed to stay with the artillery.”

“You saw a problem no one else did, and you acted before it was too late.” Commander Cody glanced over at where the Separatists had been minutes ago. “Your leadership prevented the worst case scenario and turned it into a victory.”

I straightened. “We can only hope my master agrees.” 

“Padawan Y/N!”  Master Plo Koon approached. Normally, his presence was a calming one, but at that moment, I was unnerved by the inability to see his eyes.

“Master.” I bowed my head, ignoring the twinge from my neck muscles.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, master.”

Master Koon and Commander Cody started for the camp, sharing information on the battle as they went.

The sound of humming light filled my head, causing me to look up.

Obi-Wan walked straight towards me, dirt covering his grim face and unignited lightsaber clenched tightly in one hand as he crossed the field with his long, uninterrupted strides. He looked tired, but uninjured. 

I walked to meet him, a soft smile on my face. “In one piece, old man?”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Of course it would be too much to hope the Separatists might’ve goaded you into holding your tongue.”

“Well, they couldn’t goad me into holding onto my thermal detonator.” I grinned.

Obi-Wan shook his head, but he couldn’t hide a small smile. “Come, we must go check on the village while the troops secure the field.” 

Obediently, I fell into step behind him. “How long do you think the Separatists will take to regroup?”

“No way to know,” Obi-Wan answered as we strode through the camp. “They took a hit today, but it’s just another step in the dance.”

I lowered my eyes somberly, the day’s victory coming into perspective. He was right, as always. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single time when Obi-Wan had been wrong about–

“Master Kenobi?” a voice from behind us said.

Commander Cody stood there, his arms folded in an imposing stance. 

“Yes, commander?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Commander Cody jerked his head to the right. “The village is that way.”

I pursed my lips to keep from smiling.

-

“Don’t put any weight on that leg, y’hear?” I said, playfully narrowing my eyes at the Felucian villager as I wrapped bandages around her wound.

She laughed, bending her long neck sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright, let’s get you up.” I helped her shift to the end of the rickety cot in the med tent, hoisting her up onto her right leg.

“Thank you,” her husband told me, bowing his head as he reached his arm around his wife, helping her balance. 

“No problem,” I replied, watching the two of them hobble towards the mess tent to join the other villagers that had joined the Republic camp to receive some nourishment. Judging by the tightness around the villager’s eyes, she was still in pain, but her husband watched her with such tenderness, as if he was counting himself lucky to be nothing more than a crutch.

“How’d she get injured?”

I jumped, then relaxed when I recognized the voice as Obi-Wan’s. “She got caught in a Separatist trap and nearly lost her foot. Unfortunately for her, the village still hasn’t found a shaman to replace the last one.” I walked over to the makeshift sanitizer, quickly cleaning my hands. “Honestly, she still might lose the foot if she’s not careful.”

When my statements were met only with silence, I glanced up at my master and caught sight of the calculation on his face. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Nothing. Shall we go eat?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He was thinking something, and he was thinking something about me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He let out a little sigh, his mouth curling into a smile. “Seeing you acting as a healer. It’s…satisfying.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Well, don’t go getting any ideas about jumping in a Rathtar den, ‘cause I’m not patching you up.” 

Obi-Wan laughed easily. “C’mon, let’s go eat.” 

Perhaps when the clone wars ended, there would be things I missed. I would miss getting to explore new planets and meet new people. I would miss the demands of battle, whether it demanded more energy where there was none or ingenuity in the face of stress.

I would not, however, miss the rations.

I popped another sweet energy cube into my mouth, chewing it and trying not to grimace. 

Opposite me, Obi-Wan was staring at the cube in his palm with great distaste. The delighted cry of a child filled the air, and a stampede of them started to run past in the strange waddling way of Felucians. 

Obi-Wan slyly reached out to them, allowing one of the children to pluck the cube off his palm and into her mouth with a grin. 

I sent him a sideways glance as the children ran out of the mess tent. “You’re going to go hungry.” 

Obi-Wan conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Better an empty stomach than a stomach with that stuff inside it.”

I snorted. “I’ve fought on an empty stomach. Trust me, it’s no good.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell. “Krell?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to, Obi-Wan already knew. Instead of dredging up the past, I looked down at my plate. "Agh," I blurted at the burst of pain that ran up my neck.

Obi-Wan tensed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no." I rubbed at the sore spot. "Caught the wrong end of an explosion and earned myself some whiplash."

"I think I saw some cream in the med tent." Obi-Wan started to get up, but I grabbed his arm.

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan didn't ask me if I was sure, he simply fixed me with his classic I-know-better-than-you look.

"It'll clear up on it's own," I insisted. "Save the supplies for the clones and the villagers."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth.

“Are you ready, Master Kenobi?” Master Koon approached our table. “The council is waiting.”

My master threw me a look and then got to his feet. “Yes, Master Koon.”

“Your padawan will have much to tell us,” Master Koon said. 

I shot upright in my seat. “What?” I looked at Obi-Wan, hoping he would provide me with insight, but he was staring at Mast Koon as well, a slightly wary expression on his face. His Force light was flickering with uncertainty.

“What am I telling?” I asked Master Koon.

“We will want to speak of your actions today,” Master Koon replied, seeming absolutely calm. 

My…actions?

An uncomfortable tension settled in my stomach, and the souring of the previously sweet energy cubes made me wish I’d followed my master’s example and refrained from eating. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Master Kenobi.” Master Koon left us, walking towards the erected tent for the council meeting.

Obi-Wan didn’t move for a moment. He kept his eyes on Master Koon’s retreating back, but I could feel the buzzing surrounding us, like the Force was clocking to my master. Whatever he was thinking, the Force was drawn to it. 

Obi-Wan started walking towards the tent, not sparing me another glance as he left me alone in my panic.

If Master Koon thought my actions deserved a place in a council meeting…perhaps my desertion of my post in the battle was a bigger deal than I thought. 

Of course it was. What had I been thinking? I must’ve been possessed by some maverick spirit, urging me to leap into battle without instruction from my superiors. Perhaps the spirit of Skywalker, I thought nervously to myself, except I don’t have the role of the Chosen One to cushion my fall. 

Now I was to defend my actions in front of the council? Not once in all my appearances before the Jedi council had they asked me to speak. Every time, I stood in Krell or Kenobi’s shadow, keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself. 

The longer I waited to be summoned, the greater the buzzing of the light grew. Only Master Koon and Obi-Wan were physically inside the tent. If the Force gathered around any of the other members, I wouldn’t be able to feel it, not this far away from Coruscant. What could the council be discussing that would send Obi-Wan into such a flutter?

After what felt like ages, Obi-Wan poked his head outside of the tent, making eye contact with me. 

I sucked in a breath, slowly rising to my feet.

But then Obi-Wan’s eyes moved to something behind me. “Commander Cody, the council wishes to speak with you.”

Commander Cody appeared as aghast as I felt. “As the council wishes,” he said finally. He got up from his chair, shooting me a look before ducking into the tent. I stared at the tent flap. Why did they want to speak to Cody? Was it simply for a report on the battle? Or were they asking Cody to give a report about me? 

Altogether too soon for my tastes, the tent flapped opened as Commander Cody came out. I searched for something in his face to clue me into what he’d said about me, but his stoic face revealed nothing.

“Y/N.” My master stood, holding the tent flap open. “We’re ready for you.” I stayed where I was, trying to read his face, but the words there were in Shyriiwook. 

“Hells,” I muttered. “Here comes the heavy weather.” After lingering a moment to lift my chin high, I walked inside the tent.

Master Koon stood off to one side while Obi-Wan moved to stand at the other. In between them, life-sized holograms of each member of the Jedi Council was projected. With the glitching and imprecision of the transmissions, it was impossible to tell what expressions they wore. 

“Padawan Y/N,” Master Windu began, “the 3rd Regiment went into conflict under your discretion, correct?”

Aware of Master Windu’s deep distaste for excuses, I erred on the side of brevity. “Yes.”

“And you joined them once the comms went out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you please tell us why?”

“When the comms went out, I surveyed the battlefield with binocs, and I spotted the enemy making a move towards the 3rd Regiment in force. Knowing they weren’t expecting conflict and being unable to communicate with them, I left orders for the artillery to fire upon their position while I got to the line as quickly as I could.”

Master Fisto tilted his head. “Commander Cody informed us you arrived on foot.”

It wasn’t a question, and yet there was still a suspicious silence. “I…looked for a speeder of some sort, but the only ship with the artillery was the command platform, and I wouldn’t be able to land that by the front without it getting shot down.”

“How did you get down off the mountain?” Master Windu asked.

“I jumped.”

The humming of the light dissipated for a moment, and it took everything in me to keep my focus on Master Windu. 

Master Windu cleared his throat. “So once you…jumped…and you reached the northern front, then you took control of the regiment?”

I hesitated. “No.”

“No?” Master Tiin asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Sweat gathered on my palms. “I told Commander Cody of the oncoming fighters, and once a messenger was sent to the other platforms, I went to the front line to buy enough time for the regiment to deploy.” A few of the masters glanced over at each other, and I couldn’t keep quiet. “I didn’t give Commander Cody orders. I informed him of the situation and gave him the time he needed to rally his troops.”

“But you did take three clones with you to bring down the jammer.”

“Yes.”

“And you brought it down how exactly?” 

I swallowed hard. “A thermal detonator.”

“Why didn’t you go to Master Koon or Master Kenobi directly when the comms went out?” Master Mundi asked. 

I hesitated. It felt like a trick question, but it was impossible to know what the masters wanted me to say, so I opted for the truth. “Protecting the village was the most important. That’s why the Republic is here, to defend life. There was very little time, so I trusted my–”

Gut, I very nearly said, but Jedi didn’t make decisions on gut feelings. 

“I trusted my training.”

No one spoke, and a skittish feeling scratched at the walls of my stomach. To stand in front of the most powerful Jedis while none of them spoke? How royally had I screwed up?

“Impressive,” Master Yoda muttered, stroking his chin. “Impressive, very.”

…impressive? 

Did he speak of my disobedience? Were my actions a kind of wrong of epic proportions, it was impressive someone could have behaved so poorly?

My hands started shaking. 

“Padawan Y/N, have you started preparing for your trials?” Master Unduli asked. 

“Yes,” I said hesitantly, unsure of where the question was leading. “I’ve been studying for months.” A strange, shuddering pulse of light shot through the Force like a bolt of lightning, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at my master. His stony face offered no insight. 

“I don’t think you’ll be studying for your trials much longer,” Master Unduli said.

Desperation rocked through my core. I knew it, I thought. Abandoning my post would get me kicked out of the Jedi Order.

“The way I see it,” Master Unduli said, looking over at Master Windu beside him, “Padawan Y/N acted as a Jedi Knight in this situation and turned the tide of the battle.” My mouth fell open as murmurs of agreement rippled through the tent. I quickly closed it, hoping none of the masters had noticed it.

“We commend you on your quick thinking and serenity under pressure,” Master Windu said.

Commend? Serenity? I hardly dared to believe it. “Thank you, masters.”

“The jogan doesn’t roll far from the vine, eh, Master Kenobi?” Master Fisto asked, and appreciative chuckles rippled through the room. Not even my years of strength and endurance training kept me from smiling. They were comparing me to Obi-Wan? That was surely one of the highest compliments in the galaxy.

Aching to see the approval on my master’s face, I dared a peek at him.

But instead of a beam of pride, Obi-Wan’s brows were furrowed and his lips downturned. My stomach flipped. Was he displeased with me?

“We’ll be keeping our eyes on you, Padawan Y/N,” Master Mundi said, drawing my attention once more. “As for right now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, master, thank you, master.” I bowed low and left the tent, leaving Obi-Wan and Master Koon to finish up their business with the council. Once the tent flap closed behind me, I breathed in the heavy air, trying to process what had just happened.

“Well?” Commander Cody asked from his chair, helmet off and eyebrows raised. “What did they say?” 

“They’re pleased with me,” I answered, surprised by my own words. “They commended me.”

Commander Cody rose from his seat to clap me on the shoulder, celebrating with me in his own grisly way: without saying a word. No reassurances or comments.

“I thought they were going to kick me out of the Order,” I confessed. “Or give me some consequence, not…not tell me I did well.” I smiled at Cody. “But they did.”

Cody went back to his chair. “I’m sure your master is very proud.”

I stopped.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem proud. In fact, he hadn’t said a single thing about the battle. If I’d done something right, Obi-Wan would’ve given a quick affirmation before we went to the village. If I’d done something wrong, we would’ve been knee-deep in a lecture instead of spending time with the children. But Obi-Wan hadn’t done either. If I didn’t do anything right and I didn’t do anything wrong…then what had I done?

Was the Jedi council being generous in their commendation? 

No.

The Jedi Council showing kindness to me had never been much of a priority before, so they must’ve meant it. 

Why was it, then, that Master Windu of all people praised me, and Obi-Wan hadn’t even smiled? Was Obi-Wan simply withholding his pride to save it for the right time? Or did he disagree with the other masters? Did Obi-Wan believe that I’d acted rashly and deserved to be scolded for my disobedience?

I felt weirdly jittery, as though my bones were shaking underneath my skin.

“Safe travels, Master Kenobi,” Master Koon said as he and my master came out of the tent behind me. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” Obi-Wan replied. 

With a nod in my direction, Master Koon walked off in the direction of the mess tent, and Obi-wan brushed past me to walk in Commander Cody’s direction.

I caught up to Obi-Wan. “We’re leaving? 

“The council is pulling us out,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder at me. “The Separatists have pulled back, and the Felucian Commandos can advance without us here. Master Koon will remain to supervise until this heats up again.”

Dreams of Coruscant filled my mind. The tall buildings, the tempered weather, the crowds. “Are we returning to the temple?” I asked hopefully.

“No, they're assigning us to a diplomatic mission.”

“Diplomatic mission?” I echoed, coming to a stop. I’d never been on one. They were rare these days, and in the days when they’d been common, Master Krell would most certainly not have been the council’s first choice to go, which meant I wouldn’t have been either.

Obi-Wan, the great Negotiator, would be. 

My master and Cody exchanged quick words.

“Y/N, let’s go,” Obi-Wan said, his every word clipped.

There was no point in telling me to gather my stuff; the only things I possessed with the robes on my body and the lightsaber at my belt.

Cody flicked two fingers out from his forehead in a tiny salute. “See you later, kid.”

“Next time you see me,” I said with a smile, “I might be a Jedi Knight.”

“About time,” he said gruffly.

I could’ve hugged him for his words, and I stood for a moment, debating doing so.

“Y/N,” said a firm voice behind me.

Ducking my head, I followed Obi-Wan towards the rudimentary spaceport. His light was casting uncertain shadows through the Force. I tilted my head, honing in on the flickers, but the nearer I got to it, the more light skittered away from me.

How strange that I'd felt him as clear as day across a battlefield, but now I couldn't when I walked beside him.

When we reached the ship, I wordlessly went to the cockpit, preparing to take off. According to the rumors, Obi-Wan was an excellent pilot, but I only saw him occupy the pilot’s chair when we were under fire. If we were simply navigating from one planet to another, he left the piloting to me.

“Where are we going, Master?” I called behind me.

“To Taris, in the Outer Rim.”

Taris.

A planet of overgrown swamps and yellow smog that choked the atmosphere. And if we were headed there for a negotiation, we were headed to the far side, where all the wealthy lived. 

Fantastic.

-

The ship’s engine hummed as it hurtled through lightspeed. 

I settled myself on the floor, ducking my head to catch sight of what I needed in the mirror I’d propped up against the wall. I lifted the pair of scissors in my head, grabbing a section of hair.

“What are you doing?” 

Obi-Wan stared down at me, the grime gone from his face. He must’ve washed it.

“My hair’s too long, so…I’m cutting it.” 

A strange heaviness shot through the Force, as if Obi-Wan’s light had tumbled to the ground with a loud and hollow thunk. Before I could try to reach the light, Obi-Wan turned away from me.

His Force signature was confusing me left and right today. The exorbitant turmoil I felt through the Force seemed disproportionate to the lack of words coming out of his mouth. Usually when I sensed this much distress in him, we dialogued about it.

Perhaps the issue now wasn’t with him, but with me. As the battlefield on Felucia had shown, sometimes the receiver was a problem just as much as the transmitter. 

I shook my head softly, raising the scissors again to make the first cut.

“You’ve been my padawan for less than six months,” Obi-wan said suddenly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. He stood above me again, his lips pursed. 

Why was he mentioning our timeline? “I’m sorry?”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, the words curt, “that you were studying to take the trials.”

“Oh.” I looked away, my scissors hovering uncertainty as I tried to decide whether to go ahead with cutting or put them down. “Well, I’ve been a padawan for years.” Obi-Wan said nothing. I shifted to face him, gripping the scissors in my lap. “I’m twenty-two. Everyone I trained with as a youngling has passed their trials already, and some of them even had padawans of their own now.”

“Right,” came Obi-Wan’s unenthusiastic reply. 

“Do you think I’m not prepared?” I asked worriedly.

“No, no!” he burst out. “I mean, yes, you are, you’re capable, to be sure.” He scratched his chin. “I guess I thought I had more time…” he trailed off, his expression troubled. “More time to…to teach you, to help you…improve.”

“What do I need improvement on?” He didn’t answer, sending my anxiety through the roof. I got to my feet, abandoning the scissors on the floor. Obi-Wan took a step back so as to keep us from colliding. “If there’s something I should be working on, something that would hold me back, I would like to know.”

“There’s…” He paused, his eyes darting all over my face. Why did he seem so…uncertain?

Then it dawned on me, the reason he was reluctant to speak. I crossed my arms, trying to hold the pieces of myself together through the implosion of disappointment. “It’s because of Master Krell, isn’t it? No one wants me to pass the trials because no one trusts me.”

“That’s not true,” Obi-Wan said sharply.

“It’s because of what I did with the regiment, then. I should’ve found some way to contact you first."

“Y/N-”

“Or maybe it’s my combat skills, I know I’m not the best fighter–”

“Y/N!”

I bit my lip, keeping the flood of words from bursting forth. 

With the opposite problem, Obi-Wan didn’t form any words, didn’t move. He just…examined me.

“Why am I not ready?” I asked, slowly and clearly.

“It’s…you’re…I think…” Obi-Wan visibly wrestled with the words coming out of his mouth, seemingly unsure of which sentiment to land on. Finally, he let out a large sigh. “You’ll be a good Jedi Knight.”

I blinked. That was not the answer I was expecting, nor was it a true answer to my question. When Obi-Wan minced words like this, he minced with great care. So what was the hidden meaning, the intent hiding behind his words?

Obi-Wan shuffled towards the cockpit, leaving me alone with the burgeoning company of my thoughts.

He had doubts. He must’ve, for why else would the echoes of his thoughts fall so heavy?

It was strange. Obi-Wan fought for me, fought to overpower my reputation within the Order and establish me as a true Jedi. The council had always been skeptical, and it hadn’t hindered him one bit. In fact, it seemed to spur him on. 

Now I’d received affirmation from the council, yet Obi-Wan had doubts?

I returned to my reflection, trying to resume my planned activity. But my hands were shaking so much, I couldn’t hold the scissors straight. Every time I worked up the courage to make a cut, the scissors faltered.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Rescue Me tag list:

@penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @starlazergazer @blackqueengold @ajwild220 @exploringalaxiesfarfaraway @mortallycrispyglitter @nerdory10 @shinybananapastanickel @sassysaxxy @sunshine-girl013

[writing-on-the-wahl]

SUCH A GOOD ANALOGY!!

Ahhh I love it so much and I feel this in my bones!!

Fish in the Sea

I actually wrote this for my school paper, but I realized the student body at my college was the wrong audience, so maybe it'll find the right audience here

-

As more and more of my friends, family, and acquaintances get engaged and married, I’m reminded what an unskilled fisher I am. I’ve heard there are plenty of fish in the sea, but I’m not in the sea: I’m upstream in a river where paddles haven’t been invented yet.

And the humiliating part of it all is the audience of people—all in possession of their very own fish—standing on the shore, shouting such hilariously conflicting advice, I start to question if what I hold in my hand is really a fishing rod. “You need to cast your line farther,” a classmate calls to me before going back to kiss her fish’s glittery scales. “No, you need to reel the fish in faster!” a friend yells, squeezing her fish like a stuffed animal. “You have to become friends with the fish first!” my grandmother cuts in, delicately holding her fish’s fin.

Easy for them to say. They caught several fish (good and bad) and threw them back until they finally found the right one. 

Meanwhile, I lean over to catch a fish with my bare hands and end up gifting myself a rush of cortisol as I tip the boat over completely. 

“Oh, it’ll happen for you soon!” a cousin lovingly shouts as I cough up water. “Just maybe use different bait next time!”

Am I really supposed to believe that twirling my hair, batting my eyes, and biting my lower lip will convince the fish to jump right out of the water and into my boat? Perhaps if I were in this mythical sea full of fish I always hear about, they would. But the sprinkling of fish in my stream could care less about any lure I possess, for even if I think a fish has bitten and I try to reel it in, my hook comes up empty. 

Of course, the kind of fish you catch depends on the person you are, and everyone builds their lures and boats differently. But when you haven’t caught a single thing, you start to wonder if you’re secreting some sort of toxic chemical that wards the fish away. After all, humans have been successfully fishing for thousands of years. Without it, humanity wouldn’t have made it this far. Every culture invests serious time in this activity, and even though they might encounter some fish with whiskers from time to time, they all eventually succeed. If they don’t, they get rooted out by natural selection.

I cast many a longing look around to find this sea. I have a hunch that the sea is at the end of the river. Funnily enough, when people mention the sea, they never mention how to get there.

There have been times where I abandoned the fishing rod, and sat in my boat, pouting with my nose so far up in the air, I can’t even see the water at all, only the sky.

But by far the most infuriating comment from those on the shore, is those that say their fish magically appeared on the hook when they weren’t even trying to catch anything. But how do you get a fish on your hook without your fishing rod in your hand? 

I’m not sure. 

Maybe it’s the kind of thing that only makes sense when you’re in the sea. So, before I rededicate myself to hair-twirling to avoid natural selection…does anybody have a paddle?

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[writing-on-the-wahl]

MY HEART

Ahhhhhhh the queen of beautiful tragedy is at it again!!!

Thanks for letting me beta read I enjoyed having my heart ripped out repeatedly😩😭🥺

THE GUARD😡😡😡 imma fight him (shakes my lil fists)

Lowly Soldier ~ a continuation of Sorrows Can Swim

Ugh, I have such a soft spot for Prince, and I hope y'all do too. Any and all lynch mobs formed will go towards Guard’s residence and not mine, d'you hear me? 😂

Word count: 2.7k

Read part 1 here, read part 2 here

-

A WEEK BEFORE THE WEDDING

In the dead of night, the towering shelves cast long shadows that danced and hid from the light of the few, flickering candles resting in front of Prince on his desk. In this dim lighting, if one tilted their head and relaxed their eyes, they might mistake the library ladder at Prince’s left for a monster. 

But no, the monster stood not to Prince’s left, but directly in front of him, shifting in the way only guilty men did. 

“I know about your relations with Princess.” Prince didn’t bother glancing around the library or lowering his voice. 

Guard didn’t move, but Prince could’ve sworn he paled slightly. “Your Highness, I don’t know–”

“Spare me the act of innocence.” Prince took a deep breath, reining in his anger like an unbroken stallion. 

The soldier wisely went silent, leaving the two men to stare at each other for a few moments.

“How long do I have to pack my bags then?” Guard asked, his chin held far too high for the situation. 

Prince considered it. It would be so easy to simply send him away. Prince wouldn’t have to go so far as to remove him from the King’s service. Guard could be reassigned to a different fort. Perhaps somewhere south where the high temperatures and heavy rays of sun would cause Guard to sweat like a pig and burn like a roast. The image of Guard in full uniform, wiping at his dripping and sunburnt forehead brought Prince such satisfaction.

Then came the image of Princess’s face when she learned Guard had been sent away. 

He sighed, dismissing the image. “You must act swiftly if the two of you are to avoid scandal.”

Confusion colored Guard’s face. “Sir?”

“You must–” Prince’s voice failed him, and he chided it. “You must…marry Princess.”

The soldier gaped at Prince, clearly questioning what he’d just heard. “Your Highness?”

“I won’t repeat myself,” Prince said frigidly. It’d been hard enough to say it in the first place. 

Guard stood perfectly still for a while, and Prince impatiently waited for the soldier to get his wits back so they could continue this conversation. 

“But…ho-how?” Guard stammered. “She is royalty, and I am but a lowly soldier!”

A lowly soldier, Prince scorned in his head. Guard rose through the ranks faster than most, and he caught the attention of far more than Princess, even if Princess was the only one Prince really cared about. 

“We must be crafty.” Prince took a deep breath, sitting down, the plush red velvet sinking underneath him. “I can’t simply promote you, it would look too suspicious. We will organize a way for you to receive an increase in rank. It will–”

Guard started frantically shaking his head, making Prince stop and narrow his eyes. Why was Guard protesting? He got to marry and become honorary royalty. He wouldn’t be king, not while Princess’s older brothers still drew breath, but the rank of a prince was nothing to sneer at. 

Perhaps he was simply having a hard time wrapping his mind around it.

“It will take some time, of course,” Prince continued, “which brings its own risk, but if we’re going to do this–”

“But a marriage between us would be improper!” Guard interrupted. 

Prince fixed him with a cold, hard stare. “And the impropriety didn’t cross your mind before you stole her virtue?”

“I did not steal her virtue!” Guard snapped. “She’s the one who–”

“I would recommend,” Prince interrupted calmly, “that you don’t waste my time by finishing that sentence.”

Guard shut his mouth, looking quite taken aback as he eyed Prince. 

Prince sighed. “It doesn’t matter how things progressed.” The words tasted like vinegar in his mouth, but he pushed on. “What matters is what we must do to protect everyone in this situation, and we will get started at once.” 

Guard blinked, bringing a hand to nervously fiddle with the chainmail of his soldier's uniform. 

This is it, Prince thought. This is the moment when Guard complies, and we plot for the wedding that will soon follow, a wedding I forced Guard into, a wedding Princess isn’t expecting, and a wedding that will break my heart. It would require all of Prince’s strength to sit through, and it would cost him all his self-respect, but he would do it.

For Princess, he would do it. 

But instead of hearing words of agreement, Prince saw a sudden, dangerous gleam in Guard’s eyes. “I’m sorry, You Highness, but I cannot do that.”

Prince simply stared, trying to process what he’d just heard. Was Guard disobeying a direct order? Perhaps he hadn’t understood that Prince’s statement was a command in the first place. “All due respect, this is not a request, Guard.”

Guard’s gleam didn’t dim. “All due respect, sir, but you cannot force me to marry her.” His voice was remarkably calm, as if they were discussing the weather and not the fate of a woman. 

For a moment, Prince couldn’t form any words. He could only stare at Guard, wondering how the man could be so cavalier and care so little about Princess’s reputation?

He wanted to toss Guard out the library window, but that wouldn’t save Princess.

Prince clenched onto his self-control, imposingly rising to his feet instead of rushing at Guard in fury. “Do you realize who you are speaking to?” He stepped closer to Guard, holding his posture as tightly as he held his fists. “I am your prince. I can demote you so that you are guarding a kitchen for the rest of your days. I can have you branded as a traitor and exiled. I can have you flung in the dungeon, facing execution in a week.” Prince raised his chin. “It all makes no difference to me.”

The threat in his tone would make most men concede by prostrating themselves in front of him. 

“If this kingdom finds out that the Tunican princess had affairs with a lowly soldier, the gossip will spread like wildfire,” Guard said slowly. “And if the Tunician King finds out, it will be war.” 

“You would create war for your own country?” Prince seethed.

Guard spread his hands. “This may be the country of my birth, but that doesn’t mean it’s the country of my life.” He pointed at Prince. “That’s your position.”

Prince gaped at Guard.

Had Guard gone mad? All the authority rested with Prince, and yet Guard acted as though he possessed the upper hand!

What pure selfishness.

What audacity.

Prince slammed his hands into the desk, making the candles shake and drip wax down onto the polished wood. “You dare threaten me with war?” 

Guard smiled back at Prince. “Do you know what Princess told me last night?”

Prince froze, sensing the wave of pain about to crash over him, an upper hand that was about to be gained. “That is neither here nor–”

Guard stepped closer to Prince, bearing his teeth like a child who hadn’t quite mastered the art of the smile. “She told me she loved me.” 

A groan of pain nearly ripped through Prince’s throat as the knot of pain coiled tightly in his chest. He blindly fell back onto his chair, trying to relearn how to breathe under the weight of this information. 

She…she loved Guard? Truly? It wasn’t merely some youthful dalliance or fleeting fancy?

Prince looked back to Guard with a sharp inhale, realizing too late that he’d given away too much with his silence. 

“You love her.” The triumph in Guard’s voice set Prince’s teeth on edge. “You can’t bear to see her in pain, or you would’ve sent me away instead of trying to get me to marry her. If you banished me or imprisoned me, it would only hurt her, and you can’t bear to do that.”

There was no point in denying it. Unlike Guard, Prince was a man strong enough to admit to the truth. So Prince glowered at Guard. “I’m warning you–”

“No, Your Highness.” Guard smirked. “I’m warning you, unless you promise me that you won’t mention this conversation to anyone, I’ll tell the Tunician King about our affair myself.” The satisfied smile widened. “See what happens to your precious princess then.”

“You are a snake,” Prince fumed.

Guard’s only reply was to grin. 

“Fine!” Prince burst out. “I promise, now get out of my sight!”

Guard wisely didn’t reply. He simply slipped out the library door, likely off to go sleep soundly in his bed.

Now what? Prince thought desperately.

Princess was not the first royal to be in this compromising situation, but the world would see her as damaged goods if they found out. It didn’t matter if it was a year from now when the truth got out, she would be seen as damaged goods, and whatever husband she possessed would turn his back on her, for no self-respecting husband wouldn’t care if his wife dallied with a soldier. Except for Lord NAME perhaps, but Prince couldn’t subject Princess to marriage with him. The lord’s breath smelled fouler than the stables, and he was old enough to be her grandfather. 

Whoever married Princess would have to know beforehand.

But who would ever marry her with that knowledge? And even if they didn’t care, Prince would be breaking his promise to Guard, and who knew what the soldier would do?

Prince sat at the desk, his hopes dwindling by the second.

If only status and dignity didn’t matter so much. If only the world could see Princess for her sweetness or even her beauty, and value her for those things instead of whatever station she possessed.

Alas, it seemed the only one who saw Princess’s sweetness and beauty was Prince and Guard, and Guard wouldn’t marry her.

Prince sat bolt upright.

Was that…?

Could it be…?

Prince lifted his hand to his hair. 

Was that really the solution? Marrying Princess himself?

The idea which would normally make his heart soar instead made his stomach turn over. 

He couldn’t marry her, not like this. Not as a last resort to stave off scandal and potentially war. Princess deserved better than that. Everybody deserved more than that. 

Prince leaned forward, resting his forehead on the desk. There had to be another way, a way where Guard wouldn’t win without Prince losing so badly. 

But there wasn’t. No other desperate solution in his mind was feasible in the amount of time they had left. 

Prince let out a breath. 

He couldn’t count on Princess to understand. He loved her, but she could be naive. No, Prince would conduct this himself, and it started with talking to his father. 

God help him.

A MONTH LATER

“Well, this is a sorry sight!”

Forever a light sleeper, Prince started from his horizontal position on the couch. He blinked blearily around at his study, trying to find the source of the words. For a wild moment, in the delirium of having one foot in the real world and the other in the land of dreams, he wondered if his desk had spoken to him.

Then Prince’s eyes fell on Brother, standing in the open doorway with folded arms. 

Prince glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s six o’clock in the morning,” he grumbled, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. 

“Yes, and you’re sleeping on a couch in your study alone instead of in your bed with your wife.”

Prince didn’t bother to answer the question asked by his younger brother’s tone. Yes, he didn’t sleep in their bedchamber anymore, but that didn’t mean he had to explain himself, certainly not to Brother, who had yet to be married. 

Brother swept towards Prince’s desk, ignoring the neatly ordered papers as he jumped up to take a seat on top of them. “Your wife says she hasn’t seen you for days. Is there a declaration of war I don’t know about?”

Prince almost bit back, not appreciating the dig. Yes, Prince had assumed the Tunican party had nefarious intent, and yes, it turned out to be a company of soldiers containing Princess’s dowry. But in Prince’s opinion, it was better to be overly cautious than taken unawares.

Getting to his feet, Prince shoved at his brother. “Get off your porcine behind.”

“It’s a royal behind to you.” Brother hopped off the desk to recline lazily on the sofa on which Prince had just woken from. 

“If you’re in the mood to pry,” Prince said bluntly, “go down to the launderers to hear the gossip. I’m busy.”

Brother sat forward, the usual merriment gone from his face. “Why are you avoiding Princess?”

Prince grit his teeth. He’d promised himself that he would only return to the scene of Princess’s encounter with Guard when he was sure he could control his temper. 

As of yet, his temper hadn’t dissipated. 

So he avoided it altogether—which meant he avoided her altogether. 

“What happened?” Brother asked, dropping his voice even though they were the only two in the room. “Did the two of you have a fight?”

Prince shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”

“If you can’t tell your own brother, who can you tell?” 

“I won’t be telling anyone anything.”

“Maybe not, but that only makes it worse for you.”

Prince wanted to scream at his brother, beg and plead with his brother to stop prying, but it would only make clearer the gravity of the secrets he held. 

“You’re married,” Brother said 

“Believe me, I’m painfully aware of that!” Prince snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to reel in the slip in his temper. 

“You need to get to know your new wife,” Brother insisted. 

“I know my wife!” Prince growled at his brother. A heavy silence fell while he once again tried to get his temper under control. “I know that she loves to spend her entire mornings sleeping. I know that her favorite flowers are white roses. I know that she has a birthmark on the side of her neck. I know that she hates boiled eggs and always wants her eggs fried.”

I know the name of the lowly soldier she loves.

Prince sat heavily on his chair, sagging against the armrests like he’d gone boneless. “I’m not ‘getting to know’ my wife because I don’t need to.” He swallowed. “It’s her that doesn’t want to know me.” 

“You think your wife doesn’t care for you,” Brother said, as if it were some grand realization, the truth behind what kept Prince awake at night. 

Prince bowed his head, wishing that that was all it was.

“You have to give her time,” Brother said gently. “She came here as an effort to strengthen kingdom ties, not to gain a husband.”

The great ache in Prince’s chest threatened to swallow him whole. 

He knew he’d practically forced himself onto Princess. That’s how she saw it, and it’s how Prince’s kingdom saw it. They saw him as a man who took what he wanted. But how could this ever be what he wanted? To be married to a woman who belonged in his dreams and yet loved someone else? To know that she wanted nothing more than to spend her time with Guard? 

He heaved a large sigh. “I will give her that time.” 

Brother didn’t say anything more, and Prince didn’t want him to. He didn’t want any more of his brother’s pity nor his brother’s advice. He wanted Guard gone, and he wanted Princess’s heart intact when Guard left. 

Impossible. 

“Leave me be,” Prince said wearily.

Brother hesitated a moment and then got to his feet and walked towards the door. He paused before opening it. “Why would she marry you if she didn’t see something in you?” With that, Brother left. 

Prince knew the question was rhetorical. He knew it was meant to make him believe in the chance that his wife could love him. But all it did was remind him of the answers he couldn’t share. 

At this point, Prince was fairly certain those answers would die with him, and the only way anyone would ever know was if they opened his chest to see the words carved into his heart.

-

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

Tag list:

@writing-on-the-wahl @thepenultimateword @elf-kid2 @thinkwrite5 @tobeornottobeateacher @brekker-by-brekkerr @girl-of-the-sea-and-stars

[writing-on-the-wahl]

“King to king, warrior to warrior, brother to brother”

“Peter didn’t need Edmunds thoughts or feelings, he needed Edmunds ears”

Ahhhh I have so many quotes I want to emphasize BUT THEY ARE SPOILERS!!!! Ahh so I guess you have to go read it so we can all be heartbroken together 😭🥺

Meg stop breaking my heart it is FRAGILE

…You Can Too ~ Peter Pevensie

This was originally the epilogue for Bruises, but I realized it could stand on it’s own, so I edited it to make sure you can read it without reading Bruises!

Warnings: angst

Word count: 2.9k

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The ice coating the columns slowly melted, the droplets of water hitting the stone floor. The puddle of water spread towards the bodies of the wolf and the hag laying haphazardly to the side. They were dead, the men knew that for a fact, but the strange flickering shadows from the torches gave the impression that they were moving. 

The two brothers sat on the edge of the stone table. 

Edmund stared unblinkingly at the carving of Aslan, but Peter’s eyes were fixed on the witch’s scepter in the center of the rapidly melting ice.

The Just king broke the silence first. “Caspian should be back soon with Doctor Cornelius. He’ll tell us what to do with the scepter.”

Peter didn’t reply, and Edmund swiveled to look at him, taking note of his dull expression and faraway eyes.”

“You hesitated,” Edmund said. “When the witch asked for your blood, you didn’t say no or run her through. You just…stood there.”

There was no answer. 

Edmund shifted so he was facing his brother. “You were thinking of Y/N, weren’t you?” Peter buried his face in his hands, letting out ragged breaths. Edmund let out a heavy sigh, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know you miss her.”

A bitter laugh sounded as Peter shrugged out of Edmund’s grasp, getting to his feet. “You don’t understand.” Edmund opened his mouth to say something. “You don’t get it,” Peter repeated flatly.

“What don’t I get?” Edmund asked softly. Peter returned his gaze to the scepter, and Edmund couldn’t help but notice the way his brother’s fingers twitched. “If you don’t talk about it,” Edmund began, making sure to keep his voice soft, “if you bottle it up…it’ll only grow worse.”

Peter pressed the pads of his fingers into his eyes, clearly fighting something, a feeling Edmund knew too well. But Edmund also knew what happened if pain was left to fester. 

“It’s just me, Pete.”

King to king, warrior to warrior, brother to brother. 

Keep reading

[writing-on-the-wahl]

EHEHE I LOVE IT! Their dynamic is sooo good!!

The beautiful twist of her being strangely comforted by him… and then you go and add FAKE DATING 😈😈 AND THE WAY SHE STANDS UP TO HIM AND TELLS HIM HE HAS TO DO IT AHHH

I am dying inside already for a part three 👉👈🥺

You Could Have Just Asked Part 2

synopsis: protagonist makes a deal with her villainous cousin for control of the family fortune in exchange for her freedom after the death of her parents.

cw: mentions of past controlling?abusive behavior, sexism, marriage between distant cousins (their family tree split 4 generations ago)

Part One Here

It felt unreal to wake up in her bed again without the heavy dread that always accompanied it. The weight of her parent’s expectations hung like a miasma around her each day as she squeezed herself into the too tight shell of the person they wanted her to be.

And now she only had to answer to her cousin, whose expectations she couldn’t seem to pin down now that he accepted her offer.

The last couple of days brought in an endless parade of lawyers with endless paperwork to arrange her ownership of all her father’s holdings. She left each meeting almost nauseated with anxiety at the responsibility. Her parents never taught her anything about how the companies worked, how the house was maintained, ect. They assumed the husband they picked out for her would handle it all.

Her cousin stood with her, a silent presence with sharp eyes that missed nothing, in every meeting. The lawyers balked at first, insisting this was private information just for her, but she insisted that his presence was soothing and he was the only family she had left to support her.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Despite the obvious danger he posed to her — she did not doubt for a second that he would kill her if he wanted to — the fact that soon all this mess would be his to deal with calmed her nerves.

Once all the paperwork had settled and the accounts transferred, her cousin summoned her to her father’s study (well, his study now). She arrived promptly, her stomach already twisting itself into knots. She tried to remind herself that he couldn’t access anything unless they were married. But he could have discovered a loophole during all those meetings and now no longer needed her.

Right now he looked a little harried, hair sticking up on end from where he must have run his fingers through it, pacing behind the desk with a sheet of thick stationary paper in hand.

“Good morning,” she said hesitantly, standing in front of his desk just as she did a week ago with her insane proposal. Where was that courage now?

“Morning,” he said, hardly sparing her a glance.

He said nothing else for a long moment, lips moving silently as he read whatever was typed on the paper.

“You wanted to see me?” she prompted after a while.

His gaze snapped to hers, as if he forgot she was there. It stung, strangely. Her father had treated her much the same way. He looked but never really saw her. She was an object, like his globe and his bookshelf.

“Yes.” He set the paper on the desk and ran his hand through his hair again. “We have an appointment at the courthouse for our marriage next week. Pick whatever clothes you think are appropriate.”

Her mouth fell open. “Courthouse?” she cried, unthinkingly. “You can’t do that!”

In a split second, all the agitated, restless energy in her cousin dissipated. He went perfectly, preternaturally still. Only his eyes flickered to her, cold enough to freeze her lungs in her chest.

“I can’t do what now?” he asked slowly.

She felt like she swallowed her own heart. “It’s not . . . .” Words withered and died on her tongue in the face of that.

He watched her struggle like a fish gasping for air before slowly stalking around the desk and coming up beside her.

“Come on now,” he said with false affability. “Spit it out. Tell what I can’t fucking do.”

A house of her own. Her freedom. Peace and serenity. No one to bother her. That’s what lay at stake here. She reminded herself of what she truly had to gain and lose from him and tried to find the same courage that drove her to his desk that night.

“If we get married at a courthouse they will not think it’s legitimate,” she said slowly.

His eyes narrowed but the iciness thawed a bit. “Why not? It’s perfectly legal.”

“It is legal. Technically. But you’re an unknown, from a part of the family no one has heard from in several generations. You show up right after my family’s deaths and marry me quietly in a courthouse just a few weeks later and everyone is going to investigate it as coercion: my father’s investors, the board of directors, the police, the government. He had friends in many high places and they are not going to just let you swoop in and take anything without a fight.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, digesting this information. Gradually his expression softened back into neutrality, the tight anger smoothed away.

“I expected a fight, but not from that angle,” he admitted. “What do you suggest we do? How are things done in your society?”

“You have to court me publicly for a few months at least, followed by an expression of intent to marry published in the society papers. Then a large, extravagant wedding with hundreds of guests to witness.”

“Court you? What the fuck does that entail?”

The language threw her. No men in her family or family friends ever dared to curse in front of women and no woman could ever get away with it.

“Um — gifts?” she stammered “And, um, outings? Walks in the park, going to the theater, dinner parties. That sort of thing.”

He stared at her. “Gifts and . . . Dinner parties? For how long do I have to keep this up?”

“Most couples take at least a year from courting to wedding,” she replied and then winced at his outrage.

“A year? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

She just wordlessly shook her head. Suddenly his outrage morphed into something more calculating. He crossed his arms, eyes cold again.

“And how do I know that you’re not just stalling for time until you can get rid of me?”

Because I don’t think like a criminal she thought but kept it decidedly to herself, as well as her growing exasperation.

“In wealthy families, marriages are carefully thought out and curated because it’s essentially a business transaction,” she explained. “There’s a lot of assets to consider from both families. A faulty marriage can destroy a company and an entire fortune that took generations to build. People don’t just get married on a whim in a whirlwind romance. There’s a process to consider.”

“Is that why you weren’t married off yet, even though you’ve already graduated college?” he asked.

“My father had been juggling several suits, watching their businesses grow or decline, before he made a final decision.”

“And what happens if we don’t follow this process to their satisfaction?”

“You could lose investors, contracts, business deals. The board of directors could declare you incompetent. They would drag your reputation down so no one else would dare partner with you.”

All things that had happened to a classmate in college, who eloped with his riding instructor. Her mother talked about the scandal for weeks. The family was ruined much to their competitor’s glee.

Her cousin closed his eyes for a moment. Then he dragged a hand down his face and sighed.

“Well. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a few months. I’ll leave the planning up to you. I have no idea what society people do for fun and I imagine my idea of a proper date would scandalize you speechless.”

Part of her couldn’t help but wonder what that would entail, though she didn’t dare ask it aloud. She also didn’t voice her concerns with leaving the choice up to her. She’d never had such responsibility before. Even when her family didn’t dictate her life for her, the passivity they’d cultivated would allow other friends to take the reins when planning an outing.

She didn’t want him to think she couldn’t handle it.

“I’ll take care of it,” she promised instead.

Before she could turn back to the door to make her leave, he gripped her chin in his hand, expression inscrutable.

“I’m trusting you to take care of this,” he said. “Don’t fuck that up.”

All her focus zeroed in on the firm point of contact in his fingertips. It was the most she’d been touched since she left the hospital. And even before that, her parents were not the affectionate sort.

He had a rough callus on the edge of his thumb and forefinger, their heat penetrating down to her bone.

“Do you understand?” he prompted.

She could only stare up at his eyes, so lightly blue they were almost colorless, and swallow. “Yes.”

He dropped his grip, hand falling back to his side, and a twisted part of her mourned the loss.

“We’re finished here. I have some phone calls to make.”

She nodded and fled to her room, cheeks burning.

For @thelazywitchphotographer and @writing-on-the-wahl

Thank you for encouraging me on this fic!

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ok I wrote this ages ago and it’s probably wayyy too dramatic but it does have an entire storyline behind it that I’m thinking of turning into a series (an adjusted rewrite of this would actually be a part in the middle haha)

Just wanted to reblog and add our new fantasci tags:)

Writing Snippet #5

Queen of the Harvest

*Vibe check: I listened to Warriors by Imagine Dragons while creating this one*

—————————————

Her city was surrounded.

The new queen sat on her throne, fingers brushing the oval sapphire hanging against her forehead as her advisors argued about what was to be done. Her golden hair stood in stark contrast to the dark wood of the throne, gleaming just as deeply as the the gilded heads of wheat carved into the back and sides of the chair.

She dropped her hand back into her lap.

“Could they not have waited for the mourning period to be over?”

Her quiet words brought a crashing halt to the debate.

“Your Majesty—” the Master of the Markets cautiously broke the silence, hands clutching the skirts of her dress.

But the young queen held up a hand. “There is no point going down that path, I know.” She turned to the old grizzled soldier standing near the throne.

“Master of the Watch?”

“Yes, my queen?”

“How many men do we have within the city walls?”

“Less than six hundred, Your Majesty.”

“Against how many?”

“At least five thousand, Your Majesty.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“I thought Prince Raiiyn was busy attacking the Southwest border. Is that not why we sent nearly our entire army to repel him? And yet, somehow he is here, in the heart of our land?” She looked around the room, her slender brows raised in question.

“Your Majesty, the Crimson Prince is indeed at the border with part of his army. It is one of his generals that now beats at our door.”

“How much food and water do with have within the city walls?”

The Master of the Silos stepped forward. “Enough to feed our people for over a year.”

“If we use the seed intended for planting,” muttered the Master of the Planting.

The Master of the Silos ignored this remark. “But with last year’s drought... the harvest did not yield much. Now that you are queen and the rains have returned, the wells should be...” he trailed off at the raw sorrow upon the queen’s face.

He bowed low, fingers to his brow. “Forgive me.”

The queen offered a small nod and pushed her grief away. “How long would it take our army to return?”

The Master of the Watch shrugged hopelessly. “If they could disengage without being pursued by the Crimson Prince?” His tone suggested just how likely that was. “Ten days? Twelve? The cavalry could be here in three days, but that would leave our army weak, and 400 horsemen would do little against the army camped outside our gates.”

“They have little by way of supplies. Our people took every scrap of food they could when they retreated to the city. We can try to wait them out. The odds of them breaching the gate—”

“Maing Soundolung!” The doors of the hall burst open and a soldier rushed forward.

“Maing Soundolung!” He gasped out as he bowed, fingers to his brow.

Her eyes narrowed in concern. He was addressing her not as the nation’s queen, but as ruler of the harvest. It was the first time the honorific had been used since the sapphire had been placed upon her. Something was very wrong.

“The southern gate is on fire.”

The queen pushed off the arms of her chair and rose to her feet. The entire council bowed, fingers to brows, as she strode through their midst and out the doors. The hall opened up directly onto the hill overlooking the colorful city, which was bathed in the light of the setting sun. In front of her, smoke billowed from the distant wall, flickers of red and orange gleaming through the haze.

She walked across the stone landing until her bare feet rested on the grassy slope that led down to the city proper. Silence reigned as she closed her eyes and felt the earth.

Finally, she spoke.

“The roots are half an inch long. Master of the Fields?”

“They can handle some rain, but not much.”

“Master of the Planting?”

“We have enough seed to replant nearly three quarters of the fields, but that leaves us nothing for next year.”

Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a breath. “Then we will pray it is enough.” The council bowed their heads as one.

Then she slowly lifted her hands from her sides, raising them towards the heavens. Black clouds formed on the horizon and drew closer as her hands continued to rise. Soon the sun was blocked by the dark boiling clouds.

Her palms touched above her head, and the skies opened. Rain poured down.

Water dropped from her lashes as she lowered her palms until her fingertips rested against the sapphire that adorned her brow.

She kept her eyes fixed on the angry flames that fought against the downpour.

They must have used oil.

“Signal for the guards to abandon the southern wall and have the townspeople retreat to the northern quarter.”

The advisors eyed one another but hastened to obey. A horn rang out in four quick bursts.

When the answering horn replied that all was clear, she split her hands. The rains slowed as she raised her right fist to the clouds and stretched her left down to the earth.

“Can you aim that carefully, Maing Soundolung?” The Master of the Market asked hopefully.

“I can try.” she replied, her quiet voice grim but determined.

In one swift motion, she spread her fingers wide. Thunder shook the air as bursts of lighting split the sky, striking the ground beyond the southern wall in angry streaks of light and power. The thunder rolled unceasingly as lighting struck again and again.

Rain streamed down her arms and dropped off her chin, but the Queen of the Harvest did not cease until a horn blast signaled that the enemy was retreating.

As her arms fell weakly to her sides, the air stilled and the clouds began to retreat.

The council stood, frozen in awe, as the queen looked out at the scorched strip of earth between her city and the vast enemy encampment.

To the right, a brilliant sunset had turned the sky blood-red. A sign of what was to come if she followed this path.

“How fast can you get a message to our army?” She said, voice steady but eyes wide as she took in the destruction.

“Our fastest messenger bird could be there by tomorrow. Are you going to call for the cavalry?”

“No. That would only result in a slaughter.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I’m going to surrender.”

—————————————

She raised her hands to ward off the building protests. “I cannot fend off their attacks indefinitely without destroying the crops, and neither can our army keep the prince’s force at bay forever. If they take the city by force, they will show no mercy. If I surrender, I can negotiate the terms.” She swallowed, then continued. “He does not want this war to drag on either. They want to rule over Zea because they have no good soil of their own. They rely on our harvest as much as we do. He will accept—”

“You cannot negotiate with that monster!”

The queen turned her head to look at the Master of the Fields. “He is a prince, a not a monster.”

“The Crimson Prince is a demon!”

“Prince Raiiyn is a Tyger. If heightened senses and reflexes make someone a demon, then what does that make me?”

She gestured to the burnt earth behind her.

Her advisors did not speak, but the soldier who’d first brought word of the attack stepped forward. “It makes you Cerelia: Soundolung, Queen of the Harvest, Singer of Storms, Protector of Zea.”

He bowed, one hand to his brow, the other raised as if to touch hers. As he straightened, his burning eyes met hers. “It makes you our queen.”

She inclined her head, touching her sapphire, symbol of her role and conduit for her power. “Then as your queen, I must do what I can to protect our people. From starvation and enemy soldiers alike.”

“Your Majesty,” the old Master of the Watch was regarding her with sorrowful respect. “Surrender... you know the cost?”

She turned back towards the hall, where the doors still sat open, the last light of the day casting streams of light on the throne of gilded wheat.

“I know the cost.”

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Dai Discovers Masterlist

1. Happy Dai

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ahhhh this was so fun! Thanks for the tag @thepenultimateword!

I’ll tag @im-a-wonderling @valiantlytransparentwhispers @gingerly-writing @kitsunesakii and @nuttynutcycle :)

Three fun facts about me:

1. I’m obsessed with pretzels

2. I minored in Arabic in college

3. I can ice-skate backwards

Favorite Season:

AUTUMN!! I love sweater weather and hot chocolate and the beautiful vibrant leaves 🍁

Continent where I live:

North America

How I spend my time:

Working, reading, plant momma, swimming, hanging out with my sisters/friends, writing (a given lol), taking baths?, baking, shopping (grocery shopping IS a hobby ok😂🙈) and various art/crafting projects😇

Are you published?

No but I am 90k into my wip and I WILL LIVE TO SEE IT IN BOOK FORM

Introvert or Extrovert?

Introvert but I need my peoples. I enjoy getting to know people one on one/small groups but get overwhelmed and exhausted by big groups of strangers (but I can fake it pretty decently?!)

Favorite meal:

Ahhhh so many delicious foods 😅 I’d have to say rn Nashville hot chicken or gyros/shawarma. Or Chinese food!! 😋😋

Meet the Writer Tag

Tagged by @eli-writes-sometimes, find his post here.

Tagging: @artcoffeecats, @cherrybombfangirlwrites, @the-stray-storyteller, @enne-uni, @hollyannewrites, @iamdexter123, and whoever else wishes to do this.

Rules: Use this picrew and make yourself and answer the questions below.

Three fun facts about me:

I like cats

I am a taurus

I am currently learning how to cook

Favourite season:

Probably Autumn, the weather is cooler than our bad Summers but it does get cold. Like now

Continent where I live:

Oceania

How I spend my time:

Playing video games, writing, blogging on here, volunteer and getting back into reading

Are you published?

Nope, but I hope to one day. In terms of drafts I have finished two and working on a few more

Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert

Favourite meal?

I love garlic and lemon pasta and hoping to cook that next week

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Help me find a snippet!

So months ago I read a snippet that was villain x henchman. The henchman was a woman who was Villains secretary and she nursed this desperate unrequited love for him. Then Villain investigates her for being a spy/mole, which shocks and devastates her because she's so loyal to him and he doubts her. And it left off on a huge cliffhanger and I can't find it again or who did it or if it was ever continued. Am I crazy? Did I make this snippet up or is it real?

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Ahh this was so fun! Thanks for the tag @thepenultimateword! I agree- unclear shouldn’t be an option🙁🙁

Tagging @im-a-wonderling @kitsunesakii and @arealphrooblem and anyone else who wants to join!

Thanks for the tag @thelastplantagenet 😊💚

1. Do this uquiz.

2. Do this picrew.

3. Tag people.

feel free to play if you’d like :)

@buncha-angry-kids-with-no-money @thatoneandlonelyemo2005 @with-the-words-all-wrong

[writing-on-the-wahl]

AHHHH PEN I LOVE HIM SO MUCH THANK U FOR SHARING!

In return here are some more of the little babiesss

[writing-on-the-wahl]