#the middle is supposed to be like a whole tribute to your love of his shirts because i appreciate you always keeping us up on that

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"How It's Always Been." Ethan Landry History.

Ay, ayyyy! So uh. I am just so, so into Ethan Landry it is fucking stupid. So much that I am posting this thing, a history mock up for Ethan of what I think life is like, this is angsty, family drama heavy, character deep, dive-y and includes some murder too! Enjoy it! I am gonna do some smut of him soon but for now, remember this is just my thoughts and headcanons and opinions, so enjoy this!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. NOT READER INSERT. This is just about Ethan baby. Warnings: SCREAM  6 SPOILERS. Family Drama. Angst. Neglect. Abuse. Coercion. Complex Emotions. Mixed Morality. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ethan Is A Fucked Up Guy. And I Love Him For It.

—

Life for Ethan has never, ever been easy, or if it ever was, it was before he was truly cognizant and able to remember properly. Something always felt off but it took him a long time to be able to pin it down, and when he did it was like a glass shattering moment. The pane fractures and splits, breaking apart with knowledge that once received cannot be unlearned. Unfixable, even if you were to shift through the broken shards and painstakingly glue it back together your hands would be left torn and bleeding and the cracks would still show clear as day through the smudges of crimson fingerprints.

The biggest injustice in Ethan’s life was the worst one a person can suffer, the cruelty of total indifference. 

Have you ever experienced that? Being so totally and thoroughly ignored by everyone who is supposed to matter most? The people who share what is supposed to be a home with? Who birthed you into this world? Forced you the same way we all are into this shared experience we all call life, meant to play with the cards we are dealt. The middle of three and painfully ignored in all things in favour of his siblings. He can’t even be that mad at Quinn, to start anyway, it’s all about Richie, it’s always all about Richie.

He remembered the only good times and memories he had with his brother, when he wasn’t being a total fucking asshole, was when his needs and interests were being catered to and even then, not all the time. Filming his Stab tribute film was a complete mixed bag of some shockingly awesome moments mixed in with Richie having all the unwarranted, misplaced rage and self confidence found in a typical film bro who has watched one too many movies and swept one too many things Quinten Tarantino did under the rug. He was going on about how some aspects weren’t right, redoing takes over and over while waxing poetic about his fucking vision and berating his amateur friends and family who have never made a film or acted in any serious capacity before. 

Ethan used to love his brother, used to fucking look up to the guy but as he aged, rose tinted glasses gave way to show the truth of the kind of person Richie really was as well as the realization that he was the reason that their parents didn’t give a fuck about him. 

At first he tried not to blame him, Richie didn’t ask for all the attention but he sure as shit didn’t stop it either, and why would he when he is being so heavily catered to? His feelings about all of it were complex to say the least, going from real family caring about family, to disillusionment, to annoyance to anger, and eventually, outright hatred. He tried to get over it, tried to fix it and heal the hurt before it reached that level and the damage was permanent but Richie didn’t make it easy at all. From the lack of interest in Ethan’s life, hobbies, general well being, to the outright bullying he subjected him to at points. Richie is only a quarter of an inch taller than him but you’d think he was a full foot taller from how he acted so superior about the whole thing. 

Ethan felt bad for a moment when he found out about Richie dying, because a small, sick part of him was fucking happy. Experiencing joy thinking that now with Richie gone he was the only son, that meant something, now his dad would pay attention, now he would care-

Except that isn’t the case at all. Even in death it’s still all about Richie. 

At first it made sense, grief, mourning, sure, he was feeling it too to a degree, it was natural of course. 

But then Gale Weathers fucking book came out. 

Wayne is not the most reasonable man on the best of days, which a cop? Unstable? Unheard of. Then when the whole story came out and he read it, he was livid. Ethan swears some nights when he is lying awake he can still hear his father screaming, breaking things, tearing pages out of that damn book, yelling on and on about how it was- “Slander! That bitch can’t say these things about our boy! It isn’t true! He-he would never-”

Ethan isn’t exactly surprised. Richie was always really, really into not just the movies but the reality of it, the actual cases that book and film drew from. Wayne indulging in his habit by providing him with some ill gotten possessions of real life murder and crime scene evidence didn’t help either. 

At one point, when he was still trying to fix this, trying to salvage what was left of their relationship as family, he used one of his few talents and escapes to entertain his brother. He has a love for art, drawing, and has filled sketchbooks over the years with his sketches and musings. Mostly on the nights he would be re-watching a movie he had already seen, picked apart and analysed for the fifth time at least, something to help divide his attention and occupy his hands the night gaming didn’t seem appealing.  

He did a series of sketches in secret, he researched a lot to make them happen, and one night he showed Richie pencil outlines, red ink for blood, showing off various people from the cases, either dead or dying or whatever struck him as right. He thinks it might have been the time Richie was happiest with him,recalling the praise and excited ramblings, even if Richie didn’t know art, he gave it up for Ethan’s attention to detail and the visceral and violent nature he depicted in his work. 

“The black and white with only the blood being coloured?! It’s so, what’s the right word-Striking! It’s so striking.” 

Ethan tried to be happy too but it still felt hollow because it was all about what his brother wanted, when he tried to show him any non-Woodsboro or Stab related sketches he didn’t give them a second glance and certainly no compliment. Richie started making requests of even more intense extreme and grotesque nature, and then it became somewhat of an obligation as opposed to a project he was doing on his own time and for his own strange curiosity and enjoyment. Portraying these horrifying acts with starting realism was challenging and he had to admit that when he nailed the milky dead eyed look of a victim in a crime scene or the cross hatching was just perfect, he felt a sick and odd sense of…What was it? Pride? Amusement? Longing? It was a hard to define, outright miasma of emotions. 

The drawings get less and less as time wears on and his brother stops asking as much.

His dad is fucking insane, so is his sister, they say grief makes people do crazy things, but plotting to frame someone for murder to clear your son’s name is up there as probably one of the most extreme reactions one can have. He didn’t even really want to be a part of it but his dad and sister just immediately started talking as if he would be down, not considering his feelings or that he might not want this but that was how it was in his family.

No one ever thought of what Ethan wanted, they just assumed he’d go with the flow, the conversation “convincing him” was short, like they expected him to give way with a stiff breeze. So he had no choice, he lied, he said, of course he wanted to help, that he felt everything that they did but he didn’t. 

What he did feel was a misguided sense of hope, the idea that he might be able to have a real place in this family once everyone feels that they have avenged Richie. They can be a family again and now that he is the only son his dad will have to pay attention to him, and have to love him. 

Everything they suggested he went along with, all the convoluted and complicated details he was here for it and ready to do whatever they asked.

Wrapping his head around the act of it took some doing. Some late nights sat up wondering if he could really do that, could take someone's life, and after much internal fighting he decided it was worth it. What else did he have outside of his family? He invested so much time, so much effort, he couldn’t give up now, if this works then they can be happy and he can have everything he ever wanted, have them care about and for him. 

He wanted to show them as well as himself he could, if Richie could do it, so could he. 

It was around this time he showed his dad the sketches he showed Richie before. It did what he hoped, showed him he was serious about this, it curried some favour, he felt good, a sense of pride as his dad complimented his work. When the sketches were framed and included in the collection he actually cried that night, when alone, that sense of hope grew.

The plan formed quickly, Wayne and Quinn were obsessed and entirely consumed with it. He learned fast that anything he had to contribute would be heavily scrutinised and most likely rejected, he was just expected to fill the role they wanted of him.

As the plan grew it became painfully apparent that there was a lot expected of him, not only did he have to fit into the plan, play his part in the killings, he had to insert himself into the friend group, be there to help lead them where they needed to be and throw off suspicion and more. Quinn slotted herself in as Sam and Terra’s roommate and all the while had been frothing up a subreddit and online community dedicated to proving Richie as innocent and Sam as the true villain. He watched a few times and was present when Quinn would be going on her posting sprees, VPNs, fake IP’s and dummy accounts where tons upon tons of things were posted to push the narrative in the direction she wanted. It was honestly kind of scary, the dedication, the meanness she displayed. Ethan was glad he wasn’t on Quinn’s shit list, having her being not just pissed but willing and ready to dedicate large swaths of her life and time to tearing your life apart is terrifying. 

The lead up was a nerve wracking, what if he couldn’t worm his way in? What would he do then? It would cement him as a failure to his family. There was a lot of pressure to succeed but luckily, he and Chad got along really well. 

Or at least that is what Chad and the group thought which is what was really important. 

When it came down to it, after he was settled into the routine and knew the core group, it was time for the real plan to get going. The killings kicked off, he’d been amping himself up for it, trying to really get himself in the headspace to do it but something unexpected happened. Wearing the outfit and the mask, he chased down the victim that was supposed to be for practice, to make sure he could really do it when the time came, a totally nobody of a person, he managed to catch them with relative ease. 

The knife slid into that first victim and when he stabbed them, he felt alive, more alive than he ever had and also he felt seen. 

Even with the mask on, even though the person couldn’t see his face, their eyes were locked on him, centred in this moment, focused totally on him, the blade in his hand, driven into their stomach, it was shockingly intimate. A nervous lick of his lips behind the decaying mask, heavy breathing, his own chest heaving, an urge strikes, he follows the instinct he twists the knife. The body below him, because that is what it is, no longer a human, not a person with a life, thoughts, hopes or dreams, it is a body, one that is quickly dying, is going weak in the knees. 

Shakey blood stained hands clutching weakly at him, trying to push him away but he had stolen all the breath from their lungs when he forced his way inside, had affected them. He had changed them, is in the process of destroying them, altering them irrevocably, for the worse. He feels powerful for the first time maybe ever. He pulls the knife out and the soon to be corpse gasps, mouth open, blood on their teeth they whimper pathetically, he drives the knife forward again and it becomes a blur after that. Stab, rip, tear, in and out, back and forth warm sprays of blood and sounds of pain and anguish, wetness soaks through his glove and the robe and nothing has felt better. Being inside someone, turns out, no matter the context of the penetration, is a sensation he had been craving down to the marrow in his bones and now he was woken up to it. Knew what he had been missing. He craves it again, he wants more.

The strength it takes to accomplish the goal, to leave the body on the wet pavement, totally slack, eyes dead, skin turning cold, leaves him panting, sweaty and satisfied, staring down at the mess of red and spilled intestines. It didn’t feel like enough. Thankfully this is only the first time, the first of many, there will be plenty more opportunities to play, to have fun, to practise and get better, to forge new memories. 

Robe and mask in his bag, coat slipped on and zipped up to cover the blood that had soaked through the costume to his shirt, he leaves the body behind after dumping it into the dumpster. A trembling hand ran through heavy sweat soaked curls, he felt totally high on what he just did. 

No one expects him, no one is aware of the brutality he is capable of because of all the sheer frustration he has bubbling underneath the surface. He is going to show everyone that he has worth, he can do this. 

A chew of his bottom lip as he thinks and relives what he just experienced, vivid images and sound dancing through his mind as he is walking to the subway, thoughts of how this can give him everything he wanted. 

It’s all so clear, no one can ignore him with a seven inch steel blade buried in their body. If this is all it took to get a little attention and recognition, then he would have started doing it sooner. Richie was a self centred idiot, but he was right about this at the very least, killing has undeniable appeal that he intended to fully lose himself in, and finally things will change for him.

#Ethan Landry #scream 6 x reader #BHF writing #WELP #HERE WE ARE #THE NEW BOY #I loveeee him #As you can see by the angst before we ever get any smut #I am very very into him and have so many feelings #ENJOY IT

[importantgalaxyrunaway]

The ring 💍 (finnick odair x y/n part 2)

part one is called nightmares and is on my account

AUTHORS NOTE 📝: I’m so sorry I tried to make it longer I really did. I’m sick again but I really like this story. It’s short but I plan to put many chapters of it. Let me know what you think and please like I worked hard

CONTENTS: so much fluff 🍊

me and finnick were devastated when we heard the news. That one or both of us would have to go into the arena. I had more of a chance of being reaped than him. There are more male victors than female victors. But finnick tells me of his place and plan in the rebellion as we are walking on the beach. On the beach surely they are not listening.

releaf floods my face. I’m so happy I could cry. Yes, we still have to survive first but there is a chance that both of us could make it out of the arena. I breathe in the ocean breeze as I feel the wet sand under my feet. I still dreaded the possibility of going into that arena.

“y/n I want to ask you something” he says stops walking and turns to me. He gets down on one knee and pulls a ring out of his pocket. It is beautiful and with a blue gem in the middle and diamonds on the side. He must have gotten it from someone in the capital. We all knew what a blue engagement ring means. Devotion and loyalty. That’s what we’ve been to each other. What we’re have always been to each other. Ever since we won our games. We have cared for each other. We alone know the horrors of the arena. At first we were just friends but then we became lovers. We have been together for almost 5 years now. But why would we be public about it? We have his reputation in the capital to uphold. But now, all bets are off.

“If we get out of the games will you marry me? And if I die I want this ring to be a reminder of my love”

“yes! Yes!” I couldn’t believe it. I feel so happy I could burst. Finnick picks me up as spins me around happily smiling. When he stops I give him a long kiss. It’s soft and sweet yet full of compassion. He then puts the ring on my finger.

“I love you, I just want you to know that incase….” But I stop his thoughts with a kiss instead

“but promise me one thing. We are not keeping our relationship a secret anymore. Aren’t I as brave as katniss?”

He smiles like that was more he ever could have hoped for “your braver than katniss darling” he reaches up and caresses my cheek

“I’ll never take it off” I say as I intertwine my hands with him and we walk down the beach. I wish we could stay like this preminatly happy in each other’s company. But we both know that tomorrow is the reaping. I suppose that why he decided to propose now. In case it was to late later.

—————————-💙🌊💍————————

“Ladies first” I hear in a capital accent from our district escort. She fishes around the bowl and catches a slip of paper. “Y/n l/n” she reads aloud. I walk stiffly towards the microphone. Feeling the eyes of the whole district on me. She then reads out the slip of paper for the the male tribute

“Finnick odair”

that’s it. No going back, this rebellion plan better work or were both dead. But one thing was for sure, our love is true and we are not going to hide it anymore. Why couldn’t we be as brave as katniss and peeta? I wasn’t going to take this ring off. I would wear it into the arena as my token. From now on I am his and he is mine.

“Happy hunger games and may the odds be ever in your favor”

#fanfic #hunger games #thg finnick #thg fanfiction #thg #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #finnick odair #finnick imagine #dating finnick odair would include #finnick odair x reader #thg x reader

[airyairyaucontraire]

Watching The Mandalorian S3EIforget, "The Pirate"

Okay, 44 minutes of a show that's rapidly losing my allegiance, not for being offensive or brutal, just for being kind of dumb and palpably losing interest in its title character. Let's go then.

If this show was going to go with pirates while also being addicted to re-introducing characters from the CG TV shows, I really feel they could've graced our screens with Hondo Ohnaka. But I fundamentally don't want them to keep bringing in characters from the CG shows. The only exception I would make is Rex, because Temuera Morrison, but I would rather still have more Boba, because also Temuera Morrison.

They haven't even tried to re-member the dismembered IG-11 statue.

shiny ass-kissing droid

and now there are pirates

and I just feel like a man in Greef's position -

actually speaking of Greef's position, I love how before skyping the mossy pirate captain, he squares up and puts his hands on his hips like Henry VIII posing for Holbein

- okay, a man in Greef's position, formerly deeply involved with the bounty hunters' guild, ought to have a staff of mercenaries on site in readiness for shit like this. Instead he's as unprepared for the possibility of bad guys with a big ship showing up wanting to take his stuff as Boba was on Tatooine. Presenting these middle-aged guys who have been involved in the underbelly of the galaxy for their whole adult lives as so naïve about the security challenges of running one's own fiefdom during a somewhat lawless period of regime change is such a bizarre choice. Why is everyone in this show so dumb about stuff they should be totally used to? They're not Luke Skywalker coming from the middle of nowhere with starry eyes and feathered hair. Like they should be smarter than me at this type of thing, and I'm a typist from Auckland.

there's a PIRATE NATION taking over the Mid Rim? THAT I ACTUALLY AM SEMI-INTERESTED IN so I bet they won't show it.

Retreat to the lava flats - a large, open area without shelter or cover. Super.

exsqueeze me, Disney+ subtitler, but PSYCHEDELIC ROCK MUSIC PLAYING?

well, the krill farmers are still pumping out the blue juice, I see. And here's a nice Korean Canadian dad - you know what? I feel like Captain Teva is here to provide the Papa Smurf beard that Rex is not onscreen to give us.

Okay, so just as apparently Ragnar just hung out in a dinosaur's crop totally uninjured for 12 hours minimum while a search party stopped to rest overnight on their way to him, Mr Kim has time to travel to Coruscant and try to get a meeting with his superiors while Nevarro is under active pirate attack. He doesn't say "screw it, time is of the essence, I'll render aid and take the consequences." This show's idea of time in rescue situations is bizarre.

Who else feels like this fucking boring New Republic plotline was supposed to be part of the Rangers show that presumably Cara Dune would have headed up if the actress hadn't insisted on being a douchebag on Twitter? And now they're just trying to fold it into The Mandalorian. I resent it.

You know, when I heard the name Tuttle I had a brief feverish flowering of hope that a M*A*S*H tribute about the insanity of military bureaucracy might be in the works, but then it withered.

I know this guy from somewhere, somewhere relatively recent, but I am unable to place him. I am not interested enough to look him up.

I'm so irritated by the lazy cynicism of "If the Rebellion got into power they'd be useless." They're not the Democrats.

so now everyone's just wandering around in the blazing sunlight on hot black lava flats. Sorry Greef, your planet sucks.

And now... is this Jurassic Planet? yep, so I hope he doesn't get eaten by a serpent while he's here. Dude. Sir. You're standing so close to the bay that the mosasaurs like to pop out of. You've got your back to it. Please.

please help me

why does Paz address Teva as "Blue Boy"? He is dressed from neck to ankle in the most garish orange. Paz's own armour is predominantly blue. Is he fucking colour-blind?

Why does the Disney+ subtitler still head up Din's dialogue as "THE MANDALORIAN" when we've known for actual years that his name is Din Djarin?

they pride themselves on their secrecy... and their idiocy.

You know, this would never have happened if you'd stuck with your plan of repairing IG-11. He was no snitch.

Din calls him "Blue" too! HE IS DRESSED IN ORANGE

I CANNOT RECALL THE COLOUR BLUE EVER BEING SIGNIFICANTLY ASSOCIATED WITH THE REBELLION OR NEW REPUBLIC

HE HAS SOME BLUE STENCILS ON HIS HELMET BUT HE DELIBERATELY TOOK THAT OFF AND LEFT IT IN HIS SHIP WHEN HE GOT OUT TO PARLEY SO DIN AND PAZ CAN'T SEE IT

anyway BK's doing her swaggery walk again and while we're at it WHO ELSE PROMINENTLY WEARS BLUE?

and now we're going to have a long, leisurely meeting to discuss because what is time? what is urgency?

"and our children can feel what it is to play in the sunlight" - which we already let them do because we take absolutely no safety precautions about living right next to a bay where dinosaurs regularly pop out of the water or swoop from the sky to devour our young

"Does anyone else wish to speak?" No, because we are all just elaborately dressed extras. We know our place.

I'm... skipping stuff.

So the pirates are boozing it up in the school, like they wanted to. I'm happy that someone got what they wanted.

I like that one warthog pirate!

Did a Salacious B. Crumb monkey just tip off the Mandos?

I know they want me to be excited for the big battle, I know they do... I'm just too grumpy. I have a glass of wine, though, so that's good. Recognisable salmon pink in colour, The Ned Pinot Gris 2022 showcases classic aromas of quince, pear drop and vibrant stonefruit. The palate is lush with juicy nectarine and Braeburn flavours supported by an underlying hint of spice that leads to an unctuous ripe finish. A versatile wine when it comes to food matching with its notable fruitiness and gentle acidity. Try pairing this silky wine with succulent chicken thighs added to a creamy, lemon fettuccine pasta sauce.

you know, I don't usually tolerate words like unctuous and succulent being thrust at me by a mere product description, but I'll allow it

So... there wasn't much point to the mossy pirate at all, was there? Unless he bailed out with a parachute, he blowed up.

yes, the Anzellans are very cute. Always a pleasure to see them.

You know why I have a problem with this effort to do a whole thing about Bo-Katan and reuniting Mandalore and everything? It's the problem of trying to link up with the sequels, which were made before The Mandalorian was a consideration and gave absolutely no hint that the Mandalorians were a consideration either. Did they just "retake Mandalore" and then become totally isolationist, neither fighting the First Order nor supporting the Resistance? Did they get wiped out for keeps? Where were they when shit went down? You don't have to engage with that if you're prepared to just tell a small story of one dude and his kid, and a personal saga of family and faith, friendship and love, but once you commit to doing a big political historical story, you've gotta and it seems doomed to be unsatisfactory.

anyway if people are just whipping their helmets off now I reckon Din should pop back to Tatooine and show Cobb his smile

#The Mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian s3 #spoilers #mando critical

[protocolseben]

slipshod writing because i just want a companion random story to that edit accompanied with some drawings (and also all written in lower case)

fernando is pissed as balls that his engine broke down in abu dhabi. He can’t even have a leaving-team race in peace, and worst of all, no donuts. he can’t send seb off like he wanted. everything was going to plan even. alas renault’s high quality engine™ decided it had enough of the year and wrecked itself in the middle of the race. 

karma in a way after ocon’s car also went spectacularly, it seems

so there he is dragging his items and the whole nine yards to the aston martin motorhome with his friend and basically minder because he’s also had enough with alpine management screwing him over. aston was nice enough to have a few spare rooms so he dumps everything in there and just. sits on a chair. he’s properly rinsed anyway and tired and also sad that now he has one less super experienced driver to go toe to toe with and really get him going

Internally he’s wishing really really hard. i wish with whatever is left of my heart that i get a really fun season next year with not a lot of crashes and good good racing please i'll politick a little less even.

something in his mind makes a faint click sound, but he's gone and napped too far to care about it.

Anyway his friend just lets him ko on the floor because it’s fernando, he knows what he's doing 95% of the time so its alright.

might as well acclimatise to the aston place that feels immediately extra homey and already accepted him as compared to alpine. Its gonna be his team for a while after all. uncharacteristically he just straight up KOs on the floor and no one had the mind to actually wake him up because that’s a dirty floor sir. but it's a comfy dirty floor for starters.

- - - - -

Anyway it gets real funky when he gets up and is in a hotel, but he felt like the entire weight of last season was completely gone. Its an athlete thing to always be at the top of your game, but right now he feels the same as if it was 2012 all over again and superduper motivated. That’s absolutely not right.

It’s dawn and really cool out and his stuff is still there except none of them are alpine related. It’s practically his black sponsorless suit and normal kimoa stuff. His helmet is…not bwt? It’s his standard asturias flag, not the horrible and pink but also seemingly missing the tribute flag lines he did for seb’s last race.

wait a minute, the season just ended.

he finds out he's near silverstone and his friend’s basically at the door telling him he needs to get ready to go to aston’s hq, meet the team etc etc. well ok sure no problem, except he swore it was not that fast dude. sadly the calendar on his phone says 1 JANUARY 2023 ..

He gets driven to the hq by his friend and he loves how nice the whole place is turning out. Getting to know the engineers and also Lance’s engineers and see how the car will go. Judging from how chatty they all are they are really excited about it, saying that he was excited about it, but fernando has legitimately zero idea about how the aston car felt like. because he can’t remember if he did a post season test or anything, and for once in his life just hoping he's not too clueless while looking around in the factory

Now you see, the other driver standing there waiting around isn't 185.5cm and fernando remembers this very well because Lance is a lanky man. This person is very much 176cm and wearing a knitted aston beanie and has the stupidest but gentle looking hair curls. He also has the biggest shit eating grin on his face seeing fernando come in and welcoming him in happily 

“wait you're supposed to be retired totally wtf”  fernando is whispering in semi-panic later when the engies are all away to get things because “THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED” and he is positive the date is 1 January 2023 

“No??? We welcomed you in and stuff remember”

“No you said you were done with the whole thing and you wanted to do new things not driving”

"fernando you're getting old!!!! i signed for another year"

This makes nando the most confused he has been in years and to make sure he proper isn't on some funny drug, he asks seb if he did post season testing

“Yeah you were really loving it you said the engine was really solid despite the miles i did”

Nando runs out of questions because he knows seb is almost incapable of lying unlike him who has chronic politicking syndrome. Also because the man is looking at him like he has grown five heads and that's not a good way to greet your new teammate.

- - - - -

He leaves the factory very confused but also very satisfied in the racing part of things, because the car feels so strong. He gets a genius idea on the way to his car and knows the internet is permanent, and he checks his twitter and-

that is not right. there isn't a single post about seb’s retirement. In fact the month of July-August is celebrating that both he and seb are going to aston, hell there’s an edit.

it takes him a minute to parse that this is in fact the new reality and he has 2 months to slowly get to it. he thinks he has a plan, but it fizzles before realising the contact he wanted to speak to wasn't even in his phone. briatore has stopped existing in his list .

...

who's briatore again?

#writing #idle thoughts #alexa play pools by gla/ss animals lol just vibin while shitposting

[fantroll-purgatory]

Hey! It’s me again!

Yeah, hey it’s TR! Lol it’s been a minute so I had to backtrack to figure out your old username. CD has already started this one from a little while ago so I’m just here to bring the last of it home.

World: Alternia

Name: Feyarr Ridawk

Yep, I remember! Something about this feels…bird-y? Which given that your theming is inventing and reptiles we might need to step it back a little. How about Mandar Ritalc? Mandar because inventions are associated with fire, which made me think of fire salamanders, and because of Mandark in Dexter’s Laboratory. Ritalc still retains a similar lexical flow to the original last name but is just a mixup of Lacertilia, which is the suborder of lizards.

Meaning: none, this is part of the ongoing series of my first fansession

Age: 6 sweeps

Gender: male

Theme/Story: Feyarr’s whole theme is inventing and lizards. He fills up space with worthless trinkets and devices, and his hive is so messy and booby trapped that even his moirial can’t get through without accidentally hurting himself.

I don’t know if you’ve seen She-ra and the Princesses of Power, but going a sort of vaguely Entrapta route with this character could be fun! You’re trying to build up a Bard of Space here, and Bards of Space are going to restrict movement. Like, literal, physical movement. Passively, of course, they’re not standing there and holding anyone hostage, but traps and such are a great way to communicate this feeling! 

Space is also embodied by a sort of patience that you would want to challenge here. He’s a bard of space, so he’s destroying that sort of big-picture, let it flow mentality and actively chasing after things. Think of an impulse to do things Now, creating before he has a good idea of what he’s doing, being overambitious and thoughtless and often getting people Stuck because of his behavior. Mostly literally, but other times more metaphorically. 

Goals: Redesign if needed, reworking of the character, the usual.

Strife Specibus: flailkind. he’s pretty clumsy with it, but has personally decorated it so he wants to keep it.

Having a personally decorated weapon is a really cute idea that I appreciate, but I also am not quite sure if a flail really fits the theme you’re building here? He’s an inventor, not a knight. I almost feel like you should use something like a Trapkind where he has some inbuilt thing. Or maybe even something that’s just like what?kind, that functions in a manner similar to jokerkind or Vriska’s dicekind where it just does some nonsense. 

Fetch Modus: He has to break down “walls” to get the item.

If he likes building traps, I can see him trying to make it difficult to get in. Maybe he could have a Laser Trap modus where you’re supposed to use a certain pattern to get in, but if you mess up you get boobytrapped. Makes it really difficult to use under pressure! The last thing you need in a near-death situation is to get caught in a trap! 

Blood Color: indigo

Symbol and Meaning: Sagigo (EZ)

Handle: twistedExplosion[TE]

You haven’t gone a lot into his love of destruction here in his profile, so I don’t know how I feel about explosion being his major name association. BUt I don’t want to take it away entirely…. How about:

wrecktifiedInnovator [WI]

Wrecktified pays tribute to the idea of rectifying or rebuilding something, while also nodding to wreckage/destruction. There’s an added benefit that wrecktified in informal parlance also means “A response designed to stop bad behavior, which paradoxically produces more of it,” which feels fitting. Innovation is fairly straightforward! 

Quirk: randomly puts things in caps for EMPHASIS! >>-> separates sentences with that thing there.

i think it would be fun if he stARTED CAPITALIZING IN THE MIDDLE OF SENTENCES. like he’s building uP TO SOMETHING. you have to create a foundation before you can aDD THE PIZZAZZ. I think the separation with his symbol can stay, though! 

Special Abilities: None, besides super strength like other indigos.

Lusus/Guardian: lizarddad

I almost want to recommend something more trapping-related. Trapdoor spider? Orchid mantis? 

Interests: building, taking apart, fixing things, building traps, extreme sports, destruction, and did i mention building traps?

Appearance: 

Personality: Feyarr is an unpredictable and reckless troll. He wants to both build and destroy anything he can, but does care deeply about his friends safety- but often doesn’t notice when things aren’t safe. His friends aren’t as into his interests, but pretends to be to please him. His moirial has a huge flushcrush on him, but the feelings are not returned.

Dancestor: Komesc Ridawk, the rogue of space

Ancestor: the Animator Tristone

Lunar Sway: Prospit

Title: Bard of Space

Land: Land of Black Holes and Frogs

Thank you!!!

I didn’t really have much at all to add to what CD already said here, so let’s just run through a quick redesign:

We’ve got some work to do on this sprite. I see Tavros’s eyes, Terezi’s mouth, and Equius’s tank and shorts. One on its own would probably fly, but all together this starts to look a little procedurally generated. I tried to keep the spirit of your design intact. Let’s go top to bottom.

Horns - I loved the idea of both of them going the same way, but I wanted the shapes to be a little more distinct and less curved.

Hair - It just needed a little more mess and volume. Edited from a fan-troll template with tufts to echo the symbol.

Eyes - I took another fan-troll template and basically smushed it on top of the existing eyes.

Mouth - still wanted to go for a toothy look. I was going for something a little Randall from Monsters Inc.

Outfit - used a fan-troll template to turn the top half into overalls, which sufficiently conveys “inventor” without making him an Equius clone.

And that’s everything! Hope this all helped.

-TR

#indigoblood #submission #bobzanotto #feyarr ridawk #feyarr #ridawk #allhailthegoldcloud #mandar #ritalc #mandar ritalc #review #redesign #tr review #cd review #sa review

[televinita]

Library Triage!

Since my library tour resulted in an absurd number of new checkouts, some planned and some not, what if we talked about them, since I can't seem to figure out what to actually settle down with and read next.

(includes books I had out prior to this week)

1. Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries: LOOK LOOK IT'S FINALLY HERE! I should definitely read this one first! ...I don't wanna.

2. Hemlock Island - Kelley Armstrong: a thriller that comes highly recommended by a friend with similar tastes, and looks great! I can't seem to settle into it yet.

3. A Barn in New England: Making a Home on Three Acres - Joseph Monninger: a 2001 memoir from an author I've read a whole bunch of books from over the years. Not sure if I want to read it right now but checked it out just in case.

4. The Big House: A Century in the Life of an American Summer Home - George Howe Colt: a 2003 memoir I tripped over while collecting the above, and which looks incredible, just the kind of story I want to know about always. "This poignant tribute to the eleven-bedroom jumble of gables, bays, and dormers that watched over weddings, divorces, deaths, anniversaries, birthdays, breakdowns, and love affairs for five generations interweaves Colt’s final visit with memories of a lifetime of summers." (I already had to check and make sure that didn't mean the house was getting torn down, but no, only sold.) It is, however, deceptively small in size while having small print and relatively narrow line spacing.

5. Snow Foal - Susanna Bailey: this darling-looking middle grade horse girl novel is actually what I want to read next, I think. But I still have to go pick it up.

6-7. Welcome to the Dark House - Laurie Faria Stolz: just a standard YA horror I've had on my TBR for a while and finally decided to collect while making a set of requests for the county-next-door library. I also got its sequel, on the assumption I'll like it.

8. Love Interest - Clare Gilmore: FINISH THIS BOOK ALREADY, TELEVINITA!! I've been stalled out on page 125 for 2 weeks because something about the MC and writing style just mildly nettles me and I feel like it's gonna be 3 stars, but also I just keep getting sucked into these same few pages over and over because A+ FAVORITE TROPE OF THEM FALLING ASLEEP TOGETHER (FULLY CLOTHED, TECHNICALLY PLATONICALLY DESPITE KINDA FLIRTING) AND SPENDING THE WHOLE NIGHT CUDDLING.

9. The Seat Filler - Sariah Wilson: this book was supposed to be my respite from the above, but damn, that stupid Driver detail really did derail me. >:(

10. Bright Lights, Big Christmas - Mary Kay Andrews: I was really excited to read this for Christmas because of how much I liked The Santa Suit, but I got on the request list too late, so while I give myself a 3-week grace period or so to still enjoy Christmas books, this one's longer than TSS and at this point I feel like I'll enjoy it more next season. Stubbornly keeping it 'til my hold runs out, though.

11. Jonathan Unleashed - Meg Rosoff: probably not going to read it this round, I just thought I might as well pick it up while I was there, since it's not owned by my two closest branches. Options, baby!

12. The Beginner's Guide to Living - Lia Hills: similar to #6, longterm TBR resident only held by the county next door. And by longterm, I mean I added it in April because the "struggling to cope with his mother's sudden death and growing feelings of isolation from his father and brother" part pinged when I was hunting for real-world approximations of Emo Loki's story. Just wanna satisfy my curiosity.

[edit: done. meh. skimmed.]

There! SO MANY OPTIONS. Pick one and sit down and run your eyes over the words already??

#library triage

[raypakorn]

happy birthday vera! (@nyttvera)

“Yellow is not an in-between color, you’re either all in or you’re not.” – Mobolaji Dawodu (x)

#well let me try this again since the caption said nah #happy birthday vera i hope you have the most wonderful day as that's what you DESERVE! #i will always associate blue with sander but when it comes to actually personality he's way more of a yellow #more specifically mustard #which is iconic of him #and it's what we deserve as people who like that color #the middle is supposed to be like a whole tribute to your love of his shirts because i appreciate you always keeping us up on that #sander driesen #wtfock #vision catching vera 💐 #antedits

[peppdream]

Welcome to the final conclusion of “Home”! This is just a collection notes, interesting thoughts, and answers to questions some of you guys might have for the story!

A reminder to not read on if you haven’t read to the end of the fic yet 🙏 Major spoilers ahead!!

First off, starting with the layout of Sapnap’s shop! This is sort of the general gist I had in mind while writing the story:

It’s a really rough diagram and probably not architecturally sound for a plethora of reasons, but I thought I might as well include it here for the sake of having it ^^

I’ve also included a timeline so you guys can understand the order in which everyone became acquainted! (it’s a very general timeline, so excuse any inconsistencies)

In case you missed it, the reason Toby’s friend (Tommy) was “missing” in Ch4 was because he’d been taken away to complete his witch training! :)

Next, a couple fun facts for the making of this story!:

Bad’s original Mark was going to be fangs, but I eventually decided horns would be cuter~

The geese George pet in Ch6 were originally rabbits, and the appearance of swans in Ch8 was a replacement for a whole-ass deer. I just changed them all to birds in the end to make the story more cohesive!

I debated several times into making George a nature boi instead of an animals boi (for the good ‘ol mushroom bit), but I stuck with the vet witch in the end  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ch17 was never supposed to exist! I wrote it as filler so I could reach the satisfying 20-chapter mark...

Why the constant reoccurrence of dandelions? Well, I read somewhere that was George’s favorite flower ^^

Why a willow tree? Because they’re the best trees, obviously~ (Go lie under a willow tree some time — you’ll see what I mean!)

And finally, some questions a lot of you must have (and also ones you didn’t even think of, probably):

Why did George lose his memories? The spell affects customers. If you come to the shop with the intention of finding something, you are a customer, and will be affected by the spell (regardless of whether you’re human or a witch).

This distinction was not entirely clear to the characters of the story, because they’d never encountered a situation before where a witch left a magic shop as a customer. This makes sense, granted that magic shops do not target witches as viable customers.

So why didn’t George lose his memories the first time he came to the shop? Part of the agreement between the shop and the customer is that the spell will erase their memories once they have been given what they came for. When George left the shop the first time with his new glasses in tow, the shop mistakenly believes George is satisfied and lets him go (and the memory-wiping spell does not activate). When George is lured back, however, the shop realizes that George is looking for something more than just a pair of glasses, and bars him from leaving until he finds it.

What was George looking for? A lot of you believed it was love/acceptance/home that George was looking for, and those were all very good guesses! What George was ultimately searching for, however, was a way to safely release the magic inside him and become a witch. 

What part did Patches play in all this? A lot of you seem confused about what Patches actually did in Ch18. For one, she tried to lead George to his room so that he could sleep next to the dream doll. When he didn’t follow her, she personally brought the dream doll to George herself so that Luca would warn him about his powers in his dreams. She also physically ran to Bad’s place. While she and Dream do have some telepathic methods of communication, it only works within a reasonable distance.

Does George ever get his memories back? Never completely, but occasionally, yes. I like to think of George’s memory loss as akin to the feeling you get when you’re trying really hard to remember a dream you’ve forgotten. If you concentrate hard on recalling it, you won’t succeed, but if as you’re doing something irl and that activity reminds you of what you dreamed, you will remember only that portion of the dream.

What are the specifics of George’s powers? He can talk to, understand, and telepathically communicate with all living things (other than plants). He has trained his magic to automatically filter out conversations not directed at him or words said to him with ill-intent, but he can also switch that ability on and off as he likes. (Unfortunately, this does not apply to people, because understanding humans is something the brain processes, and not magic-related).

What was Philza’s mark? Wings! Now whether I mean real wings or tattoos is up for you to decide~

What’s the point of the bouquet?  Tommy is a green witch, specifically a florist. It’s his job to make bouquets. The only difference between George’s situation and a normal customer’s situation is that Tommy offers the bouquet without George asking for one. (In response to kotoritoririn, George was not a middle man for a bouquet delivery. The flowers were made for George, as signified by the flowers’ meanings.)

So did Tommy and Tubbo ever reunite or?? Tubbo did eventually find Tommy with the compass. In my mind though, Tubbo is purely a human, so they must’ve met somewhere outside the magic shop.

Tommy, don’t leave us hanging! What do the lilacs represent?? Go read “I’m A Dream Doll” and you will find your answer :)

And that’s everything! I hope you all enjoyed this last tribute to “Home”. I had so much fun reading your guys’ theories, and I’m honestly gonna miss them a ton. Thank you to everyone that tagged along for the ride. And if you’re a new reader, thank you as well! The fact that you’re here means you cared enough about my story to want to know everything about it, and that means a lot to me <3

If you’re sad about the fic ending, don’t be! If we just use George’s example, home can forever live on in our hearts :)

#home #fanfiction #dreamnapfound #dreamnotnap #dream #georgenotfound #sapnap #mcyt #dreamnotfound #georgenap #dreamnap

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader 

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

X

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #yandere bts fic #hunger games au #hoseok fic #hoseok au #hoseok x you #yandere jung hoseok #yandere #dark jhope #dark bts #dark bts au

[jinmukangwrites]

Mutual (Mis)Understandings

Summary: Wild and Zelda seem to be engaged... and Twilight like the worried mother hen of the group that he is overreacts and misunderstands greatly. 

Or, Zelda and Wild are best friends, but they’re also both arcace and the only reason they’ll ever get married is for the Hylian equivalent of tax-benefits. 

Note: this was purely self indulgent and was written instead of my actual next LU fic. In the mean time, enjoy this. From now on I only write aroace Wild and Flora and if you don’t like it then don’t talk to me lmao

-o-o-o-o- 

Twilight supposes it was only a matter of time before they ran into Wild's Zelda. Because, despite Wild's Hyrule being so much larger than it's versions before it, Zelda apparently was still a woman who could not be confined to the walls of her castle. If she wanted to explore and meet new people, then she would. According to Wild, that is.

Zelda is, at first glance, the embodiment of grace and beauty. Her hair is golden and her eyes the color of the grass that flourishes on the hills. Her lips are full, and colored not a perfect red but not a perfect pink either. Her hair, while chopped short, is braided and styled perfectly in a way that compliments her beauty even more.

But then, you look at her traveling clothes and the twigs in her hair, and you realize that Wild once told you a story about how she tried to force a frog into his mouth.

She stands in the center of Terry Town, near a beautiful fountain built around a small shrine for the goddess Hylia, and in a strange reincarnation way, a tribute for her as well. As the group walks into the town that's suspended on a circle of land that towers high over a small lake, she turns and smiles, delight sparkling in her eyes when her gaze lands on her knight. It's an unexpected reunion, one that started with Wild wanting to show them something he's proud of, and one that's turning out to be more of a treat than any of them expected. Especially, when besides Twilight, Wild lets out a happy gasp and runs ahead of the group, slamming into his princess with a tight and joy-filled hug. The moment is so touching that even Legend smiles.

The hug lasts a little longer before Zelda and Wild part, splitting to stand next to each other with shoulders brushing. They look perfect together. Like they were made for each other. Wild smiles at the group and Zelda matches his smile but in a more polite and curious way.

"I believe introductions are in order?" She asks, though it's not really a question. More like an invitation.

Twilight looks over at Wild, a matching look of awkwardness passing between them. Hyrule pulls at his collar nervously. It's always… strange to introduce themselves to people. While many people are named Link to honor heroes, it is still strange to have nine boys traveling together all introduce themselves as such. They really need to come up with better names than rancher and traveler and the old man.

Thankfully, Time is ever the wisest and the owner of the group's meager stash of brain cells. He steps forward with a respectable bow. "Princess Zelda," he says, standing up from his bow, "we have traveled with Link for a few months now and have found ourselves caught in… quite a complicated story. Perhaps, if I may be so bold, it would be wise to allow us a more private space for introductions?"

"I see," Zelda says, her polite smile turning into something a little sharper. Not in an offended way, but in a way that she knows something that they don't. Thankfully, she doesn't keep them waiting for long. "Yes, perhaps it would be wise. Though, it seems I must have to introduce myself as well before we begin. It's not princess. It's queen."

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight sometimes keeps himself up at night wondering about how his Zelda might take the news of there being eight more heroes carrying the name "Link" around. It's hard to tell with her, and it's not like they're close. Their relationship is strictly "Princess and Hero", and the most they have in common besides the whole reincarnation thing is Midna.

Which is a topic both of them tend to avoid.

So really, he cannot say for sure how she'd react. Would she believe it? Would she take it in stride? Twilight can really only imagine her taking in the information with a straight face before saying it doesn't concern her so begone.

One thing's for sure, she wouldn't react like Wild's Zelda does.

Because, well, if Twilight thought the kids at his home village were made of skin, bone, and questions, then the Zelda before him is made of questions, questions, and more questions.

"Who is the first among you? What year was it? Strange, it seems you used a different calendar than us. And it's peculiar you two have the same dates but live in completely different worlds- oh you and your Zelda were childhood friends? And you have two Zeldas'? What about you? What is your kingdom like-?

By the end of the afternoon, everyone's mouths had run dry from talking and Warriors was about to jump into the fountain at the center of town yelling about thirst before a tall Gerudo lady stopped him with a level look.

Zelda and Wild have broken off from the group; the town's people and the various guards who must be here for Zelda's protection (even though Twilight's sure she can definitely more than protect herself, it must be for their own peace of mind) have stopped giving them those you nasty foreigners looks and have actually started to seek out conversation in the form of you have money, I have things to sell, wink wink. As the sun crept closer towards the edges of Death Mountain, everyone one-by-one decided the beds promised to them at the inn sounded more interesting than sitting around and doing nothing.

Time being one of the first to retire, not that Twilight blames him. The question "Which one of you is the hero from ten thousand years ago?" weighs heavy on all their minds. The lore of that hero doesn't sound familiar to any of them, and it left the whole group wondering how many lives they have lived, and if they are destined to add more to their group of nine.

Regardless, Twilight finds himself one of the last members to head to bed, and not for the lack of trying. He had accidentally mentioned wrestling around a towering Goron and his little brother and had, in a sting of events he was entirely unwilling in, found himself wrestling Greyson with a whole crowd of townspeople watching with jeers and enthusiasm. Greyson wasn't a full grown Goron, so it was surprisingly easy to knock him out of their makeshift ring carved into the ground with a stick without the aid of his iron boots.

After winning that fight, the Gerudo lady who probably made Warriors wet his pants with her glare decided she wanted in on the action, to which Wind and Hyrule screamed out he was a coward for turning her down by saying he definitely already knows she'll win.

Because she definitely will win. He's seen fully grown pumpkins smaller than her biceps.

But, Twilight is ever the gentleman and absolutely not a coward and caved even though he knows he will walk away from this with a few new bruises.

Turns out, the kind of wrestling the Gerudo lady (who he finds out is named Rhondson judging by the "TEAR HIS ARMS OFF, RHONDSON!" that was yelled out from the crowd as she knocked his feet out from below him) was trying to do was different from goat and Goron wrestling, and he was completely unprepared for her to bring him to the ground and attempt at pinning him down like a madwoman. He's never been so terrified in his entire life.

He should have explained the rules better to more than just Greyson.

He was in the middle of trying to shove her off from him (because apparently a loss is being pinned down for three seconds as refereed by her husband and Twilight is not about to lose so easily with Wind in the sidelines laughing so hard he has tears in his eyes) when he notices Wild and his Zelda leave a building and quietly retreat towards the far cliff edges of town. Rhondson seems to notice this as well, because she pauses in her tortuous wrestling long enough to mutter under her breath "young love..."

To which. Twilight promptly short-circuits.

Young love?

Wild?

And Zelda?

HIS WILD?! AND QUEEN ZELDA?

Yeah sure, he knew Zelda and Wild were close, but Wild was the most… rowdy and dirty piece of work he's ever met. And sure, Zelda isn't exactly the most poise and elegant creature in the world—the twigs still in her hair, the mud running up her boots to her trousers, the ever slowly becoming undone braids in her hair that she doesn't seem to truly care about are all testament of that. Twilight is just… well, he didn't think Wild had it in him. To catch the attention and affection of someone like Zelda… Twilight needs to hand it to him. He guesses Wild can be romantic when he wants to be.

Unfortunately, thanks to his little brain explosion, Rhondson manages to pin him down long enough for Hudson to smack the ground three times. (Seriously, what is up with the son part of everyone's name?)

Rhondson lets him up with a triumphant smirk and Twilight lays on the ground, winded.

"Young love?" He croaks, because his brain is still trying to process. It's like adding two and two together and getting goat.

Rhondson's smirk seems to widen even more as she extends a hand, golden jewelery clinking on her toned wrists. "Don't you know? The Queen and her knight are engaged."

She says it casually like it's nothing truly new or exciting as she lifts him to his feet.

Wind's laughter from the sidelines suddenly turns into choking noises. Twilight can only short-circuit some more.

Because what.

Rhondson doesn't explain anymore as she accepts cheering from the rest of the town. No one explains as the crowd disperses, the sun fully behind Death Mountain and the moonrise breeze moving in with the smell of the ocean. Soon enough, Twilight is still standing where he's been left, Wind sitting on the ground cross-legged with his chin in his hands, and Hyrule standing besides him looking unsure if he should suggest bed or something else.

Engaged.

Wild is seventeen (plus one hundred but that doesn’t count) years old and he's engaged.

He knows the age of adulthood changes every so often, but honestly at least wait until you're twenty before you commit! Or let Twilight be married first!

He slowly manages to crawl out from his churning thoughts back into his body, and the first thing he does is look towards where Zelda and Wild disappeared to and suddenly his brain is thinking of a whole matter of things the two of them might be doing. Alone. With no one to catch them.

He's moving to follow them before he can make himself rethink to maybe respect their choices and boundaries. Hyrule, perhaps thinking the same thing, grabs onto the tail of his wolf's pelt.

"Wait!" Hyrule says, trying to be the voice of reason, which is strange because normally that's Twilight's job, "maybe we should let them be… alone-"

"Traveler, are you a man or a mouse?!" Wind demands, catching up to the two of them, looking way too determined to intrude upon a potential make-out session.

Hyrule squeaks. "M-man!"

Twilight ignores them as he creeps towards the buildings the two love birds disappeared behind.

"Besides, the champion brought this upon himself," Wind continues. "He should have told us he was going to be the future King of Hyrule. He deserves it."

It; being a good sneaking up on. Twilight finds himself agreeing. They've known Wild for how long and he hasn't told them at all that he was engaged?

The topic of love and settling down has come up many times in their group.

"Champion, do you like anyone?" "Nah, the only thing I like is cooking." "Hey champion, after all this and settling down, what are your plans?" "To become a world renowned chef." "Cook! I saw the face you were making when Malon was talking about girls! Who were you thinking of?" "Food. Duh."

The sniveling little weasel. To think Twilight fell for it.

Twilight holds up his hand as they approach the buildings, Wind and Hyrule quiet down their conversations. It seems even though Hyrule took a rare attempt at peacekeeping, he has ultimately decided upon even though I don't like it I still want to come along. They poke their heads around the corner of the building and find…

Nothing.

No one is here.

How interesting.

Wind gives a groan of outrage and Hyrule releases a sigh of relief so powerful the grass waves a little. Twilight continues forward and looks at the soft dirt on the ground that leads to the sheer unforgiving drop of cliff. They should really fence this off, he's seen the children in the town and one of them could easily fall.

"I can't believe the cook, the sly fox," Wind was grumbling and not for the first time Twilight decides to not ask how the kid knows so much about stuff like this. Hyrule says something back about maybe there's a reason Wild's kept it secret but Twilight doesn't listen in too hard as his eyes catch on something in the ground.

There. Footsteps. Fresh. Two different sizes, one small and the other slightly larger. Could easily belong to a queen wearing muddy boots and a knight.

He follows the footsteps and his stomach jumps when he follows them to the edge of the cliff.

Did they… were they so... that they didn't notice the cliff?!

He rushes towards the quite literal edge of Terry Town and frantically looks down into the water below. It's hard to see with the light of the quarter moon creeping up behind them.

He can't see a thing, but thankfully Wind has a knack for looking into the horizon because his voice cuts through his internal panic with the pointing of a hand.

"Look!"

Twilight follows the pointing finger until his eyes land on the distant sight of two people sharing one lantern in the forest past the edge of the lake. One is vaguely femininely shaped and the other about the same height but with less curves. They're walking through the tall grass and wirey trees, past the empty husks of what Wild calls Guardians.

Until Wild points out something and they share a look before running behind one of the husks and staying there.

How… how unseemly! Didn't one of those things kill Wild?!

Twilight grabs at the grapple in his bag, thankful he decided to keep that with him instead of putting everything in the inn, and ties the end of it around one of the nearby fence posts. The shore of the lake doesn't look too far from here. He should be able to swim it. Easy.

Wind and Hyrule follow him down without complaint, as Twilight drops the other end of his grapple down with the fill length of chain extended. It takes a few minutes and a few stomach churning, chain wiggling moments with the wind for Twilight to finally find himself at the end of the line, just a short distance from the water.

He hopes there's no monsters in there.

Well. Here goes nothing.

He lets go of the chain and his stomach flips just a bit before he hits the surprisingly refreshing water. Not too cold but not worryingly warm. It's also shallow, his toes brushing the bottom for just a moment before he swims towards where he thinks the shore is and upwards until he reaches the surface with a gasp. There's two more splashes behind him and soon the three of them find themselves gasping and dripping on the muddy and rocky shore of the lake. Hyrule looks the worst out of all of them, perhaps not as used to swimming, but they at least all made it with no monster battles or near drownings. So a win.

The light of the two love bird's lantern is still a good distance away, and by the time they near most of the water has dripped away from their clothes and hair, leaving them uncomfortably damp.

And as they near closer, the louder they can hear… giggling.

Twilight puts a hand to his lips and stops Hyrule and Wind where they stand. Wind looks about ready to throw a fit with a string of embarrassing things like I know what sex is and 'm not a kid but thinks the wiser of it when Hyrule frantically makes cut throat notion, signalling yelling is not the best idea right now.

Twilight takes it upon himself to approach the husk of the Guardian himself. He feels… icky. Like he shouldn't impose. But there's such a thing as chastity and being too young to accidentally become with child. Twilight knows Wild and Zelda has been away from each other for some time, and the… urge must be strong, but he will not allow his protégé to make a mistake he might regret before he's even married.

"Oh Link, it's beautiful!" Zelda says, breathless.

Twilight takes a deep breath and walks around the Guardian with his hands on his hips. Hopefully Zelda doesn't order his death for this.

"What are you two doing?!"

And then he pauses, eyes wide as Wild jumps up from where he's been crouching, pulling out his sword and looking more angry than what Twilight's ever seen him, before shock and curiosity replaces the anger. Zelda is standing behind him, having jumped to her feet and pulling out a dagger, and behind her a green firebug flies away.

They're both fully clothed and looking at Twilight like he's grown a second head.

"Um." Twilight says smartly, his brain going back into process-mode as Zelda rolls her eyes, puts her dagger away, and looks behind her for the firebug that's flown away.

"Are they decent?" Hyrule's voice asks, which is something Wind doesn't bother to do before he steps around the Guardian to stand by Twilight with a disappointed face. Someone really needs to wash that kid's brain out with soap.

"Decent?" Wild asks, confused. Zelda doesn't say anything, she's crouched further into the forest and creeping up on another firebug.

They were… looking at bugs.

"It's okay, traveler," Twilight says, releasing a breath and thanking Hylia and all the other spirits for everything somehow being a misunderstanding. "We were wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Wild asks, sounding even more confused.

Twilight shakes his head and grabs Wind's head, wrapping his hand around the boy's mouth before he can say anything gross. Hyrule walks over, looking as relieved as he might if he were told the spirit of the demon Ganondorf was forever destroyed. Which is to say, he was looking extremely relieved.

"Oh good," Hyrule says as Wild mutters what's probably explicits behind Twilight's hand. "We thought you were having- mmph?!"

Twilight has successfully grabbed Hyrule's face with his other hand and covers his mouth too. Now, with both boys successfully gagged and pinned to his chest, Twilight gives Wild his best smile and hopes it doesn't look too conspicuous and nervous.

"We saw the light and thought you two saw something dangerous," he lies easily.

Wild gives him a slight suspicious look, his eyes flickering between Twilight's two captives and Twilight himself before shrugging and putting his sword away. Twilight had to fight to keep a straight face as Hyrule elbows his side and Wind licks his hand.

"It's Zelda's first time at Terry Town, and I wanted to show her the creatures that call this place home," Wild explains, not looking all that concerned that Twilight is still holding two of their group members captive by the faces. Hyrule is licking too now, but Twilight can't trust them not to say the sex word yet. Twilight grew up the perpetual older brother of four kids in Ordon, he's been in positions like this before with much more slobbery licking.

"Oh that's good then, no danger!" Twilight says, keeping in a gasp as Hyrule elbows his side harder and Wind makes a mad grasp for his hair.

Thankfully, Zelda speaks up in a whisper-yell from where she's crouching. "Link! There's a wolf!"

Wild gives the other heroes a wide grin before he quietly sprints towards Zelda and couches besides her. The two begin to talk to each other in hushed voices.

Twilight let's a second pass, and then he releases his captives.

Hyrule takes in a deep gasp like Twilight had been strangling him—he wasn't—and Wind spits at the ground furiously like what he licked had been poisonous—Twilight is doubtful the palm of his hand tasted that bad.

Before either of them could recover, Twilight leans down and grabs them both by the points of their ears.

"Do. Not. Say. A. Word."

Wind whacks his hand away, scowling. "Okay okay! Geez-"

Twilight gives them both level glares and eventually they both nod in agreement. Whatever misunderstanding has just happened, Wild and Zelda were to remain unaware of it. Period.

With the unspoken agreement, the three of them walk up to Wild and Zelda, of which Wild is currently in a long ramble in the differences between all the kinds of wolves in Hyrule. Apparently, wolves in Akkala have slightly shorter snouts compared to Hyrule Field Wolves even though they have the same coloring. Interesting. Kind of useless to Twilight, but he'd much rather listen to Wild explain the slight differences of wolves than… other things.

When Zelda requests to see the two kinds of wolves side-by-side, Wild promises he has pictures of both of them on his little magic box thing.

And that's... pretty much how the next few hours go. Wild and Zelda run bush to bush, talking excitedly between each other about black winged butterflies and the abilities gained from eating a golden beetle, and the three other heroes follow along like lost puppies, not able to offer a single shred of new information to the chatty environmentalists. Twilight manages to get in a small comment about the Ordon goats—and ignores the triplet groaning from Wild, Wind, and Hyrule—but after he fails to produce a picture of his favorite animal Zelda loses interest and moves on to poking the leaves of some random flower.

Twilight sighs. Someday someone will worship the Ordon goats like they deserve.

Sigh.

Someday.

Hours pass and Wind gives a huge very bored sounding yawn, which somehow earns the pity of Zelda. "You're right, small pirate Link. It is probably about time we should head back." She turns towards the Wild with a glint in her eyes. "I'm sure the guards are missing us."

Wild snickers and Twilight rolls his eyes before turning to look at where the cliffs surrounding Terry Town. Then, something occurs to him.

"Hey, you came down with your paraglider?" Twilight says and Wild nods slowly, patting the folded up contraption on his back. "How did you two plan on getting back to town?"

Matching looks of we didn't think of that flashes on Zelda and Wild's faces.

Twilight sighs, turning to Zelda. "Think you can climb a chain or do you want to walk up the long way?"

Zelda narrows her eyes and rolls up her sleeves. Her biceps, too, resemble that of a grown pumpkin. Twilight won't ask if she's sure, he bets she can take him down wrestling as well.

"Alright then," he says.

They walk back towards the lake as a group, and Twilight does his best to comfort Hyrule who's glaring at the water with resentment. It will definitely be harder getting back up than it was getting down. They'll have to swim the lake and climb up the cliffs a bit before jumping to the hanging chain and climbing the rest of the way up there. It'll be a fun workout.

As they walk, Twilight falls back to fall into step with Zelda and Wild. Wind and Hyrule continue onwards in front of them.

"So…" Twilight says under his breath, just loud enough for the two champions of this time to hear them. They both give him curious looks. "Engaged, huh?"

Twilight expected blushing or blubbering or something. What he got was a full on belly laugh from the queen and a rolling-of-the-eyes from her knight and husband-to-be.

"Who told you," Wild demands as Zelda laughs on, earning slightly concerned looks from Hyrule and Wind, "was it Rhondson? I bet it was Rhondson."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Twilight asks, ignoring Wild's (accurate) accusations towards Rhondson.

At this, a flash of guilt passes over Wild's face and Zelda quiets, looking interested. "It… never came up?"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Zelda asks. Wild gives her an apologetic look and she scoffs, looking shockingly more amused than anything.

"I didn't... forget. I was just focused on the quest!"

"It's okay, Link. I forgot too."

"Oh thank Hylia."

The two of them fall into some strange companionable understanding silence and Twilight is left completely and frustratingly out of an apparent inside joke or some sort.

He sighs. "Look, I know this might sound weird, coming from me," Zelda and Wild give him their attention with matching expressions of curiosity, "but I know you're both young and probably haven't been taught very well about… adult matters, so…" oh this is so awkward, they're looking confused, "if you have any questions about… um… urges or desires-"

"Oh!" Zelda says, clapping her hands together in front of her. "You mean sex!"

Twilight chokes on his words and Wild nearly trips into the dirt. Zelda looks like she hasn't said anything strange at all.

"Don't worry, Mr Goat Farmer Link. Link and I know all about sex and we decided we will not being doing it," Zelda says as if she's reassuring a worried soldier or something similar. Indifferent. Straight faced.

"Y-yeah," Wild says after he had refound his footing. "Strictly business. Our marriage."

"I was tired of Impa asking when I'll get married and produce an heir," Zelda explains easily, though she gave a slight disgusted tone at the word produce. "I am much more interested in so many other things, but Impa was getting insistent." Zelda rolls her eyes.

"So Zelda decided to ask me to marry her," Wild puts in quietly, "and I told her that um… I'm not interested in her or in anyone that way, but she said the same thing and then told me that it would benefit us both to marry anyway and so… yeah."

"Impa would stop bugging me about getting married and Link would have unlimited access to the castle kitchens once it's fully repaired. I can continue my journey to study and rebuilt this country in peace and Link can continue his dreams of cooking."

Twilight finds himself nodding, because it makes just as much sense as it doesn't make sense. Which means he doesn't get it but they do so he won't argue on it. "But what about… continuing the royal line?"

"The line will die with me," Zelda says. Like that wasn't a royal bombchu-shell . "Because I will not be bearing any children. We will adopt or I will choose someone I trust to take the throne when the time is right. We will decide when the time comes." She grabs Wild's hand and he squeezes in reply. "Together."

Twilight nods again, deciding against arguing that too.

"Is that what you thought we were doing, rancher?" Wild asks. "Having…"

Twilight's cheeks heat up. "Nope. Not at all."

"Oh, okay…"

Wild definitely doesn't believe it, and he's smirking, but it seems he will save Twilight from embarrassment for the rest of the night. No promises tomorrow though, Twilight's sure.

Turns out, Zelda can absolutely crush them all at swimming and scaling a cliff with a hanging chain. She is hardly even winded when they all reach the top. She bids them all farewell and heads towards the home that has graciously lended her a guest room for her stay. The guards all look extremely relieved to see her, and they disappear into the home with a final wave from Zelda towards their direction.

"I can't believe you're engaged, gremlin," Wind says through a yawn and Wild laughs.

"We're just really good friends," he replies, and Twilight smiles. The trust between the two of them must be so strong regardless of physical desire. He still doesn't understand it, but Wild looks happy and Zelda looks happy and they both clearly love each other.

In their own way.

And Twilight can respect that.

#linked universe #hero of twilight #hero of the wild #botw #zelda #loz #aroace characters #jin writes #zelink #sorta #zelink but also not zelink lol #hero of the wind #hero of hyrule

[mimiatmidnight]

Predictions on Baby Girl Sussex?

I’m FREEEEEEEE from finals and ready to chat with you all once again! Thank you all for being so patient, I’m so excited to dive into all your questions and give them the novel-length responses they deserve 😉

I’m assuming you mean name predictions haha, cause the only other thing I can think of to predict would be her birthday (for the record, I’ll go ahead and put my sister’s birthday, June 10th, for no reason other than I predicted my own birthday, April 26th, for Archie!). But I love talking about baby names (as you can see by the length of this post 😅), so let’s get into it.

So I fully expect to be completely taken aback by their pick. Like not even on the same planet as my predictions. Cause that’s just how those two roll lmao. But IF they’re staying in the same theme as Archie’s name, I’m expecting something that’s also short, possibly nickname-y, kind of dusty and vintage, but with a whimsical charm, just like Archie’s. I am still operating with the assumption that she will one day be Princess (whether or not that actually happens, of course, remains to be seen), so I’m trying to keep that title in mind. And also, given that name meanings appear to hold significance to them, I tried to at least somewhat keep meanings in mind. So, in no particular order:

Eloise

“Healthy; wide”

French, English

I am SO charmed by this name. If I hadn’t already decided on Elliott for my future son’s name, this name would be right at the top of my future daughter’s list. I just thinks it’s so delightfully playful yet still timeless and classic. It gives easy and pretty nicknames with Ellie and Ella, or even Lizzy (possibly to honor her great-grandmother?). “Archie and Eloise” sounds so perfect and natural to me, without sounding kitschy or too over the top with the matching. “Princess Eloise” is so deliciously perfect, it just fits together like a puzzle piece.

Eleanor

Unknown meaning

English, French

Eleanor hits almost all the same beats I mentioned above for Eloise, even down to the lovely Ellie/Ella nicknames. It’s even more royal than Eloise, with such heady associations as the legendary Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (not to mention the American Queen, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt!). Eloise is closer to my heart, but I’d be thrilled with Eleanor as well.

Greta

“Pearl”; diminutive of Margaret

German

This one’s quite old-fashioned, but I think it’s so charming and would make an adorable name on a little girl. And fun fact, the name Meghan comes from a nickname for Margaret, which is why both those names as well as Greta all mean “Pearl.” So this would be a perfect way to honor little girl’s mama in a more subtle way.

Poppy

“Red flower”

Latin, English

Spunky yet sweet. Pays tribute to her mother’s homeland of California, while also sounding very at home in her father’s homeland of the UK. A flower name in honor of her mama’s own mama. This scarlet name would be even more perfect if the Ginger Avenger manages to make himself another little Gingette. And as I said to one of my anons the other day, “Princess Poppy” is so screeching cute I might actually combust if I think about it too much, so let’s move on.

Lea

“Meadow; weary”

English

To be totally honest, this one is mostly just because I’ve been addicted to listening to “Lea” by TOTO on repeat lately. Although “Princess Lea” might be a bit too . . . you know. Stor Wors. Even though the sci-fi princess pronounces her name differently, I think they’ll probably still want to avoid that association. Still, that song is heavenly and the name goes with all my criteria so I’m putting it in anyways.

Hazel

“Hazelnut tree”

English

Another nature name, one that I’m sure our favorite Earth Mama will enjoy ;) It’s newly popular, but in my opinion still retains that distinctive and whimsical uniqueness of a name that’s much further on the fringe than Hazel actually is. I can just picture a little hazel-eyed princess running barefoot around her gorgeous backyard, wild hair all spread out as she lays underneath a hazelnut tree. Ugh, so cute.

Etta

“Estate ruler”; feminine diminutive of Henry

English, Scottish

I suppose in response to Archie’s middle name Harrison, I’ve seen some Squaddies predict Henrietta for his little sister. And um . . . that is not a favorite of mine 😅 But if Harry wants to add his brand to his second little munchkin as well, why not Henrietta’s much more sleek and dynamic offshoot, Etta? It's got that old school feel, with also a spark of liveliness. I also love that it ties to their Black ancestry through one of the most legendary Queens of American Soul Music, Etta James.

Maeve

“She who intoxicates”

Irish

Incredibly endearing with a rich history. For my own personal use, this safer option might actually be called upon for my future daughter if I never manage to work up the courage to use my actual long-time Irish favorite, Saoirse. But for Harry and Meghan, I can’t really see them using this one. Still, I felt like I needed an M name to cover all my bases, and this is one of the few that I like. Some other honorable “M”entions (get it?) include Maisie, Melody, and Madeleine (thank you to my lovely anon for this one!).

Francesca

“From France; free man”; variation of Frances

Italian

I haven’t really mentioned middle names here, mostly because this post is long enough already and middle name combos just add a whole other level of crazy. But given the enormous legacy of her grandmother, I am extremely torn on whether Baby Girl will be getting a name in her honor. If her parents so choose, Diana’s middle name Frances, or even it’s more ornately feminine variation, Francesca, would be lovely honors for the little princess to carry. If they do end up honoring Diana, I’d expect it to be in Baby Girl’s middle name.

Violet

“Purple”

Latin, English

One last flower name for Earth Mama Meghan. Violet was my top pick for Archie when he was still the mysterious Baby Sussex, but though it has since fallen from my top spot, it still is a lovely, classic name of inarguable feminine grace, yet with an underlying core of strength and fortitude. I feel like Violet is a woman who ties her hair back with a soft velvet bow, but then hitches up her skirts, draws her sword, and shows the battlefield who’s boss. I just love the duality of this name, and I think it would be a lovely gift for a little girl.

Alice

“Noble”

German

Vintage, classic, girly, and solidly royal, this name calls to mind white rabbits and looking glasses. Once again, on a personal note, this might be an option for my future daughter if I chicken out on trying to get everyone to pronounce Alicia correctly. I love that name in the Spanish pronunciation, “Ah-lee-see-ah,” but I find the Anglicized “Ah-lee-sha” to be dreadful and I wouldn’t want to burden my girl with a lifetime of corrections. Anyways, Alice is just as elegant, if not quite as ornate, and in any case is much more likely for our British-American princess. Plus, what a stunning pair of name meanings to gift these two siblings: “Brave” Archie and “Noble” Alice. They sound straight out of an Arthurian legend. (Plus, how cute would “Archie and Alice” sound!)

Honorable Mentions Cause I Need To Wrap This Shit Up:

Evie/Edie (both follow all the E names I wrote about above, and Edie in particular is a modern name full of moxie that would be a great nickname for the older, traditional Edith)

Lily (yet another flower name, and I just like the sound of this one)

Spencer (another possible route to honoring Granny Diana, yet maintaining a much more modern and spunky taste than Frances, while also being less direct)

Clara (of Nutcracker fame, adding here mostly because I think I’d melt if I heard this in Harry’s voice and accent)

Lucy (same vibes as Alice and Clara)

Ivy (cute, simple, girly nature name, but unfortunately already in use by the daughter of Meghan’s close friend Jessica Mulroney)

Zoe (I have absolutely no personal connection to this name, but for some reason it just now randomly popped into my head as something they might choose, so here ya go)

So yeah! Sorry this was so long, but it was super fun! Thank you for sending in this great question. I’d love to hear all your guys’ name predictions, dream picks, and wild card guesses!

#meghan markle #prince harry #baby sussex 2.0 #royal fandom #the princess of montecito #baby names #markle & spencer #the munchkins of montecito

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 22 - Year 2: June

(ao3 link)

Qui-Gon Jinn’s funeral had been a somber affair populated by an extraordinary assortment of people that hastily filled the simple wooden seats that decorated the field just beside Hogwarts. Most of whom, Obi-Wan Kenobi found he did not know, but each seemed set on honoring the man who lay peacefully at the hearth of the pyre that had yet to burn. It had been his wish to be buried at Hogwarts, where he dedicated himself entirely and touched so many lives in the process. Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised to realize this, but it made it harder to forgive himself as his other professors insisted he must. He couldn’t help but feel that he had failed all of these strangers, who did nothing to warrant losing such a renowned wizard before his time.

Of course, he was also surrounded by those he knew. His parents weren’t in attendance, but most affluent families of the pureblood community weren’t. He hadn’t even bothered to tell them he was going, though surely they’d learn soon enough since mortality was not enough to ward off the influence of the press. He found he did not care either way.

Anakin sat to his left and Satine to his right with Cody and his whole line of brothers on her other side. Her hand had never left his, serving the necessary purpose of grounding him during the ceremony. Otherwise, he wasn’t positive he’d stay lucid during the various speeches commemorating Qui-Gon and that only would have been another stab of guilt for him to resurrect later.

There was not a dry eye in sight for each professor’s traditional tribute to their fallen colleague and friend, save for Obi-Wan and the daze he found himself trapped in. Professor Ti went on about his caring and inquisitive nature through his rants about muggle objects, while Professor Sifo Dyas rambled about a time Qui-Gon had saved him from the Whomping Willow. Professor Plo reminisced about their shared love of tea and Professor Palpatine on his determination and wit to finish crossword puzzles. Professor Windu’s had been surprisingly warm and heartfelt despite his typical tendency to disagree with Qui-Gon on a daily basis. It seemed, in the end, that's why they got along so well. They accepted their misgivings and their differences.

It was a tranquil first day of June- neither too hot nor chilly with its wide display of clear sky that met somewhere in the middle with the black lake to create one expanse of blue in the center of the horizon. The emerald grass that stretched over the hills like a snug blanket coupled with the soft chirping of birds in the distance made for it to all be picturesque at face value. It all felt balanced.

Headmaster Yoda, who was welcomed back almost immediately by demand of the entire staff and student body, stood with a lit torch at hand that even from his row, Obi-Wan could see the deep sadness that reflected in his eyes as he stared at the flickering flames.

“Student, colleague, friend of mine… Qui-Gon Jinn was.” Yoda’s deep brogue seemed to rumble in his little green chest more than usual as his words seemed caught in his throat. His long ears dipped down as he cast his eyes across the sea of people who sat with bated breath over what the Headmaster would say in tribute of the man that still lay untouched by anything except the sun. “Miss him, I will.”

Everyone could resonate with that.

“But gone, he is not.” He said finally, “Lives, his spirit and message do. In all of us, we must find him. In class, at home, in our hearts. Never far do the dead go, not when they leave so many of us behind. Sad, we will be, for a space there is left.”

Everyone’s attention was directed to the ceremonial empty golden chair that was positioned at the front of the field next to Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, and Sheev Palpatine.

“Fight til the end, he did, and do the same we must, every day. In class, at home, in our hearts. Fight to maintain and sustain the light he cast, we must.” He raised the tip of the torch to the wood at the edge of the pyre and quickly, it was engulfed in flames, “Burn, the fire and spirit of his life will for all of eternity. Keep us warm, it will, as well as guide us in times of darkness that lie ahead.”

Without any choreography indicating otherwise, Mace Windu stood to his feet and raised his wand, casting a small white glow at the tip. As if sensing the need to highlight such a gesture, a singular cloud hovered over the bright sun that would otherwise drown out any other light. The other two Heads of House followed suit as well as Yoda in tow. The audience, with a domino effect, each individually raised their wands triumphantly.

Obi-Wan felt a tug on the sleeve of his other arm and looked down to meet the glassy eyes of Anakin Skywalker.

“What happens to me now?” He asked quietly, hardly above the wisp of wind that fluttered across the grassland.

“You will still become a wizard, I swear.” Obi-Wan said with more sincerity than he likely had any right giving, “I’ll look out for you.”

While it wasn’t an answer on where he would be at the official close of the school year, it seemed to placate him enough to silence any further questions for the time being. This was just as well to Obi-Wan, who was content with the agonizing silence that had come over the crowd and allowed him not to face anymore people that he’d failed.

He did his best to beat the crowd back to the castle, even slipping from Satine and Cody, who were talking to Cody’s older brothers. While he liked the presence of the Fett’s, Obi-Wan was not in the mood to entertain.

In his aimless grief, he’d wound up at Qui-Gon’s office, which was poignant to say the least. As he ran a hand across his desk and glanced up at the array of books that filled the shelf across from him, he absently wondered how often he’d come here when he felt he was drowning too deeply in his own thoughts. How often had the man, who now had his own commemorative portrait near the Great Hall, saved him from himself? And what would he say now?

No answer from Obi-Wan would be sufficient, so he left the internal thought untouched and opted to sift through the book that still sat open on his desk. He promised himself he’d leave it just as he found it in some convoluted attempt at preserving his final quiet moments, but was curious what he’d been reading.

It was a yearbook from while Qui-Gon was at school. The page had been opened to a bunch of class pictures, which true to form with anything in their community, the pictures were moving. Most concerning, was that Maul was on this page, bearing all of his teeth during his photograph in a way that a canine might exert dominance. It probably should have been jarring to see a picture of the man he’d murdered in defense of Obi-Wan’s de facto father figure, but all Obi-Wan could feel was an unsteady sadness.

Qui-Gon would not want him to feel hate or hold a grudge. Maul was gone and wouldn’t hurt anyone ever again and that was the point Qui-Gon would fixate on.

If everything was supposed to be balanced, why did Obi-Wan feel so unsteady?

“I should have known I’d find you here.” Satine’s voice instantly interrupted his thoughts.

He tried to manage a shrug, “Just catching up on some light reading.”

As she practically glided across the floor towards him, Obi-Wan admired her, even in his dismal state, and how put together she always managed to look. She, like him and most others, wore all black. In her case, a long sleeve black skater-dress with matching floral stockings and shiny flat shoes. Her hair was half-up and half-down in long blonde tresses that curled in sweet waves down the length of her back. He wasn’t sure if it was the contrast from the darkness of her outfit or the fact that she’d been crying earlier, but her eyes had never looked so piercingly blue before this moment.

She rested a hand on the back of the chair at which he sat and peered over his shoulder. He could feel her tense beside him, but could do nothing to offer any real condolence other than a shared look of sympathy.

“It was sitting open on his desk.” He answered her silent question, “Do you think they knew each other? Beyond what he’s said in the past, that is.”

“If he was searching for answers in a yearbook, I find it doubtful that it was a close bond.” She said and lifted the book to catch the year, “Qui-Gon was only a second year when Maul was in sixth.”

That was the same age gap between Obi-Wan and Anakin. Unsure why that thought floored him so, Obi-Wan forced himself to remain focused on the facts at hand.

“This is the year Maul killed that girl.”

“The only minor to ever be convicted of first-degree murder in the history of the Wizengamot.” She said quietly and while he first thought he was just hearing things, he couldn’t help but notice how her voice caught on convicted as if there were others gone untouched by the trenches of history. Maybe there had been, but the sullen look on her face as she stared down at the young picture of Qui-Gon distracted him once again. He certainly didn’t see it fit to remind her that Maul hadn’t actually been caught and tossed away until years after he was convicted.

“We always used to come here for answers.” She said and she leaned on the edge of the desk, taking in the entirety of the classroom as though for the last time, “And often left with more questions. I suppose it’s only right this mystery not be completely put to bed.”

“And you’re alright with that?” He asked, unsure if he was asking for himself or for her.

She breathed out a sigh, “What choice do we have on the matter?”

She had a point. It wouldn’t change anything. The heaviness in Obi-Wan’s chest felt nearly unbearable for that moment, but he sucked in a breath and walked around the desk to join her. They sat so close they were nearly touching, but not quite. In a way, he never felt farther from her.

“Qui-Gon always said that a curious mind was a happy one.” He pointed out.

“But we must be careful which avenue we point our questions,” She countered without a trace of bite to her tone, “And decide when it’s wisest to ask them. Or if it’s wise at all.”

“If we do everything with the intent of being wise, then that negates all wisdom.” He debated and similar to her, lacked any momentum.

“But at some point,” Satine turned to look at him, “You need to ask yourself if you’re searching or deflecting.”

“That’s not something Qui-Gon ever said.” He whispered, simultaneously afraid to continue staring at her and to look away.

“No, but perhaps he needed to.” She said just as quietly and considered him under a scrutiny that instinctively made him shift, “You haven’t even cried since it happened.”

“I’m not much for crying.” And even as he said it, he knew he sounded like a cardboard cutout of a person rather than his true self.

“Well nobody likes crying, Ben.” She shook her head, “But mourning loss is a necessary part of life. It’s not healthy to bottle everything up inside.”

Obi-Wan could think of a floor-length list of emotions that have been welled up inside him for quite some time- some good and some bad, but all gone unexplored beyond what crept into his dreams at night.

“I know.” He said stiffly and diverted his attention to the floor, “But I’ve got bigger things to worry about than my feelings right now, Satine. Anakin is essentially homeless now since they’ve still yet to find his mother.”

“I heard the promise you made him.” She said.

“And I intend to keep it!” He asserted harshly, standing to his feet and putting some distance between them, “I promised Qui-Gon.”

“What?” She asked, sliding off the desk, but staying in place.

“After the Maul fight,” He breathed in, trying to ground himself from trembling at the thought of the memory, “His dying words were that I promise to look after Anakin. That he will save us all!”

Though his vision was becoming slightly blurry as he regarded Satine, the overwhelming sadness in her eyes as she stared at him openly without barring any of her feelings was what made him feel suddenly as though he’d been shoved underwater.

“I’m not sure who that puts more pressure on.” She said hoarsely, “You or Anakin.”

“You can’t tell Anakin this.” He said, “He’s got enough on his plate.”

“Yeah, he’s not the only one.” She admonished and stepped across the room to stand before him. Even if he wanted to back away from her, he knew he couldn’t.

“I’m fine.” He said softly, if only to appease the worry that worked its way between her brow.

“No you’re not.” She insisted as she drew closer, “And nobody expects you to be.”

“I have to.” He croaked, “Anakin-”

“-Needs you, I know.” She said, but although she admitted what he had previously insisted, he knew it never came without a caveat, “But you need people too, because you lost someone very dear to you.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, but found he didn’t really want to reject what she was saying, not when her tentative hands reached up and pulled him into a hug that felt like coming home. Or at least, what he imagined that was supposed to feel like.

He rested his chin on her shoulder as the embrace continued and released a sigh as he finally put to words what troubled him most, “I feel like I failed him.”

“I know.” It wasn’t dismissive in the slightest either, but as though she truly had known all along that this was what raked his mind at the late hours of the night since the moment his former mentor fell before him. It was because of how resolute she sounded that he started to believe her when she said, “You didn’t.”

After a long beat of just floating like that, he finally pulled back to look at her. Her arms were still hung over his shoulders and the gaze she fixed him with was still of concern, but it no longer felt like an intrusion. It just felt natural.

“Thank you.” He said a bit awkwardly, because what else did one say in this instance?

She smoothed out his suit whether he needed it or not and loosened his tie a bit, “That’s what friends are for.”

For a brief second, he remembered what he wanted to tell her before and the slight escape of emotional vulnerability was almost enough to send it soaring out of him. However, the remorse that still clung to them in this room felt like the wrong place and the wrong time for such a confession. Nothing like that should be tinged with sadness.

One way or another, they silently ended up sitting next to each other on Qui-Gon’s desk again, this time with legs touching. His remained still while hers swung forwards and backwards.

He took her hand gently, stirring her from her own heavy thoughts, “Headmaster Yoda asked that I help sort through some of Qui-Gon’s stuff. Closure and all that.”

She sniffed, but didn’t quite give way to any tears, “That’s a lot just for one person.”

“I’d be open to a little help.” He said, hoping she would take the bait.

She did, “Someone has to keep you from breaking everything.”

He scoffed, “That was one time.”

“And he never knew.” She said.

“Oh, he definitely knew.” He snorted, “Knowing him, he always knew.”

Qui-Gon Jinn knew a lot about many things and had passed on as much knowledge as time allotted to the very fortunate Obi-Wan Kenobi. Every silly and simple trinket seemed to evoke some piece of wisdom from the deceased wizard, but one that seemed louder than the rest came when Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted to a sprig of mistletoe that was held under a glass display- enchanted to never wither.

“You need to live your life.”

Satine leaned her head on his shoulder, “I’m going to miss quarreling with you in this office.”

He chuckled, “Something tells me the next professor in here won’t be quite as accepting of our constant intrusions.”

“We’ll have to find another space to rip each other apart,” She sighed wistfully, “The next professor has big shoes to fill.”

“Yeah,” He snorted, “Literally and metaphorically.”

“I’ll miss him.”

He nodded against her head, “Me too.”

“There you lot are!” Cody’s voice echoed abruptly through the corridor, startling both Obi-Wan and Satine away from each other in earnest. Off of this reaction, their friend grinned wryly. “I just came to tell you the food is out! I’ve never seen such a spread before in my life.”

“Thank you, Cody.” Obi-Wan chuckled and it actually felt legitimate for the first time in days, “What ever would we do without you?”

“Get into more trouble, I’m guessing.” He said, but his features softened a bit as he looked at the two of them, “Everything alright?”

Satine smiled lightly and tugged Obi-Wan by the hand out the door, which was for the best, seeing as he would never leave without her gentle prodding, and linked her other hand with Cody’s. “We will be.”

And that was an answer Obi-Wan could deal with. He only looked back once at Qui-Gon’s now vacant office, but settled his stare straight ahead and allowed himself to sink into the idle and comforting chatter that his friends naturally engaged in. He felt Satine squeeze his hand as they approached the Great Hall, as though silently asking if he was ready to face the masses and he returned the gesture in kind.

The rest of his life started today.

***

Anakin was told on numerous occasions by countless individuals that it would do him some good- being outside and enjoying the fresh air. Objectively, it was a gorgeous and quiet day, but any of its beauty was lost on Anakin as he pondered the growing uncertainty of his future. First, it had been his mom and his entire world had been shaken. The only pieces that had been slid into place was that he was to continue attending school at Hogwarts thanks to Qui-Gon. However, with no one to care for him and a strict policy against allowing students to stay for the summer, even that was laid to dust as well as someone who became important to Anakin in a short period of time.

He kicked a stray pebble as he walked the courtyard. It felt strange to linger around the grounds of the school without fear or risk. In a sense, it felt like the entire year was lost to Maul. And worst of all, he never did get the closure he desired on the whereabouts of his mother.

He tightened a fist and stared at the horizon. Repairs for the exterior to Hogwarts were still ongoing after Qui-Gon’s funeral. The bridge at which Maul fell was still sectioned off as it was deemed unstable and still being used for the purpose of investigations. No one tried to walk it anyway. The canyon beneath was already developing rumors of being haunted since a body had yet to be recovered.

Anakin was beginning to understand that no scary story could be worse than what he was living. Obi-Wan was, of course, hovering like he feared Anakin would go throw himself off the tip of the castle and dance around the topic that lingered above them. He’d made a promise to ensure Anakin would be a wizard and continue going to Hogwarts- a promise that Anakin knew he had no business making, but still held onto. What other hope did he have, after?

The kids who he believed were once his friends and then turned on him- Ferus Olin and Jax Pavan to name a couple- now looked at him with such pity that they didn’t even warrant him safe for teasing. Even Sebulba was laying off of him!

And it was more infuriating than anything else. He just wanted something to be mad at, to lash this growing fury that was rising in his throat like bile. He wanted someone to blame and he didn’t even have a clear answer to that. He’d seen Maul enter his house, but his mother had already been gone. Whatever disaster he caused had been after she left.

He shivered.

No, that wasn’t right. Taken. She would never leave Anakin willingly, even if someone wanted him to believe that.  Maul had no reason to lie about taking his mother, not when he so freely killed two of Anakin’s professors and wanted to do the same to him. That left Dooku, essentially, as people who wanted Anakin to suffer. The slimy former professor operated almost purely in deceit and would surely love for Maul to take a fall for his crimes. He’d been training Ventress on how to sneak attack Anakin all year and thankfully, she was terrible at her job or else it might have worked.

He’d let it get into his head that as the Chosen One, he was unstoppable and maybe that was true to a degree, but all it seemed to do was mow down the people he loved. But then, when he tried to go at it alone, people still suffered. Was this not escapable?

He toyed with the necklace still in the pockets of his robes. Did anything he did make a difference? Or was Qui-Gon right about being at will of the fates? It was an awful lot for a 12 year old to take, though he realized with disarming clarity that he was to be 13 in only two weeks’ time. It would be the first year he’d have no one to celebrate with.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” A pacifying voice disturbed his increasingly dark line of thoughts and he was relieved to turn and see Professor Palpatine’s kind eyes looking down at him.

“No, I was just thinking,” He shrugged, “I don’t mind a break.”

He knew under more pleasant circumstances, one of his friends would make a joke about how he usually was on vacation from thinking, but the unspoken jest fell flat. Palpatine gathered the front of his robes as he took a seat on the nearby ledge and patted the spot next to him for Anakin to follow suit.

“I wanted to apologize if it’s felt like I’ve distanced myself from you during such a difficult time. I wanted to offer you the time to properly mourn,” He said and then fixed him with a look that Anakin had grown familiar with over the past semester, “I understand you and Qui-Gon were quite close.”

“Yeah,” Anakin said.

“And it is to my understanding that you haven’t been very vocal with the mind healers that Headmaster Yoda has set you up with.”

No, he hadn’t been. He didn’t even know those people! How was he supposed to bear his heart and soul over losing two very important people in his life? How was he supposed to reconcile that with strangers? Moreover, they would surely judge him for the creeping eeriness that lingered at the perimeter of his heart.

“They wouldn’t understand.” He said, not caring for a moment how helpless that made him sound, “Obi-Wan can talk to them. He’s the one who got to do something about Qui-Gon’s death while I was locked inside the Room of Requirement.”

Palpatine’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, “I did hear that you managed to discover it…”

“Everyone’s been asking me where, but I don’t even know! It just popped up in front of me one moment.”

“You have every right to be quite angry,” Palpatine said, “I’m sure it hasn’t been easy around here for you. Losing not one, but two people in the span of a year would cause anyone, let alone someone as young as yourself, immeasurable grief.”

That wasn’t even factoring in Professor Fisto’s death, which felt a little callous to Anakin.

“And I could understand why you might be upset with everyone, including Qui-Gon Jinn, himself.”

Anakin’s head snapped to Palpatine at his words, mostly because of the gnawing clarity at which they resonated with Anakin’s deepest and darkest thoughts, “Why would I be mad at him?”

“Search your feelings, Anakin,” Palpatine said gently, “You know what I say is true. It’s not something many, even the healers, would understand, because while Qui-Gon did die fighting to protect this school and you, he still left a vacancy at his own misstep.”

Being mad at someone for dying also felt incredibly callous, but Anakin didn’t grow rash or angry at this explanation but somehow… Validated. He loved and cared for Qui-Gon and appreciated everything he did, but in the end, a promise was still broken and Anakin was alone.

“I’m not here to sugarcoat anything,” Palpatine continued, “I don’t believe friends should do that.”

Anakin didn’t think so either, which was part of what was so infuriating about these past couple of weeks. Everyone was trying to be nice, but he was only feeling the lack of authenticity at their smiles that didn’t reach their eyes and their empty promises of support. He’d heard it all before at this point. Now, honesty, regardless of if it hurt, sounded appealing.

“Obi-Wan hasn’t told me exactly how it happened.” Anakin revealed with a heavy sigh.

His professor quirked a white eyebrow, “Understandably, he might never tell anyone, but we can draw the conclusion that Maul got the best of Qui-Gon somehow.”

“I just don’t get it.” Anakin sighed heavily, “Qui-Gon was so invested in the future and the knowledge around it. It seemed like he knew everything.”

“Sometimes adults allow students to perceive their strengths in an amplified matter to give them hope,” He said, “I’ve never believed in doing such a thing.”

Anakin nodded, “It’s felt like everyone’s been doing that all year. At the end of it all, it was a kid who took out Maul.”

“Yes, but not on accident, Anakin,” Palpatine shrugged, “You of all people should understand that a person’s age and stature should have no bearing on how they’re estimated. In the end, young Obi-Wan had something that Qui-Gon did not.”

“What’s that?”

“Obi-Wan was willing to do it.” Palpatine said, “To take that step across the line of light and dark. It’s a careful one to walk, but he acted out of revenge and surely channeled some of his hate and anguish to do so.”

“And that makes you more powerful?”

“When properly used, yes.” Palpatine said, “Qui-Gon never believed in utilizing emotion in magic. He felt it deluded oneself. Dooku taught him that though…”

“And you taught Maul, who was only emotion, so which is right?” Anakin ran a hand through his hair. It was impossible to deny that the anger that Obi-Wan felt and the heartbreak of watching Qui-Gon die surely gave him a boost in power. What was described sounded like something he could never picture regular old Obi-Wan doing on his own.

“Maybe we can discover that together?” Palpatine asked tentatively, “You lost a guardian and I lost a student, regardless of the polarized intentions they had.”

Anakin nodded, “Just as long as I don’t turn out like Maul.”

“No, I don’t think you will, my boy,” Palpatine chuckled, “I don’t think you will be anything remotely like Maul.”

Anakin smiled as he looked up and over at Palpatine. It was a beautiful day and maybe, just maybe, he’d make something of it.

***

Although Obi-Wan couldn’t discount the somber atmosphere that still hovered over the school, it felt a little whiplashing how quickly everyone was to move past the attack on the school and the death of Qui-Gon Jinn. He supposed no one else had, had a front row seat to watch their favorite professor be stabbed right in front of them. Today however, it was almost like the whole thing hadn’t happened at all. It was the final Quidditch match of the year, the previous game, while incomplete, had been handed over to Slytherin per Hufflepuff’s surrender. The Great Hall was filled with excited chattering and enthusiastic yelling. The attention was off of him at least, many hadn’t stopped bothering him for all the gruesome details since the attack, but the excitement in the room made him feel like he was suffocating.

“Perhaps, I’ve ought to go get ready,” He bounced his fork between his fingers as he spared a glance at the doors, “It’s almost time to leave anyways.”

“Ben...” Satine frowned at him. He knew she was concerned, but she was polite enough not to bring it up.

“Right on, mate,” Cody came up behind them, a hand landing on each of their shoulders, “Early bird catches the worm and all that,” The Gryffindor captain wasn’t as eager as he normally would be. Between the attack and how far Gryffindor was down for the Quidditch cup, it was only his love of the sport that kept him optimistic at all.

“I’m not playing today,” Obi-Wan said as he straightened his silverware. Satine seemed to relax at the news while Cody's eyes widened.

“What? You sure?” He asked and Satine shot him a warning look, “Nothing gets my mind off things like being up in the air,” He shrugged, defending his point.

“I’m sure,” Obi-Wan just nodded, “I’d prefer my feet on the ground at the moment,” The last time they hadn’t been was when he’d been dangling off the side of the bridge.

“Well, alright,” Cody relented easily and offered instead, “Wanna walk down with us?”

His eyes caught sight of Anakin lingering in the doorway waiting for Cody, or maybe himself. So he rose from his spot at the table easily.

“You could always sit with me if you want too,” Satine let him know as she blew softly on her tea to cool it down.

“I’ll be expected to be on the benches,” Even if the thought was tempting, “I’ll see you afterwards? Studying?”

Satine nodded at the same time Cody mumbled, “When on earth are you doing anything else?”

He felt Satine’s eyes followed him all the way out the door.

Cody filled the silence with Quidditch tips as the three of them trailed after the Gryffindor team down to the pitches. Anakin had been a little quiet lately, so Obi-Wan was grateful that he had plenty of people surrounding him from his own house. He was sure that the Fett’s and even Padmé likely didn’t let Anakin wallow.

“I’ll try not to knock you out Obi-Wan,” Anakin announced after Cody had finished a rather long spiel of Quidditch related injuries from the past 10 years, “I’ve been told I hit pretty hard.”

He certainly wasn’t lying and as he continued to grow, Obi-Wan was quite sure he would only be stronger, “I think hitting a benched player is considered a foul.”

“It is,” Cody confirmed, but Anakin stopped walking just as they got to the edge of the pitch.

“They benched you?”

“I asked not to play,” Obi-Wan only paused in his stride when Cody did. Anakin’s gaze flicked between the two of them rapidly. Although Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what was going on in his head, he was clearly thinking through a few things.

“Should I- Maybe I shouldn’t play either,” Anakin said slowly, “I mean...” He trailed off, clearly thinking. Cody crossed his arms tightly, clearly not liking the idea of his star player being benched, but not willing to deny the request if he was asked.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed grandly. It was so obvious to him that Anakin would enjoy the distraction. Much like Cody, Anakin clearly revered flying as it would likely allow him to clear his head and to work towards a simple goal, “You should play.”

“But I-” Anakin turned, just enough to look off towards where Qui-Gon’s funeral had been held and Obi-Wan tried not to flinch at the thought.

“I’ve never liked Quidditch,” He reminded his mentee, “And although I take pride in my position on the team, they do not need me today,” Nahdar Vebb would do fine just as he always did, “Your team, however, does need you if they have a chance of winning,” Anakin stood a little taller at the thought, looking towards Cody for confirmation.

“Well, it’s always going to be easier with you-” Obi-Wan cut his friend off before he could continue.

“If you really don’t feel like playing I’m sure Cody will find a substitute for you...”

Anakin hesitated, “It’s not that I don’t want to play-”

“If you want to then you should,” He stepped forward, putting his hands on Anakin’s shoulders. Qui-Gon’s final request seemed to echo around in his head, but he ignored it as best as he could, “You’re a fantastic Beater, Anakin. One of the best Hogwarts has seen in my time here,” Anakin’s eyes were watching him, wide, impressionable. Obi-Wan was reminded once again just how young he was, “Ravenclaw will be playing a clean game today. I’m not going to let you in on our strategy, obviously,” He shot a short, pointed look to Cody, “But Gryffindor is going to need all the help they can get.”

“Oh yeah? You’re going down! A lion would eat your bloody bird for breakfast!” Cody caught on to the energy and Anakin shook off Obi-Wan’s hands to go join him.

“Yeah your team has no chance against us!” He had perked up significantly.

“I’d think a raven could outsmart a lion,” Obi-Wan shrugged playfully, “Guess you’ll just have to prove it.”

“Oh we will!” Anakin called as he resumed a swift walk towards Gryffindor’s locker room, “You’ll see.”

“See ya after the game mate,” Cody threw one last wave at Obi-Wan before heading swiftly after the second year.

Obi-Wan shook his head. For now, Anakin was easy to motivate. He could only hope the boy would keep some of that enthusiasm in his later years. He moved to walk towards his team’s locker room when a shadow fell over him.

“How interesting,” Obi-Wan turned slowly to meet the narrowed eyes of his parents, “Lying to your friends in Gryffindor house,” She smiled down at him, but it never reached her eyes, “Unless you were planning on breaking your promises to us.”

“No, of course not,” He answered automatically, “I only thought...”

“You think too much,” His father took a step forward, blocking even more of the light from streaming into the space, “I don’t believe we came all the way down here just to watch you sit pathetically on the sidelines.”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan swallowed the spark of frustration, “Had I known you were coming I-”

“-You should have anticipated it,” His mother told him.

‘You’ve never come before,’ Obi-Wan held his tongue and instead just dipped his head in apology, “I’ll play.”

His mother scoffed as if he’d said something so obvious. She turned to leave and his father gave him one more steely look.

“You’d do well to remember your place,” As if he could see straight through him he added, “Kenobi’s don’t show any weakness.”

He finally turned and followed her out, making their way to the stands. The Ravenclaw team who had arrived just at the tail end of the dispute moved out of their way.

“Alright Kenobi?” Eeth clapped a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, spinning him towards the direction of the locker room.

“Of course,” He responded easily enough, “Say Eeth, could I ask a favor of you?”

He would play, it was the simplest solution. His father was wrong about his reasonings though. Obi-Wan wouldn’t view having loved and lost as a weakness.

***

The atmosphere in the stands was charged with anticipation. Quidditch was always popular with the student body, but now it seemed they were latching onto the sense of normality with an iron fist. Many Ravenclaws had done up face paint and enchanted signs that flashed silver and blue letters cheering on the team. Gryffindor was leading chants from their end of the field and Hufflepuff and Slytherin houses split as the students picked a side. There still weren’t as many students as there should be, practically all those sent home had determined it would be a waste to come back to school for only a few weeks. Ravenclaw was down a few players because of it, and Gryffindor truly should count themselves lucky that their entire starting team was willing to play.

Even so, it seemed as if the stands were full just from the energy pouring out of them. Satine’s eyes were on Ben the moment he had been visible on the field. As if that was particularly out of the ordinary. She would deny such accusations if there were anyone brave enough to suggest anything. The familiarity of the whole thing was enough for her to not notice something was amiss until she realized that Ben was standing alongside his fellow starting players on the field rather than standing at the sidelines with the backups.

She sat up straighter, eyes darting around the field, looking to see if there was anything else out of place or perhaps for the reasoning behind the action. Satine had sat through her fair share of Quidditch matches in the past, but she knew she still didn’t know everything about the sport. Cody and Eeth Koth were sharing a word in the middle of the field. That was the only thing she could say was unusual, but not unheard of.

It wasn’t enough to make her suspicious of anything until Cody turned looking up at the Ravenclaw stands. She frowned, moving to turn around and get a clue as to what he could be so interested in.

“Nothing like the World Cup, is it,” A chilly voice that was unfortunately enough for Satine to recognize caused her to freeze in place and certainly not turn around any further. Obi-Wan’s parents were sitting only a few seats behind her.

“Box seating would be preferable,” Mr. Kenobi mused, “Hogwarts doesn’t show parents the respect they deserve.”

“Do you remember Beauxbaton?” Mrs. Kenobi asked, “They certainly had class.”

“We were there on ministry business,” He scoffed, “They hardly would have shown as much effort otherwise.”

“A pity.”

Satine hadn’t spent much time around the Kenobi’s when they weren’t berating her and her lack of status. Sitting nearly frozen and unnoticed just a few feet away, she could say for sure that they weren’t any more pleasant when left to their own devices. Blessedly, the players took to the air and both of the Kenobi’s lapsed into silence as the game began.

Of course that silence couldn’t have lasted longer than Satine’s patience. Ben hadn’t even done anything and they were quick to open their mouths and spew endless criticism from everything from his form to his choice of broom.

“None of your precision rubbed off on him,” Mrs. Kenobi muttered to her husband as Ben nearly dropped the Quaffle before chucking it hard and fast at the first free chaser, “He should be practicing more.”

Satine grit her teeth, sitting on her hands as they went on and on. Their voices were so abrasive to her own internal thoughts about Ben while he was playing. Where they saw a clumsy hit, she saw the way he considered each move carefully. Where they saw awkward form, she saw the way he was careful to stay on the damned broom. However, even with her own opinions about Ben’s performance, he certainly wasn’t at his best today. He’d let several quaffles through, enough that Eeth was hovering around the hoops nervously. Gryffindor wasn’t easy to beat on a good day and little slip ups weren’t helping.

“It’s like the boy’s never played a day in his life. How embarrassing,” His father scoffed and Satine bit back a stream of choice words and grimaced as Ben missed catching the Quaffle practically right in front of him and instead caught a bludger to the chest. He rolled a few times on his broom. It was enough for Eeth to finally call a timeout and Ravenclaw rushed towards their bench.

Satine, while grateful he was safe and firmly planted on the ground, didn’t like the way his parents made a disapproving noise.

“Ravenclaw’s a soft house,” Mrs. Kenobi spat, “I suppose it always has been.”

“6 years in the sport and he can’t take a hit,” Mr. Kenobi added, “Slytherin would have taught him better.”

“Oh look there,” His mother growled, “He’s got himself benched.”

Mr. Kenobi made an odd sound that Satine had to assume was some sort of laugh, “I can’t blame the captain. What a pitiful performance.”

Satine stewed quietly, unable to take her eyes off Ben or her ears off the Kenobi’s. She tried to reason with herself. Making such a fuss about it wouldn’t do anything to help Ben or her. No matter what she said they wouldn’t listen anyways. Still she found herself slowly turning around eyebrows twitching, mouth opening to give them a piece of her mind.

She only caught the tail end of Mrs. Kenobi’s long robe as she disappeared down the rickety stairs.

So they didn’t even deem the game worth watching if they didn’t have the opportunity to bad mouth their own son at every twist and turn. Satine growled, startling a few first years behind her before she turned back toward the match. Very well. She wouldn’t be able to prove anything to them in words so she would instead prove to them in her continued support.

***

Cody easily dodged a bludger as it rocketed its way back to Anakin. Despite Anakin’s earlier enthusiasm, he was fading ever faster. Cody was tempted to bench him just as Ravenclaw had done with Obi-Wan. Unfortunately Gryffindor needed the edge that Anakin could give them. Not to mention, Cody knew Anakin needed the distraction. He was only 12 and had faced death this year, not to mention he wasn’t yet sure what was going to happen to him when the year ended. It was an awful lot to put on a young boy’s shoulders.

Anakin managed to hit the bludger, but Eeth was able to dodge it just in time. Rush Clovis ended up being at the receiving end of the blow and he looked around wildly for where the thing had come from in the first place.

“Shake it off Rush,” Cody called with a wince. It was bad enough dealing with the other team’s beaters, without also worrying about your own.

“Sorry!” Anakin called, but Cody just waved him off as he moved to intercept the Quaffle. Taking it down the field and sinking it easily past Kenobi’s replacement. Vebb was a good Keeper, but he knew a lot less about Cody than Obi-Wan did.

Cody was nearly knocked off his broom as a flash of blue and silver streaked past him followed nearly immediately by his own team’s seeker, Moteé. They were both moving with speed and precision, trying to knock each other off their brooms in order to claim victory. He saw the glint in Moteé’s eye as she moved to put even more pressure on her broom when he also saw Skywalker raise his bat. Before he could call for Anakin to stop, the bludger was hit, rocketing towards them just as Moteé had pulled ahead.

There was a sickening smack as Moteé spun out, crashing towards the field below. The bludger still managed to clip Ropal sending him pitching forwards into the snitch. He flipped over, but managed to stay in the air with one hand. The other went to his snout where he coughed out the snitch.

“Damn it,” Cody cursed as he dropped to the ground while cheers and blue and silver sparks flooded the air.

“Moteé!” Anakin too had hit the ground, heels practically tearing up the grass as he screeched to a halt, “I’m so sorry! I-” Whether it was from Moteé’s glare or Cody’s warning look, he quickly cut himself off.

“Nasty hit,” Cody knelt down next to her, “I saw what you were doing, definitely a smart move.”

“Would have won us the game-” He hastily cut her off.

“I know,” She was swept away quickly by Madam Nema and a few other professors as Anakin approached Cody nervously.

“Is she okay? I didn’t mean to hit her...”

“She’ll be fine, probably just a concussion,” He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulders, “We’re going to have to work on your intuition some, but everyone makes mistakes,” And when Anakin looked upset he sighed and added, “There’s always next year, kid.”

***

Satine didn’t waste any time rushing down to the field upon Ravenclaw’s win. She wanted to find Ben as soon as possible. He hadn’t wanted to play in the first place and having such a rough game, despite their overall win, wouldn’t do much to improve his mood. She was nearly to the field when she nearly got run over by Cody and the other Gryffindor’s filing noisily back to their locker room.

“Satine?” Cody moved aside, letting his team continue to file past. They were a little more subdued considering their loss, but the game had still been a much needed break, “If you’re looking for Kenobi, he’s not on the field.”

“How do you know I’m looking for him? Maybe I was looking for you,” She crossed her arms, but she glanced out towards the field giving herself away if she hadn’t already been so obvious.

“Oh please,” He grimaced, “I saw them in the stand you know. You aren’t here to sympathize with Gryffindor’s defeat.”

Satine frowned, “I am sorry you didn’t get your win this year-” But Cody waved her off.

“You know what they say, Satine, third time’s the charm. We’ll get you next year!”

“So,” Satine shifted on her feet, “If he’s not on the field...”

“I’m not sure where he went. One minute I’m giving my team a once over the next he’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Ravenclaw Locker room?” Satine suggested and Cody just turned easily in that direction, leading the two of them there.

“I figured he’d run towards the school, library maybe?”

“Well, his parents are hardly willing to enter Ravenclaw spaces, but I wouldn’t put it past them to enter the library if they’re looking for him,” Satine reasoned and Cody hummed in thought.

When they reached their destination, they peeked inside and her suspicions were found to be correct.

The room was empty besides Ben, sitting alone on a bench polishing his broom handle meticulously. Satine figured it was already well done enough to see your reflection in it, but he was always particular.

“Hey,” Cody called, entering first, before Satine could find the best way to break the silence herself, “Congrats on the win.”

“Oh, Cody,” He looked startled by the intrusion, looking past Cody to catch her eye, “Satine,” He smiled at her and she mirrored it with one of her own. He looked back towards Cody, “Thanks, I think I may have hindered us more than helped us. Sorry about the loss,” He offered his sympathy and Cody sat down across from him leaving Satine to drop down right next to Ben.

“Next year for sure,” Cody repeated with conviction.

“I don’t think you did bad at all,” Satine leaned towards Ben, the heat of anger that had been stoked by his parents nearly the whole game resurfaced. He leaned away surprised, “You did really well, you’re a great Keeper!”

“Thank you?” He answered. She was glad he had no idea what she was really getting at, that meant his parents hadn’t found him to complain yet, “I messed up quite a bit today, I definitely wasn’t on my game.”

“Well, you didn’t want to play in the first place,” Cody shrugged and the air between them grew cold as each member struggled to find a foothold in the conversation.

“We still won,” Satine reminded him firmly and he blinked at her before parroting.

“We still won.”

***

Anakin kicked a stone as hard as he could into the lake. He didn’t really want to go back to the common room and face a whole bunch of people he’d just let down. His team didn’t even seem that disappointed, but Anakin felt that maybe they should be. If it wasn’t for him, they may have won the game! Plus if it wasn’t for him a mass murderer wouldn’t have been disrupted the entire school year. He kicked another rock.

“Careful mate,” Rex appeared at the corner of his vision, picking up a smooth stone and flicking it so it skipped across the lake, leaving ripples in its wake, “There’s said to be creatures living in there. I don’t think they’d like to land a rock to the head.”

Anakin sighed deeply, dropping down to the ground, his shoes just brushing the edge of the water, “I can’t believe I lost us the game!”

“Yeah if you were going to take out our seeker, you should have done it earlier. Could’ve given me a chance to play,” Rex joked sitting next to him.

“I could have killed Moteé!” Anakin looked at Rex, guilt swirling around at the thought.

“You didn’t though,” Rex shrugged, “Moteé knew what she signed up for, so did Ropal, so did Cody, so do I. It’s Quidditch mate! It’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, but I never expected to be the one causing the danger,” Anakin grumbled and Rex laughed.

“Sorry to say, but I think danger might be in your bones,” When Anakin didn’t respond, Rex punched him in the arm, “Come on, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless it was a fly actively trying to hurt your friends. Sure, Moteé’s a little mad, but you would be too if you’d been knocked around twice in one year. She’ll get over it.”

“I should make her an apology card,” Anakin decided as he flicked a rock into the water, “I’ll leave it on her bedside table while she’s sleeping so she doesn’t try to strangle me.”

“That’s the spirit!”

***

Obi-Wan had been under the misguided impression that once the drama with Maul settled down that he and his fellow prefects would finally earn themselves a decent night’s sleep. Of course, once he’d drawn up those conclusions in his head, he hadn’t factored in the possibility of losing his favorite professor in the process. He never would have thought, even when things were at their worst, that the earth would allow itself to turn without the brilliance that was Qui-Gon Jinn. Even weeks later and for likely longer than he could imagine, he still struggled to sleep at the horrible visions that filled his eyes when he closed them. He wondered how long such a reaction would last and hoped it wouldn’t be for as long as he missed the man, because he would always miss Qui-Gon Jinn.

Satine tried to insist that it was okay to mourn and grieve and he knew she was right. He’d never judge someone else for feeling depressed over losing someone important, but it was harder for Obi-Wan to reconcile this about himself.

If there was one thing that helped take his mind off of the persistent ache that gnawed at his chest, it was the influx of schoolwork. If they were going to be remotely ready for finals, they needed to play a massive game of catch-up. Satine, in particular, still had work to catch up on from the month she’d been frozen in carbonite.

It’s what brought them to tirelessly working on outlines, notecards, study guides, and mock quizzes just about every night in the common room.

He nearly scowled just thinking about how easily Ventress had gotten off for her involvement in that fiasco. She could have permanently disfigured students or worse! She could have killed them and according to Satine, she didn’t seem to care all that much about if she did or not.

She should have been arrested or at the very least expelled, but no, it was simply a year of detention and her losing her prefect status to atone for her crimes. She hadn’t even lost any house points for Slytherin, though that might have been in fairness to the other students of Slytherin house. He had no doubts that her affluent family, or adopted family to be more correct now, had a say in striking up the plea deal.

Since his only source to any real information was gone, he didn’t know what she told them about Dooku. All he knew was that it was apparently enough to be useful.

“I think Yoda believes her more dangerous out there with a vendetta than in school,” Satine’s tired voice interrupted his thoughts and startled as he was, he really shouldn’t have been. He was practically staring a hole in the newly added section about countering carbonite curses. It was taught by Yoda himself and learned during his time away.

“Or he’s afraid what Dooku will do to her if he expels her,” He grumbled and held his quill a little tighter. If he was being honest, the words were starting to blur from the way his eyes glazed over in exhaustion. Maybe, he’d actually get to sleep tonight.

“I mean it’s reasonable,” Satine shrugged, “I don’t want Dooku to hurt anyone, even her.”

That was the admirable thing about Satine. Her consistency with her noble values was something to be revered. Ventress could truly benefit from taking notes. For instance, having morals at all would be a vast improvement.

“I don’t either,” He sighed, “That doesn’t mean I have to like what she did to you… And the others.”

He might have added that a bit too late. He’d been horrified when discovering Rabé in Hogsmeade, but he did guiltily admit that Satine’s freezing was different. So much so, that he wondered if he’d look at the place the same next time he ventured there. So much had been taken away from them this year. Experiences, laughs, people. He was sure this would be a year too heavy to bear had he lost Satine too.

She sighed, “It was truly abhorrent, but it was a bit like waking up when I came out of it. I’d expect the worst part was for all of you who had to sit around and stare at my stony face.”

His tongue grew a bit fat when he thought to comment that looking at her face had never been a problem for him and at his own reluctance to admit: anyone else. Still, all he could think to do was peer over to her forearm, which lay turned facing up on the couch. He could still see the faint little scars of nails that had dug into her arm.

Catching his eyes, she carefully unraveled her sleeve to cover them and he looked at her sheepishly, to which she only shrugged. She might have said it was like waking up, but he had a feeling that getting frozen hadn’t been like falling asleep.

“She still deserved far more than detention.” He said.

“Of course,” She scoffed, “Seems like she’s got quite the chip on her shoulder now, though. She’s been laying pretty low.”

“Even during the match.” He admitted and rubbed his eyes, “I can’t help but wonder if she’s planning anything.”

“Considering how she was dumped by Dooku and left to burn, I’d say it involves turning some of those witchy powers onto him if she can get within arm’s reach.”

“I’ve had enough talk on Sith lords this year,” He yawned, “Maybe next year.”

She snorted dryly, “Yes, I’m sure Dooku will take that into deep consideration.”

“We’ve only got a couple weeks left,” He reminded her and even as awful as this year had turned out being, he couldn’t help but be surprised that it was nearly over. “One more year left.”

“Don’t start,” She warned, “I’d like to at least pass my finals first.”

Now, it was his turn to snort, “Satine, I know we’re tired, but we’re not completely delusional.”

She closed her book and faced him. Her bright blue eyes were bloodshot and struggling with effort to stay awake, “That implies we’re delusional at all.”

“Maybe we are,” He said, “I know you aren’t ever one to hold back when you disagree with one of my less conventional plans. Not to mention your obvious opinions on my possible color blindness.”

“To be color blind, you’ve actually got to mix up or not see certain colors, Ben.” She groaned, leaning her head back at the armrest. “You’ve just got batty taste.”

“I don’t know about that.” He said, pulse quickening. Nothing about this moment quite seemed right, but he’d been delaying in telling her how he felt for far too long. Recently, he’d been shown numerous signs of realizing how short life was. And yes, Cody had been right, delivering the sentiment of telling her how he cared in the form of a card was cowardly and short-sighted.

Telling her at the funeral would have just been plain depressing and any time before that had been consumed with the very real fear that their lives were about to be taken away. He still kicked himself for how he’d parted with her before seeking out Anakin. A kiss on the hand? What was this? A Victorian period piece?

In his defense, that was where he’d gotten most of his exposure to the romance genre.

In between the deftly heady spaces of remorse that clouded his thoughts, he regretted not spewing exactly how he felt or at least properly kissing her to make it clear. Though the prospect of being so forward like that now reddened him to a palpable flame. Now, it felt like a moment had passed between them and though he suspected she had some level of understanding, it seemed she wouldn’t be bringing it up either.

Unless she’d gotten over it- nope! He was not talking himself out of it. They were alone, which was a triumph in and of itself. He’d never want something of this nature to be spoken in front of an audience. They were also considerably peaceful, so much so that he felt like he might actually fall asleep by the comfort of warmth that radiated off her profile. He looked at their hands and how they were only a quick movement from touching. What would she do if he just held her hand?

Maybe, just maybe, this year didn’t have to be so dreadful after all. Qui-Gon’s words about learning to live flowed through him and seemed to finally make sense as he looked over at Satine through lowered eyes. The very least he could do was honor his mentor’s wishes.

“Hear me when I say that you need to live your life.”

“I don’t think I have batty taste at all,” He reiterated after a long pause.

“Is that so?” Satine responded slowly, “I beg to differ.”

“If I had batty taste I wouldn’t be friends with Cody.” He reasoned, “Nor would I have chosen Anakin as my protege.”

“Mmm, perhaps,” She said quietly.

“I wouldn’t have such a preference in dessert or soft animals if my taste was foul and I wouldn’t like all the books you recommend.”

“Unless your tendency to appreciate ugliness is contagious,” She chuckled.

He kept his eyes fixated on the fire ahead, really struggling to look at her as he figured out his way around the sentence that swirled around his brain. It shouldn’t be hard and he knew the stress was him overthinking it. He didn’t dare to dream of the consequences, because he wasn’t sure dreaming was in the cards for him now. Really, all that mattered to him was that it was said and that she knew.

His first step in attempting to truly live was gently taking Satine’s hand in his, interweaving their fingers and admiring at how perfect of a fit it seemed and how soft her hands were. He took the way they immediately curled around his as a good sign as any to continue with what plagued his broken heart.

“Well, I should hope you don’t feel that way,” He winced, “Because… the truly defining reason that I couldn’t possibly have that much of a predilection towards the unseemly is you.”

She didn’t answer right away, but his nerves prevented her from really doing so, “That is to say, I think you’re quite lovely, or more accurately, I think you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever seen or met. Inside and out.”

Because he really didn’t need her thinking he was sitting around drooling over her looks all day, no matter how impressive he found them.

“Because you’re everything I or anyone could ever want. You’re beautiful, brilliant, compassionate, witty, creative… Really, I could go on for so long that I’d need a dictionary of proper words to articulate how in awe I am of you, even without romantic connotation.”

Ugh.

“But there are plenty of romantic connotations, of course,” He coughed, “I wanted to tell you sooner. And the reason that it’s been so hard for me to say that is not because I don’t feel strongly in this regard, but the opposite. It’s intimidating for someone like me, who’d been taught otherwise about passion, but my feelings for you go beyond and within logic, forming what I can only assume is… Love.”

Silence.

Oh, no, had he said something wrong?

He turned his head to brave the consequences of his words, hoping that she would at least be the good sort of speechless. She had kissed him at Christmas. It wasn’t like these conclusions weren’t coming from somewhere. That didn’t stop his head from racing at a mile a minute with other possibilities.

They stilled when he received the sight of Satine Kryze, passed out against over the side of the couch, leaning on the armrest with her full body weight, her hair tumbling over the edge in a blonde waterfall. She was captivating, even in slumber, of course, so he was left in the debilitating and confusing predicament of his heart inflating and deflating.

She hadn’t heard any of it?

He blew out a breath like a balloon releasing air and leaned back. It wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted this moment to go at all. His head was pounding with a headache and he massaged his temples. Okay, he was officially and regretfully scratching out “firelit study session” as a possible setting to express his romantic intentions towards her. He was beginning to feel like some higher power might genuinely have it out for him.

He looked back down at their still joined hands. Any residual disappointment fell away at the sight and he gently and tenderly raised her hand to his lips for a careful kiss. It was nothing like the firm and desperate one he’d parted her with before, but a true promise of hope.

“Another time.” He whispered and without releasing her hand, nestled into the comfortable couch, finding a blanket out of the parchments and books across their laps, and for the first time all month, Obi-Wan slept a fearless sleep.

***

With Quidditch having ended for the year and nothing else to look forward to beyond finals (a truly bleak thought for Anakin), he realized with sharp clarity that this might be the last week he spends at Hogwarts should he never be able to return. While he had previously been depressed, he was filled with a new sense of purpose. He wanted to make it count.

Starting with how he was finally going to get a few things off his chest.

He didn’t walk lightly or quietly past those who pitied him, instead pushing past them with a heavy force of nature propelled by his inner desires finally coming to fruition. Regardless of consequence, he was a Gryffindor fearless and true, and he would be owning up to that title one way or another this year.

He found her sitting surprisingly alone on the front lawn and nearly toppled over a loose root on his way. It was a beautiful day, because apparently Anakin was allowed some small favors by the universe, and would be a lovely setting to deliver the impression he’d truly wanted to.

“Oh, hi, Anakin!” Padmé was one of the few people in this school whose empathy and kindness seemed genuine. It was a tenderness he was unsure he deserved to be on the receiving end of, but welcomed it nonetheless.

“I know you’re studying, so I won’t keep you long,” He sat down on the picnic blanket without waiting for an invitation to join her. If he stopped or paused, he might lose his nerve and if there was anything this fleeting year taught him, it was that there was no glory without guts.

“Okay, what’s up?” She asked him warily, setting aside her History of Magic textbook and crossing her hands on her lap to give him her full attention.

With her staring so openly at him, he nearly got lost in the way the sun made her eyes look golden in their warmth depth. However, the very last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a creep, so he continued onwards with the last remaining gumption he had left.

“I made something for you,” He blurted out, hating that it didn’t sound as impressive out loud as it had in his head when he internally rehearsed this speech. Even without decorum, he dug in the pocket of his robe and pulled out the trinket he’d made from the mockups that Hondo sold as merchandise. It had a completely different paint job. It was tan and carved with a little square and squiggly lines at the center.

“Oh!” She clearly didn’t know what it was meant to signify, so Anakin had no problem filling her in.

“I saw it in a book when studying ancient runes with Obi-Wan, from a japor snippet,” Off her curious look, he shrugged, “It’s meant to give good fortune to the beloved of the maker.”

“To the beloved of- oh.” Her eyes bugged when she hastily met his gaze and dropped the little necklace in her lap. “You mean you… Like me?”

“Well… Yeah.” He said awkwardly, realizing this was not as romantic as he’d drawn it up to be in his head. Embarrassment was quickly coloring his features and he hoped it would play as sunburn.

Anakin felt like his breath stopped somewhere in his chest. She definitely didn’t look like she was about to go running into his arms and dance with him in the sunlight. He shied his gaze away, trying to figure out a way to play this off as a joke when she suddenly took his hand.

“Anakin, this is very sweet,” She said, “I just- I don’t, I’m not really in that kind of place right now.”

His blond fringe hung in his eyes, which was fortunate for him as he didn’t want to appear too depressed or forlorn. It was another blow to take, but a risk he understood. At least he knew.

“And honestly, I don’t feel like I really know you,” She admitted.

He looked up at her and frowned, “What do you mean? I feel like I know you.”

“I think…” She paused, gnawing on her bottom lip to find the words she wanted to say, “I think you might have conjured an idea of me in your head.”

“And that’s different?” He asked.

“Yeah, I mean, we don’t really talk that often.”

“That’s because I’m always too nervous to talk to you.” He answered.

“Why do I find it hard to believe that you get nervous?” She tilted her head to the side, flashing a smile that still warmed him up from the inside, “In any case, you’ve nothing to be nervous of.”

“Yeah, I guess the worst case scenario already just happened,” He leaned back on his legs, kneeling now in front of her with remnants of disappointment still tainting this day. He didn’t know why he would believe that someone as magnificent as Padmé Amidala would ever be interested in a scrub like him. The crushing weight of this rejection felt a bit like a wound being reopened before she squeezed his hand.

“I’d really like it if we could be friends.” She offered lightly, “I’m always in the market for more true friends.”

“If you’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me…” He trailed off, because he really didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case.

“Why would I lie?” She asked, “Anakin, you seem like an incredibly caring person and like a lot of fun, frankly. It would be my pleasure to get to know you and to be your friend… Just as long as you understand that that’s all I want to be.”

He thought about that and considered, not for the first time, that having more good people in his life to some capacity was better than less. He could trust Padmé and while she believed he didn’t really know her, he intended on getting to know the real her.

Then, he briefly thought back to something said to them earlier this year. “I just hope Miraj wasn’t right when she said misfortune will follow you for befriending me.”

She squeezed his hand again and his heart felt a little lighter, “I don’t let anyone tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. Friendship doesn’t come with terms and conditions.”

Anakin smiled at her, “Well, in that case, I ask that you still keep the necklace. We’ll call it… a friendship necklace.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, “There might be another lucky girl out there that you could give it to.”

“Nah,” He waved her off, “There isn’t. I’d rather it go… To a friend.”

***

“Poisonous plant that kills animal cells?” Satine was blocking her notes quite strategically from both Obi-Wan and Cody even if Cody was not participating in their little game. In his opinion, studying should not be done at the dinner table or really at any sort of event outside of maybe an hour or two in the library.

“Bloodroot,” Obi-Wan answered quickly, not even a moment's hesitation. He then looked down to his own notes without even waiting for confirmation, “What do the four golden statues in the MACUSA represent?”

“The victims of the Salem witch trials,” Satine frowned, “And may I just add how absolutely horrific that was,” She turned back to her notes, “How would one go about resisting the imperius curse-” She looked unsettled as she looked up at Obi-Wan, “What have you all been doing in DADA?”

“Utilizing strong mental fortitude,” He answered the first question before shrugging, “I may need it someday. Professor Fisto said those that can make the best aurors.”

The expression on Satine’s face was enough for Cody to cut in before they could start arguing, “Do you really need to be studying right now? It pays to take breaks you know,” The two looked at each other.

“I’m not tired, are you?” Obi-Wan asked and Satine shook her head, “Alright, how many known wand core components are there?”

“Three,” Cody answered dully, poking at his mashed potatoes.

“Nineteen!” Satine answered.

“Really?” Cody grimaced, “Glad I’m not in that class.”

“We could switch to something else if you’d like,” Satine offered and Obi-Wan nodded, “Charms?”

“Please no!” Cody shook his head quickly, “You might not be tired, but I’m tired just watching you go back and forth.”

“Suit yourself,” Obi-Wan shrugged, “We’re almost out for the summer anyways, you won’t have to think about classes for a whole two months.”

“Yeah, except every time I get an owl from you lot,” He rolled his eyes, “Last year, you sent me more book summaries than you did events from your real life, Kenobi.”

“The books were the interesting part!”

“Anyways,” Satine finally took a bite of her, surely cold, chips, “We’ve had a rather chaotic year. It serves to be prepared.”

“They should just cancel the lot of them if you ask me,” Cody said with a shrug, “We hardly had any real classes for half the year.”

“Oh stop! It hasn’t been that bad-”

Headmaster Yoda tapped the side of his glass, and a hush rolled across the Great Hall. He was slow to rise, but stood on his chair as to best see across the room at all the students.

“An announcement, I have to make,” He nodded, “Uncertain, our year has been. Unprecedented. The remaining professors and I, come to a conclusion, we have. NEWT exams and OWLs will be pushed back until the end of July.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from those students who had certainly been stressing it. Cody had to admit, had he been taking his NEWTs this year, he was almost sure he’d be in a full-fledged panic over it. Chatter rose in the Great Hall again and Yoda tapped on his glass once more. He wasn’t done yet.

“For the rest of you,” Anticipation hung in the air like electricity as they all turned as one to face the Headmaster, “Decided we have, to cancel your finals.” He barely got the words out before the whole hall broke into loud cheering.

Cogs in his brain turned quickly as he realized the universe had heard his pleas for once. He quickly shouted, “And I want onto a professional Quidditch team!” He turned to express his delight to his two best friends before glancing over to looks of utter horror and despair.

“But- I-” Satine was at a loss for words and Obi-Wan looked like he was still processing the information.

“Oh, cheer up!” Cody grinned, “This is a good thing.”

“I hardly think so,” Obi-Wan sounded quite like he’d been informed of his own expulsion, “How will we test our knowledge now?”

“You were doing pretty well on your own,” Cody rolled his eyes.

“Yes… We could just make our own tests,” Satine turned to him excitedly. Obi-Wan perked up at the thought.

“It’s certainly not against the rules,” He immediately scrambled for a quill, “We’d have to grade them together though-”

“Of course, I don’t want you doing it wrong!” Satine pulled out her own quill, pulling his parchment closer to her.

“You two are absolutely insufferable, you know that?” Cody crossed his arms, stewing, “Something good finally comes our way and you want to make it harder for yourselves.”

“Cody, would you like us to make you one too?” Obi-Wan asked, clearly not having heard him.

Cody stared at him long and hard, “Hell no! Leave me out of your insanity!”

***

Much to Ventress’ disdain, Headmaster Yoda’s list of announcements didn’t stop at the cancellation of finals, no matter how welcome that was. Once the outburst of mass celebration simmered down, the smiling little green Headmaster patiently began yet again.

“Finished, I am not. Announce the winner of the house cup, I will.” He said and Ventress felt her stomach turn inside out. All eyes at Slytherin’s table turned to her in immediate appraisal. They’d already won the Quidditch cup, but it was obvious they were concerned that her transgressions this year could result in slating them. She didn’t care about the competition, as there was no true value to winning. However, some under Slytherin’s banner took beating Gryffindor very seriously.

A pregnant pause filled the entire Great Hall as everyone held their breaths for the reveal. Ventress kept her eyes focused hard on Yoda and it seemed he caught her gaze. He remained tepid and relaxed, but never breaking contact as he spoke,

“Won, Slytherin house has,” He said and backed away as the entire Great Hall flew into even greater hysterics than before. The other three houses were understandably outraged while Slytherin was practically crawling on the table to celebrate their win. Ventress, a bit dumbfounded, did not join them in their hurrah.

“What, so they try to kill us all semester and they get rewarded for it?” Shouted one student that Ventress couldn’t see through the chaos.

“They’re monsters! Maul was one of them!” Yelled another.

“We lost how many points for Krell last year?” A Gryffindor, obviously, jumped in.

Her Slytherin counterparts didn’t resist chiming in, of course, since they were not the sort to be made victims of, “Hey! Maybe if you kept your head focused on your books instead of every little trollup’s arse, you might get somewhere!”

“That is enough! Take a seat, all of you!” Professor Windu boomed over the rest of the crowd. If he was good for something, it was projecting his voice even without an amplification charm. “First of all, Gryffindor House, you lost zero points for Krell’s actions last year, because as with this situation, it was agreed that his abhorrent actions were an anomaly and completely unfair to take the rest of you down.”

“Second,” Yoda continued for him, “Hard work, Slytherin has shown. The actions of one, they will not be crucified for.”

Once again, Ventress felt the burning stares of her peers. She was shunned by Dooku, who promised to reunite her with the Nightsisters of Dathomir, who would understand her, embrace her skills and her flaws as they were. They would be a true family, not the imposters that supposedly raised her under the affluent guise of success. Even these wannabes were rejecting her, save for those whose parents likely threatened them.

She clutched her fist. They didn’t deserve to win the house cup. None of them did. There should have been no rewards for any of their actions. Two professors were dead and a stack of aurors before them and here they were deliberating over a trivial contest. It was foolish and exactly why the Sith would easily be able to dominate them all. They could cast their disappointment at her all they wanted, but it was all just a distraction. It would be easy, in the end, and the commoners would clutch their pearls and act like it hadn’t been in front of their faces all along.

She’d told them what she knew not only to hopefully scorn Dooku, even if that would be an added bonus, but because it seemed they needed it spoon fed to them in order to begin tracking him down. She didn’t want to give Dooku or his master the satisfaction of seeing their future through. She never had any real loyalties to it, just what it could do for her.

Instead, she’d need to play the role of the dutiful pureblood witch and utilize whatever funds and resources to bring about real change: to bring back the sinister sisters of her bloodline, to take back everything and destroy the muggles that stood in their way. It would be better than the dogmatic Sith.

It would be revolution.

“So, if I hear any of you claiming that it was unjust, I’d like you to ask yourself, what more could you have done to better advance your house?” Windu said.

Quiet murmurs spread across the room and she still knew they were all indirectly about her. Someone pointed out that Obi-Wan Kenobi took out an entire Sith lord on his own, but another mentioned something about how he rejected any rewards for it.

Faro scowled from across the table at that, “Such a fool. Does he believe he’ll get anywhere in life with that sacrificing attitude?”

“I’d expect he doesn’t need to, with mommy and daddy’s money just waiting for him,” Miraj Scintel said coolly, “He’s not too bad on the eyes, too, which helps.”

She cast her eyes towards Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was chatting amongst some of his quidditch friends. She grimaced at his natural charisma that everyone seemed to fall for. It was sickening, really, that he could blend so well amongst everyone, even the muggle borns. That he wanted to. She didn’t get the appeal to his relentlessly charitable way of being. It was like he asked to be magnificently cursed.

It would be like swallowing a thick and heavy dose of the foulest medicines, but Ventress knew what she needed to do in order to accomplish her greatest desires. Next year was their final year at this putrid school, and she would do what she must to climb the ranks. He wouldn’t break easy from his band of misfits, but he would break. And really, Ventress would have very little to do with it. The way of the pureblood culture would be more than enough. Time was ticking and Ventress knew she had much to do.

She began scrawling in her notebook the terms of an unbreakable vow.

***

Now that finals had been cancelled the library was practically vacant, most students were spending their precious few hours left at school in the courtyard, on brooms or chatting by the lake. Obi-Wan could never think of anywhere else he’d rather be in his spare time than in the library and it was clear that Satine thought the same, taking up her usual spot beside him.

She was engrossed in her book, something on hidden secret wizarding communities across the globe. He hadn’t gotten around to reading that one yet, although he was sure he’d been to plenty of the places listed. He was sure she’d quite like Appleby if she ever got the chance to go. She turned a page and it seemed like enough to jar her from her focus and instead place her eyes on him.

“What?” Obi-Wan winced, he hadn’t realized he’d been staring, how rude.

“Oh nothing I was just-” He floundered for something to say, “Appreciating that we had time off.”

“It’s pretty nice,” She smiled, letting her book flutter closed and almost seemed to lean a little closer to him as she rested her arm on the table, “I do still have that evening patrol tonight.”

“You could trade for mine tomorrow morning,” He chuckled at the way her lips curled back into a snarl.

“Not on your life,” She huffed, “Perhaps, I’ll have fewer next year. Considering we’ll have the most seniority.”

“I’m sure as Head Girl you’ll have your pick of the litter,” Obi-Wan said without thinking and she looked at him a little surprised.

“I don’t think anything has been decided yet,” She answered coolly.

“They’d be a fool not to pick you,” Obi-Wan waved a hand at her, “Certainly there’s no competition, you’re the brightest witch of your age.”

“Well, I’d hardly say there’s no competition,” She smothered a smile, “But it would be a high honor to receive.”

“I was expected to get prefect,” Obi-Wan mused, “I didn’t realize how much I’d enjoy the position. I’m already honored just to have been considered for the role of Head Boy.”

Satine gazed at him for a beat, “Why do you talk like you’ve already lost out?”

“Well we don’t know-”

“-Don’t we?” Satine scoffed, drumming her fingers on the table in irritation, “If you think I have no competition, you’ve already won.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “There’s always Bail-”

“-Ben please,” Satine rolled her eyes, “Bail’s incredibly smart and a good prefect, but even he, himself, knows that he’s not getting the position,” Satine continued before he could open his mouth, “Ben you’re the top student at the school-”

“Second,” He corrected automatically, “You beat me by half a point-”

“I haven’t forgotten!” She jabbed a finger at him, “I wasn’t counting me.”

“Well you should,” He grumbled, “You’re the brightest witch here.”

They looked at each other for a second, neither knowing how to break away, “That means I’m always right,” Satine pointed out, turning towards her book, face a little red. Obi-Wan looked away and found interest in reading the titles on the shelf across from him, “You’ll be Head Boy for sure.”

“Then you’ll be Head Girl,” He shot back without glancing over. They hung in an almost oppressive silence for another minute or two before Obi-Wan hesitantly glanced over. Unfortunately for him, she’d been looking his way and they were once again stuck, eyes locked together.

It was almost as if words were traveling unspoken, questions, maybe answers. It was enough for Obi-Wan to take a shaky breath and try to ask one of his own out loud. The one he’d been trying to get out for a while now.

“Satine-”

“There you are!” Anakin’s voice was quick to shatter whatever spell had come between them and Obi-Wan felt his face heat up and his heart race as he turned towards Anakin with a hint of irritation.

“What?” He groused and Anakin looked between him and Satine with a tilt to his head.

“I was just going to ask you to check over my essay...” Anakin faltered, “I can come back-”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Obi-Wan let out a long breath, “You only startled me. This is a library you know.”

“I know! You never spend any time outside of it...” Anakin complained under his breath, handing over his essay.

Obi-Wan took it and used it to hide his face as he glanced towards Satine. She’d gone back to her reading, but looked unfazed. She flipped a page and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

“Whatcha looking at?” Anakin whispered in his ear and he glared at Anakin.

“Your poorly written essay,” He answered, rolling up said parchment to bap him in the head with it.

“Aw come on I tried extra hard this time!” Anakin sighed, draping himself across the table.

“You really need to reel in your tangents,” Obi-Wan pulled the red pen Anakin had given to him the previous year and scratched through a whole paragraph before handing it back, “Professor Yaddle doesn’t want to know how this relates to your favorite shows.”

Anakin spent a moment looking over his essay before pulling out a blank sheet of parchment and began to revise. Obi-Wan looked between Anakin and Satine and frowned. So much for a quiet moment or any sort of real talk.

“Perhaps, I’ll see you back in the common room then?” Satine placed a bookmark in her book and he gave her a sheepish smile.

“I suppose so-”

“Padmé?” Satine was looking over his head and so he turned to indeed see Padmé Amidala edge her way out from behind a bookshelf.

“Ah hello,” She greeted, “I was hoping you could look over my potions essay, Satine? If it’s not too much trouble.”

Satine sat back down and gestured to the seat across from her, “Alright, hand it over,” She leaned closer to Ben and whispered quietly, “Never a dull moment.”

“Never,” He grinned over at her.

***

“You summoned me, Headmaster?” Obi-Wan creaked open the door to Yoda’s office and was immediately comforted by the reminder that it was Yoda’s office yet again, no matter what qualms certain sectors of the Ministry of Magic had. It had been a unanimous vote, one even cast by Palpatine, to reinstate him and he was glad he had. It was nothing personal to Professor Palpatine, but his parties catering towards his favorite students didn’t exactly speak for a strong lack of bias.

“Indeed, in you come!” Yoda gestured for Obi-Wan to take a seat and he followed suit. “Important things, we have to discuss.”

Obi-Wan winced. He really didn’t want to relay what happened on the viaduct with Maul yet again to another person. He really didn’t understand why Windu couldn’t have just passed on what he received first hand immediately afterwards. There had been a lot of heavy sobbing and sniffling to get around, but he knew he told him everything in a flush of emotions uncharacteristic to him. That moment was foggy, likely at his mind’s own choice to further spare him from sadness, but he remembered being grateful that no one else was around.

Alternatively, the debate over who was to be the next Head Boy and Head Girl was buzzing louder than ever with just a few days left in the term. Traditionally, this announcement was made over the summer in the form of a personal letter that students usually hung over their mantles in pride. However, maybe they wanted to deliver some more good news in light of recent events.

Then again, Satine would probably be here too if that’s what they were discussing. Or at least, he really hoped she would.

“What is it, Headmaster?” He felt compelled to ask, because they sat in silence for a long time, neither looking relaxed that this troubling year was coming to a close. With Dooku still running free, it was very likely that a precedent was starting.

“Worried, for young Skywalker, you are,” He said calmly. It was not a question, but Yoda was never known for dancing around his point for very long. No, the lengthy and often riddled speeches were a trait of a professor who would no longer be bursting into this office without announcement nor would they live to relay another prophetic theory ever again. The weight of that absence sat between Obi-Wan and Yoda, though neither acknowledged it formally.

“Very much so,” He confirmed and tapped his fingers aimlessly on his knees, “I- Well, I made a promise to look after him.”

“To whom?” Yoda raised a brow on his wrinkly face, “Skywalker or your former mentor, did you promise?”

Qui-Gon always said that Anakin was the top priority and though he’d always known it, that really sunk in now that the boy had no one left but Obi-Wan.

“Both.” He said after a deep breath, “So, if you’ve brought me here to tell me that you’re just going to throw Anakin in some orphanage when Dooku is surely out there waiting for him to be vulnerable, I cannot allow that.”

“Sound like Qui-Gon, you do,” Yoda said, amused, but Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he knew how much that meant to him just then, “Cast Skywalker aside, we cannot.”

Obi-Wan relaxed his shoulders immediately. He hadn’t been sure what his course of action was going to be to follow up his assertion, but he was glad he didn’t have to come up with anything just then. He was just glad that Anakin wasn’t going to be left with strangers. It was incredibly cruel considering everything he’d been through.

He didn’t breathe completely easily yet, “But you’re also not going to lock him up in the castle all summer either, right? He needs normalcy.”

And a break from this place. They all did, as much as he preferred his years at Hogwarts to his summers at home. Obi-Wan knew he would be eager to return back in the fall, yearning for the bright memories this special place held for him. However, as it was at the moment, he could only feel the lingering sense of loss.

“Agree, I do, but find new normal for him, we must.”

“Until his mother is found.” Obi-Wan agreed.

“That might-” Yoda caught himself off as he regarded Obi-Wan with sad eyes and without the desire to complete the thought he started. Obi-Wan knew what he’d been thinking. It had been on his mind too whenever Anakin brought it up, even since it first happened. He also never said what came to mind.

Yoda shook his head and started again, “Yes, and find an alternative, we have. Or more accurately, found us, the alternative has.”

“That’s great.” Obi-Wan said, “A family is taking him in then.”

“Appear so, it would.”

“Well, that’s fantastic! And Anakin is on board?” There was something still odd about this meeting, a wariness to Yoda’s gaze that wasn’t quite meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes anymore. His body language was turned away, like he knew he was delivering bad news.

He nodded, long pointed ears wiggling a bit as he did, “Inform you first, I thought I should. Object to the arrangement, you can, but very few options, we have.”

“Inform me?” Obi-Wan repeated, “Headmaster, I’m not sure I have the faintest idea what you could be talking about. Who are they?”

***

“Anakin, darling, there you are!” Mrs. Kenobi came shuffling over hurriedly, or as much as she could with the trail of midnight green satin slithering behind her in long tresses. Mr. Kenobi took long strides behind her, leading with his infamous walking stick that always captured Anakin’s attention.

Anakin was indeed surprised when he was given the information that the Kenobi’s wanted to take him in for the summers and holidays and relieved that he would at least get to stick with Obi-Wan, but he certainly hadn’t expected they’d show up at the castle’s doorsteps.

Obi-Wan, it appeared, was also absolutely flabbergasted as he dropped whatever bags he’d been helping Satine with clean on the cobblestone walkway, much to his friend’s initial chagrin and gradual understanding as she rounded the bend.

“What the hell, Be- Oh.” Satine snapped her mouth shut and just focused on picking up her scattered things with Padmé and Breha at either side of her. None of the three girls dared to lift their heads.

“Mother, Father, you’re here… At Hogwarts.” His voice was tight and clipped while his eyes didn’t blink.

“We do need to work on your hosting mannerisms.” His mother didn’t look once at him and kept her eyes on Anakin, “Ah well, I suppose there will be plenty of room for practice this summer with our brand new house guest.”

“Thank you for taking me in.” Anakin said earnestly, because even while belonging on another plane of elitist culture, they still volunteered to take Anakin in the moment they’d heard he was without a place to stay.

“It is no trouble at all, my boy,” Mr. Kenobi ruffled his hair, “The servants have already taken the liberty of clearing out Obi-Wan’s room for you.”

“My room?” Obi-Wan questioned.

“Oh, no I can’t do that. I can just sleep on the couch or something-” But Anakin was instantly cut off by Mrs. Kenobi’s thin, but noticeably strong arms crushing him into a hug against her bony sternum.

“Nonsense!” She hissed, “His room is much warmer than the spares and only the best for growing heroes.”

Anakin wanted to turn around and shrug at Obi-Wan. He hoped he didn’t mind giving up his room for him. He knew he would be pretty upset if some little kid came into his childhood room and took over all of his stuff and space.

“And since we have raised Obi-Wan correctly, he will do the just and honorable thing and give his room for you in your time of need,” Mr. Kenobi’s voice was lethal, but Anakin still only had a view of Mrs. Kenobi’s laced neckline, so he didn’t see the look that matched it over Mrs. Kenobi’s shoulder.

After a pause, Obi-Wan cleared his throat, “Yes, well, I have been eyeing up the west wing.”

“Mmm, I think not.” Mr. Kenobi waved a large hand at him dismissively, “I’m refurbishing it as a second office.”

“The east wing, then.” Obi-Wan tried.

“The basement will do, you’ll have much more space down there to practice Quidditch.”

After a long pause, Obi-Wan only nodded and was giving Anakin a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “Sounds good.”

“Clearly, it’s needed,” Mrs. Kenobi added and gently pet Anakin’s hair to the side. It would have reminded him of his own mother, if her fingers weren’t so long and cold, “Unlike you, my little star. Gryffindor’s team truly does not deserve your efforts.”

He didn’t have the heart to remind her that it was technically Anakin’s fault that they threw the game and Ravenclaw won. Neither team had their hearts in it that day, though, and it had definitely been a shock to all of them when the Kenobi’s showed up to watch. At least they’d been impressed enough with him to still give him a place to stay. That had to count for something.

“The new broom must have helped.” He smiled.

“You know, I think it did. That’s what happens when you have the best of what money can buy, Anakin.” Mr. Kenobi sighed at Obi-Wan, “Usually.”

“Now, now, I believe our new guest warrants a special welcoming feast of his favorite foods!” Mrs. Kenobi said, “Why don’t we get your things and you can just simply come straight home with us?”

“Is that allowed?” He looked around at Obi-Wan as well as Satine for approval. He was pretty hungry and was starting to feel a bit cautiously optimistic at the promise of any foods he wanted. After all, they were filthy rich and if they were willing to share that money with Anakin, well, he might as well make something good of this whole mess. He bet Obi-Wan’s head would explode if afforded the opportunity to try a hot pocket.

“As long as you’ve got approval from a professor or prefect-” Satine started, but was promptly cut off as though she never spoke.

“Which Obi-Wan most certainly is that.” Mrs. Kenobi tutted.

“As am I.” Satine reminded them, but once again, they simply did not hear her. Obi-Wan’s mother’s lips twitched a bit, but she retained her bright glow as she reached out for Anakin’s hand. He accepted it, deciding he would get used to how cold they were.

“Well, I suppose I’ll see you in September.” Obi-Wan began to say to Satine.

“Right,” Satine nodded a lot, like she was flustered and Anakin squinted as he looked between the two of them. He wondered for a second if they were going to hug or something, but their arms remained at their side. It was weird, he knew for a fact that Cody had wrapped Obi-Wan in a headlock earlier and called it a hug, but it was still a hug. Anakin hugged Rex earlier. He didn’t see what the big deal was.

She cleared her throat after a moment of words unsaid, “Be sure to write when you can.”

“Of course, especially if you get- well, you know.” Obi-Wan shrugged and Anakin didn’t know and the Kenobi’s both stuck their noses up in suspicion. Mr. Kenobi’s long nose was flared as he looked down at his son that began to follow them. Had Obi-Wan’s eyes not been glued to Satine’s he might have noticed when his father’s large hand stuck out to catch him in the chest, preventing him from going on.

“-Uh uh uh, you’re not dodging your responsibilities, young man!” Mr. Kenobi wagged a long white finger at him. “You can apparate now and will do so from the station when you are finished assisting with loading and unloading. We’ve recommended you for bag duty again.”

Obi-Wan was clearly trying to stop himself from groaning at the thought.

“Get some muscles on those bones.” He poked his son with his stick.

“And don’t let us hear you were caught frolicking or lollygagging in any way.” Mrs. Kenobi added coolly, flicking her blue-grey eyes to Satine for the first time, “You’re practically an adult now that you’re 17. It’s time you acted like it.”

“Yes ma’am.” Obi-Wan said and nodded at Anakin, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.” Anakin said with a sympathetic shrug. He did wish he could come with them, but Anakin supposed it was important that Obi-Wan keep things in order on the train. He knew from someone who usually caused chaos that the prefects were necessary to have on hand and that Obi-Wan was one of the best.

Mrs. Kenobi patted his hand as they walked down the hill with Anakin’s trunk and bags floating aimlessly behind them, “Oh, Anakin, I believe this is going to be a splendid arrangement. Someone of your caliber deserves the finer things in life. It’s about time you got to experience them.”

“Do you have a pool?” He blurted out, knowing it could sound rude, but was pleased when they only laughed.

“Try several.” Mr. Kenobi grinned beneath his beard, but it looked foreign on his lips, even if Anakin didn’t know much about the man, “It will indeed be refreshing to have someone around who can appreciate our way of life.”

With several pools, Anakin would at least try.

Maybe it was selfish, when his mother was missing and lost somewhere. However, he still vowed to find her and to see that she was safe and to unite their family. He knew in his bones that she would want him to be happy. She would always be his real home.

No matter how far she was.

***

Sometimes, a plan needed to be executed to the number in order to come out successful. It all depended on who the puppeteer was, of course. A true strategist knew when to bend the wills and patterns of the fates to adhere to the plan, of course, because not every variable could be accounted for with a third eye. No, it required flexibility at its finest. Even towards the end, he truly believed he might have been over. His position as Headmaster had been one he was ready to give up… For now.

No, there was much more he could do as a teacher.

And now, he accomplished two birds with one stone in a beautiful array of damage that Sidious couldn’t have planned more perfectly himself. Maul did as he did best and caused a chaos that disbanded trust between the Ministry and the school board as well as its students. While they would always try to slap a bandage on a gutted wound, they would find their results required much more than that when Sidious was hiding in the corner, putting poison to the casualties.

Letting them fester and bleed until the only thing that remained was an infected and unrecognizable gash that spread through the body, consuming and ultimately defeating its host from the inside out. That was the only way to get to someone, after all, but Maul was a physical being and would never understand the true power of the dark side.

Sidious had to see to that for a reason.

And all he wanted to do was destroy Sidious and his hard work and the work that had yet to come. It was brilliant, he had to admit, to turn the dementors against them. It was something he’d taught him long ago, of course, with the help of the night witch. But it had been executed brilliantly.

Instead, he proved himself the worthy apprentice for one last time where Tyranus had not, in destroying the very person that Sidious had his eyes on all year. Many knew now that the battle between Qui-Gon Jinn and Maul was a battle for Anakin’s very soul, but few understood just how terribly it had been lost. It was tragic, really. If Obi-Wan had died, they all would know. So for once, Sidious was glad for the boy’s survival.

There was still the matter of the girl, who would likely be a problem for Tyranus down the line, but that was something his apprentice reaped that he would need to sow. They could only delay the inevitable for so long. As it were, the girl could still provide some use in accomplishing Palpatine’s next feat.

He honed his sights on Obi-Wan Kenobi, who stood not quite touching but very close next to that muggle-born Satine Kryze. Like a damn vision, the sunlight cast a specific ray just to glow around him, symbolically highlighting why Sidious needed to get rid of him. Next to the holocron, he ran his finger around the rim of a chalice, a cup if you will, divine and extravagant though muddled with dust and a disguising charm to hide its true origin of where it had been won.

As it were, there was a fairly believable way of elimination arriving in his lap. Yes, Obi-Wan Kenobi would need to be removed from the story as he was in many ways, the final obstacle in his way.

“But first…” He drifted his yellow eyes across the room until he landed on the chest near the desk. He ran ghostly white fingers over the wooden finish.

He unlocked the latch and lifted the lid, drifting his eyes all the way down the hole that it hid until landing on its sole item: Shmi Skywalker, frozen in carbonite.

“What to do with you?”

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #the clone wars #tcw #star wars #hpau #magical forces au

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter One (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: For the 75th Hunger Games, tributes will be chosen from each district's living victors.

Denali and Rosé, two women with a shared past, are the only living victors for District 12. They’ll grow a lot closer than they planned in their effort to survive.

A/N: Bringing my love of fantasy AUs to Rosnali! It's been a while since I've done a multi-chap, but I'm excited for this one! You can probably read this without knowing the books/movies, but it's helpful if you look up the basics if you're confused. There will be blood, violence, and injury throughout, but nothing more graphic than the books/movies.

Thank you so, so much to Writ for supporting this idea and helping me with it, and FaceTiming me to scream with your reaction. I love you <3

I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!

Read on AO3.

The blood is everywhere.

It stains the grass, trickles down Rosé’s pants, burns in her nose. It’s sticky on the side of her face. It pours from the fresh gash across her shoulder. It’s caked under her nails. It soaks the bodies on the ground.

The bodies.

One is still clinging to life, wheezing through the hole in his chest.

Rosé made that hole.

Rosé waits, not releasing her blood-soaked grip on her blood-soaked sword, until he gives one last wheeze and the cannon goes off, announcing her as winner of the 59th Hunger Games--

“Rosie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.”

Rosé shoots upright in bed, soaked with new sweat and old blood.

“It’s just us here. You’re safe.”

It’s her sisters in front of her, just her sisters. No bodies. No blood. No sword in her clenched fist. She sucks in a deep breath as her sisters watch in worry.

Rosé’s the only one who officially lives in the Victor’s Village house, but more often than not, Jan or Lagoona or both will come over for dinner and occasionally stay the night with her. She knows it’s mostly because they love her and want to, but it’s partly so they can make sure she eats and sleeps. She was the one who taught them to braid hair and jump rope, who used to check for monsters under their beds, and now they have to watch her eat and put her to bed and tug her out of nightmares. But Rosé doesn’t even care, because she loves her sisters more than anything and it feels so normal to have them around. She’s able to laugh and smile and forget, and she just pretends not to see the concerned looks her sisters exchange on her behalf.

They both stayed tonight, because they know what tomorrow is.

Rosé nods as she comes back to herself, holding back the apology on her lips because she knows they’ll just brush it off.

“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” Jan asks.

Rosé shrugs. If she looks at her hands too long, blood stains appear, but that’s not something she wants to worry them about. She hates still having the dreams, clear as if they happened an hour ago, not sixteen years ago. Plus it’s almost four, and she needs to be up in a few hours anyway--

“Let’s make cookies,” Lagoona says, coming to the same conclusion.

It’s what they did as kids, helping their parents with the bakery after school and on weekends. They’d line up at the counter, and Rosé would cream the butter and sugar, Lagoona would add the rest of the ingredients, and Jan would scoop the dough on the baking trays. Their mom always says there’s nothing a cookie can’t solve, and maybe that’s true of failed tests and middle school heartaches.

It’s a little harder when you had to kill people to stay alive.

Rosé tries, goes through the motions with her sisters, grateful that she has them. Wishing she could be better for them. She tries to hold herself together with sugar and butter, erase the blood on her hands by replacing it with melted chocolate. She’s calmer by the end at least, the tightness in her jaw loosened.

She notices that the lights are on in the house across the path. There’s only one other occupant in the Victor’s Village, and she’s not sleeping either.

---

Denali has long been awake when Reaping Day comes. She’s always up early to go for her morning run. She doesn’t need to run for her life anymore, but she runs from the memories just the same. It’s a normal thing to do, like when she used to wake up early every morning and hunt, and she likes convincing herself she’s normal.

Normal people don’t sleep with a knife in their hand and a bow at their feet.

Running. Always running.

She wishes she didn’t have to come back from her run today. The reaping starts in a few hours, and she’ll be paraded across the stage, one of two victors for the district. And then she’ll get assigned some poor kids she’s supposed to mentor, and no matter what tips she gives, what favors she tries to get from rich sponsors, it won’t be enough. Those kids will never come home. Not like Denali did.

Her right knee is screaming when she stumbles in the door. She’s gone too far on it today. It had been mangled in the final fight in her Games--dislocated, muscles torn, bones shattered. The doctors fixed it up enough for her to walk painlessly, but her punishing runs are sometimes too much for it.

She makes breakfast but can’t bring herself to eat it. She never ate on Reaping Days as a kid, worrying that if the impossible happened and her name got called, she would puke in front of the whole crowd, which in her teenage mind was as bad as getting called. And then she was seventeen and the impossible did happen, and instead of being free from this once she passed eighteen, the Capitol’s rules of her serving as mentor meant she’d never really be free of the Games. Not even winning them had been enough to escape.

Donut yips at the door, and Denali realizes someone’s knocking. She pets her dog--she always wanted one as a kid, and it’s another attempt at normalcy--and opens the door to see Kandy and Kahmora on the other side.

“We’re here to cheer you up before today’s shit show,” Kandy says bluntly.

Denali manages a smile. She doesn’t see her friends very often--they’re busy with work, and her house and whole life are so dull she doesn’t blame them for not wanting to spend time here--but they always make it a point to visit on Reaping Day, and Denali is so used to the loneliness that it’s both nice and strange to have friends over. They’re the sole reason Denali has extra coffee mugs, which collect dust in the cupboard 364 days of the year.

“What do you think Manila will wear this year?” Kahmora asks, her way of avoiding the unavoidable.

Denali wouldn’t mind if she brought up the Games outright. She’s become something of an expert in them, rewatching old footage over and over, looking to lessen the Games’ power on her, or give her something that would help a tribute. If you know every second of every Games, if you’re prepared for anything, then you can’t get hurt.

“It can’t be worse than that pink coat from last year,” Kandy says.

“At least you’re not dressing her,” Denali says. It’s the first joke she’s made in months, and her laugh sounds hollow. Fake.

But they both laugh, continuing to talk about what Manila will wear to pick tribute names, and Denali can pretend she’s normal, even if normal people don’t have their back to the wall and eye on the door, ready to run if needed.

It’s fine.

She’s fine.

The reaping will be over soon, and in a few weeks, the Games should be over. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be lucky enough to succeed and bring a kid home this year.

---

The doorbell rings minutes after Jan and Lagoona leave, and Rosé knows the time is officially here.

Denali gets her every year and they walk to the reaping together. It’s nice, not having to do it alone. Almost like having a friend, though Rosé doesn’t actually know what to call their relationship.

Denali was best friends with Jan, and Rosé remembers her climbing trees and making jokes, practically another sister to Jan. Hell, Denali was practically another little sister to Rosé. She could remember helping Jan and Denali with their math homework and teaching them to weave friendship bracelets. Rosé didn’t see her much after she got back from her Victory Tour--but then again, she didn’t see anyone much after that, didn’t really leave her room. And then five years passed and suddenly she had to mentor a seventeen-year-old Denali who was so much stronger and fiercer than the kid Rosé remembered, determined to be the best and win the Games. Rosé knew Denali could win, and did what she could to make it happen, giving tips and begging sponsors, and Denali came home. Their district hasn’t had a winner since.

“At least the weather’s nice,” Denali says as they head into town.

“Yeah.”

The weather. Rosé had helped Denali learn fractions so she didn’t tear her notebook out of frustration, had helped her perfect her grip on a knife, had included notes of encouragement with Denali’s parachutes in the Games, and they’re talking about the weather. It’s like this every year, every time they have to mentor, the bare minimum of small talk and work talk. It’s like their past is so fragile they’re afraid to bring it up, that even the slightest mention of what they share will shatter the glass, and the images of them inside it.

The Games are the biggest thing that unite them, an experience and horror they share. But the topic is an ocean between them, one they hesitate to stick their toe in with each other, one they have their own ways of dealing with. Denali thrashes through the ocean; Rosé sees her go for a run every morning, and then walk her dog later, and then do yoga after that, careful activities that let her stay above the tide, fighting the forces that want to pull her under. Rosé just lets herself drift in the waves while trying to avoid that she’s in the water at all, and hopes she has enough air not to drown when the water swells.

“Your--your hair looks nice,” Rosé says. Whatever pointless things they talk about, she’s always nice to Denali, still has it in her to do that much. And her hair really does look nice, twisting down her back in a long braid.

“Thanks.” Denali’s cheeks flush pink. “Yours does too.”

“Jan did it for me.” She touches her waves self-consciously. It’s been a while since her hair’s been this nice, and she kind of likes it. She’d do it more often, but what’s the point when she sits at home all day?

“She was always good at hair stuff. She used to do all these braids for me at school when we were bored.” Denali stops suddenly, biting her lip like she knows she’s upset the balance, bringing up anything besides the safety of the weather.

“Yeah, well, I taught her how to do them in the first place,” Rosé says lightly, not wanting Denali to worry she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, really; she hasn’t directly brought up the Games, at least. And it’s not like Rosé has ownership of mentioning Jan, not when she and Denali were so close and still see each other from time to time.

Denali smiles, and they talk about weather for the rest of the walk.

---

The stage is set, the dry grass ready to be trod on by the anxious steps of teenagers. Manila is poised at the microphone, warming up her throat. Her feathery yellow dress is blinding, as is the smile she flashes when Denali and Rosé reach the stage.

“That dress should come with a warning,” Rosé mutters, and Denali snorts. Rosé’s been a little more talkative this morning, even if everything comes out through clenched teeth, and Denali welcomes it.

“Our two lovely victors!” Manila says cheerfully, shaking both their hands.

“The only victors,” Denali says dryly, but Manila still laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.

“Yes, well, lovely victors just the same. Take a seat. The crowd will arrive soon.” She ushers them into the plain black chairs they sit in year after year, watching terrified kids trickle in.

The twelve-year-olds come first, and they look so young. Denali thinks they look younger every year. They struggle to stay in a straight line, tripping over uneven grass and bumping into each other, the fear radiating off them.

She risks a peek at Rosé. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white, and she keeps her eyes on the stage floor, like she can’t bear to look at the kids.

Denali remembers being in their shoes, standing on the same grass. Sometimes she remembers her first reaping clearer than the one when she got picked. Everything was a blur after her name got called, and watching the footage of that day is like watching a movie of someone else, because she doesn’t remember walking up to the stage. Doesn’t remember any of it.

But her first reaping exists in perfect clarity.

Denali holds her breath as Manila reads the slip of paper clutched in her neon orange nails. She’s only feet away from the stage, and it feels like Manila can see through her, like she knows she’s reading Denali’s name and knows exactly where to find her.

But Manila doesn’t read Denali’s name.

She reads her best friend’s name instead.

The whole row of kids gasps, like they can’t believe the reaping came so close to them--came to their very row--but is leaving them untouched. Kids are already giving Jan a wide berth, like they don’t want her bad luck to pass to them. In the back of her mind, Denali wonders if she should worry about that too. But she won’t leave her friend.

Jan is frozen in place at Denali’s side, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Denali doesn’t even think she’s breathing. The purple bow in her hair is crooked, which she would never allow, and Denali knows things are bad.

Denali wants to tell her it’s okay, wants to help her, but how can she? Everyone knows a twelve-year-old tribute is as good as dead, and Denali doesn’t know if she can pretend otherwise.

“Jan…“ Denali tries.

Jan cuts her off with a sudden breath, nodding to herself and preparing to move. But before Jan can take a step, someone sprints to the stage in a blur of red hair.

“I volunteer,” the redhead says breathlessly. “I volunteer as tribute.”

The crowd erupts into whispers, but all Denali hears is Jan scream as she recognizes the volunteer.

Rosé McCorkell. Jan’s older sister.

Jan lurches toward her sister, trembling so hard that Rosé grabs her waist to keep her upright.

“No, no, Rosie, please!” Jan is sobbing, her face a mess of tears, fighting to break her sister’s grip.

“Jan, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Rosé says softly, though Denali can see her legs quiver for a second. “I’ll come home, I promise. I love you.” Rosé rubs Jan’s back, soothing her as she cries, and though it almost feels too personal for Denali to witness this, she can’t look away from the firm set of Rosé’s jaw, the determination on her face.

Rosé fixes the bow in Jan’s hair, kisses the top of her head, and walks up to the stage.

Manila’s voice, unchanged even after all these years, pulls her into the present.

“Now since this is the Quarter Quell,” Manila begins, “things will be a little different this year.”

Something tugs in Denali’s stomach, her heart picking up speed, all her senses on high alert. The Quarter Quell is always something different; maybe double the tributes, or half of them. But the uncertainty is bad enough, straying from the careful routine Denali expected. Something’s not right; her body senses danger. But her body is always sensing danger. Maybe she’s just being paranoid.

“To honor the Games’ history and glory, this year’s tributes will be chosen from each district’s living victors.”

Rosé’s sharp intake of breath tells Denali she’s figured it out. When Denali realizes, she doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t move. She’s seventeen again, hearing her name at the reaping, the words repeating over and over as she walked numbly to the stage.

Two tributes for each district.

Two tributes from each district’s living victors.

Their district only has two living victors.

For all the rewatching Denali’s done, all the times tracing every twist and turn of the Games, she never prepared for this. Already, her legs are burning with the urge to run like she did in the arena, running from the enemy with a constant look over her shoulder. She can’t run from this. She couldn’t as a teenager and she can’t now, when the Capitol could kill her for it.

Though she might not survive anyway.

It’s too much for her mind to process. The world becomes a formless blob and all she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears. Pounding not only in fear, but anger, anger for her and all the victors. Anger at a system that praised them for winning and said they’d have peace afterward, but never really let them be free from the Games. They did their time. They survived the Games, emerging covered in blood and sweat and tears, scars on their bodies and in their minds. Reliving the Games through mentorship each year is bad enough. How could anyone make them do this again?

Manila is handed the huge glass bowl she always uses, but instead of a mountain of slips, only two pieces of paper lie at the bottom. There’s no escape.

“Our first tribute--”

“What’s the damn point?” Rosé asks, rising from her chair, and honestly, Denali doesn’t know how she’s standing. Rosé’s face is pure white, and she quickly hides her shaking hands behind her back. She has the same look in her eyes as when she volunteered for Jan: the look of an animal who sees the hunter and knows the arrow is coming, but stands their ground anyway, brave and defiant to the end. “It can only be us.”

Manila takes a flustered breath, cheeks flushed even through her thick makeup. “Well, tradition and all--”

Denali rises too, locking her wobbly knees. “Fuck that. Rosé’s right. No sense drawing this out.” Her mom always made her drink cough syrup in one bitter swallow as a kid, and Denali would rather get the misery over with.

Rosé gives a nod of approval, and Denali blushes. Part of her still sees Rosé as Jan’s older sister, as her mentor, someone Denali desperately wanted approval from. But approval or not, she agrees with what Rosé’s doing--taking some power from the Capitol, defying the rules and going into this with their anger known, instead of sitting by and letting a piece of paper and fanfare dictate it for them. If they have to do this again, they’re doing it their way.

Manila clears her throat and takes the microphone again, instantly silencing the crowd. “Well, then. I present your District 12 tributes for the 75th Hunger Games--Rosé McCorkell and Denali Foxx. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

The words wash over her as they did eleven years ago.

Denali’s going back into the arena, and Rosé--her old mentor, her old friend--is coming with her.

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #jan sport #lagoona bloo #kahmora hall #kandy muse #manila luzon #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #angst #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw blood #tw violence #tw ptsd #tw injury #concrit welcome #submission

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 11: Love Story

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 4,771

Warnings: fire, injury-all end of season three things!

Author’s Note: Happy belated Strangers Things 3 Day! I wanted to get this up yesterday, but I didn’t have it in me to work. This is the end of the series, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! It was a fun little ride!

Series Tag: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @clockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @jisungiesluv @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @peterparxour @linkispink1995 @a-big-ball-of-idk @used-avocado @mochminnie @sledgy14 @the-creative-lie @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @ggclarissa @voidnarnia @anonymousonion33 @awkwardnesshabitat @darkcrystal-wolf @hannahrisacher

Paris was a lonely city. You’d arrived alone, having not seen Steve since prom and still desperate to see him one more time. You’d selfishly kept his sweatshirt, wanting a piece of him to take with you to a different country. Your mother hadn’t picked you up from the airport, having sent a car instead. She didn’t seem much interested in speaking to you after months apart; she was much more interested in redecorating her new condo and talking about her fiancé. You met him, a French fop named Jean-Pierre at least fifteen years her junior. He was nice enough, although a bit fruity for your liking. His interests were more on the modeling jobs your mother was getting him. She had no time for you, which was fine since your lessons at the salon began immediately.

You and thirty-five other young hopefuls spend your days locked in a studio with abundant resources and endless models and objects to sketch. And you hated it. You hated the long, rambling lectures from the artists who came to the salon to preach the values of the school and the importance of French art. They alternated between speaking in French and English without explaining themselves as they switched tongues. Your French language skills were nonexistent, so the lectures were exhausting and endless. The only time they ever seemed to help was when they brought you all to the Louvre to examining the long dead French men who’d made the museum possible. There, you could at least sketch out the greats and enjoy the beauty of the art. Inside the studio, you felt as though your head was going to explode. The lectures spoke too loudly and loomed over you without warning or word, you weren’t allowed your headset or Walkman in the studio to combat them, and the smell of various paints and clays made your stomach churn. The girl who’d taken up the easel next to you, a little German named Lisle, had taken to making clay pots and sculptures and the sound of her pottery wheel mixed with her incessant humming made you want to commit manslaughter. It didn’t help that the smell of the brown clay invaded your sinuses and made you sneeze violently. You dreaded the salon. But you dreaded being at home more.

Your mother had hired you a French tutor, utterly horrified by the fact that you hadn’t been practising. You tried to tell her that, despite her assumptions, Hawkins High had stopped offering a French elective two years before you started there.

“You cannot live in Paris without speaking French! It won’t do!” she moaned. Jean-Pierre was already on the phone, speaking fast into the receiver. You didn’t see what the big deal was. Everywhere you went, people spoke enough English to communicate with you fine. It didn’t occur to you till after dinner that if you were to study in the country, you’d need the language to understand your lessons.

So you got a French teacher, a short tempered older man who insisted on being called Monsieur Bérnard. His greying whiskers moved sharply as he spoke and he often spit on you as he taught proper pronunciation and conjugation. He ranted and raved all afternoon, disgusted by your apparent lack of an ear for languages and your doodling on the edges of notebook paper instead of working. You’d go from sensory overload in the salon to being bullied by a Freud-looking asshole each day with no room for a break or a breath.

You lived for weekends. Rest was very well thought of in the city so the hell spawn tutor didn’t work and the salon locked its doors. You were allowed to wander the city at your leisure, your mother glad to have you out of the apartment. You’d spend most of your days sat at a café near the Eifel Tower, a prime spot to tourists. Every day, you’d bring your sketchpad and try to draw out the profiles of those you passed you by. You spent two weekends working on a sketch of people sunbathing on the lawn in front of the tower. But it seemed you left all your talent in Hawkins. You’d spent so long drawing familiar faces back home, now that you were away from your nest, you found yourself without the skill to capture the faces around you. It occurred to you that you knew the faces of Hawkins far too well. They were engrained in your mind, your hand working like a stamp to put them on the page. France was full of strangers. You didn’t know how to understand them like you understood Hawkins. France wasn’t home. You couldn’t work out in a world of strangers.

You couldn’t work in the salon either. It was too much. Everyone was constantly showboating and trying out-do one another. You couldn’t work with people spying over your shoulder. You felt judged and insecure about what you could do. You didn’t want to be watched as you tried to make art. It didn’t help that you had no idea what to make. The closest thing you’d gotten done is that sketch of the Eifel Tower and that wasn’t something you couldn’t buy on the streets around the monument. You’d tried all the things that you couldn’t in your bedroom-paint splatter art, pottery, carving, paint pulling, mosaics. You never finished anything. The drive to push through wasn’t there.

When the loneliness and fear became too much to bear, you held Steve’s sweatshirt and cried. It still smelt like him; Irish Springs soap and Fabregè Organics shampoo and hairspray and a bit like sweat. It was nice though. You missed him. You tried to write him letters, but you knew that they wouldn’t get home before you did. You’d made up your mind that whatever the answer was, you were going home. Whether that meant deferring a semester or missing the first week of school you would go back to Hawkins. Still, you’d written over a dozen letters, all crumpled in your waste bin.

You waited until the last minute to finish something for submission. You’d tried to sketch your mother, to find who you knew in the fancy woman in front of you. With her bleached blowout and designer clothes, thirty pounds lighter and yellow gold jewellery glinting in the midday sun. She looked like the epitome of elegance, straight out of a magazine. The woman you remembered had greying roots and love handles, her only jewellery the wedding rings your father had given her. Europe had changed her into someone who you didn’t know and who didn’t seem to want to introduce herself to you. Nothing you drew seemed to capture the middle between who she was and who she is now. You realized in her profile that you weren’t a part of her life anymore, that she didn’t want you there. You were as strange to her as she was to you. You passed each other like ghosts in the hall, almost recognizable but hauntingly foreign.

The day before your final piece for submission was due; you got a letter from Steve. It only had one sentence.

“I should have asked you to stay.”

It was all you needed to hear to be inspired. You made your final project a tribute to him, mixing memories with unfinished letters building into his face. You used plain black ink to sketch his profile on the surface of the mess, building him into your loneliness. You only had your memory to recreate his face and your own letters to fill the canvas. Still, it was the only thing you’d done the whole time you were in the country that you were actually proud of. You didn’t finish it until the sun rose and you handed it off to be judged without a second thought, bleary eyed and exhausted.

You were on a plane home by the wee hours of July 4th.

Hawkins was a depressing place. After graduation, Steve found himself listless and at the hands of his father. He was a failure, a disgrace of a son. He was unready to start into the family business. His grades were pathetic. He had to get a job. Of course, with no job experience and late to the game, no decent place wanted him. The new mall only offered him one place of employment, Scoops Ahoy. And the uniform was embarrassing. Stupid sailor shirts and matching shorts, fucking knee socks and a corny paper hat. He looked like a certified geek. And his co-worker was a freak. Robin fucking Buckley did nothing but bug him all shift. It didn’t help that he had no friends without you, even Dustin had left for some nerdy science camp after the school year ended.

He was alone and lonely.

He tried to write you a half dozen times. But nothing seemed to make sense, nothing was worth telling you. What was he supposed to tell you? That he had become an even bigger loser overnight? He felt so utterly pathetic. He just wanted things to go back to the way things were. But what did that even looked like anymore? It wasn’t a life with Nancy, she’d dumped his ass, and it wasn’t a life with you, you’d left him for a different continent. He didn’t have a clue where he was going anymore. So he did what any lonely, practically friendless teenager did-he worked his ass off. Eight hours every day in the mall with smart ass Robin Buckley, waiting for the ground to suck him up. And sure, he tried to hit on the girls his age that came around. It was a good distraction from his broken heart. He’d made up his mind that he was ready to move on and try to date again. That he needed a girlfriend. That he needed to be cool again.

And then, Dustin came back and Hawkins started acting up again. He thought it was over. Those damn dogs were gone, the thing was closed, the kid was safe and acting like a kid. Everything had gone back to as close to normal as he’d seen it in awhile. But Dustin just had to find a secret code and Buckley just had to decode it and Lucas’s bitchy little sister just had to be small enough to fit into the vents and find a secret Russian elevator. And they just had to get stuck in it.

He couldn’t keep that damn kid from seeking out trouble. And yeah, it was kind of fun in a scared shitless kind of way, but it wasn’t worth getting drugged and beaten up and nearly dying for. And it certainly wasn’t worth getting tricked into thinking that he had feelings for fucking Robin. He could murder that kid for getting it in his head that he liked that girl. Robin was cool; he wouldn’t pretend that she wasn’t a decent friend to have at the end of the world. But he didn’t need the embarrassment of trying to ask out a lesbian. At least the reason for her rejecting him wasn’t that he was unattractive or lame, just that she didn’t dig dudes. He was cool with that. And at least he got to punch out a communist. If he could tell his father that without going to prison or being murdered by a Russian goon, he’d be proud. Fuck that, he was proud. He won a fight! He beat up a Russian spy! More than one, he beat some up while drugged out; at least he thought he did. He couldn’t remember much, other than watching Back to the Future with Robin. That movie was too confusing. And then he stole a car, he saved Nancy’s life, he set up that weird tower thing for Dustin-there was too much going on to even recognize how crazy he sounded. How crazy all of this sounded.

And then, the mall was on fire.

Your flight landed on the fourth of July at about ten fifteen in the evening. It took about forty-five minutes to get from the Indianapolis International Airport back to Hawkins. You were buzzing. Seven words had given you all the hope you needed to push you back to the states. Every fibre of your being was alive with energy, with excitement. You couldn’t wait for your grandfather to park the car, you jumped out as soon as you were settled in the driveway.

“Don’t you want to go upstairs and unpack?” your grandmother called after you as you booked it down the driveway.

You turned back “No, I’ll be back later!” you called. Steve’s car wasn’t in the driveway but you figured if anyone was home they’d know where he was. You bounded up the stairs, ringing the doorbell twice.

Mrs. Harrington came to the door in her bathrobe. “Oh, hello there…” she trailed off, obviously unable to remember your name.

“Y/N, hi it’s nice to see you, do you know where Steve is?” you asked, bouncing from your heels to your toes.

Mrs. Harrington narrowed her eyes “He’s at his job I assume. At the mall.” She said slowly.

“What mall?” you demanded. Mrs. Harrington’s eyes blew wide open and you realized that you were probably coming off like an insane person. “Sorry, I’ve been out of the country for about a month.”

“It’s where the Hawkins Laboratories were, off East Wood Road.” She pointed out the door towards the roads. You knew instantly that the fastest way to get there was through the woods. You ran through the backyards of your neighbours and into the woods. You didn’t like the Hawkins forests. They were dark and dim and poorly maintained. The county hadn’t been out to cut down potentially problematic trees on the few hiking paths in the woods.  Burs caught your socks and twigs scratched your legs as you hopped logs to try to get there faster. They’d carved a road through the woods, you’d found it halfway to the mall, deserted and blocked off. You could see the bright orange flames from a mile away.

Your heart stopped dead in your chest. Steve was in there. You could cry.

Instead, you hopped the blockade, running down the road despite the calls of passing fire trucks and police. You didn’t care if they tried to arrest you, although you doubted that they could. It would be a waste of time to bother with you during an emergency.

The parking lot was filled with emergency vehicles. Massive streams of water were attacking the building. Luckily, it seemed the mall was closed, judging by the few people who were milling around not in uniforms. You sprinted into the crowd, looking around frantically.

Steve had been ushered into the back of an ambulance and draped in a bright orange emergency blanket. It wasn’t that cold but he felt as though he was freezing. The EMTs had checked his vitals and disinfected the wounds on his face and knees. As for the remaining drugs in his system, he chose not to mention them. He knew that the high would wear off eventually. Robin was sat next to him, equally bandaged up and silent, save an uncontrollable shiver. Wordlessly, Steve took the blanket off his shoulders and placed it over hers. He wasn’t that cold. Moreover, he just felt numb. He’d had this happen so many times; his face beat in, an otherworldly thing trying to destroy his life and hurt his family, a major building destroyed-it all felt familiar. It made him sick to his stomach to know that it was familiar. If he had anything left in his stomach he would’ve thrown up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something running towards him. At first, he tensed. He didn’t know what it was and it could probably kill him. His heart stopped and then raced wildly. He held out an arm to protect Robin and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Steve!” you cried. He was in an ambulance. He was hurt. He was alive. You felt as if you could cry. In the span of fifteen minutes he’d gone from working to escaping a fiery building to missing in a fire to simply hurt. And hurt was just fine, you could handle hurt.

“Oh my god Steve, are you okay? Are you alright? I love you so much…”You grabbed his face, examining the bruises. You pulled him tightly to your chest, trying not to cry or freak out. You knew it wouldn’t help.

“I love you too…” he breathed into your ear, pulling you close to him. He recognized you by the smell of your hair, the feeling of your arms around him. He could cry. He didn’t believe you were real. But when you pulled away and his hand came to your face. You were real. And you were here. And he was safe. He was safe and alive. Feelings of relief rushed through his body. He wanted to cry, but the shock was too overwhelming for a tear to even drop.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper and hoarser than he’d ever felt it. “I thought you were still in Paris.”

“I came home early,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his jaw bone. “I didn’t get in.” That was the nicer version, the judges laughed at your final piece, they called it pedestrian. You should’ve been more upset, your mother was furious, but you couldn’t have cared less. You were free to go home. You could’ve thanked them for rejecting you.

Steve pulled away, looking you squarely in the eye. He wouldn’t have you give up on school to hang out with him in bum fuck Indiana. But you were telling the truth, it was written plainly all over your face. “Those bastards…” Steve murmured. You laughed, your eyes watery and throat thick. You were overwhelmed. You expected to come home and just see him in his element. You expected him to not necessarily want to see you. You didn’t expect a fire or Steve being injured or Steve to even be there at all. You pulled Steve back into your arms, you didn’t want to let go.

“I missed you so much…” you whispered. Steve’s arms came around your hips, pulling you in between his legs. He needed you here, to keep you in place for awhile.

“I missed you too…” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Did you get my letter?”

You looked up “Yeah I did…” you said “I wish I had written you, I tried so many times but I couldn’t find the words and-” Steve kissed you hard, stealing the words from his throat. He didn’t care if you didn’t write him back; this was the best thing he could’ve gotten from you. A letter wouldn’t do it justice.

You were lit up by his kiss. This is what you needed. No words could do the feelings he expressed in his kiss justice. You felt alive. You felt at home. Steve tried to pull away, but you pulled him back by his shirt, kissing him as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did. You couldn’t be sure anymore.

A loud clearing of one’s throat interrupted you and you pulled away to see Robin waving awkwardly. “Oh hey Buckley…” you muttered awkwardly. “How’s Samantha?”

“No clue, she never called me back.” The younger girl shrugged nonchalantly, hopping down from the ambulance deck. “I’ll catch ya later, Harrington.”

You turned your attention back to Steve, looking down at the material still in your fists. He looked ridiculous. “What the fuck are you wearing?” you asked with a laugh. Steve’s hands settled on your lower back, holding you in between his knees as if you’d run off if he didn’t.

“Oh this? This has been my whole summer.” He groaned “I’ve been captaining a boat on an ocean of flavours.” You couldn’t help but cackle, you had no idea what he was talking about but he seemed so serious.  

“And by that you mean?” you lifted the fake red neckerchief attached to his shirt, running the material between your thumb and forefinger.

“Ice cream store in the mall,” he pointed to the embroidered Scoops Ahoy logo on his breast.

“You’re kidding…” you shook your head as if to shake the idea out of your mind. Steve’s fingers trailed the raggedy edge of your sweatshirt. Well, his sweatshirt, his last name and basketball jersey number were embossed on the back; he could feel the textured design on your lower back.

“I like my sweater,” he chuckled, reaching up to adjust the length of the drawstrings on the hood. You looked away, a bit embarrassed.

“I didn’t mean to keep it I just…missed you,” You replied “You can have it back.���

“Nah, it suits you,” he smirked “Besides, I want my girl in my stuff, it’s cute.”

“Your girl?” you grinned giddily, elbowing him in the ribs. “Since when am I your girl?” You liked the idea of being Steve’s girl. It had a nice ring to it.

Steve smirked, squeezing your hips in his hands. “Oh come on baby, you’ve been my girl for awhile…”

“Oh really? Well, I wouldn’t know since you’ve never asked me…”

You heard a loud yell and turned to see a set of paramedics carrying a stretcher towards you and Steve. They were sprinting and bringing a badly burnt and unconscious Billy Hargrove towards the ambulance you sat on. You quickly moved out of the way. Steve grabbed your hand, allowing you to tug him from the ambulance’s deck.

You only got a brief look at the teenager, but it made your stomach churn violently. You felt ill. You felt Steve squeeze your hand. You turned to look at him and saw how hollow his eyes were. You wrapped your arm around his middle. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn. You were exhausted from your flight and your run here and the trauma that had smacked you across the face.

Steve noticed anyway “Did you just get here?” he asked, lifting your chin.

“My flight landed at ten, I came to see you as soon as I could.”

“You should’ve gone home to rest, I wouldn’t have been mad at you.” You looked absolutely exhausted. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like.

“I missed you too much to not see you. And what if you had gotten hurt, if you hadn’t made it out then I would’ve never forgiven myself…”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around you, shielding you from the scene, as more mangled people were brought out. The beast must’ve fallen apart once the brain was destroyed. It looked as though a bomb had gone off. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to leave, but he knew that the FBI would be called and he’d have to talk to them again. He wanted you to go home, but that didn’t seem like an option now.  Selfishly, he liked having you there, it was comforting to have you in his arms, squeezing him under his ribs and keeping him calm.

“I’m not gonna get hurt, I’m okay…we’re okay…” You nodded roughly against his chest. You felt as if you were burning up and freezing at the same time. You saw blinks of red flashing lights and sirens as one of the ambulances sped past. You were so thankful that he wasn’t on that ambulance.

“Yeah, I know, I’m not gonna let you out of my sight ever again.” Steve lifted up your chin, raising an eyebrow at you. “What? Last time I did you nearly died and for what? A shit job in the mall?”

“Well, not just for a job, I was helping Robin and a couple kids who were with us,” That wasn’t the whole story. Steve knew he’d have to tell you eventually about everything, but for now he was more than comfortable ignoring the looming problem beneath their feet.

“What a hero…” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Something had been bothering Steve for awhile now and he determined now was the best time to tackle the subject. He turned away from you, folding his hands in his lap.

“Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?” he asked quietly. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain that you meant it. Or if he had even heard you correctly. After Nancy, he wasn’t sure if anyone actually loved him back. He’d given so much of his heart away only to have it tossed to the floor and tread upon like it was nothing more than a cigarette butt. He wasn’t sure if he could trust that you meant it.

You let out a small sigh through your nose, crossing your arms over your chest. You were a bit embarrassed. You were half hoping that he would forget about it. Your response brought all of Steve’s hopes crashing down. “Yeah, yeah I do,” you admitted, rubbing your arms, having suddenly gone cold. “I will admit, I hadn’t planned on saying that this early, feels a bit middle school to say that you love someone before they’re even your boyfriend.”

Steve turned to look at you once again, a bit surprised. Your face had gone red, adorably red, but still very red and your gaze had turned down to the asphalt at your feet. He reached out and took your hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “Good,” he said with a smile. You turned up to look at him; brow furrowed “I thought I had like imagined it.”

“Oh…no you’re good.” You said slowly. He looked like a little puppy dog, his whole face was radiating sunshine; it was almost hard to look at. It was harder to not match his energy, to get drunk off it. Then again, no one was stopping you from just enjoying the moment. You let out a small breath, not so much heavy with sadness or regret, but simply exhaustion. You let your head rest on his shoulder, smiling softly despite the scene in front of you. If it weren’t for the smouldering building and the emergency vehicles surrounding the pair of you, it would almost be romantic. The fact that you were even trying to find romance in the scene felt a bit silly, but maybe that was what this was supposed to feel like. Finding love in a burning building was a bit dramatic, it certainly not what you’d expected for your life, but you determined that no matter what you’d keep Steve safe. You had no idea what was going on at this scene, you had no idea what happened. But no matter how scared you were, you knew that Steve must’ve been even more scared. You knew that you couldn’t protect him, the same way that he couldn’t protect you, but maybe together you could keep each other safe for awhile.

“I love you too, you know,” Steve said quietly, his gaze trailed on the smoke of grey smoke coming up off the extinguished fire. The front of the mall had crumbled and the giant neon ‘Star-Court Mall’ sign shattered on the pavement. You hadn’t seen the mall before the fire, you didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, but a cavernous jagged mouth probably wasn’t the design goal. Still, you turned your attention to the side of Steve’s face. He couldn’t face you, the tips of his ears bright red underneath his flat, sweaty hair.

You swallowed hard “I know,” you say softly. Steve turned to look at you, examining your face with a nervous expression. You smiled and nodded reassuringly “I know.” Steve smiled and laced his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand tightly in his and you squeezed his back, the feeling of his hand squeezing yours the only feeling left in your body beyond the giddy buzz. You didn’t know how any of this worked, you didn’t know if you were doing this right, if there was a right way to do it. The buzz under your skin was two parts anxiety and one part excitement. But you didn’t pull away. You were glued to his side.

“You know, I think that was one of the first normal conversations we’ve ever had,” Steve mused.

You scoffed loudly rolling your eyes “That was not normal.

Steve shook his head with a small laugh “Yeah, I know…”

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve x you #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve x reader insert #steve harrington x reader insert #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington au #steve harrington aus #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington hcs

[embersrpg]

IT’S TIME ----

No one feels ready or prepared for the Reaping that has come on the early summer day. For some, the sun shines bright and hard, beads of sweat running down temples, sweat causing shirts and dresses to stick to backs. For others, it’s raining hard and there’s no refuge, leaving everyone soaked and shivering as they await for the bitter fate of the two tributes that will be heading into the Quarter Quell.

The Escorts stand amongst the crowd, before them, a massive bowl stands, littered with papers of the names of the victor’s loved one. No questions have been answered. Will Capitolites be in the pool? Will victors be in there? What about loved ones crossing over districts?

The moment is tense but it goes forward without question.

ONE:

Saffron Sky

The name which is first drawn in One summons Saffron Sky to the stage. Thirty-nine, she’s beautiful, tall, fit. She’s wearing a long silk dress as she blows a kiss to her cousin, a victor from a time long before she was able to win. She holds her head high. There’s absolutely no telling what the expression on her face says. She is a complete wildcard. Maybe that’s what she wants.

Gold Farlock

Gold is built. Standing at 6′6, people have always wondered if the Farlock family bread, or maybe even genetically altered, a perfect soldier. He’s standing beside Tiberius, who looks prideful as she shakes his nephew’s hand and he ascends to the stage. He’s far past the age of being able to fight in the Games in a normal year. It can’t help but raise questions; coming from a family such as this, why hadn’t he fought back then? And why were they so excited now?

TWO:

Osa Pittsmith

Elegance has never looked so clear on a face before. Osa Pittsmith, older sister to the brutal victor, Teal, was always rumored to be brighter, more charming, more attractive, but what she made up for in personable skills and looks, she lacked in sheer brute force. As far as you can tell, she’s an enigma. But both she and her sister share a long, meaningful glance that is hard to define.

Terra Ivornary

The audience freezes as they all cast their eyes to the older woman. In her early sixties, she’s plump, but she walks with pride up the stage. She’s a baker from the square, but she has confidence. The only noticeable mark of her age, regardless of the graying hair and withered skin, is her trembling hands. To come from a Career district, reaping a simple baker seems shocking.

THREE:

Zero Holloway

Someone clears their throat when the name gets drawn from the bowl. The young man fixes his glasses before he starts for the stage. Someone tries to reach for his wrist but he slips from their grasp before it’s too late. It’s cold. It’s quiet, but Zero stands among the rest, accepting fate.

Citron Gulwether

No one even knows who Citron is, who they’re connected to. Seventy, withered, and looks tired. There’s someone far off that you could mistake for calling to volunteer as tribute, but it goes ignored. Citron moves slowly towards the stage, but manages with no help. Their breath is loud, they’re running out of steam but it’s all for the game. 

FOUR:

Marina Tidestrum

She emerges from the crowd, but not confused. Just a slow step forward as if this is a declaration of sorts. The ex of Roux Selkirk Her fingers rub together nervously as she tries to search for eyes that will give her the answers. She doesn’t get them. She just gets to the stage where she’s championed like an icon. It feels far from that.

Abe Iss

Abe stands tall. He’s built well enough that there are some that clap at his reaping. A lot more reassuring of victory than the previous draw. He’s smiling, or at least, it looks like it’s supposed to be a smile. He’s not particularly attractive or charming, but he’s built. He’s a mentee to an old victor, much like a grandson. His fists clench and he looks brutal, but also, for some reason... uncomfortable.

FIVE:

Darby Skiberry

Darby Skiberry was a nurse. Specifically, one that took care of the children. She was in her mid-forties, been a nurse for thirty years. She was a mother figure to many, including the victor for the 67th Games, Ambro Forge. There’s some sobs from the crowd as she climbs to the stage, her fear is evident.

Kin Rosesand

The youngest child in the Rosesand family, youngest sibling to Aven, perhaps the most needy in the bunch, but now a young adult, trudges onto the stage and cries. Openly. They do not want to be there, and the eyes of hundreds on them, gives them a visible tremble. This was not what they were prepared for.

SIX:

Helena Clearwater

She’s forcing a smalls mile on her face, dusting off her dress as she starts for the stage, no guidance needed. Pista Clearmark’s mother, ever the beacon of warmth, has now found her time. It’s hard, judging from the audience, if she’s happy or heartbroken.

Cabil Stulvurg

Stulvurg is an old name. Cabil is young. Twenty. Everyone knows that boy is twenty. He was birthed in the river from his mother who didn’t get to see the face of her new baby boy. Stulvurg designs the very trains they build. Baster Stulvurg, Cabil’s father, was intense but never terrible. But Cabil was warmth. Cabil, who made the mistake of falling in love with Haldi Commonbo, the winner of the 70th Games. Haldi, who shrieked and cried as her lover sauntered onto stage. Baster, a cold and collected man, yelled for his son’s freedom. For once, power couldn’t buy safety. 

SEVEN:

Nettle Blume

She can’t exactly see straight. She walks with a cane even though she’s in her thirties. After a lumber accident, Nettle was considered useless. Her family was going to perish after she couldn’t work any longer. Caspan Roseleaf, who was a victor over forty years ago, hired her to tend to his home in the victor village. For over a decade, the two have had a tight bond, and watching her struggle to get on the stage makes the crowd uneasy.

Harbor Gazel

There’s confusion that settles over every one. But Harbor... he’s not around anymore, is he? Doesn’t matter, next thing everyone sees is a frail, weak figure being tugged onto the stage. Harbor Gazel, is hard to recognize. There’s no hair to be found on their face. None from their head, their eyebrows. There’s wisps of eyelashes but they look near transparent, and there’s small adjustments to his face. Different cheekbones, mainly. He looks... kind of like Harbor. Then raises the question, has he been in Seven this whole time? No one can know, because before questions start being asked, he looks to the camera, and raises his hands, beginning to form gestures and movements. And then---... the camera cuts out.

EIGHT:

Beck Baxwoll

A younger sibling to Emory Baxwoll, not so small anymore, looks tired and worn from the day’s work as he steps onto the stage. It’s like there’s no room to process the pain of it all before he stands there. This is just another job he has to do, isn’t it?

Chrysanthe Silverhair

The local clothes maker. Sewist of all things even remotely appealing within Nine. Chrysanthe became friends and primary caretaker of Dahilia Feher years ago. A victor, now in her nineties, with no living family. Chrysanthe has always been a beloved force within the community, and there are sobs heard when they step onto the stage.

NINE:

Sola Honimoore

The reaping of Perri Honimoore’s son is met with silence. There are some in the crowd who are old enough to remember the story. The birthing of the young boy who became attached to Perri’s leg. The boy scooped up in the wreck of the Games. And now, as much as Perri has fought against it, it seems his ties to the Games is not ready to release yet.

Holly Nightwing

“It’s not fair!” She shouts only seconds after her name is drawn. “I didn’t ask to be loved!” She’s young. Maybe her mid-twenties. She looks at stocky as the grain that blows in the wind behind them. Only in whispers do they know of Holly’s secret companionship to victor Kuds Full, a victor from the 72nd Games. A Victor who had been married to someone else only monthsafter returning from victory.

TEN:

Ginger Flatlock

The daughter of the 32nd Hunger Games winner, Archer Flatlock, ascends to the stage with trembling knees, if only for a split moments before her back straightens into something that resembles forced confidence. Looking to her father, his face is pale, almost green, but makes no noise. He’s frozen in silence.

Bire Wildvale

Tall, but not especially built. Bire had a tendency to work on the fields. Just a simple man, in his late twenties. Bire married Fennel two years ago, the son of Archer Flatlock. Bire, while not blood related, was just as much a son in the Flatlock house as his husband. His eyes are read and he’s squinting from the son but he stands beside Ginger, hand on her shoulder. The Flatlock family, and specifically Archer, feels no mercy this year.

ELEVEN:

Birch Peaceroot

It’s a swift reaping. Elven is far too sued to their loved ones and their promising youths being ripped from their cracked fingertips. The young Birch, Rigg’s Nephew, hurries to the stage. It’s hard not to spot the horror that’s on his face as he looks out to his expansive district, and their forced apathy.

Parsley Fairwillow

There’s not many victors in Eleven. Not that are alive anyways. But Parsley, who’s close to middle age, peppered with silver makes in her hair, looks confused as she steps onto the stage. Her father, a victor of the 13th hunger Games, had died thirty-four years ago. As she’s lead on the stage by Peacekeepers, the horror registers on the face of some of those in the crowd. Even in death, your loved ones aren’t saved.

TWELVE:

Wren Thornewood

There’s an audible wail that comes from the crowd the second the name is drawn. Though it’s hard to find, without much fight, the young girl ascends to the stage, her hands joined together at her front. The crowd looks disturbed. The girl they came to know and adore. The girl who just barely got by last year from her sister. Her time as finally come.

Gage Overgrove

It’s horror on the man’s face as he starts for the stage. He looks back towards his wife, who looked plump with her pregnancy, that she was about ready to give birth at any moment. The Overgrove family doesn’t console, only stands frozen, and Gage can’t even look their sibling Hudson in the eyes as they stand beside the young Wren.

OOC --- THE MEAT AND BONES

Let’s just get into it. You guys voted, shockingly unanimously, wow. So, this is just a quick drop! We will have this plot drop for two days (two for my sanity because the next drop is huge and I need some time to write it all up), which is mainly meant to give you some time to write a self para reacting to this drop. It’s not mandatory. If you’d rather take the break, by all means, please do! I just ask, if you plan to write a self para, please take this time to get it up before the next drop.

For in character timeline, from here there will be quick movements. Characters get rushed to the train and there will be no meeting with loved ones (similar to Catching Fire, Katniss didn’t have a chance to talk to her family before being sent in again). You can write of your character getting on the train but do not write further than the first night on the train. The next drop will begin on the morning of the train ride to the Capitol.

Plot with other members if you’d like to mention conversations or interactions between characters in your self paras. I do not recommend this time to have threads since there will be so little time. But hey, if you can write a thread in two days, go off. 

If you have an fc for your designated npc, send it my way (or if you want me to pick, bc I can def feel some vibes from the ones you guys have). I might make a graphic since I definitely have some npcs in mind for some folks on this list. Not guaranteed but... I might make one.

You might be wondering if you will be able to write against any of these npcs. The answer is... maybe. 24 npcs sounds like a lot to me so I’m trying to figure out how to best write npcs that doesn’t burn me out and gives everyone a chance to write with and npc (doesn’t have to be the npc tied to your muse, could be any of them). If that’s something you might be interested in, message me. By gaging how many people are interested in how many npcs will give me an idea of the work it’ll take. It’s not a guarantee but it is a check for level of interest.

Many characters talked about volunteering in their threads, it’s up to you whether they did or not but if they had, it wouldn’t have been successful, and their volunteer would have been rejected. I am kind of bending some rules because I assure you, putting your character in the games would be really boring and not as much juice as what I have planned for what happens outside of the game. I don’t plan to metagame/godmod this hard as an admin beyond this, but hopefully you guys understand that I am just trying to keep everyone from writing themselves into a corner.

Also just want to say, I know not every character has a loved one that were reaped. I had tried to keep things pretty strategic and fair. The hope is that this creates an interesting dynamic to potentially cause conflict. Those who have loved ones at stake vs. those who have love ones that were spared. I am always open for feedback and if you feel that this plot doesn’t set your character(s) up for success, please let me know! We’ll try to work something out.

I think that’s all I’ve got to say. You know where to put questions. Happy Hunger Games. Heh

Start date: Right now

End date: April 28th

Tag: The Reaping (this is not a chapter because there is no time threading.)

#embersplot #heheeheheh

[iron--spider]

you save everybody, but who saves you?

It’s been.

 It’s been—

 It hasn’t been long enough, because Tony’s brain is still scrambled, and his body is still broken. The scarring still crawls across his right side in smoky tendrils, and he doesn’t like anyone touching it, not even Pepper when they’re alone, not even Helen when she’s checking him out, not even Peter when he’s holding his hand. They still don’t know if he’ll lose the arm, and they talk about that in hushed tones behind his back, like he can’t handle it, like they know he can’t handle it. 

 What can he fucking handle?

 It’s been—two months. Two months, since Tony dropped to his knees and made a decision that he thought would result in his death. There were so many times in his life before that moment where he did the same—thought he was dying for something that was worth it, and he’d wanted it, he could deal with it, his own death. He’d been rolling towards death his whole life, with all his poor choices, and he was lucky to die for people he loved—

 —but this time he didn’t want to go. He felt selfish. He was willing, he was...he was willing, because his love was bigger than it ever had been before, but that made it worse. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave them. He’d finally found what he wanted, what he needed. All the elements had finally come together like a completed puzzle.

 He didn’t want to die, but he knew he was going to.

 But he didn’t. And now he’s here and he’s someone else. He can barely fucking walk, he can barely fucking move, and Helen keeps using the word unprecedented. She’s got no idea how to track his progress. They don’t have any examples to follow. They don’t have shit. They’ve got his wasted, useless body, taking up space. 

 Tony doesn’t wanna be this guy. He doesn’t want to be this fucking guy. 

 “And this one is on a big billboard facing I4 in Orlando,” Pepper says, leaning her head on his good shoulder, laying on the bed beside him. She’s flipping through photos on her tablet, each one showing yet another Iron Man tribute. There are hundreds of them now, thousands in different places all over the world. He gets tons and tons of letters each day.

 “So kids can pay their respects on the way to Disney World,” Tony says. 

 “Disney World is probably gonna do a meet and greet with Iron Man,” Pepper says. “You know. Costumed guy, like Chip and Dale.”

 “Oh. Cute.” Tony sighs, and he reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose. His arm shakes and he could barely get through his walking exercises earlier, and he just feels like crumbling into nothing.

 He was supposed to die. He didn’t want to, but he was supposed to, and now he’s a shell of what he once was. He’s glad he’s here, he’s glad he’s with them, but he’s not the goddamn type to lay around and watch the world move on without him. He did that once and it was a mistake, a result of severe depression and a mark of his failure, and he doesn’t want to do it again. Morgan, for all her love and attachment to him, is best friends with every remaining Avenger, and Tony has never been so angry about a puzzle being completed without him than when he heard she and Sam finished off the Eiffel Tower one while he was taking one of his long naps.

 And Peter. Peter is out there helping anybody and everybody, and coming back here bloody and beaten more often than not. Everything irritates Tony nowadays, from the way the water comes out of the faucet to the irregular beat of his heart, but that gets him most of all. And the kid refuses help, actively avoids Rhodey and everybody else who says they’ll help him, because he and Tony are cosmically linked in the way that they both have people who love them but they both go off on their own, like dumbasses, to keep everyone else safe. Seeing his own reflection in someone he values as much as Peter makes Tony feel insane, throws up walls and roadblocks and all kinds of confusing shit in his head, because he wants to be mad at him, wants to scream and throw tantrums and work in tandem with May to tell the kid never to leave the facility again, but he knows he’d do all the same things Peter is doing. Make all the same choices.

 It’s his karmic justice, watching Peter step into the line of fire. That’s what Rhodey always says. But in the end, after everything, Peter is just better than Tony.

 And Peter was dead. Peter was dust, Peter was a shining memory floating around Tony’s head every moment of every day, present in every fleck of sunlight, silent, silent, gone—and now he’s back and Tony is aching with the fear that he’ll die again. Die in a way that they can’t get him back, because Tony himself is torn, laid up, miles and miles from being worth anything to anyone. 

 “Where are you going?” Pepper asks, brushing Tony’s hair back now.

 “What?” Tony asks, his neck hurting when he looks at her. “Did I move?”

 “You’re far away in your eyes,” she says.

 “Don’t go getting all metaphorical on me,” Tony says. “I never had the brain capacity for that shit, and now—”

 “What are you thinking about?” Pepper asks, laying it out plain.

 Tony sighs. He tries to shift on the bed a little bit without her help, but she offers it anyway, latching onto his arm. He grits his teeth and moves so he’s sitting up more, and his whole right side still feels like it’s on fire. Burning up, from the inside. His right arm isn’t worth shit anymore, he can’t put any weight on it without it threatening to collapse.

 “Where are the kids?” he asks. He knows it’s late—well, late for him, considering he falls asleep at like eight now.

 “Morgan’s watching TV with Cassie and Hope, but she’s got bedtime in like half an hour, and Peter...Peter…” 

 She looks like she’s trying to think on her feet for a lie, and Tony sighs, leaning back on the pillows. 

 “He’s gonna check in with me and Rhodey when he gets back,” Pepper says. 

 “Uh huh,” Tony says, trying not to imagine what the hell the kid is getting into now. The world is putting itself back together but it’s still a goddamn mess, and things aren’t like they were when Peter first disappeared. They never will be again. Is he even adapted to all that? Are these new, shithead villains allowing him to adapt? Tony knows the Raft lost a bunch in both snaps, in all the insane confusion. Where are they? Are they going after Peter?

 He clears his throat. “Just remind Helen that I’m tired of being down here and I need to occupy the room you’re occupying before I have an entire fucking meltdown.” He knows he sounds petulant, but he doesn’t care. Pepper’s heard it plenty of times before.

 She smiles, and leans in, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll let her know.”

 ~

 Tony doesn’t sleep, because he can’t, because too many things are plaguing him, most of all where Peter is and what he’s doing. Tony has a good view of the hallway through the windows to his room, and he stares and stares until his eyes cross, until he hallucinates, until he knows he’s going insane. 

 He sees Peter sneaking into the med bay at about four in the morning.

 The kid’s mask is off and he’s got two short, harsh slashes across his cheek, and he’s bleeding from a slice across his neck. His suit is ripped in a few places and he’s holding onto his middle, and Tony can see his hands are shaking.

 It’s like something splinters in Tony’s already broken brain, like his world narrows and there are hazy edges, both weakness and strength entwining in his veins when he sees Peter struggle up onto one of the beds in the main atrium, starting to tend his wounds without calling anybody to help.

 Tony pulls his IV out with a wince, unhooks the heart monitor, and swings his legs over the side of the bed with every ounce of determination inside him. His cane is beside the door from where he left it earlier, and he’s counted the steps from his room to the main atrium a thousand times, and he can definitely make it. 

 He struggles over to the cane and grips it with his good hand like he wants it to break, and he doesn’t want to be an old man anymore. He called himself an old man years and years up until he actually became one, in a small, earth-shattering moment that changed him and everything else. 

 He hones in on Peter when he gets out into the hallway. 

 “What are you doing?” he calls.

 Peter immediately looks up from his work on his side, and his brows furrow. He jumps off the bed with a little groan and rushes over to him. “Tony, what are you doing, you’re not supposed to be just wandering around—”

 “It’s my facility,” Tony says, leaning into Peter when he comes over to support him. “I own it. I’ll wander. I can wander.”

 Peter scoffs and moves him over to the closest chair, and Tony’s stupid cane clangs on the ground every time they take a step. Peter helps him sit and Tony can hear him wheezing.

 “What happened to you?” Tony asks, leaning his cane against the wall. “What the hell are you doing out there, Pete? Shit, you keep coming back all fucked up and it’s...it’s making me nervous, kid. Recall, you were recently...very much not around—”

 “I’m okay,” Peter says, patting Tony’s shoulder. He pulls up another chair and sits right next to him. “It’s just—a couple flesh wounds, you know? They’ll heal fast. I heal fast.”

 “What about emotional scars?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows, his heart still hammering from his brief stint on his feet. “Those stick, bud, and I know. I’ve got lots of ‘em. They’re littered all over me.”

 Peter stares down at the ground for a second, bleeding. Tony sighs and reaches back up behind him, grabbing a box of Band-Aids from the shelf. It hurts to reach, it hurts to walk, it hurts to breathe, but it hurts worse to see the kid messed up like this. He takes one of the Band-Aids out and hands it over, replacing the box on a lower shelf. “Please put that on your face.”

 Peter sighs and opens it up, looking at Tony as he sticks it there, trying to keep out the bubbles. Tony knows they have to clean it out, too, and the other one across Peter’s neck, let alone whatever’s going on with his ribcage.

 Tony’s mind races.

 “Why aren’t you giving yourself a break?” he asks. “Huh? Sam is laying around here like he’s on vacation. Clint’s whole family is staying in the west wing and nobody’s left for a week, we check on them to make sure they’re all still goddamn alive. Even Bruce is just sitting around playing video games with Thor, and me, I’m the biggest bag of bones there is, Pete, I’m just—”

 “You’ve done enough,” Peter says, fast, and Tony sees that his eyes are red. 

 “You’ve done enough,” Tony repeats. “You’re busting your ass every night, doing God knows what, along with trying to adapt back into school—”

 “You save everybody, but who saves you?” Peter asks, loud. His jaw is set, his brows furrowed. “You saved the whole entire world, no, universe, sorry, universe—you risked your life, you almost—you almost died, and most people are rightfully thankful and paying tribute but there are still assholes out there who want to—who want to try and hurt you, threaten you while you’re—while you’re recovering, and I found them and I—I’m just—I’m the one that saves you, okay? It’s me. I’m doing it, my job, you saved me, you’ve saved me—more than one time, multiple times, and I just—you’re—you’re too important to me to allow these guys to skulk around and make plans against you and I just—I gotta take care of it, my wounds heal and you’re safer and it’s...it’s fine.”

 It’s quiet, after that. The kid’s rambling used to irritate him, in the beginning. Then he started to find himself endeared by it, and then he went looking for it, and then he missed it so desperately it was like he was missing a limb.

 But this is like…this is…

 He reaches out and takes Peter’s hands. He squeezes them, puts all of his might into his right. He doesn’t think about the scarring or being embarrassed about it, not right now. It doesn’t matter. “Peter.”

 “Don’t tell me not to do it, because I’m—”

 “I love you, kid,” Tony says, his voice breaking. “I love you. Okay? Just...it’s important to me that you know that. I don’t say it to a lot of people, but you’re—you—”

 “I love you too,” Peter says. He squeezes Tony’s hands back, and looks miserable. 

 Tony wonders what the hell he’s found. He wonders if he’s even willing to share. He doesn’t think he has the strength to push him on it, not right now. “I know, after hearing all that, that there’s no way I can tell you to stop, like, not even if I special ordered those churros you like from Coney Island—”

 “Nope, but it’s tempting,” Peter says, laughing a little bit.

 “Just…please let Rhodey help you,” Tony says. “Please, Pete. Rhodey, Sam, Clint, Strange—please, please, Jesus, kid, let them help you. Let them help you with this, however the hell you’re going about it, let them help you with bank robberies and ATM holdups and stolen bikes and bodega brawls. Okay? Okay? You want me safe, I want you safe too, and that’s the way it’s gonna happen until I can suit back up and fly out there with you.”

 Peter looks at him a particular way, when he says that. Like new hope dawns in his eyes. Tony hasn’t said anything about suiting up since—well, he hasn’t. Not at all. He hasn’t really considered it, since even the smallest things have felt insurmountable. But Peter, his loyalty, his love and dedication, shit, that’s...Tony doesn’t know how he’s earned that. If he’ll ever be truly deserving of it. But he wants to repay it. 

 “Please,” Tony says, squeezing the kid’s hands again. “I know I’m stubborn. I know May is stubborn. Don’t be stubborn like us. Not about this. Let us be stubborn, you be safe.”

 Peter swallows hard and nods. “Okay,” he says, gently. “Fine. I’ll—I’ll give Rhodey the information and—have him go along with me, next time.”

 “Good,” Tony says, relief in his shoulders. 

 “You gotta get back to bed,” Peter says, letting go of Tony’s hands and wincing to his feet. “For real. Pepper and Morgan would knock me into next Tuesday if they knew I was the reason you were running around.”

 “Running around, please,” Tony says, watching him move over to the stock cabinet. “I’ll be doing marathons around this place if you don’t call Helen right this instant. Then she’ll have to deal with me on the ground and whatever the hell is going on with you.”

 “I feel bad for her, dealing with us,” Peter says, looking over at him. 

 “Don’t worry,” Tony says. “I’m gonna give her as much money as she wants and a spa weekend, once her favorite spa reopens.”

 “Good,” Peter says. “Okay, I’ll call her, lemme just—get some things ready for her, make it easy—”

 The moment strikes Tony, suddenly. So unbearably real. Peter’s alive again. Alive. He’s really here, and he cares so goddamn much. “Pete,” Tony says. 

 “Yeah?” Peter asks, glancing over at him again. 

 Tony has been overwhelmed for two months now. Longer than that, if he thinks about it—five years, really, since Titan, since an empty grave and so much crying he nearly drowned in it—but the past two months he’s been a different person. But Peter still wants to protect that person. Peter still wants to stand by him, and for some reason, the others do too. Pepper, Morgan, Happy, Rhodey—his family, and the others, his team. Were they ever really a team before? Well, they are now. And the kid is the best of them.

 If Peter thinks he’s worth protecting, worth saving, maybe that means all this turmoil is worth it. That all these little steps, despite how tedious and tiresome, might lead to him becoming...himself, again. And Peter is making sure there’s a place for him to come back to.

 “Thank you,” Tony says, nodding to himself, a lump in his throat. 

 Peter smiles broadly, and holds his head high. “No. Thank you,” he says, right back. 

#tony stark #peter parker #iron man #spider-man #iron dad #my fics #this one had a mind of its own lemme tell you