#as much as i want them in lead categories they’re more likely to win in supporting and GOD do they deserve to win

[brookheimer]

this is SO DESERVED like they are not supporting. let’s be real here. BUT!!!! also now they’d be going up against fucking bob odenkirk and rhea seehorn (and also jeremy strong for kieran!) and i think i might kill myself

[fireinmoonshot]

For the Top Gun requests, I think a fun scenario would be Jake/Hangman introducing his wife to the rest of his crew/friends and they’re shocked at how he was able to win over such a sweet and humble woman since you know how he can be sometimes. I think his wife would so wear the pants in the relationship and it would be funny 😂😂

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Fem!Reader A/N: This accidentally ended up with me writing 2k+ words. I loved writing this and this request. Thank you so much for sending it in!

“Now, the guys can be a little much sometimes, but they’re not harmful and they’re not gonna do any damage, okay?” Jake says, giving your hand a squeeze as you walk towards the bar. 

You smile at him. “I can handle myself, Jake. I’ll be fine.”

For the majority of your relationship, you and Jake have been doing long distance while he worked or had been deployed. That meant that you’ve never actually had the chance to meet any of his work friends before, just the ones from back home. 

He seems to be more nervous about it than you are. 

“Yeah, I know you can, but I’m just saying. You’re about to walk into a bar full of overconfident aviators and I want you to be prepared.”

“Jake,” you scoff, “I think I’m married to the most overconfident aviator out of all of them. I don’t think they can beat you in that category.”

He can’t disagree with you on that one. “Overconfident for a reason, gorgeous,” he smirks.

The two of you reach the front door of the bar and Jake opens the door for you, letting you go inside first before following you. As soon as you step inside you can tell that this is definitely Jake’s scene. The music is loud, but not too loud. There are groups crowded around pool tables and the bar itself, all talking and laughing. A few of them look over at the two of you and give Jake a wave or a nod. He’s popular here among all the aviators, and for good reason. 

Jake tugs your hand and starts leading you over to the windows looking out towards the beach. You can see the sunset over the waves and have to admit it’s beautiful, and definitely a perfect place to have a bar. 

Your eyes settle on the group standing around one of the pool tables just as one of them spots Jake. 

“Hangman, finally decided to join us, hey?” He calls out, stepping forward and slapping Jake on the back as a greeting. His eyes settle on you. “Hold on a damn minute, is this…?”

Jake smiles proudly. “Yeah, figured it was time you all meet her.”

You stop beside him and Jake tugs you closer to his side.

“Someone decided to take some time off and come visit,” he said, nodding down to you. “Guys, this is my wife.” He introduces you by name, and then introduces everyone to you. The friend that had greeted you had been Coyote, or Javy. You remember hearing Jake talk about him from time to time.

Natasha steps forward to shake your hand, smiling at the sight of another woman. “Callie and I are especially happy to have you here,” she says, “We’re a little outnumbered.” 

You shake her hand and smile at her words. “Oh, I’ve heard about you from Jake. From what he’s told me, you definitely seem the coolest out of all these men.” 

“I like her,” Natasha says, directing her words to Jake before stepping back to the pool table to finish off her turn. “Can she stay?”

Jake chuckles and leads you over to one of the barstools up against the wall so you can sit down. He leans down close to you. “You want a drink? You wanna come with or stay here with the guys?” 

“I’ll just have my usual,” you tell him. “I’ll be all right here.”

He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go and heading over to the bar to get you both your drinks. 

Javy comes and sits on one of the stools beside you.

“So, you’re the one Jake’s been head over heels with for all this time, huh?” He grins. “Swear I’ve spent hours hearing him talk about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you reply. “I’ve heard a lot about you as well. About all of you. I would have met you all a long time ago if I could have, but you know how it is.”

Javy nods. “Better late than never, though.”

“That’s true,” you hum. “So, Jake – you two have been friends for a while now, huh? Any fun stories about him you think I should know?”

He laughs. “Been friends since before we could fly, so hell yeah I have stories. I don’t know if you’d like to hear them all though.”

“Oh, yeah?” You’re suddenly intrigued. You trust Jake completely, you always have, even with the long distance between you both. You’d married the man knowing you’d still have to do long distance for a bit afterwards, but this part of his life was one you’d missed out on. 

“Nothing bad, though,” he shakes his head. “Nah, Jake’s loyal. Just… picture him sitting right here, drunk off his ass and talking about nothing else except his girlfriend back home and how much he loves her. He’d sit here and show me photos of the two of you for hours.”

You raise your eyebrows and scan the bar, spotting Jake on his way back to you. That was what he’d end up doing whenever he’d texted you telling you he was heading out to the bar with friends? 

Jake stops in front of you, cutting off your conversation with Javy, and hands your drink to you. “You having a good time talking to my girl, Javy?” His words are in jest.

“Yeah, just telling her all about your drunken nights out, man.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Hey, I’m a responsible drunk,” he says. “I’ve done nothing that she doesn’t already know about.”

“I beg to differ,” you smile, taking a sip of your drink and then looking up at him. “You never told me you drunkenly showed photos of me to Javy for hours on end.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but then realises that he both can’t and doesn’t want to. Yeah, he had done that, and yeah, he had spent hours talking about you when he was drunk. But he saw absolutely nothing wrong with that. “Nothing to be embarrassed about on my part,” he shrugs. “I somehow landed the most beautiful woman in the world, so why wouldn’t I wanna tell everyone I love her and show everyone how stunning she is?”

He sits down on the stool beside you and reaches out a hand to gently squeeze your thigh. You smile up at him, feeling more in love with him now than you probably ever had in your whole life.

Natasha, who has been listening in on your conversation ever since Jake reappeared, steps towards the three of you. “No, cause I am curious, Hangman – how did you end up with her? She’s been nothing but sweet ever since she showed up here tonight. I haven’t heard a single sarcastic comment, and that’s nearly always what comes out of your mouth.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at her words. Jake did love his sarcastic comments, and he was usually always just a little too honest. You were glad to see that his friends here got to see that side of him as well, even if it probably got on their nerves sometimes like it used to get on yours – especially when you first met each other. 

“Well, to tell you the truth, Phoenix, I owe it all to my good looks and my charm,” Jake says, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s just that simple. How could she not fall in love with me?”

His words make you want to laugh. While this side of Jake wasn’t the one you’d fallen in love with – you’d fallen for him because of his sweeter, softer side – you did love this side of him, and you especially loved seeing other peoples reactions to it. His friends here were all used to it, though, and it made you feel more at home among them.

You turn to Jake, smiling. “Very humble of you, honey.”

“It comes naturally to me,” he grins in reply.

Javy and Natasha both roll their eyes, but you can see on their faces that they’re amused by Jake’s attitude. 

“All I’m saying is I’m surprised you married someone as nice as her,” Natasha says, heading back over to the pool table after Fanboy calls out to let her know it’s her turn again.

Jake raises his eyebrows at you. “I’m not surprised.”

Your face is starting to hurt from smiling so much and you lean back against the wall and take a long sip of your drink, looking around at all of Jake’s friends and watching them playing pool for a while while Jake and Javy start to talk about something work related. 

He doesn’t forget you’re there, though. His spare hand finds yours and entwines your fingers together. That’s something about Jake Seresin you’d never expected – the fact that he loves physical contact. Holding hands, an arm around your waist, anything. 

As the night goes on, the bar gets busier and the windows behind you darken as the sky turns into a dark blue, dusted with stars. The pool game ends and another one begins. More drinks are bought and consumed and you’re introduced to even more people that Jake knows. It’s about 10pm by the time one of the most talked about members of the group arrives – Bradley Bradshaw, also known as Rooster.

Jake, still holding your hand, introduces you to him when he ends up near you both.

Bradley extends a hand for you to shake, which you do, and then looks between the two of you. “Never thought I’d actually see the day where Jake Seresin settled down and got married, if I’m being honest.”

His words surprise you, but there’s nothing unkind about them. It’s more like he’s just surprised. 

“Well, at least one of us can maintain a healthy relationship and create a base for a loving, long lasting future and marriage,” Jake fires back quickly. 

You squeeze his hand tightly. “Hey, that’s not nice. Don’t say stuff like that.”

Jake opens his mouth to explain to you that he didn’t mean anything by it, that he was just joking around and that Bradley knows that and wouldn’t take any offence to his words, but Bradley beats him to it. 

“My God,” he shakes his head, looking between the two of you with a smile on his lips. “I can’t believe you’ve married someone who doesn’t let you wear the pants in the relationship, Hangman.” He claps his hand down on Jake’s shoulder. “It’ll be good for you, man.”

And with that, he laughs to himself, shakes his head and wanders off to get a drink.

Jake turns to look at you, his mouth open slightly in shock and confusion.

You, however, can’t stop smiling, watching Bradley as he stands at the bar, ordering his drink. “I like him,” you admit. “I don’t know why you used to text me all the time about how much you hated him. I think he’s fun.” 

Jake blinks. “Darlin’, don’t forget you’re married to me and not him now, will you?”

You move your eyes back to Jake’s. “There’s no chance I’d ever forget I married you, honey.” You lean in and gently peck his lips. “I’m just saying, I like hi–”

Your words are cut off by Jake cupping your head with his free hand and bringing your lips back to his in a kiss that is definitely not a peck on the lips. His lips move against yours until you’re both forced to pull away, a little out of breath. 

“What, do you have a problem with me wearing the pants in our relationship?” You ask.

Jake shakes his head. “Not at all, gorgeous. Just felt like kissing my girl. You got a problem with that?” He raises his eyebrows at you. One of his hands has found yours again, but instead of holding it, he’s running a finger over the wedding ring on your finger.

“No problems at all,” you smile. “Now, what does the most handsome aviator in the room say to kissing me again?” 

Amusement sparks in Jake’s eyes. “Oh, I think he can organise that.” 

[xinhua-jun]

https://www.tumblr.com/darlingjunebug/728466035752271872?source=share

it's skull, skull is the third party who gets involved bc he's the only who has the emotional intelligence to notice the problem and the lack of self preservation to put himself in the line of fire

There are some pros and cons to being a civilian suddenly thrust into not only the cursed mafia world, but also the cursed mafia world.

Pros: he gets paid to do what he loves—to play out his stunts in a setting where he doesn’t have to hold back so as to not to raise civilian suspicions about his condition, while also getting all of the acclaim when his subordinates genuinely shower him with it.

(Was it a mindfuck when some clown just showed up in his living room trying to reclute him? Yes. Is it dangerous? Yes. But if there’s anything the great Skull-sama loves, it’s a good challenge!)

Cons: once in a while he has to spend time in the vicinity of some less-than-desirable individuals, who consider him—him!—to be the less-than-desirable individual. The nerve!

(He’s not factoring Kawahira’s little misadventure, specifically, into this; getting turned into a toddler isn’t any weirder than being able to regenerate his body and coming back to life in his books.

Now that they’re out of the woods and he can laugh about it, he can begrudgingly admit—in the safety of his mind—that Checker Face did it for a noble cause, despite going about it in a not-so-hot fashion. If Skull were a millennia old being, he would play Russian roulette with some douchebags and give them body dysmorphia just for shits and giggles.

Skull will, however, complain about the acquaintances it left him with, as much as he wants, for as long as they’re assholes—which is shaping up to be for a very, very long time.)

The delightful but ultimately exasperating shit show that are one Sawada Tsunayoshi and Reborn-senpai does not fall into either of those categories, but in a secret, third, second-option-adjacent thing: idiots in love who, despite being more in sync with each other’s emotions than anyone could ever wish to be with their partner’s, couldn’t be more out of touch with their feelings if they tried. (And Skull has seen some paradoxes in his time, okay?)

All of this is relevant because, ultimately, despairingly, he’s gonna have to intervene. Jesus fucking Christ.

None of Tsuna’s little Elements, let alone any of Skull’s former colleagues—or anyone else who could, for that matter—is gonna do jack shit about it. They’re all either too emotionally constipated themselves, too scared of Reborn to dare going against him, or too willing to let them ‘go at their own pace’ (as if that will ever lead anywhere!).

So. It all falls into his hands to do something about it.

Does Skull win anything by meddling? Not in the slightest. On the contrary—

“I do not get paid enough for this shit,” Skull groans. “I do not get paid at all for this shit.”

If anything, he’s risking death by Reborn-senpai!

But he owes it to Tsuna, because despite being obviously influenced by Reborn in more ways than anyone would like, he has never, not even once, been unkind to Skull. Even before the whole Representative Battles happened—and that’s a whole other debt he needs to repay.

Unlike anybody else who has ever interacted with both Skull and Reborn, Tsuna has never once lacked basic human decency. (Skull wishes he had lacked basic human decency; he wouldn’t feel so morally obligated to protect the kid’s heart then.)

Enma pats his back in comfort when Skull hides his face in the other’s shoulder. Earnestly, he says, “I think you’re doing something truly honorable, senpai,” because he’s seen those two and knows what Skull has to deal with; more so than Skull, actually, because while Skull can just fuck-off whenever they get unbearable, Enma lives here and still has to interact with them on a daily basis.

What the fuck.

Skull raises his head long enough to look at him. “How do you deal with it, Enma-kun?”

Like the true child soldier he is—and he’s not gonna open that can of worms at the moment; Jesus, why did he even have to think about it?! One emotional crisis at a time, please!—Enma stares off into space before solemnly saying, “I grew up with Adel and Julie,” like that answers anything.

It kinda does, funnily enough.

“Ne, ne, Enma-kun,” Skull wheedles, getting an idea.

But Enma shakes his head, smiling apologetically before he can even say anything else. “I can’t help you with this,” he says, soothing the sting of his betrayal by running gentle fingers through Skull’s nape. “I grew up with Adel and Julie,” he reiterates meaningfully.

It takes Skull a moment.

“That bitch,” he says with an offended gasp. “She told you not to get involved, didn’t she?!”

Enma tugs gently at a lock in reproach. “Be nice to my sister.”

Skull pouts. Enma’s eyes soften. The fond amusement in his expression makes Skull’s stomach flutter.

(Maybe he has indigestion or something? He’ll have to pick up some Otha’s Isan on his way back.)

“If it makes you feel better, I will cheer you on every step of the way, okay? So hang in there, senpai.”

That does make him feel better.

If nothing else, Skull will at least have a cute little kouhai to come back to and be comforted by when this inevitably blows up on his face.

“Well,” Skull says, revisiting his earlier thoughts. He leans into Enma’s touch, feeling rejuvenated. “If there’s anything the great Skull-sama loves, it’s a good challenge!”

[catb-fics]

Oh noooo Cage The Elephant are releasing a record next year and Catfish would be in the same categories as them in 2025. Very slim chance Catfish win over them. I’d tell them to wait but there’s even less of a chance if they’re contenders for the 2026 Grammys when The Strokes are definitely winning again.

Unless Sardy still doesn’t understand the rules, this means we’re getting an album almost definitely late summer/early fall 2024. Which means singles promo will probably start in this first quarter of 2024. Based on their singles history, I think we could see a new single as early as February. Would lead right up to an album in August (singles promo seems to take them about 6 months after the initial one drops). - 🌴

Even if they got nominated it would be a huge achievement! I think Van seems more proud of playing bigger and bigger venues than winning awards tbh but it must be a huge boost to win something like that. I just want to see him at the awards wearing a fancy suit more than anything if I’m honest ha ha

All of this does make it sound like we might get a new single dropping fairly early in the new year. Ahhhhh god the excitement is too much! 😭😭

[1eos]

Re: your post about the kardashians/bts being pop culture slaughter:

Respectfully, this take makes no sense. Are you basing your idea of BTS on the three english singles they’ve released in their 10 year career? If so, then I can understand how you might come to the “soulless pop” conclusion, but you are leaving out 99.9% of their actual work in saying that, making your point invalid. Also, I severely disagree with you using BTS specifically to make the point about music nowadays being “all about numbers”. A much better example of this would be the rise in tiktok songs which are solely designed to be promoted on tiktok and get 30 second clips played on the platform for views. BTS fans only work so hard for streams because in the beginning, BTS weren’t recognized. They were cut out of performance shows, their performances were blacked out by fans of other groups to make it seem like they were performing to empty audiences, they purposefully trended other artists to make any attempt BTS made at promoting their music unsuccessful, and routinely called into KOREAN award shows to dispute results or argue against them winning anything. This isn’t even taking into account the fact that while BTS have a significant western following and have since the start, they’ve only really gotten tangible recognition from the western music industry recently. Even when they were first becoming popular their main recognition here was by numbers (albums sold leading to their positions on the billboard charts) or solely for online influence because of their fans (top social artist awards) and not to do with their music. Even now a lot of the awards they win in America are based on the fact they’re Korean and not due to their actual music. (i.e. only being nominated in “best k-pop artist” category rather than for anything related to the actual music they put out). 

Also, to your point about cultural appropriation- I want to ask, can you point to specific examples? I’m more than willing to have a dialogue about this issue because it’s obviously nuanced and I’m never going to think I am 100% correct about it but I’d like to hear where you’re coming from. Is it the clothes? Is it because they rap? I’d like to ask what you’d have them do instead. They have routinely paid homage to the black culture they take their musical style from and never shy away from hip hop and raps roots. In fact during their early years they had a whole series about going to LA and learning about hip hop culture from real hip hop legends like Coolio to become further educated on where the style originates. They have an entire song dedicated to them loving hip hop and naming black hip hop artists where they got inspiration and who they admire (it’s called hip hop phile). Would you have them stop rapping or stop making hip hop? Would you have them stop delving into soul? If that’s the case would you have every non-black artist stop making soul or RnB or hip hop music? These are genuine questions. I just don’t understand where you are drawing the line. Where is your line between appropriation and appreciation? Is any non-black artist who delves into these genres only bad if they become famous because of it?

Also take issue with your comment about how no one can sing because they’re fitting into corsets or whatever. Have you listened to actual clips of BTS singing live without backing tracks? Of course everyone has their own opinion but they are FAR from objectively bad singers. (Jungkook actually appeared on the korean version of masked singer and almost won. I understand that’s one member of 7 and he’s the main vocalist but to say they all can’t sing is incorrect, and even though the other vocal members don’t have those accolades they are still quite talented.)

To me your take seems severely misinformed, it seems like you are assuming A LOT about BTS based on your own opinions about “new” k-pop (again, BTS aren’t really “new” and are only a year younger than the group you seem to be a fan of. If a decade old is new then we have very different time barometers. LOL.). It seems like a lot of your take is rooted in the notion that BTS came from a “k-pop factory” (which in itself that idea is a bit. well. it’s not a KIND take to put on the korean pop music industry and singling out BTS while not mentioning any new american pop is crazy to me sorry) when they in fact came from an indie label and the only reason anyone knows who their company is now is BECAUSE of BTS. BTS saved their small company from bankruptcy by singing about themes their target demographic in korea (teenagers at the time, because THEY were teenagers) actually cared about (being pressured by the adults in your life to have a “dream” even though no one knows what they want at that age, the rigid school system present in their country- in general their theme as a debut idol group was essentially “stick it to the man” which isn’t a very mainstream premise and definitely wasn’t back then. no mainstream pop or idol group was singing songs like that.) and created a following and then continued to change and grow their message to speak to their audience as both they and their audience aged. To say they are bad just because they became incredibly popular discredits their artistry and frankly discredits many artists who have found fame. 

now you know damn well i'm not reading this shit 😭😭😭😭😭 DEPLOY THE LOSING GAME

[spookytravelerpuppy]

bit of mincey speculation and thoughts for a bored Friday night but:

they'll all look fire as fuck at the Oliviers on Sunday and good for them!

I reckon they'll take home best new musical, Jak will take home acting, and probs best orchestrations (the others are wonderful actors/actresses too but their categories are STACKED, especially best lead actress. SB has been dominating. would love to see more acting wins for them but that's my hunch). dunno if they'll announce anything at the Oliviers but I kinda hope not (thinking of Taylor announcing TTPD and that going down like a lead balloon due to taking spotlight from others)

god that's brilliant for their Olivier performance, altho I'd love a making a man mashup, or a medley. a mincemeat medley the gods would be blessing us on that day.

mincemeat broadway - lots of ppl have said it's happening, I reckon the licensing rights release is a sign, I reckon they'll have a limited run late 2024/2025 if they do but I'm thinking they may go for a smaller off-broadway venue, but I'm not convinced how well it will translate re critics (e.g. the response to Hadestown on broadway vs west end for example). i wonder if spitlip will transfer with it temporarily for Tony nominations, but I also dunno how that works with union rules.

was thinking cast change April 20th but seems way too soon given the Olivier hype, and I think they'll want to ride on a high for a lil bit, so my guess now is early May - heard somewhere May 11th? I wonder how far in advance they'll announce new cast and cast change date, but those tickets are gonna be gold dust.

lowkey convinced Chloe Hart will be in the new cast, pretty much all mincey cast follow her, she's posted about a new big job that she can't reveal yet but will be announced shortly being London based, and has posted recently on her story a few times about loving mincemeat. not sure who else tho. gut instinct says maybe Holly, Christian and maybe Sean will stay on/become leads (it would be nice to have some continuity!) but not sure on the others, I think the lead 5 will almost defo decide to move on to do something else.

I reckon the reason they’ve not announced further extensions at the fortune yet is bc they’re going to transfer to a different theatre at that point, bc mincemeat was only ever meant to be a temporary thing and the fortune desperately needs renovations. But awks tho bc the Hester plaque is there lol

interested to hear thoughts!

[kristenswig]

Picture

The Fabelmans

EEAAO

The Banshees of Inisherin

Top Gun

Elvis 

Tar

All Quiet on the Western Front ------bar of certainty------

Avatar (I want to drop this so baddddddd)

Nightmare Alley Babylon

The Whale SandraBullockWell.jpg - Women Talking Neon is busy trying fill up as much of Best Documentary as possible - Triangle of Sadness Fell off - Glass Onion The Year is 2080 and We Have Spent Half a Century Honoring Chadwick Boseman’s Monumental Contributions to Film, Television, and Humanity - Black Panther Luckily the internet can’t make everything happen - RRR

Director

Steven Spielberg - The Fabelmans

The Daniels - EEAAO

Todd Field - Tar

Martin McDonagh - The Banshees of Inisherin

Edward Berger - All Quiet on the Western Front Don’t encourage him - Baz Luhrmann - Elvis The bright side of this would be that it would humiliate the CCA - Joseph Kosinski - Top Gun I’m starting to doubt - James Cameron - Avatar Was he top 3 at BAFTA? I have questions - Park Chan-wook - Decision to Leave Todd Field is an Honorary Woman - Sarah Polley - Women Talking, Gina Prince Bythewood - The Woman King, Charlotte Wells - Aftersun

Actress

Cate Blanchett - Tar

Michelle Yeoh - EEAAO

Viola Davis - The Woman King

Ana de Armas - Blonde

Michelle Williams - The Fabelmans Just feels like it’ll slip through the cracks - Danielle Deadwyler - Till They just love nominating them! not enough though - Margot Robbie - Babylon, Olivia Colman - Empire of Light Knows what happened to Shelly Miscavige - Andrea Riseborough - To Leslie

Actor

Colin Farrell - The Banshees of Inisherin

Brendan Fraser - The Whale

Austin Butler - Elvis

Bill Nighy - Living

Hugh Jackman - The Son (don’t @ me if this happens I’m not manifesting) Good luck diva - Paul Mescal - Aftersun Movie doesn’t exist - Adam Sandler - “Hustle” Your boots sir - Tom Cruise - Top Gun

Supporting Actress

Kerry Condon - The Banshees of Inisherin --------bar of certainty---------

Angela Bassett - Black Panther (imagine having her career and finally getting nomination #2 for this)

Jamie Lee Curtis - EEAAO 

Hong Chau - The Whale

Nina Hoss - Tar (you CAN @ me if this happens I AM manifesting) This movie will probably end up leading the nominations but the cult needs this snub so they still feel like they’re rooting for an underdog - Stephanie Hsu - EEAAO Girlboss - Dolly de Leon - Triangle of Sadness Gatekeep - Jessie Buckley - Women Talking We specifically decided to not do this so she wouldn’t win - Michelle Williams - The Fabelmans Gaslight - Janelle Monae - Glass Onion Girlboss - Carey Mulligan - She Said Gaslight - Claire Foy - Women Talking

Supporting Actor

Ke Huy Quan - EEAAO

Brendan Gleeson - The Banshees of Inisherin

Barry Keoghan - The Banshees of Inisherin

Paul Dano - The Fabelmans

Eddie Redmayne - The Good Nurse (I don’t buy this) Or this - Judd Hirsch - The Fabelmans Or this - Bryan Tyree Henry - Causeway Or this - Ben Whishaw - Women Talking Who is this - “Albrecht Shuch” - All Quiet on the Western Front

Adapted Screenplay

Women Talking

Glass Onion

Living

The Whale

All Quiet on the Western Front Not exactly what they’re looking at here - She Said Presumably “Written” - White Noise Sequels! Remakes! Reboots! - Pinocchio, Top Gun, The Son

Original Screenplay

The Banshees of Inisherin

EEAAO

The Fabelmans

Tar

Triangle of Sadness You had a good go at it...thanks for your input - Aftersun WGA bait - Elvis I’ve been sensing this lurking - Nope Mubi will not shut up about it - Decision to Leave

Cinematography

Anyone ever seen a plane? (Top Gun)

Roger Deakins (movie irrelevant)

Not Emmanuel Lubezki (Bardo)

Shiny Objects! (Elvis)

This branch likes him more than the guild (The Fabelmans) I think I might be predicting this movie in all the wrong tech categories - All Quiet on the Western Front If this gets nominated it’s probably gonna win - Avatar Obsessed with people predicting a 2/5 ASC overlap - The Batman

Costumes

Elvis

Black Panther

Babylon

Mrs. Harris Goes to Paris

Corsage ???? - The Woman King That’s all I got but here are some more movie titles - EEAAO, Living, The Fabelmans, Amsterdam, All Quiet on the Western Front

Film Editing (bombing this category as usual)

Top Gun

EEAAO

Elvis

All Quiet on the Western Front

Tar (sticking with the overperformance narrative) They’ve snubbed Michael Kahn for flashier work - The Fabelmans Certainly a Best Picture frontrunner! - The Banshees of Inisherin Sound! Light! Movement! - Avatar

Makeup and Hairstyling

The Batman

Elvis

The Whale

the first name I randomly pulled out of my hat...Babylon

the second...Blonde The third - Amsterdam The fourth - All Quiet on the Western Front I didn’t put them in the hat - Les crimes du futur, Emancipation

Production Design

Babylon

Black Panther

Elvis

Avatar

All Quiet on the Western Front in descending order of likelihood - The Fabelmans, EEAAO, Pinocchio, Bardo

Score

The Fabelmans

Babylon

Women Talking

The Banshees of Inisherin

Pinocchio  I’m making this up - All Quiet on the Western Front, Black Panther, The Woman King

Songrbfhddsishgdbk

RRR

Black Panther

Top Gun

Pinocchio

Till I don’t know which one is the title of the movie and which one is the title of the song - Applause/Tell It Like a Woman Hague - Crawdads White noise - White Noise

Sound

Top Gun

Elvis

Avatar

All Quiet on the Western Front

coin toss EEAAO coin toss - The Batman They prefer Elvis - Babylon

Visual Effects

Avatar

Top Gun

The Batman

All Quiet on the Western Front

Thirteen Lives annual bullshit nominee alert - Jurassic World annual bullshit nominee alert part 2 - Fantastic Beasts and your guild nominations? - Doctor Strange, Black Panther, Nope

Animated Feature

Pinocchio

Turning Red

My Father’s Dragon

M*rc*l th* Sh*ll w*th Sh**s *n

Inu-Oh Continuing to pretend that they don’t like sequels - Puss in Boots Maybe if it were better? - Wendell and Wild Disney payola - Strange World

Documentary Feature

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed

All That Breathes

Fire of Love

Navalny

Moonage Daydream Literally started typing my international predictions which should tell you how much thought went into this - Descendant See also - The Territory, Bad Axe, Retrograde, Last Flight Home

International Feature

All Quiet on the Western Front

Argentina 1985 

Decision to Leave

Bardo

Joyland A24 forgot they had this - Close GROUP A Alternates (potential replacements for #2-4 above) - The Quiet Girl, EO, Holy Spider, Saint Omer, Corsage GROUP B Alternates (potential replacements for #5 above) - Return to Seoul, Last Film Show, The Blue Caftan, The Artist Formerly Known as Boy From Heaven

[magicalforcesau]

Dancing with Ghosts in Your Garden~ Year 3: April

“Satine, be reasonable,” Obi-Wan sighed as he pushed a few extra books into his bag, “There’s no reason for us both to miss class for a simple errand.”

“And turn my nose up at the clear rule violation?” Satine shot back, sitting on the railing above him, likely for the attempt at intimidation. At least he didn’t have to worry about the pacifist kicking him in the face, “If you would recall, that Article 3 subsection D denotes that although a student can gain permission to leave the school, they must be accompanied .”

“And I’ll have you recall that those accompanying you would already be a Professor or Prefect. As Head Boy I fall into the prefect category,” He pointed out as he adjusted his school cloak so his Head Boy pin was better seen.

“There’s nothing to denote that the Head Boy gets special permission!” Satine hopped off the ledge so she could more easily stare him down.

“Headmaster Yoda also gave me his full permission,” Obi-Wan waved the piece of parchment, like it was a winning ticket, “Stated here, a day of missed classes, so long as I make them up. I can apparate off grounds to Diagon Alley.”

“Fine,” Satine sniffed, but Obi-Wan should have known there was no winning against Satine, “As Head Girl I will be enacting my Right to Suspicion.”

“Oh please,” Obi-Wan stood up, arms crossed. Her eyes were even more blue reflecting the light of a cloudless sky, “What have you got to be suspicious about? Article 85 of the Prefect Handbook clearly states that a Right to Suspicion can only be invoked if the prefect has clear concern for the safety of a student or faculty member.”

“And I do!” Satine stepped closer so she was practically under his nose, “You’re being targeted while here at school. We don’t know who’s after you or where they are and we most certainly don’t know what they’re planning. For all we know they could be watching your every move.”

“We also don’t know if they are. Therefore you really shouldn’t be worried,” His argument was weak.

“I invoke my Right to Suspicion,” She deadpanned before stepping back just a little out of his personal space. Still, she extended her hand to him, which he took in his own. Their fingers brushing against each other before they let their hands hang between them, “Now come on, we haven’t got all day.” Satine let him lead, even though she didn’t have to.

He couldn’t argue with her further even if he wanted to. She had bested him in a well worded debate and they both knew when it was time to throw in the towel. Though it was fairly often that the loser of such events was him. He could hardly find the space of mind to be mad. Not when Satine subtly ran her thumb across his hand and glanced over at him with calm, but thoughtful eyes. It wasn’t very often they had found time to simply be alone.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid staring too long.

Satine had clearly been planning on coming with him from the start. Although she had her Hogwarts’ robes on, she was wearing casual wear underneath. He felt a little overdressed next to her, in his complete Hogwarts’ uniform, although he supposed it really wasn’t out of the ordinary. Plus- He glanced over and she blinked in surprise before turning her gaze away, a very slight pink tint rising to her cheeks. It didn’t seem like she minded the way he was dressed.

Once they passed through the magic surrounding Hogwarts, Obi-Wan pulled out his wand. Apparition was something he certainly never wanted to do without proper thought. He’d learned the hard way himself, when he was much younger, what happened to a wizard who did so carelessly. He made sure to plant his feet, to really feel himself and Satine next to him before thinking hard about Diagon Alley. Some people said they visualized such things, but Obi-Wan had found it much easier to just think of every fact he could about the place. To him, he never found anything clearer than facts.

With a crack they found themselves amongst the wizards of Diagon Alley. No one even batted an eye at their appearance, simply moving around them easily and continuing on their way. The place wasn’t as crowded as it often was a few weeks before school, but there was still a fair bit of activity going in and out of shops. A few vendors had set up along the streets, shouting their offerings at passerbyers.

To Obi-Wan, the place was always a bit exciting, it was just about the opposite of the other magical spaces he’d occupied, not counting Hogwarts of course. But a lot of pureblooded wizard spots were stark and quiet. Every footstep would echo through the halls and you would be heard coming a mile away. Here he couldn’t even hear his footsteps upon the cobblestone ground from the sounds of general milling about.

“So where to?” Satine asked as she too looked around with bright eager eyes, “Were you thinking of picking up a few more books for research?”

He winced, a bit of guilt weighing on his heart as he found himself admitting very easily what his intentions were, “Actually I… I was headed to someplace else, Knockturn Alley-”

“See?” Satine paused, keeping him tethered to her by their conjoined hands, “I was right to be suspicious.”

“Look Satine,” Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair again, “Knockturn Alley isn’t exactly charming , but it does hold some rather hard to get, yet important materials and curios.”

“None of this sounds particularly innocent, Ben,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “Were you trying to make a point with that?”

“I know, it has the tendency to be rather seedy,” He gave her a half smile, “I’m not defending it, which is why you can stay here, maybe you can find us some further research material-”

“I’m not afraid,” Satine placed a hand on his chest. It did its job to shut him up before she let it drop again, “I will be going with you.”

“You don’t have to, really,” He put a hand on her shoulder, but she just gave him that look. The one that warned him that he may be doing something stupid.

“Don’t I know that, Ben. I don’t need you shoving me off to the side while you go galavanting around,” She rolled her eyes, “I’m here with you.”

“If you absolutely insist,” He huffed before turning slightly.

“What I do require knowledge of,” Satine tugged him back towards her, “Is what we’re going to be doing skulking around in the dark. I think that’s a fair trade off, what with me being your chaperone and all.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to roll his eyes, “I’ve read of a jewel. It’s able to help protect your spirit.”

“Oh so you are preparing yourself for the tournament after all,” A devilish smile stretched itself across Satine’s face.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Obi-Wan argued, “I don’t recall sitting around and doing nothing?”

“Well, between you teaching every student in the school and tending to wounded animals, I thought you’d found yourself preoccupied,” Satine shrugged.

“Honestly Satine, when do I not overfill my plate?”

“When you skip meals to study usually,” She gave him a pointed look. “So, where did you read of this so-called spirit protector?”

“ Detections and Darkness: Protecting your Soul from Unwanted Magic … Volume 2.” He admitted, wincing when he caught her narrowed glare, “I skipped lunch to do a bit of light reading.”

“After all that dithering about abiding by the rules of the Restricted Section,” She scoffed, “You’re sneakier than you look.”

“I’ll have you know I had a permission slip.” He said, “It was a bit strange, actually. It was blank and for this book specifically. I figured I should definitely take a look.”

“A blank slip? So, you don’t know who filled it out?” She asked.

“I’m suspecting Professor Tahl, considering the material,” He said, “I read somewhere that she’s an expert on international magical jewels.”

“So, why not be out with it?” She asked, clearly still suspicious, though this time not of him.

“Maybe she doesn’t want there to be any suspicions given her current position,” He proposed, “She is being accused of kidnapping.”

“If it is her, her concern for you does not make me feel warm and fuzzy,” She said, “She is a psychic, after all.”

“We think.”

“We know.” She rolled her eyes again.

He didn’t have to think of any more wit for the conversation though, because all possible attempts at humor had a tendency to trail away once crossing over into the dark alley. One would think that Knockturn Alley was typically abandoned in foot traffic, but that wasn’t true. Obi-Wan himself had visited a fair few times though rarely alone. Mostly, he would be there to carry his parents' bags, but once he got older, he did run a few errands for them on his own.

He’d like to say it grew less distasteful with each visit, but he would be lying. He recalled a time where he almost lost a finger to a stray three-headed dog.

The sky was alway dark and cloudy, yet he’d never seen it rain. Spiders scurried around in the dark and occasionally a rat would brush past their legs. It wasn’t exactly sanitary. Satine shivered and honestly she was rather lucky she’d thought to wear pants today, maybe he should have warned her about those rats prior.

“Stay close to me,” He murmured, catching the lingering eyes of shady patrons and vendors as they passed. He schooled his expression to be neutral and passive, as you never wanted to give anyone a reason to believe you were afraid. Normally, Obi-Wan wasn’t, but he was rather uncomfortable with the way they seemed to hone in on Satine.

Newcomers were never welcomed with open arms.

Though Satine had, on many occasions, in their longstanding friendship, argued the point that she could take care of herself, she squeezed his hand tightly in response. This time she would not be debating the necessity of remaining close.

“Ooh! Fine place to take out a date,” A sarcastic vendor in a very bulky trenchcoat sneered at them as they passed.

“Long way from Hogwarts ain’t’cha,” The woman next to him with long dagger shaped nails holding a small squirming sack commented.

“I bet I have something she’d just die to wear,” Said a street jeweler, who stood posted in front of the tattoo parlor, his teeth brown and decaying.

Both he and Satine were smart enough to ignore them as they made their way further down the alley. A painful screech startled Satine from just down a rickety walkway that descended into darkness. Obi-Wan didn’t have to look that way to know it led towards the White Wyvern. A far cry from the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron, the White Wyvern was more of a front to crimelords rather than an actual eating or drinking establishment. You could technically get a drink there, but even his father never returned inebriated from his visits.

A shadowy figure emerged, cloaked by dark robes, before vanishing into nothing as they apparated somewhere else within the blink of an eye. The paranoia in Obi-Wan told him that it could have been someone he knew, because everyone in Knockturn Alley tended to exist in anonymity. He brushed off that uneasy thought and steered them towards their destination.

Borgin and Burkes towered easily above the other small hovels in the area, being the only store to not also have live-in accommodations on the top floor. The light that poured out of it was oddly warm in the otherwise cold alley, but it didn’t make the shop seem any kinder. Skulls sat in the window, definitely human, and the door let out a scream as they entered. It was dusty and despite the many candles burning in every corner, it still seemed dark. Obi-Wan carefully scooted them around the severed hand that was slowly dragging its way across the floor and made it up to the counter where most of the jewelry sat under lock and key.

Satine, despite being in an environment completely new to her, kept her eyes trained forward. She was good at feigning neutrality to all of this, even though he knew he’d be hearing an ear full about those human skulls and the dismembered hand.

“Look who we have ‘ere,” Obi-Wan nimbly moved his hand before it could be pinned to the counter by the shopkeeper's cane, “The Kenobi’s runaway heir.”

“I haven’t done any running, Aloysius,” Obi-Wan’s old pureblood mask may be quite cracked by this point, but it still slid onto his face easily, “I am a Kenobi.”

“A Kenobi with a- friend ,” Aloysius cackled as he eyed Satine. He’d clearly meant to say something else, but thought better of it. The man was in the line of keeping his customers happy and himself alive after all, “Well Mr. Kenobi , to what do I owe your divine presence?”

“Last time I was in here you had a necklace, silver chain with a swirling blue gemstone,” He described, he wasn’t sure Aloysius knew what it was really for and he wasn’t planning on spelling it out for him.

“Well I do sell a lot of, eh, fine jewelry,” The man was looking up at him with a sinner’s smile, “You’re not looking for your friend here are you?”

“Why I’m looking is of no concern to you,” Obi-Wan replied before Satine could add her two cents in, “Do you have it or not?”

“I’ll have to look and see,” Aloysius stepped back and made his way towards the back room, “Lots could fit such a description.”

“He’s not the real Aloysius is he?” Satine whispered after the old wizard had disappeared around the counter.

“No,” Obi-Wan looked around, “In Knockturn Alley, few are bold enough to use their true names or some only use such names here.”

It didn’t take long for Aloysius to come back with a fist full of silver and blue stones, Obi-Wan was still careful to only lift them by magic or the tip of his wand. Many items in this shop were cursed after all, and he certainly didn’t want the chance of his eyeballs melting out of his skull or anything. All the pieces were quite ornate, but the one Obi-Wan remembered was simple. He’d seen it during an errand, only for a moment and matched it with the picture he’d seen in the textbook.

Soul stones were rare, and for good reason. Legend stated that if one had one in their possession they could potentially trap one’s spirit inside. Sometimes that’s why the colors swirled around when you weren’t looking. Only fragments had remained after someone tore the store room at the Department of Mysteries to shreds, all in private collections. Of course they had, in the past, been used for much simpler protection charms, still he’d want to do some research into the thing if he found it. Carrying around a lost soul probably wasn’t exactly lucky-

“This is the one,” Obi-Wan’s memories mirrored the find. It looked much the same, blue with a subtle white swirl. He set it down on the counter and muttered a few high level curse detection charms over it. Aloysius sat back and observed, this was likely common practice here. The only difference was Obi-Wan was quite hoping the thing wouldn’t be cursed and that likely wasn’t the same of most customers. Rather luckily, it came back clean.

“A shame,” Aloysius shrugged, “Could put a good delusion curse on something that simple.”

“I’ll take it as is thanks,” Obi-Wan was hesitant to let the old shopkeeper handle the thing again, but he made no moves to alter the product. He simply wrapped it up.

“Now the price for such a thing-” Obi-Wan had already done his research on the subject, tossing a bag of Galleons on the counter. The sound of coins clinking together was enough to have the old man hand over the parcel and rip open the bag, “Oooh hoo hoo! Always a pleasure doing business with a Kenobi!”

“Charmed as always,” Obi-Wan simply tucked the necklace into his robes and hurried both him and Satine out the door.

“Oh and Obi-Wan,” The sound of his name caused him to screech to a halt and look the old man in the eyes, “Tell your parents I said hello.”

His grin was wicked and golden- a myriad of fake teeth within his wrinkled mouth. Not wanting to bother sticking around for any further discussion, Obi-Wan gently pushed Satine through the front door and back into the street.

“I’ve read about those,” Satine hissed under her breath to Obi-Wan as they hurried through the streets, “Not much is known about how they work. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I do,” Obi-Wan kept them in the shadows as a large man in a trenchcoat slunk by. He slowed them to a stop, having a nagging feeling that they were being watched. This was not uncommon here, but the knowing look in Aloysius’ eyes was still unnerving. “When worn they have sort of a protective energy-”

“And they can also trap people’s spirits somehow,” Satine argued, “Though no one’s sure how, the stories passed down through word of mouth say they create an echo of the person.”

“Those stories are so old we can’t even be sure of their accuracy,” Obi-Wan shrugged, “Still I plan on doing a bit more research before being willing to try it.”

“But that attack on the Department of Mysteries happened fairly recently, only 20 or so years ago,” Satine hummed, “There must be something to it.”

Before either of them had a chance to continue, there was a crack of someone apparating down the street, which really wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary except it was followed by several more. Obi-Wan felt himself step in front of Satine, grabbing her hand again.

“Satine, run!”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” She insisted, so he dragged her by the hand in the opposite direction, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t get very far, finding themselves surrounded by a hodgepodge of masked witches and wizards. All dressed in black with wands drawn.

“And there she is!” A voice right near them caused Obi-Wan to spin around, “You’ve got a pretty bounty out for you right now, girl.”

Bounty hunters. Here. For them.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” Satine, despite the grip on his hand, looked strong, firm in her assertion.

“Nawh we don’t,” Obi-Wan drew his wand and pointed it straight at them, “Because they said the pretty blonde girl would be with you , Kenobi.”

“Now, now, I’m sure we can sort this out like dignified human beings,” Obi-Wan said slowly, eyeing the scene that was unfolding before them, “Is it money that you want? Because I’ve got plenty of it.”

“We’re well taken care of, thank you for asking,” A woman to Satine’s right cackled, “Well, we will be, once we turn in our prize.”

“Yeah, you can move aside, Kenobi, we ain’t here for you.” A pot bellied man said.

“That won’t be happening,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m giving you all one last chance-”

They all started squawking at that, finding it utterly hilarious to boot.

“Predictable to the last,” The original witch taunted while wagging her wand back and forth, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you children not to play in the dark?”

“My parents seemed to skip over that lesson,” Obi-Wan quipped, his heart beating out of his chest as he made to redirect a curse fired from behind them. Suddenly, a stun spell was hurtled from Satine’s own wand at the witch who had gotten their attention first.

Obi-Wan didn’t waste any time blocking a few spells quickly as Satine mirrored him from behind, their backs touching and offering the only assurance that the other was okay. Obi-Wan shot a disarming spell the first chance he got, sending one of their wands up onto the roof of Borgin and Burkes. Growling, the wizard instead tried to lunge at them, but quickly caught a jelly leg jinx from Satine’s wand before she went back to steadily throwing up shields of magic around them.

Their leader was a man with scaly green feet, who very nearly got the jump on them from an aerial attack. Of all things, he sent an Anima Concidit curse spiraling towards Satine- a curse that intended to shatter her spirit by sending her into a fit of insanity.

Another wizard had his arm by the wrist, keeping him from raising his wand. So, Obi-Wan did the only thing he could think to do and held the newly purchased necklace above Satine’s head, capturing the spell and turning the stone a light lavender, all the while firing off a disarming charm at another witch. Then, as though marinating within the stone, the spell shot backwards and knocked their attacker completely off balance and unconscious on the street with a thud.

“It worked!” Satine remarked as they turned, assessing the remainder of their enemies.

“I had hoped to try that much later,” He sighed, shoving off a man that tried to gouge his eye out with a hook. “Though I’m not sure that’s what I thought it would do.”

For a magical duel in which they were quite outnumbered, it got surprisingly easier to work beside Satine until the very last wizard fell from a well sent Petrificus Totalus from his own wand.

Obi-Wan stepped over him, before rummaging in his pockets until a fist closed on a piece of finely pressed parchment. He didn’t need to read the letter to know what it likely held, the Kenobi crest was emblazoned on the outside of it.

He pocketed it as evidence and hurried back to where Satine was quite eager to grab him and drag them both from the dark streets to the highly contrasted bright sunny Diagon Alley.

Although Satine had handled herself quite nicely during the quick attack in Knockturn Alley, she was still rather hesitant to pocket her wand. Ben looked similarly wary as he kept glancing over his shoulder. In times past she would have scoffed at the mere suggestion of an attack in Diagon Alley in broad daylight, but after everything with Dooku it wasn’t completely out of the question.

“Was that from your-” She asked tensely.

“-Yeah,” He answered, not even needing to let her finish to know who she was referring to. Normally, she’d fill to the brim with anger that his parents were up to their dirty tricks and had even upped the ante, but she was too relieved that they’d made it out in one piece.

“How did they know you were going to buy that necklace?” She asked, referring to the silver chain still grasped tightly in his palm. He shoved it in his pocket away from any prying eyes, his jaw clenched.

“I don’t think that they did, specifically,” He said, “Otherwise, why not just curse it?”

“And you didn’t tell anyone else you’d be here?” She pressed.

“Besides Yoda, no.” He asserted, “But they knew I would be here, somehow.”

“And sent the whole motley crew,” She commented.

Still, as her heartbeat started slowing and her pace became much less tense the further they strayed towards the sunlight, she felt she was in the clear enough to finally slow to a stop. Ben must not have had the same thought because he ran right into her. She turned to appraise him, she hadn’t gotten hurt, and it seemed he hadn’t either. The only thing out of place was one strand of hair that had fallen out of its perfectly manicured style. She reached up and tucked it into place easily.

“So sorry about that,” His voice was a hushed whisper and his face was still a bit pale and unreadable.

“Well I did stop quite suddenly,” Satine lied as she brushed her own hair back from her face, “You wouldn’t have known.”

“No, not about that,” He shook his head, “About them .”

“Ben, it’s really nothing to worry about,” She tried waving them past this, but he grasped her hand gently. His hands held hers like they were porcelain and would break if he weren’t careful. She huffed, “Do you find me incapable?” She asked, eyebrows raised in a careful look.

“What-?” He spluttered, “Of course not, you’re top of our class.”

“And I do believe I held myself quite well back there don’t you?” She prompted.

“Well yes of course,” He glanced behind him warily, “But you really shouldn’t have had to-”

“I think I made it very clear,” She twisted her hand in order to grip his with a tad more force than necessary, “That I wanted you ,” His ears turned a bit red, “And I knew what I was signing up for. Not just because you spelled it out for me, the entire time I’ve known you. But because I’ve done my own research too. Trust me.”

“But Satine-” He tried cutting in, clearly to put himself back up on the stake to be burned. Still she could tell by the way he was no longer holding her hand like glass that she’d gotten through to him, if only a little.

“I know you’re scared for me,” She used her free hand to delicately fiddle with the collar of his shirt, “But you needn’t be. I may be a pacifist, but I’m still going to defend myself.”

“And you are brilliant,” He conceded, but she knew he’d never really stop worrying.

She leaned up and let her lips brush his cheek, “We’re done with carrying things alone, we’re in this together okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled and she turned to look around. They’d ended up in front of the ice cream shop and Satine suppressed a grin.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” She said in a mock angry voice, “I seem to recall you offering me an ice cream when we were here for your wand.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten!” He let go of her hand and instead gestured for her to take his arm, which she did gladly, “Right this way to the finest ice cream money can buy, my lady.”

“Somehow I think you’d say such things about all ice cream,” She teased.

“Well, I’ve never had a flavor I had quite a distaste for,” He smiled brightly this time, “Not like Every Flavor Beans. Now there’s a sweet I don’t always fancy-”

“-That’s because they aren’t all sweet,” She tried hiding her smile behind her hand, but it was a rather futile effort given the way he sighed dramatically.

“That’s not true, sometimes ‘sweets’ can be more than their name,” He defended quite passionately, she was sure he’d have gone on if he hadn’t caught her laughing, “Hey! It’s true!”

“I know,” She let her head rest against his shoulder for just a moment, before he pulled open the door for them, “You’re just cute sometimes,” She admitted quite plainly and she could practically see the red bloom across his cheeks.

“Only sometimes hmm?” He tried to look unimpressed, but she’d still caught him off guard.

“Sometimes you’re quite stupid,” She shrugged.

“Although that’s still somehow charming in its own right.” She thought to herself, though she’d managed to catch it before she inflated his ego too much.

“You’re always cute,” She felt her heart pick up its pace again as she looked up to see him very carefully admiring the menu in front of him, but he still shot a glance at her betraying his honesty. She turned her attention quite sharply to the flavors in front of them.

Obi-Wan hadn’t been indecisive about sweets since their third year, when he suddenly found himself alone in a sweets shop with no parental judgment . That showcased itself every time he was set to order something, he always knew exactly what he wanted.

In this case he ordered orange marmalade soft serve without a second guess. Satine went with a simple raspberry and chocolate situation. She made sure however, to steal a lick of his and offer her own even if it was simply to start a debate about who had chosen the superior option.

Though in a debate about sweets, Ben was hardly the person to challenge.

“It’s getting a bit late,” They’d finished their cones ages ago and instead had found themselves simply taking up time together on a bench near Gringotts.

“It’s not even dinner yet,” Satine, despite all the rules that flooded her head, found herself scrambling for more time alone with him, “We could still visit a few more shops,” She looked around.

“Satine-”

“Or are you quite certain you’ve gotten all you need here?” She prompted, “One necklace is all we’re going back with?”

“Satine-”

“Maybe Screed and Son’s might have something we hadn’t considered yet-”

“Satine!” Ben covered her hand with his, “We can’t stay here forever, we do need to get back before Yoda comes after us himself.”

That would be rather embarrassing.

She sighed looking at their hands, “I know,” She tried to stand, to prepare for apparition, but Ben’s hand held her in place.

He caught her eyes with his, “We’ll do this again,” He promised, “I’d like to do this again, if you would too?” He amended.

“I suppose we will have time to come back,” She was about to turn her head and get a good look around, but he caught her face with his hand.

“I don’t think time will be a problem for us anymore, for me,” He smiled and she leaned forward, her arms wrapping around his neck and her mouth slotting against his own. He broke away a moment later giving a wary glance around, “What if we’re still being watched?”

“Damn them all to hell,” Satine growled before she finally had him convinced to sink into this moment. For once they were together, doing a normal couple thing. No watchful eyes or accidental interruptions. For just a few precious seconds they were alone together in time.

And if they were being watched, Satine hoped they liked the show. It wasn’t like they didn’t know who she was, who she was to Obi-Wan . They knew, she knew, everyone knew. But most importantly, Obi-Wan himself knew. Pulling away from her to catch his breath, red faced and starry eyed. A waking dream every time she realized that they were together, and that they would never be forced apart again.

“So, have you decided how you’re going to make up with Obi-Wan yet?” Padmé asked in a sing-song kind of voice when she joined Anakin at breakfast. In tow, of course, was the line of lookalikes that always followed near. Judging by the look of disapproval Sabé was giving him, he would guess they knew what was going on.

“No, and do you need to be so loud about that?” Anakin sighed, “He could hear you.”

“And this problem would be solved,” Padmé said as she buttered a piece of toast with a bit more intent than normal. Anakin knew he was dragging his feet on this, especially after hearing about the attack that Obi-Wan and Satine endured at Diagon Alley. He truly didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“Maybe I’ll just pen him a letter.” He said with a shrug, but the bagel he was about to eat was snatched clean from his hands moments before touching his lips, depriving him of the jelly goodness he’d slathered on it. Instead, after his teeth clacked together, all he had was the sharp look Padmé was giving him. “What?”

“That’s hardly personal,” She sighed, dropping the bagel down on her plate rather than returning it- a quite cruel thing if there weren't always bounties of food in front of them. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to get to consume any of it until he gave her an answer she approved of.

“Yeah, why not just look up a template and copy that?” Sabé added tactly.

“Originality is key to an apology, Skywalker.” Yané said.

“Hey, you might not think so, but Obi-Wan saves every single letter he receives! He loves that stuff!” He waved his fork around, “I bet he’d frame it.”

“Is that what you really think or is that what you want to believe?” Rabé snarked.

“Can’t it be both?” He asked a bit helplessly. On a good day, he might be able to convince Padmé, but he didn’t stand a chance against all of the girls.

“It can, but something tells me you would just rather take the easy way out,” Padmé said, “Even though I can tell just looking at you that you know that’s wrong.”

“How can you tell that? The primary feeling I’m experiencing now is how hungry I am,” He retorted and was surprised that she didn’t jab a challenging fork into the breakfast ham he’d already made a move for with his own.

“Whatever you say,” Eirtaé sang in a similar tune Padmé had opened with.

“I’ll tell him, I promise,” He insisted and stole a glance over towards Ravenclaw’s table. Obi-Wan did look quite happy and well off on his own, especially as he traded playful barbs with Satine. The two of them were practically sparkling as they looked at one another.

“In this lifetime or the next?” Padmé asked with crossed arms.

“Hopefully this one, especially with how someone’s trying to kill the guy,” He said, though none of the girls seemed amused by his joke. To be honest, it was far from his best work.

Still, he was practically overcome with relief when Rex entered the scene, dripping wet and shivering, but looked to be warmed by the obvious anger that painted his face.

“What happened to you?” Anakin found the change of subject gracefully and it seemed that Padmé and her friends had also naturally shifted at the sight of Rex’s woe.

“Pong Krell happened,” He said angrily as he slammed his backpack down on the stone floor. Judging by the splat it made upon impact, Anakin could assume that the bag and the books inside were also wet.

“What did that snake-faced prat do to you this time?” Anakin frowned, throwing one leg over the bench to face his best friend and also to prepare for any action that needed to be taken. Though Krell and some of the more troublesome Durmstrang kids were hardly inhibited by their Headmaster’s presence, the rate of pranks and bullying had only increased since Ziro’s absence.

There wasn’t even the idle threat of expulsion or detention to keep them in line these days.

“He messed up the toilets in the boy’s bathroom on the third floor, is what he did.” He grumbled as he wrung out his robe onto the floor.

“So you’re covered in…” Anakin wrinkled his nose and looked at Padmé, who wore a similar expression.

“-Clean water, thank you,” Rex raged. “And he did it just because Ninety-Nine was making his daily rounds on them. If I hadn’t gotten there first, this would have been him.”

“We should tell Headmaster Yoda,” Padmé said, but Rex shook his head.

“It won’t do any good,” He said, “He’s got enough on his plate fighting with the Minister about the Civil War that’s about to start.”

“It doesn’t sound very civil to me,” Anakin said and then clenched a fist, “Well, if Yoda won’t do anything, then we’re just going to have to lay down the law. As promised.”

“Finally,” Rex sighed, “I’ve been waiting to get back at these Durmstrang blokes all year.”

“Hey, if my friend gets doused in toilet water, we both do,” Anakin said and then paused, “Well, not literally, because gross, but spiritually, I’m covered too.”

“I get the sentiment, thanks,” Rex said, “What do we do?”

“We give them a taste of their own medicine,” Anakin smiled. “I’ve had a prank I’ve been meaning to pull on Gunray that could use a bit of practice.”

“Excellent,” Rex fist bumped him.

When Padmé didn’t object, both boys turned to her to find that she was merely listening rather than threatening to report them for taking matters in their own hands. She didn’t even look angry, just accepting that this was going to happen with or without her approval.

“What?” She asked.

“This is usually the part where you threaten to tell Satine or one of the other prefects.” Anakin shrugged, “The silence is a new reaction.”

“You make me sound like such a narc,” She rolled her eyes, “I have never been against rebelling against a broken system. And without someone here to enforce the rules for the Durmstrang kids, that’s what this is.”

“So, you’ll help?” Rex asked.

“I didn’t say that,” She laughed and shook her head, “You two are definitely going to get yourselves in big trouble.”

“Why do you say that?” Anakin complained.

“No offense, Anakin, but trouble tends to follow you like a hawk.”

In all honesty, Anakin couldn’t argue with her there.

“Having the Minister come visit, we are.” Yoda said as he paced across the room slowly, his little cane clicking the floor with consistency as he went. While he didn’t look tense or strained, he also didn’t appear his usual serendipitous self that day. Windu could hardly blame him. The Headmaster had been working rather tirelessly at figuring out a solution to their predicament with the Hutt’s.

“Is this about proving Tahl and Ninety-Nine’s innocence?” Shaak Ti asked.

“Indeed,” Yoda nodded sagely, “Know about his arrival, the rest of the school cannot. Discrete, this meeting will be.”

“Surely Professor Gunray would want to know,” Palpatine said.

Only the heads of houses were present, thankfully, which meant that Windu was spared from having to hear Gunray’s panicky dribble over the situation. No one wanted a war on their side, even if the Ministry’s office might believe that they did. However, Gunray had started to break out into an ugly purple rash from the stress of it all. It was a bit too much if you asked Windu.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me,” He said. It wasn’t a surprise that he wasn’t fond of Valorum’s pet. His sole intention was to get their administration in trouble, which made him a sneak. Windu hated sneaks.

“Want to appear biased on the case, Valorum does not.” Yoda clarified.

“We’d hate to see him actually choose a side for a change,” Muttered Shaak Ti with crossed arms and then remembering herself, sighed, “Apologies. It’s unprofessional to discuss politics in this setting.”

“Everything is politics right now, my dear.” Palpatine sighed wistfully, “I’m afraid that politics were dropped on our front door the moment Valorum insisted that Professor Gunray arrive. It was a very curious choice, I must admit.”

“Yes it was,” Windu said darkly, “One that I’m sure at the end of the year will result in some people losing their jobs. Especially after that mess with the Hutts. You’ve seen the papers! They’re making it look like we started that fight and that we’re covering for kidnappers.”

“The Hutts have never been honest,” Tahl spoke finally, her voice as calm as a tepid stream and just as cool. Though it was her name on the line, she hardly appeared stressed. There were rumors swirling around that Tahl got headaches that allowed her to have premonitions, not unlike Sifo Dyas’ claims. However, Tahl was a lot less eccentric about her condition than the Divination professor.

“You needn’t be when you have a criminal empire,” Palpatine offered, “It is a bit odd that we are so determined to remain close allies amongst them.”

“The Hutts are very powerful,” Tahl said, “Odd or not, they dwarf us in numbers and they know of magical properties that we cannot dream of. Ancient spells that can cause generations of damage. They are rich and they’re impossible to hold off forever. Trust me, you do not want war with the Hutts.”

She spoke with such conviction that Windu could only believe that Tahl had come in very close negative contact with the Hutts during her days of exploration. Part of him wondered what had happened to lead her to such confidence on the matter, but the other part of him knew what it was like to chase demons and just what could be found when you encountered true evil.

And sometimes, it didn’t take magic to be evil.

“So, what do we do?” Shaak Ti asked.

“The best thing we can do is find Rotta’s actual kidnapper.” She said, “That is the only way to fully exonerate me in their eyes. Even if the Ministry deems Ninety-Nine and I innocent, that will hardly stop Jabba from sending an assassin.”

“Apparently, there’s already one in circulation,” Shaak Ti said, “We’ve all seen the papers with that hooded figure leering about. The one who set fire to that muggle village.”

“And burned the Sith emblem in the snow.” Palpatine said with a helpless shrug. “At least, I believe that’s what that was. I’m not well versed on such logos.”

“It was,” Windu confirmed, his mouth tight, “But I doubt that was just any mercenary. The Sith have never been known to be petty kills for hire.”

“Getting ahead of ourselves, we are,” Yoda confirmed, “Convince the Minister first, we must. Go from there, we will.”

“Do we have enough to convince the Minister?” Palpatine asked.

“Leave that to me, you will.” Yoda said, “Keep Gunray occupied, you all must.”

“Good, because who knows what sort of word vomit he would unload in the name of saving his own skin.” Windu said, “I don’t trust him.”

“I think it’s safe to say none of us do,” Tahl said.

“Well, well, well, look what the tooka drug in,” Hondo kicked his dirty boots up on the desk in the makeshift office he’d cultivated for himself in an old potion’s closet. He’d set up his place of operations earlier in the year, claiming he was too overrun with business and bets to simply be mobile any more. He needed a place to set up shop. The idea had originally inspired Anakin to yearn for such a place to hide away from it all.

That is, until he actually visited.

The only reason no one had ever busted him for having it was because it suffered a mutated rat infestation from an ongoing sewage leak. The only lighting was from a single dim torch that never got any brighter and cast the damp closet in a green glow that fit Slytherin’s usual aesthetic. It smelled like one would suspect: like sewage, as well as though it were doused in a hefty cologne on top of it.

Broken bottles and some supplies still lingered, though the rusty shelves were mostly covered with Hondo’s belongings. Pranks were labeled in boxes and he had binders full of bets and orders that needed to come in. There was even a box that said “Schemes” which Anakin felt should have been kept under more hidden pretenses.

Then again, no one willingly came across the closet.

Unaware if he was putting up the tough guy act for theatrics, Anakin and Rex gave the seventh year Weequay equally puzzled expressions.

“They always come crawling back to Hondo,” Hondo said through a sigh. He threw a toothpick onto the ground near an empty waste paper bin. He crossed his arms over his wrinkled button up. One could only guess where his tie ever managed to go, but Hondo wasn’t a stranger to the other houses either, often swapping out ties in an effort to sneak into locations that were meant to be forbidden to him.

“What are you talking about?” Anakin asked.

“You say you never need Hondo ever again, double-cross me, and do me dirty! But Hondo is the only bookie in the game, boys! The only bookie with the reputation to get the job done.” He said, flexing his fingers with each statement, as though this would make it resonate even further.

“We never did any of that to you!” Anakin furrowed his brow. “In fact, I let you profit off of my name! I’m the one who never got paid.”

“Then… Why is Hondo not making money?”

“Because Anakin isn’t worth anything right now,” Rex said bluntly, “He lost the second task, remember?”

“Thanks, Rex,” Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s the truth! It’s not my fault he forgot!”

Instantly, Hondo’s mobster demeanor dropped, as did the smug look on his face. He kicked his feet down from the desk and let them hit the floor with a plop . A shit eating grin bloomed across wrinkled brown lips and he stretched his arms out.

“Forgot? Hondo is like an elephant! He never forgets! Hondo was just playing tricks on you for laughs.”

With that, he gave a very hearty and very inauthentic laugh that told both boys that Hondo had, indeed, forgotten.

“Wait, so this whole time, you’ve been avoiding us?” Anakin asked.

“Did you notice that Hondo was avoiding you?” Hondo asked.

“No?”

“Then of course not! What can Hondo do for you?”

“Are we sure about this?” Rex muttered, turning them both around so they weren’t facing the pirate.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Anakin whispered back.

“Yeah, let’s just do whatever we have to do ourselves! Why would we rope in someone that we can’t even trust to remember who he’s supposed to be mad at?”

“Because no one’s been scouting out this school more than Hondo this year! He sees everything, including whatever Krell has been up to.” Anakin said, “Plus, Hondo doesn’t like Krell either.”

“He doesn’t!” Hondo cheered, “And er… Hondo can still hear you, my friends. This fortress, while perfectly isolated and decorated, is not the most spacious for separate conversations.”

They turned around, bumping into each other a bit in the process, “We need to know what you know about Krell and what he’s been getting up to.”

“I know what he’s been getting up to,” Rex crossed his arms, “Harassing my brother.”

“Okay, yeah, but we need a way to stop him,” Anakin said, “And preferably without professor intervention. They’ve got enough going on with the whole Jabba wanting to kill us all.”

“Boys, when has Hondo ever involved the professors?” Hondo snorted, leaning on the back wall of his office. To his right, a line of mysterious sludge leaked down the wall, almost touching Hondo. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

“That’s a good point,” Anakin said encouragingly, facing Rex, “Look, we need a way to show Krell that we’re not going to take his bullying lying down and we aren’t little first years that he can stomp on anymore.”

“And that he needs to stay the hell away from Ninety-Nine.” Rex added.

“Krell is picking on the groundskeeper?” Hondo exclaimed and then seemed to think about that for a moment, almost showing disappointment, “Talk about falling from grace. Is he going to steal candy from babies next?”

“So, you’ll help?” Anakin asked.

“Of course, Hondo is always here to help… For a very reasonable and generous price. The friends and family discount, as always.”

Did Hondo say that to everyone? Most likely, but Anakin didn’t exactly have a ton of resources these days. He’d been quite busy with the tasks and unable to make his own rounds of mischief as he normally used to. Hondo was presently the eyes and ears of Hogwarts, whether anyone wanted that to be the case or not.

“What do you want, Hondo?” Rex sighed, seeming resigned that this was how they were going to have to do things. “We haven’t got any money.”

“Not much. Hondo has plenty of money,” Hondo began to file his mud-caked nails passively, “But there are other means of payment that can suit Hondo.”

“And what would that be?” Anakin asked.

“You see, Hondo had something stolen from him many moons ago, back when he was just a boy, something he does not want to leave Hogwarts without.”

“For the sneakiest guy in school, why do you need two third years to go after it?” Rex asked suspiciously.

“If Hondo gets caught retrieving this item for himself, Hondo could risk not graduating.”

“I’d also like to graduate someday,” Anakin said.

“But it would be meaningless to you,” Hondo insisted, “An act of tomfoolery at the most. If Hondo is seen doing it, Hondo will be investigated.”

“What is that we’re stealing back for you?” Rex asked.

“So many questions, wow,” Hondo took a seat again, though it was obvious to both of them that was visibly a bit nervous about something, probably debating just what information he should share with them regarding this rescue mission, “It is more of a who than a what , actually.”

“Obi-Wan, I’ve got good news for you,” Professor Mundi said as he entered the back room of the Magical Creatures office, where the nursery was occupied. It was most surprising to Obi-Wan that Professor Tahl walked alongside him. It was only Mundi’s large pointed head that stood as the only thing making him taller than the Music professor.

“What’s that, Professors?” He turned from tending to Jane. She’d grown quite a bit this past month and was getting antsy. He noticed that her hind legs had become exponentially stronger as well, meaning that the time for her release might have been coming sooner than he thought.

“Since the choir of toads performed so well, Professor Tahl wants to implement the musical soundings of some of our other lovely creatures,” Mundi went on, stroking his wispy goatee with pale fingers, “And you may just be the perfect person for the job.”

“I’m not much of a singer,” He joked half-heartedly, even if he knew what they were getting at. It seemed the trend of pretending as though there wasn’t a crisis ongoing outside the school walls was a continuous practice. Tahl’s face remained neutral, completely unbothered by the accusations against her. His mother had attempted to send him many an owl about it- all of which he promptly ignored.

Obi-Wan would be more frustrated by this, if it weren’t a precedent for the previous two years as well. At least in this case, the danger remained mostly outside of the castle.

“Well, that’s quite alright,” Mundi chuckled, even if it was more to keep the conversation going, “Because it will be the Monkey-Lizards that she is most interested in.”

“The Monkey-Lizards?” Obi-Wan frowned, casting a glance to a gated burrow in the wall. It wasn’t as though he didn’t like Kowakians, but they were far from graceful or pretty sounding creatures. In fact, their screeches were known to make the other animals cry to such a degree, that their gate was charmed to be soundproof.

“They are big hits with the Hutts,” Tahl clarified in a smooth and understanding voice.

“Ah, I see,” Obi-Wan nodded, “Jabba did have one back at the er-event.”

“Indeed, he did.” She said, “Apparently, it’s one of the few creatures he won’t eat.”

Touching, as always, that Jabba.

“Is this to be a prelude for the final task?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yes, we were thinking that,” She said, clasping her hands tightly behind her back, “Assuming they still choose to attend.”

“As far as I’m aware, they are,” Mundi said haughtily.

“Yes, yes.” She said, “They wouldn’t dare appear as cowards.”

“They’d be sectioned off, anyway” Professor Mundi said, a bit nervous about this line of conversation happening in front of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan didn’t see how it was avoidable, though, considering he was literally one of the participants in the tournament AND was their chosen trainer for the monkeys. “But what do you say, Obi-Wan? I know I’m never the sort to offer extra credit, but considering the circumstances, we could really use it to impress the wizarding world.”

He really didn’t see how the colorful Kowakian Monkey-Lizards would do that. There were only two of them, presently: Pilf and Pikk. They were brothers, supposedly, though upon much studying, Obi-Wan found them to be nothing alike and had even questioned his professor regarding this. Professor Mundi said that both Pikk and Pilf arrived at the same time, from a drunken Russian man in a pub near Liverpool. Both adjusted differently with Pikk growing accustom to his home over time and Pilf becoming more aggressive.

Pikk’s skin was scalier and while his torso and face were a bright yellow, his limbs and extremities were all a neon blue that resembled paint splotches. Temperament wise, Pikk was certainly the people-pleaser of the duo and was overall more relaxed.

Meanwhile, Pilf matched his vibrant red skin with a temper that resulted in dragon-skin gloves being required for handling him. Obi-Wan had suffered a mean gash earlier in the year when the mischievous monkey tried to get out.

Neither were particularly pretty, but Pilf always looked like he had a stick up his little arse, and hissed whenever anyone would walk. If it weren’t for the fact that both creatures would die if they were released, Obi-Wan was certain this would have already happened.

They weren’t technically designed for England’s temperament, much preferring the cold and not fond of the summer, which meant they always needed a temperature controlled area when the seasons began to change. Both had genetic dispositions that supposedly prevented them from being able to climb or run, thus signing their own fates in the wild.

Following his sight to the two monkeys, Tahl chuckled, “They aren’t the prettiest, but I do believe that their natural voices will go well with the arrangement I’ve chosen. Are you sure you’re up for the task?”

Obi-Wan was a bit nervous for what that sounded like. He wondered if a muffling spell might do.

“You see, Obi-Wan is my most skilled handler, unsurprisingly,” Mundi boasted, “I find that often the animals respond better to him than to me.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir,” Obi-Wan blushed.

“I would,” Mundi squawked and made his rounds, nodding approvingly that all creatures were cleaned and fed, “If he weren’t so set on being an Auror, I’d say he’d be an excellent creatures specialist. It would be foolish to ask anyone else.”

“If you have the time, that is, Obi-Wan,” Tahl spoke up encouragingly, appearing unsure for the first time since he’d met her. She was not the sort of woman to be unsteady about her place in a room. She stood tall and dominating, even if she didn’t always jump to speak. She was careful and calculating, but not conniving, as any Ravenclaw should be.

Was she hesitant to talk to him?

He hadn’t spoken much to Tahl since the incident on the train and while they had been wary of her intentions afterwards, her determination to keep Rotta safe and for quickly defending Satine before the Hutts had earned her a place of trust in his eyes. A part of him actually felt guilty for not acquainting himself more to her.

It was just that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear more about Qui-Gon or to talk about him. He knew that was the subject they both danced around each time they were in each other’s company. It was the same reason he didn’t take Muggle Studies again or why he often avoided research into prophecies.

And with each passing day, he was beginning to realize how short sighted that was.

Yes, as he looked into Jane’s soulful brown eyes, he knew that the time to let go was dawning upon him. Perhaps, it symbolized more ways than one.

“Oh, no, of course I have time.” He babbled, even if he could already hear the tired rant Satine would surely give him later about stretching himself too thin. “I have loads of time.”

Neither particularly seemed sold on that last fib, because how could the Head Boy/prefect/champion really have that much time on his hands? He barely had time to see his friends as it were.

“Excellent,” Mundi didn’t seem pressed to ask, though, “I shall leave you to it, then. At this rate, that should be enough to bring you back up to the top, Obi-Wan.”

Well, that would be a decent bartering chip for Satine, even if she didn’t want him running himself ragged for the title. He didn’t see how it would be responsible to allow someone else the opportunity. They might get their hand bitten off by Pilf if given the chance.

“I must thank you for keeping this visit under wraps, Headmaster,” Valorum said, clasping his hands behind his back as they walked through the empty back hallways that alternatively led to Yoda’s office. Apparating meant loosening some of the crucial security charms in place to prevent any of the Hutts from sending them any surprise guests. They’d already received enough dead rats and frogs in the mail to go around.

It was disgusting, especially since Yoda preferred how they tasted fresh.

“Pleasure it is, Minister.” Yoda guessed that Minister Valorum already knew the way to Yoda’s office. Having once been a prefect long ago, he certainly had to memorize all the different ways to reach the Headmaster.

“It is quite interesting to actually traverse the tunnels that gave you all such trouble last year. Have you had the same level of curiosity this year?”

“Normalized, they have been,” Yoda said with a shrug, “And patrolled.”

“Ah, see, we do agree on some things,” Valorum smiled, “Let me know if you wish to have some members of my personal guard present. The more eyes, the better.”

“The right eyes,” Yoda corrected, trying not to sound standoffish as he did, but it was true. Quantity was nearly meaningless when compared to quality. Yoda much preferred having allies he trusted ensuring the safety of his students than the extra outside view of the ministry weighing in and dragging down progress.

“Yes, of course,” He agreed, not catching the tone in Yoda’s voice, “But in politics, there isn't always a right and a wrong. There is… Ambiguity.”

“Politician, I am not,” Yoda said and left out that his very reasoning for avoiding the path was for that merging of morals that he couldn’t stomach. As an educator, who was meant to influence the lives of children, there was very little room for gray intentions. Gray intentions, he found, were often wrong.

“No, and for that, I respect you,” Valorum chuckled, “I often wonder how different my life would have been if I’d pursued a different direction. I’d probably sleep a bit better.”

“Dictates our level of peace, our conscience does,” Yoda said wisely, “Clear your thoughts and focus on the present, you must. Struggle with this, you always have.”

“Have you not kept your own eyes and ears straight ahead?” Valorum asked, “Is that not why you’ve been warning me all along?”

Once the door to his office shut, Yoda spared no time, “A coincidence this kidnapping was not.”

“Another thing we agree on, I’m afraid,” He helped himself to the tea that had already been set out for them, though he didn’t take a seat. Instead, he stared hard at the fire, his pale blue eyes lost in the haze of the flames.

“Innocent, my staff is,” Yoda insisted.

“Hm,” Valorum made a vague sound from the back of his throat as he took a tentative sip from his tea, “Is that enough?”

“Minister?” He asked slowly.

“Do you remember what you said to me the day I graduated?” Valorum redirected, his eyes shooting up from where they stared at the fire and onto Yoda. He looked so old- so much older than he actually was, even in the eyes, which in Yoda’s experience, usually preserved a man’s youth. At least an element of it.

No, Valorum looked rather haggard now that he thought about it. His hair had thinned to nearly nothing, whether from pulling it out or from the testaments of time. His eyebrows, always thick and full of personality, had even withered down and gone white. The wrinkles on his face made him resemble a fossil of frowns- telling a story that didn’t speak of a happy ending.

He was drowning in his dark purple robes. He didn’t even know when the man had last consumed a full and hearty meal. He was slouched and weak, almost sick looking. His cheeks were hollow and his lips were thin and fine.

This was not a man who found the wisdom of peace. No, he scarcely rested at all by the looks of him.

And yet, it wasn’t any of the exhaustion that simply aged him, but the hardened expression of a man that had seen the deepest vestiges of darkness and saw no escape.

If he thought back to brighter times, Yoda remembered a man of charisma and of charming nature. He recalled that Valorum used to be able to talk anyone out of conflict, out of trouble, and defend those who could not defend themselves. He was always kind and always giving. His main intention had always been to help people.

In fact, when he’d decided to go into politics, Yoda had believed they were on track to having the first truly decent Minister of Magic. Not that this was not the case, but something had happened in these past few years. He’d grown hard and distant, no longer writing Yoda for advice or reaching out to check on everyone. He’d once sent a holiday card every year with his entire family pictured and happy.

A divorce had put an end to that, yes, but what had put an end to the marriage to begin with?

“Do you?” He pressed, as though Yoda had forgotten.

He hadn’t. He’d never forget that day. Valorum’s eyes had glittered under the blue confetti that shot around the graduating class. Ravenclaw had taken the cup that year and he had been Head Boy, unsurprisingly.

“Done with the pretense of brightening the light, everything should be. True to that purpose, keep your intentions. Accountable, you must hold your actions. To yourself, you must always be true. Then, worth doing, anything is.”

“And do you think I have kept to that word?” Valorum asked.

“Ask yourself, you must.” Yoda said.

“I have, many times, most recently.” He said rigidly, “But somewhere along the way, I got greedy. Not from wealth, but from approval. I tried to please everyone. I still try to please everyone.”

“Do this, you cannot.”

“Believe me, I’ve learned that the hard way.” Valorum swore. “Many times over. And despite it all, I still find myself caring what everyone will think of me when everything inevitably gets out. It’s like my image is all that’s left of me and I hate it. I wish I could go back and change everything.”

“Ethical and possible, this is not.” Yoda said, “Bothering you, something is.”

“The Sith,” He said quietly, just above a whisper, “They’ve… They’ve gotten out of hand. They’re in every corner and they’re loud .”

He scrubbed a hand over his hand, wiping away any sweat that gathered there with a finely pressed handkerchief. He began to breathe a bit shallow before he finally found the words he wanted to say.

“I don’t know what to do any more,” He sighed, “We can’t go to war, Yoda. We can’t.”

“Reported, this has not been,” Yoda said.

“Because the very last thing we need is for this image of mass hysteria to ensue.” He countered nervously. “That I allowed this to happen. I cannot appear weak, or else those siding with the Sith will come running.”

“ We or you need?” Yoda asked finally.

Valorum made hard eye contact with him, challenging this thought and truly pondering it. He’d never been the sort to brush anything under the rug, which is why his hesitancy to approach the subject of the Sith had always been suspicious. His willingness to lean into the desires of his administration had also been disheartening.

“I assure you, I do not like being a pushover,” He said, reading Yoda’s thoughts. “And I certainly do not appreciate being viewed as one, but you do not understand what I’ve endured behind closed doors. It’s a careful balance that keeps our democracy intact. One that with this trouble with the Hutts and the surge of Dooku’s cronies, is only falling more to the wayside. People I thought supported me… I know no longer know who to trust.”

“Trust me, you can.”

“That’s why I’m here,” He nodded soberly, swallowing heavily, “And I’m sorry I haven’t spoken so candidly to you in a very long time. It’s been… Well, things are changing. I am receiving pressure from all sides on this matter in ways I never thought I would.”

“The Hutts?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” He sat down, “You’re right, someone wants to divide us. I know that for certain now.”

“How?”

“Because one of… Them approached me in the dead of the night. He was like a dementor, especially in the sense that there didn’t appear to be a trace of humanity left in him. It was as though he’d been emptied dry of any and all remorse.”

Yoda didn’t answer, he waited.

Slowly, Valorum lifted the hem of his sleeve and rolled it up, revealing a long and jagged wound that couldn’t have been older than a couple of weeks. It was shaped into the emblem that had been burned into many buildings and streets this past year. An ugly sun- red and pointed, even filled in with crude strokes.

“Who-” Yoda fought for his response to this, because he couldn’t truly believe what was happening. “Valorum-”

“I’m alright,” He covered it up as quickly as he’d revealed it, “But I’d been threatened into silence. Or else my children and my ex wife will meet an even worse fate.”

“Silence over what?” Yoda asked.

Valorum hardened, “Over who is with Dooku and who isn’t.”

He let that simmer for a moment and before Yoda could comment what he really wanted to, what they both knew he wanted to, Valorum shook his head ruefully.

“I’m sorry,” He said painfully and it was then that Yoda believed him. “I’m so sorry but I cannot tell you. Call it another act of selfishness or greed, but I cannot allow any harm to come to my kids. And I’ve failed them. I’ve failed everyone.”

And with that, he fell to his knees and broke down crying.

Yoda could only watch for a moment. He didn’t know where to take this conversation, but for the first time in decades, this was not a conversation between colleagues or even those who had opposite beliefs. Instantly, they were back to student and teacher and Yoda intended on showing him that same level of support.

He placed a hand on his shoulder, stirring him from the sobs that racked through his body.

“Too late, it is not,” Yoda said, “To let the light in.”

He thought about that, swallowing down his tears whether it be out of a desperate reach of decorum or because this actually inspired him. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, “Will you help me fix this?”

“Yes. Start with the Hutts, we will.”

“And another thing, if you promise not to tell anyone, you have to make sure that Obi-Wan is the one to win the final task.” Valorum said weakly. “You have to. For Anakin. If he is indeed to save us all.”

“What are you two little nose pickers up to?” Cody teased as he caught Rex and Anakin scurrying down the hallway like they were in the middle of an espionage epic, complete with dressing all in black and looking over their shoulders as they ducked around corners and corridors.

“Shh! We’re busy!” Anakin shut it down immediately and stuck his head out to check if the coast was clear. Obviously, they weren’t doing that good of a job, considering Cody was able to spot them immediately.

“Doing what?” He kept his normal volume since this was absolutely nothing more than just theatrics.

“None of your business!” Rex fired, “Now go away!”

“Did you two get your U-No-Poo taken away from you again?” He asked, “Because sheesh, you’re both in a mood.”

“Because we’re trying not to get caught, Cody,” Anakin said through tight teeth.

“By who? The ghosts? No one’s in that classroom. If that’s what you’re gunning for.” He said simply.

“How do you know?”

“Kenobi just locked everything up.” Cody said, “He was talking all about his next project with Professor Tahl.”

“No way, that’s impossible! We haven’t seen anyone come out this door!” Rex insisted. “And we’ve been standing here for an hour.”

“Because there’s another door down the hall, junior,” He laughed, taking this opportunity to tuck Rex’s head in between his bicep and forearm to give him a proper noogie. “Maybe, next time do a bit more scouting before performing your big boy spy mission.”

“The map didn’t make that very clear,” Anakin grumbled.

“You mean when you had it.” He said.

“Exactly.”

“So, what are you stealing?”

“We’re not stealing,” Rex said.

“Yeah, it’s more of a liberation than anything.” Anakin said.

“That’s a big word,” Cody teased.

“It was on the word calendar Obi-Wan got me,” Anakin said and then frowned, likely because he and Obi-Wan were still not in good graces with each other. He supposed it couldn’t be all bad if he was still using the gift he’d been given, especially if it was a learning gift. “Er… Promise me you won’t tell him about this.”

“If I don’t know, I can’t say,” Cody laughed, “Just don’t touch the bunny and all should be well.”

“What would we want with a bunny?” Anakin scoffed. “We’re saving a person, not a bunny.”

“Okay, then fair enough,” Cody shrugged, “But you think Professor Mundi kidnapped a person and has been holding them hostage in his classroom?”

“Well, we’ve never taken the class, so we really couldn’t say.” Rex pointed out, “But it seems like a good place to start.”

“Whatever, you know what? I am going to leave you to this. Why, you may ask? Because the last time you brought home a pet, we almost got expelled and Ninety-Nine is still in hot water over it.” Cody reasoned with the wave of a hand, “And I’m really not sure I can watch this one.”

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night, fine,” Anakin said, “You’d only get in our way anyway.”

“I would not!”

“You are literally standing in our way,” Rex sighed, straightening, and gave Cody a pleading look that used to be used when asking for extra cookies after dinner. It was one that Cody would be remiss to say didn’t occasionally work.

“Fine,” Cody sighed, “I’ll stand guard, but if I see any funny business, I’m calling Kenobi.”

“You’ll see!” Anakin grinned, which usually meant that he was up to something he wasn’t supposed to be involved in. With that, the two third years scattered like marbles in opposite directions, racing to hide behind different ledges and doorways, dramatically looking each way as though this truly was a top secret mission. Cody would have laughed if their dedication hadn’t been so intense. Anakin even rolled on the floor at one point to get low and peek in, stretching out a little omniscope for a better view.

He gave Rex a signal, which consisted of tapping on the loose stone at the center of the hall three times before Rex tentatively walked through the corridor and pushed open the door.

“I gotta get me one of those scopes,” Cody chuckled.

“I think he keeps the animals in the back,” Anakin said and then frowned. Despite what Cody had mentioned and what he, himself, had remembered when talking to Obi-Wan about the Magical Creatures classroom, there wasn’t a back office in sight. It was strange, because it looked like any old classroom save for several posters and tapestries with creature diagrams hanging everywhere.

There was an empty birdcage at the front of the room, with a few stray white feathers at the bottom indicating that there had once been a bird in there of some sort.

“I guess this makes sense,” Rex shrugged, “It’d be a bit too easy if he just left the pets out for all to play with. You know some of these creatures have been known to take people’s arms off?”

“If the Zillo Beast didn’t take off my arm, nothing will,” Anakin said as he rushed over to the bookshelf in the corner, “Come on, you know how this works. There’s got to be a secret entrance somewhere.”

“We’ve got to be quick,” Rex said, “I heard Professor Mundi usually takes his lunch to go.”

“You’re telling me, I also would like to eat lunch today,” Anakin said, but even with every book he slid off the shelf, he couldn’t activate an entrance of any kind. When he looked closer at the wall, there was no indication that something would have to slide or be pushed for access.

“Alohomora,” Anakin said, waving his wand with little success.

“You need an actual lock for that to work,” He said.

“Maybe it’s charmed how Platform 9 ¾ is,” Rex suggested.

“You’re saying I should try running through the wall?” Anakin asked, though his disbelief didn’t last too long. After all, magic did have the tendency to be rather strange. So, with that, he dropped his own bag to the side and backed up to the farthest wall, dropped into a starting position, and took off.

However, where the transition to Platform 9 ¾ always felt a bit like your body became fluid as it mended and separated from the density of the stone, Anakin just smacked head first against it, colliding and falling backwards on his bum. It occurred with such force that the wall shook and behind it, they could hear a shriek cry that had to be one of the creatures from the other side.

“Well, at least you proved that there’s got to be a way to get in there.” Rex said.

“Yeah, are you spinning?” Anakin rubbed his head. Surely, a bump would appear at a later time. He’d have to write it off as being quidditch related somehow.

“No, but your nose is bleeding,” Rex commented before taking greater interest in the empty birdcage to his right. “Maybe it’s a password?”

“Lets write some possible options on the chalkboard.” Anakin suggested as he climbed to his feet, a bit off balance at first from his head still feeling rattled.

“That’s strange, he hasn’t got any chalk.”

“I always carry some with me,” Anakin dug in his robe pocket and only paused when he received scrutiny from Rex, “So, I like to draw on the sidewalks? Sue me!”

“Don’t your robes get dusty?”

“It’s called washing them, Rex!”

“Anyway, you know there’s going to be a big difference between any passwords cultivated by Kenobi vs Mundi.”

“True,” Snorted Anakin as he raised the stick of chalk to write “I love Satine” on the board.

“That’d be pretty weird for Mundi to say each- hey! That’s insane!” Rex pointed over towards the board and Anakin grimaced.

“Yeah, my handwriting isn’t the best, I’m working on it.” He said.

“No, you dolt, look at the letter o!” Rex said excitedly, and sure enough, when Anakin took a step back, the o in love appeared like a little hole or window, allowing them to see straight through the wall and to the other side. A bit of orange light shined through and if he stood closer, he could peer in to see several habitats stretched across the room. Some were aquatic, others were desert, and some were meant to be like grasslands.

“Bloody brilliant that is,” He said and then used the eraser to cause it to vanish altogether.

“Draw a larger one!” Rex said.

“Duh!” Anakin said and drew a large circle with a circumference that nearly touched the perimeter of the board. Sure enough, an entryway to the back room had formed right before their eyes.

“I gotta say, that is pretty wicked,” Anakin grinned, “Come on!”

Both boys stepped through to the other side, looking all around them in brief awe before acting like the professionals they were and getting right down to business.

“I really hope Hondo is right about this,” Rex said, “Otherwise, this is going to be super awkward to explain.”

“We’re not explaining anything! We are going to be long gone by the time this gets out.” Anakin said and immediately located the tank of Kowakian Lizard-Monkeys. Before immediately moving to use the pry-o-pliars that Hondo had allowed him to borrow (after demonstrating how they could snap through even enchanted chains of metal), Anakin leaned in and looked at the tank.

“I feel like they’re going to maul my face off,” He said, turning to Rex, but only to find him a good two steps back.

“And like… Which one is which, again?”

“The labels are pretty faded,” Anakin said, “He did say that he was red, so I’m going to go with this one.”

“But if you cut the chain, both will be freed.”

“And they’ll be thankful for it… I hope.” Anakin said, “But just in case, maybe we should just bring Hondo the box.”

“The whole tank?”

“Yeah, I mean, then Hondo can just free them,” Anakin said with a shrug.

“That… Might be the smartest idea you have ever had,” Rex said thoughtfully, “Better him than us, right?”

“I mean, this is his family’s pet.” He said, “Help me lift.”

So, Rex bent over to the other side and helped Anakin lift the very large tank of rattling Monkey-Lizards, and haul them down through the exit that appeared before their very eyes.

“Cody was right, there was another exit.” Rex murmured. “Should we fill the hole on our way back?”

“Mundi will be back soon, we don’t have time,” Anakin said, “Come on.”

It wasn’t as heavy as they’d imagined, though it was still a struggle for the two of them for a prolonged period of time.

It didn’t help that their cargo was anything but silent.

“We’re not going to be able to keep this up for long,” Rex grunted, “Everyone’s going to be back from lunch soon.”

“Yeah, and it looks like our guard dog ditched us,” Anakin shook his head, “I bet he thought we wouldn’t have been able to get through the other side.”

“To be fair, if you weren’t weird and carried around chalk, we wouldn’t have.”

“Do wizards not do sidewalk chalk?”

“No? Why would we do that?”

“It’s fun!” Anakin hissed. “Come on, let’s store the monkeys in this closet and then go get Hond-OH. The Minister!”

“Wha-?” But before Rex could ask, Anakin opened the nearest broom closet with his foot and used any added momentum to tossed the tank of monkeys inside. It hit with a crash, which he slammed the door shut in response to. It was good that he did, because immediately, they began rattling, screeching, and scratching against the door.

“Why did you-”

“The Minster of Magic!” Anakin hissed as he pointed down the hall.

Sure enough, Yoda and Minister Valorum walked hurriedly away from a secret entrance that had appeared before them, looking around and trying to remain covert. Both had serious and resolute expressions painted on their faces, neither wanting to give anything away.

There hadn’t been any word of a ministry visit on campus. What were they trying to hide?

“They’re going the opposite way! I don’t think they heard the Kowakians.” Rex said.

“I don’t think they care,” Anakin said slowly and then he began to think about all the other things that the ministry didn’t care about. It was unsettling, how the person that could feasibly give him the answers he so desperately needed, walked about the school like there weren’t more pressing matters at hand.

“Where are you going? We have to get Hondo!” Rex grunted, as he used his whole body weight to keep the broom closet door shut. Beneath it, sharp claws hooked into the wood.

Anakin looked back at Rex and then at the Minister, finding himself stepping in the opposite direction of his friend.

“I’m sorry, Rex, but I’ve got to talk to him,” Anakin said, guilt flashing across his face. “But this might be my only shot to talk to him… If I don’t win the tournament…”

And then, Rex also seemed to have a greater understanding of the situation, because while this mission had been important to him and his family, at least at the end of the day, he still had his family. Anakin, on the other hand, only had dead ends and unanswered letters.

“Go, I’ll hold them off.” He said.

“Glad we were able to slip you in unnoticed, I am,” Yoda said.

“And I’m glad I chose to come to you, Headmaster,” Valorum said, “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and you believe I don’t trust you, but I do. I just need to make sure I’m covering all bases.”

“Understand this, I do.” Yoda smiled, “Work together to fix this, we will.”

“I believe that,” Valorum smiled, “Who knows? Perhaps, we can once again work together as allies.”

“Appreciate that I-”

“-MINISTER VALORUM!” A loud voice echoed off the halls.

They had been so close.

He thought they’d been a bit too close when he heard some muffled animal noises, but had attributed that to passing Professor Mundi’s office. Obi-Wan had been working quite closely with the injured creatures during his limited spare time.

“Go, you should,” Yoda urged him and accessed the tunnel that would lead Valorum down through Hogsmeade to the Three Broomsticks. From there, he would be able to utilize the Floo system or apparate back into the comforts of his own office. Normally, Yoda wasn’t in the business of sneaking around, but under these circumstances, when Valorum had been both vulnerable and informative, he knew that it was important to keep this visit under wraps.

However, Anakin Skywalker was not the sort who was easy to escape and judging by the wild look in Valorum’s eyes that could only describe panic, Yoda could see that he was thrown off by the boy. After all, they’d discussed at length the importance of Anakin Skywalker and how his being in the tournament had been at the hand of the Sith.

This would not be good. He didn’t need Anakin to be privy to such things, especially if he suspects they would consider working against him in the tournament. He didn’t need his ego crushed into the dirt, even if his ego could get a bit swollen at times.

He was just a boy and the things that the Sith wanted him for made Yoda’s blood boil.

He had to get Valorum away before he cracked, just as he had in Yoda’s office. The minister was not stable and still looked as though a soft breeze would knock him over. Whatever Anakin wanted to discuss, surely regarding the tournament or what was going on with the Hutt’s, would only add more to his burden.

“Minister, wait!” Anakin said once in range, breathing heavily.

“Skywalker, out of lunch you should not be.” Yoda said. “Very busy, the Minister is.”

“I know, I know,” He extended out a hand but looked desperately to Valorum, who already had one foot stepped within the entryway to the tunnel, “But I’ve been trying to reach him all year about my mother.”

Yoda felt his heart sag. No, of course that would be the first thing on Anakin’s mind. The boy had lost a great deal within only the span of a year. He couldn’t blame him for his insistence.

And while Valorum had been busy, it seemed rather thoughtless not to at least tell the boy what was going on. Yoda hadn’t even been allowed to know how the investigation was going and he’d asked on several different occasions.

“Your mother?” Valorum asked.

“Yes,” Anakin said.

“Have we spoken about this in the past?”

“I’ve written you a million letters and even tried to reach you at the press conferences, but you keep… Missing me, I guess. But she’s been missing for more than a year now and I don’t know what to do.”

“Ah yes, right, your mother…” He narrowed his eyes, “I’m having a bit of a day.”

“Have you found anything?” Enthusiasm and determination for all to be set right by this conversation sparkled behind his eyes, “I’ve got a few leads of my own that I could share.”

“What was her name again?”

“Minister.” Yoda turned to him, eyes wide. The entire wizarding world had known of Shmi Skywalker’s disappearance. Whether or not they believed foul play to be involved was a whole other thing, but the association of Anakin meant that it had gone through every news circulation. Even the pureblood papers were well versed on the bare details of the subject.

“You don’t even know her name?” Anakin fired, the hope that had been present when he’d first approached them instantly snuffed. “She’s been missing for a year and I’ve written you how many times and you don’t know her name ?”

“Apologies, my dear boy, but I do have a fair few missing person’s cases with all these Sith attacks occurring.”

“They’re people, not subjects!” Anakin snapped, stepping away with eyes narrowed, “Do you even want to find her?”

“Anakin, sure I am that Minister Valorum means no offense,” Yoda said, “Visiting under unprecedented circumstances, he is.”

“I don’t care!” Anakin protested. “I want my mother back!”

“Of course,” Yoda gently placed a hand on his shoulder, to which Anakin shook off.

“It’s more of the Auror department rather than me-” Valorum said.

“-Which you’re in charge of.” Anakin said and turned to Yoda, “You told me we’d find out what was going on! You promised someone would know! Well, if the guy who runs everything doesn’t even care about knowing her name, how is she supposed to ever be found?”

“But of course I care-”

“-Then why haven’t you or anyone from your office bothered to look into it?” Anakin asked.

“They have, I’m sure,” He said, “We’ve got a lot going on.”

“You have a lot going on? I’m the one being threatened left and right!”

“I understand and we are looking-”

“-Into it, sure.” Anakin shook his head.

“Well, you see… These things are often more complicated than what the scope of a child could understand…” Valorum babbled, making matters even worse for himself.

“Oh, believe me, I understand,” Anakin said, going cold. “You won’t even bother to learn her name, because finding her isn’t as important as chumming it up with the stupid Hutt’s or stopping by to have tea and cookies with Yoda.”

“Now listen here,” Valorum grew defensive, but Yoda stepped in.

“Deserve to know the truth, this boy does,” He said, because he could not go on to hear Valorum belittle (whether intentionally or not) the boy any more, not when he’d been through more than most in such a short period. “Look into this, you should.”

“I swear to you, it will go to the top of my list,” Valorum said.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Anakin said, eyes glazed and before he turned to take his leave, pointed at him, “And her name is Shmi Skywalker, by the way. Don’t you forget it. I certainly never will.”

“Shmi Skywalker.” He repeated quietly, but not loud enough for Anakin to hear it. “I will absolutely touch base with my team, Yoda. I just… I wasn’t expecting to run into the boy is all. He is quite spirited.”

“Beautiful, the spirit and trust of a child are,” Yoda said, “Betray that, you do not want to.”

“No, of course not. I’d hate for him to develop any hate for the Ministry over this. This whole thing only works if one trusts their government.”

“Indeed,” Yoda said, considering that as the Minister of Magic stepped slowly into the tunnel and walked at a casual pace down towards Hogsmeade. Yoda only watched him go until he was enveloped by the distance and shut the entrance behind him.

By the time Anakin reunited with Rex, he was covered in little scratches that looked like he’d been in a physical game of rock, paper, scissors, and was promptly being reamed out by Professor Mundi in front of the broom closet.

“This total whim of careless and reckless abandon was for what, Mr. Fett?” Professor Mundi scolded, “Because it better be good, seeing as you are going to be spending a good amount of time in detention for it.”

“What happened?” Anakin asked, his fury over the situation with the useless Minister Valorum fading only to deal with the immediate predicament.

“Move along, Mr. Skywalker. I am choosing to ignore the fact that you should be at lunch along with my suspicions of your involvement, only because Rex has already insisted it was only he responsible for releasing the Kowakian Lizard-Monkey.”

“They got out?” Anakin asked, eyes wide, “I mean… What’s that?”

“Charming,” Mundi narrowed his small blue eyes at him before turning back to Rex, “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”

“I was doing it for…” Rex seemed to think about that and remembered the sob story Hondo had told them about the monkey being his family’s long lost pet that was claimed when he got to Hogwarts. Whether or not that was true, Rex probably didn’t want Hondo to get held back and be on his bad side for however long it took him to graduate. “I did it to get back at… Krell.”

“Pong Krell? He doesn’t even go to this school anymore.” He said.

They would have their time to get back at Krell later, when Hondo was hopefully reunited with his precious pet. It was better to at least put it on the professor’s trail not to trust Krell in the event that he decided to start using some magical creatures as warfare.

“He’s been bullying his brother!” Anakin inserted himself into the narrative. “And he’s afraid of these little dudes, I guess. Right, Rex?”

“Right.” Rex said. “He’s not able to do anything about it so someone has to.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” A different voice said from behind them.

Anakin and Rex turned in horror to find none other than Ninety-Nine standing there, mop and bucket in hand.

“Ninety-Nine, hold on,” Rex started, but the eldest Fett was not having it. While normally genial and understanding, his face was hard and his mouth in a straight line that didn’t suit him. Anakin didn’t even know what to say in response to the utter disappointment on his face.

“-No, I won’t,” He said, “Because just because I’m not partaking in the foolish games of children, doesn’t make me incapable.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“-You did, Rex.” He laughed a little at the end, shaking his head and looking at the mop in his hand, “You might not think what I do is important or that I can’t take care of myself, but you’re wrong. I don’t need you to protect me and I’m not sure how many times I have to say that before it sets in.”

“But Krell-”

“I don’t care about Krell!” Ninety-Nine raised his voice, “He can never get me if what he does never gets to me. And I thought you were smarter than that.”

“He was just trying to help,” Anakin added unhelpfully.

“And now look at this mess!” he gestured to the pellets and slobber that the monkeys had left in their wake. It was pretty gross and wouldn’t take too long for them to find the other if he kept leaving a trail of waste. “You have been impulsive and selfish! Stop making this issue with Krell about me, because I’m fine. I’m sorry you think I’m pathetic, but I am proud of where I am.”

He looked at Rex one last time before leaving, “And I thought you were too.”

They both watched him go, Professor Mundi also seeming a bit uncomfortable by this change in dialogue. There was no real way he would understand the backstory of it all, but Anakin clasped a hand on Rex’s shoulder, causing him to wince in pain.

“These creatures are not to be used in little schoolyard spats, my boy. No, these creatures can do dastardly things if left alone. You’re lucky only one escaped. You could have single handedly ruined our attempt at making peace with the Hutt’s.”

“Huh?” Anakin asked.

“Why are you still here, Mr. Skywalker?” Mundi asked.

“I’m making sure Rex is alright, he probably needs to go to the hospital wing.”

And quite possibly family therapy after all of this, but that was a later issue.

“Indeed,” Mundi said, “Be grateful you walked away with only a few cuts and scrapes. They’ve been known to go for the eyes. You can escort him, Anakin, but only because I need to now look high and low for Pilf.”

With that, they were ushered off towards Madame Nema and Anakin waited until they were about halfway there to speak.

“Why did you take the full fall?” He asked, “I was just as involved as you are!”

“Because it’s my family, mate,” Rex said tightly, “You were only doing it to help me. Besides, Ninety-Nine was right. I was being selfish.”

“Yeah, but how many times have you helped me through the years?” Anakin shook his head, “We’ll get him, I swear.”

“I’m more concerned about Ninety-Nine talking to me again,” Rex said, “Do you think I was wrong for stepping in?”

“We thought Cody was good for stepping in when he bullied you,” Anakin offered, “But then again, Cody is your older brother. I guess that would be a bit different. I dunno, mate, I’ve always believed in protecting what’s yours.”

But then, Anakin remembered how affronted he’d been by Obi-Wan’s insistence to help him this entire year, “But while the intention might be good, maybe you have to listen to what Ninety-Nine wants.”

They walked a bit in silence and Anakin realized he could see where Ninety-nine was coming from more than he cared to admit. However, when it came down to it, if his life was at risk, he wouldn’t blame Rex for stepping in either.

“At least Pilf escaped,” Rex shuddered, “He was a scary bastard. The other one didn’t even bite or scratch.”

“Sounds like he definitely belongs to the Ohnaka’s.” Anakin said. “I hope he finds his way back to him.”

“How was your talk with the Minister?” Rex asked.

“Palpatine was right about him,” Anakin muttered, “You can’t trust politicians.”

“So, not good, I take it,” Rex said.

“No, not good at all,” Anakin said in a dark voice, “I don’t think any of them really care about finding her. They don’t see it as their problem.”

“That doesn’t make any sense though,” Rex said, “Why brush it off? Especially if Dooku is possibly involved.”

“That’s what I’m wondering.”

“Pilf!” Hondo cheered gleefully as the Kowakian monkey-lizard came bounding towards him like the little ball of flames he tended to be. He’d somehow gotten even more feral looking than he had previously when he lived at the Ohnaka estate. Hondo hadn’t seen him in years since he’d smuggled him into school during his second year. It had taken approximately three weeks for Professor Mundi to find out that he’d been hiding him, especially after that poor prefect lost her ear due to Pilf’s ravenous nature.

Until that point, they’d had a decent run.

“Hondo has missed you so much!”

In all fairness, the earrings he delivered were priceless heirlooms, even when coated in someone else’s blood. Hondo had done the right thing and given one of them back to the girl.

It wasn’t like she had much use for two earrings from then on. That was a bit of a touchy subject, of course, and she hadn’t taken to Hondo’s sense of humor.

Mundi believed that he was a runaway Kowakian that had legitimately escaped the building and was surprised that he’d grown quite so violent.

From then, he’d been claimed as a member of the magical creatures class, and had taken out the most eyes and tongues of any subject to date. It was an honor not many could uphold. The other Kowakian was horrible to deal with by the looks of it. He hardly even tried to rob anyone he came across.

The shame of it all!

So, it was fitting that the moment Pilf found Hondo, he flung his little angry body into the air and opened his mouth wide, prepared to take whatever he could from Hondo. That didn’t mean that Hondo was the sort to go down easily.

“Hey, now Pilf! We’re family!” Hondo explained as he leapt out of the way.

Family that he did admittedly turn into a Kowakian Lizard-Monkey in order to climb around and steal valuable artifacts from the school so he could sell them on the black market with his mother.

It succeeded in the beginning, except until Hondo couldn’t figure out how to turn him back into a Weequay. Transfiguration was never his strongest point, especially not as a wee second year. They hadn’t gotten that far yet, naturally, and it had really been Pilf that had done it to himself, since he was seven years Hondo’s senior.

Come to think of it, that plan was not well thought out in the slightest.

“No hard feelings, eh? We’ll get you back right as- ow! Okay, someone’s teeth have gotten very sharp these past few years!” Hondo yelped as he threw a book to try and deflect the little monkey-lizard. Pilf hissed and Hondo groaned, “Do that again and I’m telling mother!”

If Kowakians could breathe fire, it was very possible he would have done that right then and there, instead, he just leapt right for Hondo’s locs, using them as leverage to climb up and attack his head.

“Yes, she’s missed you! Did I tell her you were lost at sea to get myself out of trouble? No, of course not! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

It was a lie, but a necessary one. Hondo truly did believe Pilf capable of murder as it were right now.

The shriek he let out could have caused anyone to go deaf and Hondo still felt a ringing after. It was this that knocked him off his balance and into the shelf behind him, collectively sending all the delicate trinkets to the floor, breaking all around him. Pilf pounced, crawling around him and scraping everywhere he could have access to.

“I’m sure we can work something out! You can have half my cut for the year! Ow! Okay, three quarters! Ouch! I am not going above 80%, you greedy little furball!”

It was good to be reunited with family, no less. Hondo had missed having a brother, after all and he was starting to get a bit jealous of how much time Pilf was spending with that other stupid little creature.

A black gloved hand rose into the air, clenched around the deluminator that dispelled all light from the street, thrumming silently when all was absorbed. When Diagon Alley was properly doused in an identical darkness to that of the sole figure that stood at its heart, it welcomed another from almost nowhere.

The footprints in the snow would be the only proof of their presence this evening, even if many fires had been struck ablaze the past few months, fires that the Daily Prophet avoided covering. They couldn’t ignore them for much longer. They were growing far stronger than the average eye could see and if plans continued working properly in their direction, it would only be a matter of time before they seized power and control.

There were just a few matters that hindered their success. A few crucial pieces that would need to dissolve just as the snowflakes did beneath their boots. They would burn them down as they had villages and they would embed their mark into the eyes and minds of unbelievers.

Neither of the nearly identical cloaked phantoms spoke, not until they were properly secluded within the comforting confines of Knockturn Alley. Even when completely absent of light, Diagon Alley still shared the stars and the moon- a power that the Sith hadn’t yet been able to rival just yet.

Some day they would be the sun, and snuff out every other beacon of light in the sky.

It was too late for even Knockturn Alley to have many inhabitants. A fair few rats scurried out of their path as they drifted across from Borgin and Burkes. The only light that guided their way was the faint glow that emanated off the skulls in the window. Either way, these patrons knew their way quite well to the White Wyvern.

Their heavy boots had favorable traction, preventing them from slicking on the pavement, even if they hadn’t been charmed to melt ice on contact. They trotted down the back alley steps, rounding appropriate corners and paying zero mind to the beggars in the street. Foul and insolent beings such as they belonged in St. Mungo’s asylum and nowhere else. Instead, they were tainting their streets.

If they hadn’t presently had more pressing matters, Tyranus might have removed them.

The side door was always open to those who were unwelcome everywhere else, that was how the enchantment worked. Those who did not belong met an unspeakable fate. Rumors swirled around that the rat infestation was a direct result of this.

They found their usual booth with ease, removing their winter layers and helping themselves to a bottle of scotch that rested perfectly within reach on the bar. It was as though it was waiting for them and as far as Tyranus knew, it likely was. He poured them each an even glass, not asking his compatriot if he wanted it on the rocks or neat, and walked it over to their table.

“How did your meeting go?” He asked as he sat.

“How do you think?” His associate sat unmoving even when the glass was placed on the table. It wasn’t until Tyranus reached for his own and raised the deluminator to release all of the light back into the sky, igniting the single bulb above them, that he was able to read the challenging look on Minister Valorum’s wrinkled face.

“They bought it?” Tyranus asked.

He reached a gloved hand up and slowly peeled off the withered and painfully neutral facade that made up Minister Valorum, and revealed the smiling man beneath it.

Rael Aveross.

“I think they might have,” He said, twirling the now rubbery and fake looking pile of skin around, letting it flop in the waste bin unceremoniously. When not stretched across Rael’s face, it looked like nothing more than a Halloween mask. Because Tyranus had dedicated his life to the dark arts in one way or another- whether it was combatting it or pursuing it, he’d always been mystified by the concept of a Personatus.

Many had heard of those who could transfigure themselves into animals- the animagi. These, while a complicated practice to undertake, had no inherent darkness present. The personatus took this concept and could not only transform themselves to match other people as a polyjuice would allow, but any person, so long as they wore something that belonged to them.

It was not something one trained to be, but something you were born to be.

“Good,” Tyranus said, reaching out his glass, “Then there is much left to plan, Minister .”

Although Satine had gotten herself and Ben in a fiery debate this morning around whether or not wizards should change their archaic money system, she found her eyes drifting across the table to Cody, who had been surprisingly quiet this morning and instead glaring steadily across the room towards a group of Durmstrang students at the Slytherin table. It wasn’t that she expected him to be invested in whatever inane topic of conversation they got into, but it was pretty rare that he wouldn’t at least throw in a teasing line or two.

“What’s on your mind?” She kicked him under the table, interrupting Ben who was on a passionate lecture on the history of gold. Ben trailed off and although she’d surely have to prompt him to continue later, he seemed to read her thoughts and focused his attention on their friend as well.

“Hmm?” Cody had been long gone in thoughts, now shaken back to the present looking a little lost for a moment.

“You’ve been staring off for ages,” Satine rested her head on her hand, “You didn’t even tease Ben when he started talking about ‘The Origin of Knuts’.”

“Hey-!” Ben glared at her.

“That’s a bit low hanging fruit isn’t it?” Cody shrugged, “So I didn’t make an obvious joke, sue me.”

“Something’s bothering you and if you don’t tell me I’ll just have to find out for myself,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “Which I will, just like I did the last time you were keeping things to yourself.”

“We could make a binder,” Ben perked up, recovering from previous ridicule quickly, “And we’re rather good at sleuthing.”

“One might even say detail-oriented know-it-alls,” Satine added.

Cody rolled his eyes, “Trust me I know. But it’s nothing like that . No need for super sleuthing or whatever it is you two get up to in dim light.”

“You're deflecting pretty badly,” Ben ran his cloth napkin across his fork, polishing it before sticking it in his syrupy pancakes, “And I would know, considering I’ve been pretty good at that over the years.”

“Well,” Cody was hesitating, and he rarely did. He was typically the type to let whatever he wanted fly right off his tongue rather than let his mind catch up to him, “You know we’re only a couple months away from graduating.”

“Are you worried about your NEWTs?” Satine could understand that, she’d had several recent nightmares about forgetting to bring a quill.

“When have I ever worried about a test?” Cody rolled his eyes, even if Satine could have easily answered, ‘Quite a lot for someone who pretends not to.’

“That kind of attitude won’t stop us from holding study sessions,” Satine waved a hand, urging him to continue.

“You know,” Cody said seemingly offhandedly, “Durmstrang thinks their Quidditch team is the best in the world.”

“Well there’s been no way to prove that,” Obi-Wan hummed.

“I know,” Cody’s eyes flickered between them and Durmstrang, “Quinlan’s already been drafted for the Arrows…”

“And it’s only a matter of time before you join him in the professional league,” Satine fixed him with a careful gaze.

“I haven’t heard much from potential recruiters,” Cody winced, “And it’s been a rough year, only one day to play the game? Did any of them even come?”

“I’m certain they would have,” Satine glanced at Ben who gave her a barely noticeable shrug, he wasn’t sure.

“I know I could beat him,” Cody stabbed a fork into his potatoes, “I know I’m just as good.”

“Why not play a game with him?” It was Obi-Wan who said it, though Satine was starting to think the same.

“He’s not allowed to play on the Durmstrang team,” Cody pointed out, “Official Youth Quidditch rules state that, ‘If a student is invited to play with professional leagues either current or promised future they hereby renounce their position on their school’s team’.” He quoted easily.

“But this wouldn’t have to be a real match,” Ben pointed out, “It’s more like… a backyard game.”

“That’s true,” Cody threaded his fingers together in deep thought, before deflating a little, “But I doubt he’d go for it.”

“What do you mean?” Satine frowned.

“I didn’t want to admit it,” Cody looked around carefully as if anyone was bold enough to eavesdrop on them, “But Quinlan’s good, like really good. I’ve watched him practice. Why would he want to play a game with me? ”

“Cody,” Satine reached across the table to put a hand on his wrist and look at him in exasperation, “One doesn’t dedicate their life to playing professional Quidditch if they dislike playing the game. Trust me.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Cody who suddenly perked up, “Do you think so?”

“Why don’t you just go ask him already?” Ben shook his head pointing at where Quinlan had gotten up and was heading towards the exit.

“Ah quite right!” Cody stood quickly and hurried over to intercept the Durmstrang. Cody had made some sort of bold declaration causing Quinlan, who had been quite dreary lately, to consider Cody as he set his half baked plan into action. Quinlan definitely seemed to slowly gain a little fire in his own stance as he suggested something to which Cody very eagerly shot out a hand which Quinlan shook immediately. Cody raced back over to them grinning widely, a familiar fire warming his gaze.

“Well mates, we’re going to have another tournament on our hands.”

Obi-Wan hadn’t seen much of Cody since just the day before Quinlan had agreed to participate in some sort of tournament. His friend had skipped classes, which was out of the ordinary, and had sent him an owl this morning that dropped off a piece of ripped fabric with nothing more than a classroom number scribbled on it. He should probably be more worried it wasn’t a ransom notice.

Still he politely knocked on the classroom door and when it didn’t open he pushed his way inside into what seemed to be a devastating storm of books and parchment littering the floors and every available flat surface. In the center of it, looking very critically at a chalkboard was his best mate.

“Er, Cody,” He made his presence known as his eyes skimmed past three near identical copies of Quidditch Through the Ages, the only difference between them was a few spelling errors and subsequent corrections. Nonetheless Cody had bought every edition, “You sent for me?”

Cody turned, rubbing his eyes like Obi-Wan had pulled him out of another world entirely, “Kenobi! Mate it’s great to see you, you’re looking quite proper today,” Cody walked over to him stirring a few pieces of crumpled parchment in his wake, “Heard we got back our DADA essays. I bet you got top marks yet again.”

“What is it you want from me Cody?” Obi-Wan tilted his head, “There’s no need for such blatant flattery.”

“Flattery? Psh nooooooo,” Cody laughed it off, but he wasn’t looking in Obi-Wan’s direction, “I care about grades sometimes, yours in particular, I mean weren’t you falling behind?”

“I’m perfectly fine at the moment,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “ You however are beginning to concern me.”

“So maybe I have a tiny little favor to ask,” Cody deflated, “What, I can’t butter you up first? Shoot. Maybe I should have bought some chocolate frogs or something.”

“A favor?” Obi-Wan prompted.

“Well mate, I need a Keeper-” Cody began picking up the book to his left, Best Keepers of the 18th Century .

“Cody, you know I don’t like playing-” Obi-Wan started, trying to be delicate about letting him down, but Cody immediately interrupted.

“Let me finish! Let me finish,” He held out a hand as if that alone would quell his words. Cody turned back to the chalkboard flipping it around to the other side where there was a list of every Quidditch player in the school written in small handwriting and some scribbled descriptions next to them. Many were scratched through, but Obi-Wan’s was circled, “I know you hate Quidditch.”

“Hate’s a bit of a strong word…”

“Even so, you’re the strongest Keeper we have available to us, I need you to win,” Cody pleaded.

Obi-Wan scoffed, “I’m hardly the best Keeper here. You know I won’t be offended by you not choosing me.” Obi-Wan expected that to be it, to let Cody off the hook and his friend would feel relieved about not having to drag his dead weight along. Cody however groaned and ran his hands down his face.

“Mate, would you stop putting yourself down for five minutes,” Cody crossed his arms, “You’ve been starting Keeper on Ravenclaw’s team for seven years.”

“Six and a half actually-”

“You don’t get to start anything no matter how much your parents tried bribing the school,” Cody insisted, “I know we all joke with you a lot, but you can’t seriously think you aren’t a valuable member of Ravenclaw’s team?”

“I’m just following Eeth’s instructions,” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, “I hardly think I’ve done anything particularly involved. What about Slytherin’s Keeper?”

“Faro’s good, but not used to clever plays,” Cody pushed the thought away, “You on the other hand, are clever. You’ve thwarted me several times when I thought you couldn’t see what I was planning.”

“Cody, you talk about Quidditch all the time,” Obi-Wan reminded him, “Of course I can start seeing through you-”

“But I never tell you my plans, not really,” He picked up a piece of parchment, it had arrows drawn all around it, “Remember this?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“This was from our last game of course I remember-”

“I saw it,” Cody pointed an accusatory finger his way, “You couldn’t make it in time to stop me, but your eyes saw exactly where you needed to go.”

“Well yes, but-”

“Obi-Wan, mate,” Cody took hold of his shoulders and was looking at him with a level of seriousness he didn’t show much, “I need you on my team. Not because we’re friends, not because of some weird sort of pity you seem to think I have for you, but because you see what others don’t look for.”

Obi-Wan found himself at a crossroads, the world frozen where it was until he made his decision. It would be best to say no, that Cody had the wrong guy, that somewhere in this school would be another Keeper, a better one. But his friend’s focus hadn’t waned from him, for whatever reason or another he had Cody’s full and near professional confidence that he would be a valuable member of his team.

“I suppose I could-” He didn’t get to finish before Cody cheered, catching him in a bone crushing hug that despite the way the breath was squeezed out of him still made him smile.

“Wicked! WICKED!” Cody released him rushing over to his board again and flipping it over, adding Obi-Wan’s name into his already preselected line up, “We’ve got a chance I know it.”

“Of course, you do,” Obi-Wan sat himself on top of a nearby desk, eyes roving over the chalk markings and various eraser marks, “I’m surprised though, why not just use Gryffindor team.”

Cody nodded to himself as he drew an ‘X’ near the goal posts, “Oh, well Quinlan wants to face Hogwarts not Gryffindor. So I told him I’d whip up the best team he’d damn well ever see.”

Obi-Wan frowned, “Wait, that’s… Isn’t that a huge disadvantage for us?” Cody looked at him over his shoulder, a bit of chalk dust smeared across his cheek, “We’ll be playing Durmstrang’s pre established team.”

“And Beauxbatons’ yeah,” Cody added, turning back to his planning.

“Beauxbatons?” Obi-Wan crossed his arms looking to the side of him where a paper, written entirely in french showcased a picture of Hera zooming towards the goal posts in an old Quidditch game, “How many bloody teams are we playing?”

“Just two,” Cody held up two fingers, “Wouldn’t be fair to leave them out.”

“I feel like this is massively skewed against us,” He repeated, “You don’t suppose Quinlan did it because he’d know you’d lose? Does he want to make a fool out of us?”

“No I’m- Well… We won’t lose!” Cody threw down the chalk, not facing Obi-Wan, but he could see the tense pull of his shoulders, “I know what I’m doing, I’m a good captain.”

“Hey. What’s this about?” Obi-Wan slid off the desk, “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. You’re the best chaser this school has and my biased argument would have you as the best chaser in the world.”

“That’s a little bold,” Cody answered, then after a long minute, “I just… I want what he has, I guess I’m jealous,” He seemed surprised by his own statement.

“And you’ll get there,” Obi-Wan tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe for a minute before extending a hand out to pat his friends arm, “But,” He paused just long enough for Cody to look over at him, “If you want to win, we’re going to need to gather the team, because we don’t have very long to prepare.”

Cody stood sternly alongside his recruits. Beauxbatons was to their left and Durmstrang was currently making their way over from the right. Although he felt a little nervous, unsettled, as he watched Quinlan make his way across the field towards them, he did feel confidence in his team. It had been fun, finally getting to run his statistics on his fellow Quidditch players. He loved his own team, but bringing all their strengths together? Well he knew it would be even better.

Picking the chasers was always difficult. Himself of course, and then he’d chosen Aayla and Eeth from Ravenclaw. Aayla would be starting out, she was far more aggressive than Eeth, but the Ravenclaw captain was an amazing strategist. Ferus and Shu Mai from Slytherin were also a good pick. They had a strong ambition for the game, like a Slytherin should. Ferus typically played beater for Slytherin, but he was willing to try something new. Bana from Hufflepuff was quick and sharp and he believed she would be able to match his energy despite the Hufflepuff team’s consistent losses.

His beaters were easy picks. Fives and Echo, both worked spectacularly together of course. Echo had proven himself in their mock matches over the summer to be surprisingly tactical with a bat. Anakin of course, could count himself among the ranks, the local prodigy. Cody had also selected Maris of Hufflepuff who was always determined and had a little more strength than one would expect.

For his seekers he’d asked Breha, the Hufflepuff captain had a keen eye and likely would have been a wonderful seeker if she’d not been delegated to keeper. Bolla Ropal of Ravenclaw had the sharpest eyes at Hogwarts and he’d be brought in if they needed the assist.

That only left the keepers, Obi-Wan of course. Although his friend had never thought himself much for the sport, he really was talented-

Cody frowned, turning to Clovis, his other drafted keeper, “Where’s Kenobi?”

“Said he left something in the locker room,” Clovis shrugged nonchalantly.

Cody cursed quietly under his breath, Obi-Wan better not be late. Not that his friend typically fell into that category, but he always had to hope he hadn’t come across a stray loth cat or something. He had a bad habit of helping out every lost cause that came his way. Although, Cody thought with a wince, that might include him and this silly little Quidditch tournament.

“Alright!” Quinlan crossed his arms over his chest and grinned between the two other teams, “Fine looking teams here!”

“You’re late,” Hera raised an eyebrow, “And I certainly don’t appreciate it,” She was brave for saying so, because Cody had already decided he wasn’t going to bring it up.

“Well I’m here now,” Quinlan shrugged, looking at Cody, “What do you say we get this show on the road?”

Cody nodded, “I’m game.”

“Wonderful,” Hera took out a piece of stark white parchment and lifted her wand, “Mutatio proprietatibus!” The parchment started turning three different colors. She looked to Cody, “Pick one.”

Cody watched it for a moment, as it flickered between red, blue, and yellow, “Red,” He decided on and Quinlan scowled clearly having wanted that one himself.

“I’ll choose yellow,” Quinlan relented.

“Blue,” Hera chose as she let go of the parchment and it fell to the ground. It flickered through colors quickly, so fast Cody could hardly keep track, before stopping finally on a split between blue and yellow, “Alright,” Hera smiled, flicking her wand and sending a gentle burning spell down to the parchment, “Beauxbaton will face off against Durmstrang first. Hogwarts will go against the winner.”

Cody swallowed back disappointment. He didn’t care much for sitting around. He gave a half smile, “Alright we’ll grab a spot in the stands then?” He prompted. Many students had joined them today to watch all three schools there and present in the stands chatting excitedly to themselves. It seemed everyone had missed having a good Quidditch match.

Cody sheparded his team towards the stands, not that they needed much direction, all knew where they were going. Cody himself paused at the bottom of the staircase, he had a little time before the match started and his best mate was still missing. If he’d gotten himself sucked into a book Cody would have his head.

As he was thinking of the (very few) places Kenobi could have drifted to, he turned with the intention of checking Ravenclaw’s locker room. Before he could get far he noticed the fabric draped over the stands was caught up. He frowned, did no one take pride in their Quidditch field these days? He moved to tug down the fabric into place when he saw something move in the darkness. He stepped inside, hand reaching for his wand. He whispered a quick “lumos!” but the second the light spread through the space he almost dropped it in shock.

Equally shocked was Satine who let out a squeak, pushing Obi-Wan away who had turned to stare at him with wide eyes and a red face. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together.

“Excuse me?!” He flicked his wand letting the light stray from its tip and instead hover in the air above them, “Do the two of you have no shame? Trying to get a good shag in on the Quidditch field ?”

“Alright hold on!” Satine cut in crossing her arms, “You’re pushing things a little far! It was simply a kiss-”

“Oh right,” Cody rolled his eyes, “A kiss in the dark under the bleachers-”

“Okay so it sounds bad when you say it like that,” Satine’s face was still quite pink, “But you can feed me truth serum and you’ll still get the same answer.”

“Fine okay so you were just making out, whatever ,” Cody threw his arms apart, “The Quidditch field is sacred, ” He emphasized and Satine’s expression became one of careful neutrality, “The best of our generation come here to play, are here to play. We mold young minds into strategists, we train, we succeed. Victories and defeats! Rights and wrong! We learn and experience all here-!”

“Cody-”

“No Satine you need to understand,” Cody put a hand on each of their shoulders, Obi-Wan, who hadn’t uttered a single sound, looked like he wanted to melt into a puddle in his Quidditch boots, “And Kenobi, I thought you of all people would know the meaning of all this!”

“Cody!” Satine cut in, “Do you know how many students I’ve caught sharing much more than a quick… well a kiss down here? I mean look around you!” She pointed towards a heart with a few letters in it, below it were several marks. He turned and saw another heart and another, and another-

“All- all this time?” Cody staggered backwards, “People have been desecrating my field-”

“Well it’s not really your field-”

“Committing all sorts of corrupted debauchery-”

“Come on Cody,” Satine crossed her arms, “You can’t seriously believe that no one’s ever found every dark nook and cranny here at Hogwarts.”

“Actually,” Obi-Wan finally found his voice, “Now that you bring that up, I’d much like to leave.”

“Wha- Ben! We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“I know, but now I’ve gotten some unpleasant memories swirling and I’m already feeling quite mortified.”

After a quick moment of silence all three of them found themselves scrambling out, Cody yanking the fabric back into place behind him. He spared but a glance back while Kenobi tried to shake the thoughts out of his head quite literally and Satine rolled her eyes.

“You know, I definitely saw worse things in the third floor broom closet-”

“Satine please,” Obi-Wan cringed, “I’m not arguing about this right now… or ever.”

“Ah come on, but that time we both ran into-”

They were saved by the sudden eruption of cheers and thundering feet as the students above them welcomed the start of the first game.

The first game…

“The match!” Cody jumped, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hood and Satine’s sleeve and practically dragging them towards the stands.

“Cody!” Satine was able to pull her sleeve out of his grip and free Kenobi from being suffocated. They still followed him as he hurried up the stairs two at a time. Obi-Wan nearly tripped when Satine grabbed his hand and the three of them made it up into the light of day just as Durmstrang managed to make the first points.

Cody, letting himself forget about his friends' misdeeds, led them down to where Eeth and Breha were watching the game closely, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing of note yet,” Eeth’s eyes flicked around to each player and Cody could practically see the gears grinding away in his mind.

“Quinlan’s a show off that’s for sure,” Breha pointed out just as the man himself did a victory lap over… 10 points.

“Wha-” Cody scowled, “That’s a little ridiculous.”

“He’s always been a right loon,” Cody whipped his head around, not expecting such commentary from Kenobi of all people.

“Ben!” Satine seemed to think the same.

“I still can’t believe you went to the ball with that ,” Obi-Wan pointed towards where Quinlan gave a fake yawn as he raced across the field towards the goal. This time he was thwarted though because through his theatrics Hera had swiped the thing from under his nose.

“Well excuse me for picking someone who actually asked me,” Satine glared at him. He didn’t comment further. Still their hands were touching, fingers just slightly overlapped from where they rested on the bench, so Cody didn’t waste time worrying about them.

“Satine!” Aayla appeared shoving her head between Obi-Wan and Satine’s before plopping herself in the middle with a cackle, “I didn’t know Cody convinced you to play Quidditch today,” She teased.

“I- I was just here to support my friends,” Satine crossed her arms, “You are included in that you know.”

“But you’re sitting with the team!” She emphasized, “That must mean I get to finally see you riding around on a broomstick and whacking people with sticks!”

“It’s a damn good thing you’re not a beater if you think you whack people with the bat,” Satine gave her a hard look, at nearly the same time Cody found himself sighing.

“Come on Secura, Satine would be a much better Seeker,” Satine turned to him with a raised eyebrow, he’d mentioned it before, but as with most things quidditch he continued, “Satine’s too much of a pacifist to play most of the roles of Quidditch, but she does have sharp eyes and a small frame. Long arms though! Perfect for seeking.”

Satine rolled her eyes, “Always happy to have your support.”

The crowd around them cheered and Cody turned quickly around to see that Durmstrang had scored another point. Quinlan did a couple showboaty victory moves as Hera scrambled back onto her broom, clearly this had been a close call.

“Damn,” Eeth swore quietly, “It’s like he’s not even trying.”

Cody watched as Hera did an impressive glide, ducking under Quinlan. She was graceful on a broom that was for sure, but it wasn’t enough considering her fellow chasers were on the wrong side of the field. She got targeted by both bludgers and the other two Durmstrang chasers and it was more than enough to overpower her. Practically everyone in the stands winced as Hera had to sacrifice the Quaffle in order to avoid being knocked off her broom.

“Brutal,” Breha commented, before suddenly she sat up quite quickly. Cody followed her gaze and saw the glimmer of gold hanging by the Durmstrang hoops. Beauxbatons’ Seeker was hunting too low, but Durmstrang’s was getting closer… there! She dove, Beauxbatons’ seeker noticed, panicked, but there was no way he could make it in time. Durmstrang’s Seeker raised a hand proudly in the air and just like that the game was over.

“Bad luck for Beauxbatons,” Obi-Wan winced, “Wrong place at the wrong time.”

“They were searching in a figure 8 pattern,” Eeth pointed out, “It’s rather involved.”

“Durmstrang was just going back and forth,” Breha considered, “I suppose I’ll have to find a way to match them.”

That was right. Cody felt himself get to his feet, turning to face his team and Satine, “We’re up next, facing off against Durmstrang.” His team all got to their feet and made their way down towards the field, leaving Satine, who gave Kenobi’s hand a squeeze and Cody a quick nod, alone to cheer them on. It was a little odd, all the different colors blending together as they descended the stairs. Red, yellow, blue, and green. Hogwarts quidditch players who had only ever practiced together a handful of times, more used to knocking each other out than sharing the field. Still he had confidence in his picks. This would work out, it would.

Cody approached Quinlan on the field, passing by Hera and her team as they headed towards the stands. Quinlan stood casually practically leaning on his broom which bent slightly under his weight.

“I hope you enjoyed your little warm up,” Cody crossed his arms, letting his own broom hover beside him.

“Hardly could be considered such,” Quinlan stretched, the only time the man could be bothered to wear a shirt and it was still cropped short enough that such an action showed his abs, “Pretty much over and done with old BB before I even opened my eyes.”

“You seem pretty confident about it,” Cody raised an eyebrow, “The Beauxbatons Billywigs beat your team just last year.”

“Yeah, but they were missing their fearsome captain, and secret weapon,” Quinlan gave him a simmering look.

The crowd was erupting into cheers, his hand selected teammates were standing behind him. He didn’t have to turn to look. He was supported by a couple of his brothers, his best mate, another team captain. Cody gave Quinlan a wild smile, “Well while they were missing you, my team’s always had me.” It didn’t matter that they were different houses, because it wasn’t like Cody hadn’t offered his knowledge to any who asked for it over the years.

They shook hands and they were off.

Obi-Wan was starting to wonder why he let himself get dragged into this.

He ducked, dodging a rogue bludger that sailed past him before returning quite fiercely to the fray. Fives and Echo worked effortlessly together giving the Durmstrang chasers something to keep an eye on besides the Quaffle. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to be enough. It was like their chasers couldn’t get their hands on the Quaffle at all.

It wasn’t like they weren’t trying, but even at Cody’s wildest, Durmstrang seemed to dodge the attempts to apprehend the red ball easily. Aayla and Cody had crashed into each other most recently leaving the field wide open while Shu Mai hovered quietly nearby. The Slytherin was likely waiting for a moment to strike, but it wasn’t ideal to leave Obi-Wan as the only defender on the field. Still, he braced himself and managed to block the scoring attempt judging from the quick glance in Quinlan’s eyes.

The Quaffle sailed into Aayla’s hands, but she was quickly steamrolled by a much larger Durmstrang boy. She hauled herself back onto her broom, likely with a few muttered curses, before darting after them. Cody was aggressively trying to block the Durmstrang bloke, using his bulk to try and take up as much of the path forward as possible. Shu Mai then flittered in and was able to swipe the Quaffle- or would have been. She collided with Aayla and the two spiraled out, leaving only Cody. The Durmstrang team easily overpowered him, tossing the Quaffle back and forth with practiced ease before managing to sink it into the left goal post while Obi-Wan found himself flipping upside down to avoid two bludgers coming for him at once.

Cody cursed and Obi-Wan glanced over, his friend looked frustrated, understandably, a slight pull of his brow painted his face with worry. Obi-Wan knew his friend had been a bit nervous initially, but his confidence had still shone through. Now it was like it had largely disappeared. Cody looked more like he was struggling to survive than thinking of a new plan.

“Cody-” Obi-Wan was about to suggest a time out when he nearly got blown off his broom by Breha and the Durmstrang seeker both streaking past him. The wind ruffled his hair as he tried to recover fast enough to block another attempt to score, he was too slow.

“And that’s a win for the Durmstrang Dungbeetles!”

Obi-Wan turned to see the Durmstrang seeker raising her hand up proudly while Breha was red faced and angry. Upon rejoining the team on the ground it was Breha who was first to speak.

“I would have had it if that bloody harpy didn’t have the wingspan of a dragon,” She spat, pieces of her dark hair sticking out oddly from where they’d escaped her ponytail. Breha, who had struggled on a failing team for years had reserved her upset for a likely more private moment, but the soreness of losing again was permeating the atmosphere, “All you chasers,” She turned the critical eye of a captain on all three of them, “What was that, you were practically fighting each other as much as the other team! Shu Mai, where was any warning there?”

“I shouldn’t need to warn them, they should have more awareness,” She crossed her arms and stuck her nose up. Still Obi-Wan had seen her embarrass herself in front of the Minister of Magic once and she was drumming her fingers against her arm the same way.

“You almost took me out!” Aayla complained, however she, like perhaps he was as well, was less concerned about the loss. It was time to begin strategizing the next match.

“You didn’t look around before making that decision,” Eeth Koth was on approach, easily chastising Aayla, but still turning to Shu Mai, “ Your main issue was perhaps a more selfish approach to a team sport.”

“I’m not looking to end up splayed out on the ground thank you,” Shu Mai huffed.

Obi-Wan lifted his gaze and noticed Quinlan on approach. He looked over at Cody who looked dangerously deep in thought and nudged him until he blinked.

“Well that was fun wasn’t it!” Quinlan was walking with his broom behind his neck, arms draped around it, “Nice fun warm up, for the last game of the day hmm?” Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

Cody took longer than he normally would to respond, “We’ll see about that.” It was short and simple, Cody wasn’t smiling, instead he looked carefully neutral as Quinlan shrugged and headed off towards the stands.

“Alright so we’re up against Beauxbatons next,” Aayla looked between Obi-Wan, Eeth, and Bolla Ropal who looked deep in thought, “What do we know?” She turned towards Cody who looked stunned for a moment before slipping quickly back to his role of captain.

“Well Hera’s quick…” He looked skyward, “They all are. They won their tournament in 1971 based entirely on speed and the strategy’s likely been passed down.”

“Well we have speed,” Aayla pointed out.

“That’s very true!” Eeth perked up, “I noticed they used a variety of head tilts and a few subtle gestures to communicate with each other.”

“Strategy seems important to them,” Breha piped up, “Did you see how careful they were? They stuck to their preassigned positions like they were glued to them.”

“I think it’s best to attack aggressively,” Bolla Ropal suggested.

“But we still need to be speedy,” Ferus spoke up, “Um, aggressively speedy?”

“That’s probably the best tactic,” Shu Mai gave a begrudging nod to her fellow Slytherin.

“So that takes care of the chasers, but what about the beaters,” Anakin, who seemed quite bored from sitting the first match out, looked over at Fives and Echo, “No offense mates, but you did sort of flub several of those angles.”

“What?!” Fives complained, “We were on fire!”

“Well you do work well together,” Anakin held out his beater’s bat, “But you tried to hit that one like this,” He demonstrated, “But it would have probably been better to go like this!” He turned and showed a difference of angle and strength, “It would have hit that other Beater for sure.”

“Bolla,” Breha looked towards the other Seeker with a curious look, “Do you have any notes for me?”

The other Seeker shook his head, “Seeking is mostly about looking, that’s a hard thing to teach. It’s not your fault that her arms were longer.”

“Oh!” Anakin removed himself from the headlock Fives was giving him and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a slightly singed piece of parchment paper and handed it to Breha, “Rex told me to give this to you, since he couldn’t make it today.” The other third year Gryffindor had wound up in detention, “He said it has his super secret strategy on it, might come in handy.”

“Ah, thanks Anakin,” Breha looked at the parchment quizzically, “I’ll be sure to thank Rex later.”

Cody finally cleared his throat gaining the attention of his thrown together team, “Alright so we’ll be needing to line up soon. I’d like to make some changes to the opening line up,” He gave all of them a once over, “I’m going to swap out Shu Mai for Bana-”

Shu Mai growled, but surprisingly didn’t say anything of the contrary.

“Next I’ll switch out Echo for Anakin,” Unlike the previous pair, Echo just offered a high five to Anakin who accepted eagerly, “Finally I’d like Bolla to join us for this match,” Breha just nodded at her alternate and moved to stand next to Eeth, “I think this will maximize our team’s speed-”

“Except you,” Shu Mai spoke up, all eyes turned to her and she shrugged, “I don’t think you're the picture of aerodynamics. Trying to get all the glory?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth for a defense, but Cody himself beat him to it, “If I’m slowing my team down, I’ll pull myself out of the line up,” He assured which seemed to surprise her. Obi-Wan supposed in Slytherin, it would be more likely for someone to sink the team’s odds in favor of themselves. It was just another reason that he found himself delighted to not be a part of it.

The team started to scatter, moving to their line ups or drifting towards the bench. Obi-Wan caught Cody’s shoulder before he could move to meet Hera in the center of the field.

“What’s bothering you?” He asked and when he could see Cody about to deflect his question he added, “Really?”

“I guess I’m just a bit concerned, by our loss,” Cody said carefully and Obi-Wan crossed his arms.

“You’ve lost before.”

“This feels… different,” Cody admitted, eyes darting to Hera, “Like the stakes are much higher.”

“Whether they are or not,” Obi-Wan reasoned, “You told me we had Hogwarts’ best out here on the field.”

“We do,” Cody answered quickly.

“Then in order to win,” Obi-Wan pushed, “You can’t stop believing that. We need your conviction.”

Obi-Wan could practically see the seed he was trying to plant in his friend's mind bloom as Cody straightened, “You’re right. We have the best team out here. We just have to try something new.”

“Don’t try,” Obi-Wan gave him a small smile and a shrug, “Do.”

Losing a match was always something that stung. Cody had been through plenty of defeats in his time playing Quidditch, but there was something about losing to that showoff Quinlan that hurt a little bit more. Quinlan was just about as competitive as Cody found himself on most days, but the other boy was more cocky. Cody had definitely spotted Quinlan sat next to Satine up in the team’s bleachers, feet up on the railing as if he couldn’t care less who won this current match-

Cody narrowly avoided a bludger to the head.

The current match. Yes he wasn’t facing Quinlan and Durmstrang, he was facing Hera and Beauxbatons. And he was just about to miss the Quaffle coming right at him with all his focus on the other team in the bleachers. He managed to swipe it, ducking under a broom and tossing it with a little too much power to Aayla who still managed to catch it with a grunt and a scowl. She dipped around the last chaser and without slowing down managed to make it through the rings on the other side.

Hera and her team were definitely not an easy break. They were basically neck and neck and Hera had flown circles around him without so much as batting an eye. He was likely the slowest out of his chasers so he’d have to thank Anakin personally for keeping her occupied with some very accurate bludgers. Anakin had his ups and downs over these first few years of Quidditch, but it seemed as the boy grew and practiced he was only getting better and better. Fives worked with him almost as well as Echo just simply from proximity even if he wouldn’t admit it. They were rather fearsome.

The only thing was… Bana, who had shown to be one of the quickest chasers, wasn't really the best at reading the field. She tossed him the Quaffle and it was intercepted before it had fully released from her hand. She looked so baffled that Cody couldn't do anything except call for a time out after Beauxbatons had successfully zipped past Obi-Wan’s defense.

They all hit the ground and Cody made little work of switching out Bana and calling on someone who was a bit of a wild card, “Ferus,” The Slytherin straightened. He was a beater on his home team, but Cody was sure after training with him a bit that he could do this, “We’re going to try you out.” He nodded and quickly took position. Cody then looked towards Eeth and Breha who looked like they were still deep in discussion of tactics and he felt his hold on his broom tighten.

He’d invited them on this team not just because of their skills, but because as fellow captains they had strategy. He’d been a bit too proud earlier to ask them their opinions, but they seemed willing to give it between matches. He looked at them now and swallowed that baseless pride, “Do you see any more changes we could make?”

Breha smiled at him, her hair twisted much smoother than it had been, “I think you should stick closer to Hera, she seems to thrive on open air.”

“Aayla, your turns need to be sharper,” Eeth added and Aayla grinned like a shark.

“I thought you said specifically not to do that in our matches last year?” She straightened a twig at the end of her broom, “That it was ‘dangerous’ .”

“It is,” Eeth scowled, “But now’s the time.”

“Bolla,” Breha whispered something to him, Cody couldn’t hear. It wouldn’t be the location of the snitch as that would be some pretty foul rule breaking that the Hufflepuff would never submit to. It must have been good though because the other seeker smiled.

“Anakin, Fives” Cody threw his arms around the younger boys, “I actually think I might have an idea.”

“If you’re in need of mischief you’ve come to the right place,” Fives grinned as if it wasn’t abundantly obvious to anyone who’s met him already.

Cody turned towards the rest of the team, “Beauxbatons aren't quick to anger, they’re very careful, guarded. I think if we try something to throw them off it will work better than any old quidditch play. That being said, Shu Mai?” The Slytherin looked up in surprise from her place on the bench, “You’re going to swap with me,” The girl stood up quickly, “On one condition,” The two stared at each other for a minute. The Slytherin clearly trying for an air of superiority and ultimately wavering, “You need to work together with Ferus and Aayla, I think the three of you could really show them something… unique.”

Shu Mai looked around, expression guarded, but just barely. For someone with such small eyes they were wider than he’d ever seen, “Deal.”

“Then here’s the plan…”

Anakin was loving this plan.

He and Fives were essentially playing the world's most deadly game of ping pong, zipping around sending the bludgers flying across the field at wildly alarming speeds. He wasn’t worried about hitting anyone at this time, Cody told him it was the chaos that would do the trick. He seemed to be right so far, they’d already startled the other team's beaters and one of the chasers had flown straight into an oncoming bludger. Obi-Wan was having an easier time blocking the hoops (and boy was it weird they were playing on the same team). Anakin accidently knocked a bludger a little too close to the hoops and earned a stern expression.

“Sorry!” He said a little too merrily to seem like he meant it. It did feel nice to do something normal with his mentor again. This was the closest they’d been to actually speaking for months and although Anakin still didn’t know what to say or anything, he was going to enjoy the normalcy.

Shu Mai made a carefully crafted play involving zig zagging down the field the wrong way just to hand off the Quaffle easier to Ferus, who really was one of the biggest surprises. The Slytherin beater had an easy knack for chasing, it did have Anakin wondering if Slytherin had correctly picked their positions for their team. Ferus seemed surprised himself, but worked seamlessly with Aayla to playfully pass the Quaffle back and forth until finally Aayla ducked under and Ferus over, allowing Aayla to dunk the ball into the hoop right next to the quite surprised face of Beauxbatons’ keeper.

Anakin glanced down at the bench where the three house captains were standing quite close together. He wasn’t sure what they were planning, but he hoped it was how to end this match sooner. His arm was getting tired! He still continued to ping pong the bludgers back towards Fives who deviated one towards the other team's beaters who were trying to sneak up on him. The other beater was surprised enough to be caught in the chest.

Beauxbatons called a time out just as Anakin clipped Hera’s shoulder. Both teams grounded quickly and Anakin couldn’t help but smirk as the other team’s frustrated Beater tossed their bat at the ground in anger.

“Alright! Bring it in!” Cody, face lit up quite happily as he looked around at the team, clapped Ferus and Shu Mai on the back. Both looked surprised exchanging glances with each other, “Great job, honestly that zig zag play was genius! They’re on the run for sure, look.”

Anakin did look. Beauxbatons was huddled closely together, clearly working hard at a strategy. Which speaking of…

“So what’s the plan now?” Aayla asked bouncing on the balls of her feet, “I’ve got a few clever ideas up my sleeve-”

“Just play like normal,” Eeth raised an eyebrow at her.

“What? After all that?” Fives crossed his arms.

“We’ve confused them,” Breha pointed out, “They’re angry now that they’re losing and they can’t figure out our next move.”

“They’re going to be preparing to defend against the chaos we just put them in,” Cody pointed out, “But now we’re going to throw them off again. The goal now is, Bolla?” He turned towards the Ravenclaw, “I need you to get that snitch fast, they won’t fall for it for long.”

As they headed back towards the field to line up, Anakin did notice Beauxbatons’ Beaters watching him closely. A glance around provided him with a small look into their thought process. The Chasers were standing closer together and their Seeker was a little too close to their Keeper. It was likely a way to prevent getting offed by a bludger, but not conducive to catching the snitch.

Up in the air the other team’s Beater was trying to match him pace for pace, they seemed surprised when Fives sent a bludger quite casually towards their Keeper and Anakin sent only one hit towards the chasers before changing positions.

The plan worked, in the midst of Beauxbatons trying to reroute after another change in play, Bolla Ropal held up his hand lazily. The snitch fluttering between his fingers, no one had even noticed him catch it.

Quinlan watched in mild interest as Hogwarts’ seeker landed back on the ground. He’d honestly expected this whole match to be a wash. Beauxbatons was not a team to ignore, they’d bested Durmstrang several times in the past and have certainly never let them live it down. Hera herself had led her team of very fast flyers, they had some of the newest brooms available, but it was more than that. Their technique was strong, calculated turning and careful handling kept them more agile than most bothered to learn to be.

Hogwarts next to them looked choppy and unorganized. Although he supposed that was partly his own fault. Demanding to play all of Hogwarts and not Cody Fett’s actual team didn’t make for the smoothest transition. Despite the challenge though they had managed to throw the Billywigs off course. It was a little impressive, he supposed. Quinlan sighed as he stood up from the stands.

Maybe that’s why he’d done it in the first place. He didn’t have anything to prove, if anything Fett was the one who was trying to prove something. What exactly he wasn’t certain. He’d only agreed to this sham tournament because there was a certain someone he was trying to keep off his mind.

He shook his head as he stepped foot on the field. No he would not think of her again, she was gone and perhaps that was for the best. He waltzed his way across the field. He held himself in an unbothered sort of way and crossed his arms as he stood confidently across from Fett and his team.

“Hope your team didn’t sack you yet,” Quinlan faked concern, “Seeing as how you found yourself benched.”

Fett smirked throwing Quinlan off, “Just needed another angle.”

An angle? Quinlan furrowed his brow, but shook it off, “I don’t think you can get any better than up in the air, ya know where the match is?”

“I do know thank you,” Fett nonchalantly thumbed over a smudge on his broom, “Haven’t gotten lost yet.”

“You seemed pretty lost facing us,” Quinlan gestured to his team behind him.

Fett eyed him up, quiet a moment before, “You know Vos, winning isn’t everything.”

“Well it will be,” Quinlan pointed out with a snort, “lose to us here and it’s all over.”

Fett shook his head, “I don’t think I have anything to worry about,” He shot a smile back to where-

Wait.

Behind Fett were three players, which would indicate that all the chaser spots were filled…

“Are you planning on sitting out again, Captain?” Quinlan felt his lips curl upwards, oh he scared him after all.

Fett however rolled his eyes, “Don’t think I’d miss this one, Vos.”

He then turned around and walked away. Quinlan watched him go, frozen until he saw him take up the Keeper’s position, turning to face him and Durmstrang with a carefully neutral look.

This had to be a joke.

Quinlan moved back to take his position.

He wasn’t naive and he doubted Fett was either, despite his oddities. Quinlan had trained as a Chaser his whole life and he’d come out on top because of it. Did Fett really think he could just willy nilly swap around on the field? Quinlan would definitely not let him live this one down.

He got a hold of the Quaffle quickly and darted aggressively across the field. Hogwarts team moved out of the way in shock and his own team hadn’t even moved to follow him. Not that it mattered it was just about him and his dignity.

Quinlan swooped around, changing position and making sure to move his aim around wildly, there was no way he’d be able to tell that he was shooting for the-

Left hoop…

In surprise Quinlan watched for a second longer than he normally would have as the Quaffle fell between them. He looked back up at Fett who looked to be appraising him, looking through him. He growled as he swooped down to reclaim the Quaffle. He wasn’t about to let that one go.

Cody wasn’t stupid. Despite of course what maybe some of his test scores would indicate (although even those a couple of annoying Ravenclaw prefects would argue against). Although Cody had trained in several Quidditch positions it was always in mock matches and he’d certainly never played Keeper in a game yet. He felt like he owed Kenobi an apology because these Chasers zooming around were going to give him a headache.

He ducked as a bludger zoomed past, but didn’t let it phase him enough to let any of the Durmstrang chasers score.

He waited until his team had successfully scored before he called time out. No, he hadn’t been planning on playing much in this role, despite the new complexities it created and was quite interesting. He needed someone who was more practiced. His boots hit the ground before the rest of his team and they quickly descended on the bench.

“Did you see Quinlan miss that shot?” Eeth grinned, “I thought his face might soon match his uniform.”

“Those Beaters didn’t expect me either,” Anakin piped up, “And Maris did a cool backwards hit!” He turned to the sixth year, “You’ve got to teach me that one!”

“Alright, alright,” Cody held out his hands as he took in his team composition, “Don’t get cocky, that would defeat our whole plan. We wanted to throw Quinlan a curveball and we did. His whole team is thrown off,” Cody looked around carefully, “I’m not sure if anyone else noticed, but their Seeker almost caught the snitch, if it wasn’t for their own chaser running straight into them.” That mellowed things out again.

“We need to focus,” He turned, “I’m taking over for Eeth, Clovis? You're up.”

“Yes sir!” Clovis sprung up giving a half sort of salute.

“I want to be upset,” Eeth sat himself back down on the bench, “But it was worth it just to see that chaser on the left practically spit poison at Quinlan.”

“Er, Cody,” Obi-Wan caught his attention while the rest of the team chatted amongst themselves, “Are you sure about this? I can go on.”

While it was true that Kenobi could, he had the willpower and he certainly didn’t know how to complain. Cody shook his head, “I need you for the last match so rest up.”

“But Cody,” Obi-Wan gave him that too familiar look of criticism, “If we lose this match, there won’t be another match.”

And while it was rare for Kenobi to be wrong Cody didn’t even bother to entertain the fact, “We’re not going to lose.”

“Cody I’m all about the power of positive thinking but-”

Cody, who had glanced over to where Quinlan and his team seemed to be lashing out at one another, shook his head, “We’re not going to lose.”

Obi-Wan had been skeptical of this plan. Quinlan had never seemed the type to anger easily, but somehow Cody had managed. He was keeping up with Quinlan probably better than anyone ever had. It was almost like he was a completely different player from their first match against Durmstrang. Every throw Cody intercepted, every move Cody was there, and the whole time Cody didn’t bother being smug or cheer he just kept a steady cold focus on his target.

The rest of Durmstrang’s team wasn’t much help either. Aayla was flying circles around her target and Ferus was doing well at keeping his fellow chaser as far from the action as he could. Anakin and Maris had a surprisingly good meshing, even if she was only there to give Fives a break after Obi-Wan was quite sure the boy had given himself carpal tunnel.

The thing about this tournament was that given the nature of events they’d found themselves playing 3 straight matches and if Cody was right they’d be on their 4th shortly. That was tough on a player of any level let alone students.

Clovis, who was currently playing keeper, was doing a pretty stand up job. Cody had apparently been working with him on the side for a couple months to improve his defense and it was manifesting itself in some rather crafty blocks. He’d still missed a couple of, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, easy blocks, but overall not bad.

Suddenly Breha zoomed low, so low Obi-Wan’s own hair was ruffled and he stepped back on instinct as Durmstrang’s seeker had followed quite closely behind. Breha had managed it though, holding the snitch in the air as the Durmstrang seeker seemed to resist the urge to snap her own broom in half.

Quinlan wasn’t used to feeling out of breath after a match, but he did. Holding his broom in a tight grip he gathered his team together, but couldn’t find anything substantial to say. If anything he was mad. He hadn’t been planning on losing today, especially not to that thrown together team.

He approached Fett who looked to be waiting on him. Quinlan grit his teeth.

“Was that a good enough warm up for you?” Fett prompted upon his approach, “Because the real match starts now.” There was something different about him. Fett still seemed confident like the last time they’d spoken, but this time there was a quiet fire behind his voice. He didn’t intend to lose today either.

“At least I didn’t forget which position I play,” Quinlan tried, but it was a lousy barb.

Fett looked over his shoulder with a shrug, “Thought I’d try something new, you didn’t like it?”

“I’ve been training my position for years,” He defended before he could stop himself.

Fett however just shrugged, “Kind of limiting isn’t it?”

“What do you want to swap around your players and find out?” Quinlan crossed his arms, but Cody just gave him a funny sort of smile.

“I mean, I sort of did that already didn’t I?” Fett threw a thumb behind him, “Ferus is Slytherin’s beater, Clovis is Gryffindor’s chaser.”

Quinlan stared towards Ferus as if expecting the boy to dispute this. The kid had caught a particularly difficult interception just 10 minutes ago; there was no way…

Fett continued as if Quinlan had asked about it, “I saw remarkable potential in Ferus, he’s an okay Beater, but he’s really got a knack for Chasing I could tell.”

“You could tell?” Quinlan repeated, “You staked his position on your team because ’you could tell’?”

Fett shrugged, “I weighed all the odds, this is Hogwarts most statistically sound team. I believe in them.”

“That… Doesn’t make any sense,” Quinlan felt his head spin trying to see the angle here. Half of these students had never played with one another and now some of them had been swapped to something new and they still thought they had a chance. Maybe they had just gotten lucky.

“I’ll have more time to explain it to you after the match if you actually want to know,” Fett suggested. Quinlan didn’t answer, just moved back to allow them to take flight one more time.

The thing about being a chaser, was that technically the points you made didn’t matter. To Cody he would never admit that he even considered that. He took his position seriously and he would and could tell anyone who asked, or several that didn’t, about all the matches where this wasn’t true. He didn’t want to give the other team satisfaction of drawing ahead and he wouldn’t let them gain the upperhand even if it all technically came down to a little golden ball with wings.

For example, Quinlan had just had his toss blocked by Obi-Wan who had thrown Cody the Quaffle with barely even a glance in his direction. Quinlan, who likely felt similarly to Cody, was unhappy with this, but even more so when Cody moved quickly across the field and managed to sneak past Durmstrang’s Keeper.

Durmstrang was ahead this match, clearly not taking the last match lying down. Still with Cody’s latest goal they were only ahead by one. He did notice that all traces of arrogance had vanished from the other team. Durmstrang was finally taking them seriously it seemed.

Cody passed the Quaffle to Aayla who stealthily passed to Ferus who managed to score again. Breha caught his attention with a careful hand signal. She’d seen the snitch, but it had disappeared again. The other Seeker didn’t seem to have noticed.

Cody blocked Durmstrang from scoring just as he got clipped by a bludger. There wasn’t much someone could do to keep a seeker from finding the snitch… except maybe something flashy, something distracting. And there was one move Cody had cooked up but hadn’t been willing to try yet. He signaled to Ferus to move further up the field and Aayla, who had caught the Quaffle, passed it to Ferus.

Ferus was swamped pretty quickly, but held tight until he found an opening to toss to Cody. Cody grabbed the ball out of the air before it could plummet to the ground and flew straight down the field. Quinlan, who hadn’t fallen for Ferus’ bait, stood between him and the goal post. Caught now in a game of chicken, Cody didn’t budge, but neither did Quinlan. The set up was perfect, just how he’d practiced in the back garden with Hevy.

The only difference was he trusted Hevy not to let him fall and he wasn’t sure he could trust the man in front of him.

Just before they would have crashed, he twisted his broom handle just so, his broom stopped suddenly, catapulting him into the air, above Quinlan, higher than the head of the very surprised looking Keeper. He threw the Quaffle, but the shock hadn’t been enough and his play was caught in very surprised hands. Cody’s own hand managed to catch hold on the back of Quinlan’s broom.

This is where he expected everything to go wrong. Most likely Quinlan would buck him off and he’d wake up in the hospital wing… again. However instead when he looked up at Quinlan he was met with slack jawed astonishment.

Since he wasn’t being tossed to the ground Cody turned his attention to the multi-colored confetti littering the air.

“Hogwarts Wins!”

Breha had done it, sealing their win with a sneaky catch right under the other team’s nose.

Quinlan didn’t waste time steering his broom towards the ground. Cody let go as soon as his feet brushed the ground and was about to turn to his team before being stopped by a hand stuck out towards him.

Quinlan’s eyes were still wide, his hair in a wild sort of disarray that really suited him, “That was crazy.”

Cody tentatively took the offered hand and shook it, “Good game. I can see why the Arrows wanted you.”

“Man I don’t even know what team’s going to want a crazy bugger like you,” Quinlan shook his head, “Either way I’ll look forward to seeing you on the field in the future, Fett.”

Cody took in the sight of Hogwarts’ arena. This time things felt a little more bittersweet. This was it, the last game he’d play for his school. He looked back towards Quinlan however and saw what he hoped was his future. Facing off against other talented individuals from around the world and coming up with ways to take them down.

“Right back at you, Vos.”

Satine considered herself to be a supportive friend and girlfriend. She’d talked Cody off the ledge from every quidditch loss and indulged his excitement during Gryffindor’s tremendous victories (even if she still hated the sport). She visited Kit Fisto’s watery grave this summer along with Aayla, to show quiet strength and support for her (semi-delusional) friend in mourning. She still hadn’t told anyone about the time Stass peed herself in the middle of potions class third year. And obviously, the list went on and on when it came to the lengths she went to in order to support Obi-Wan Kenobi- not just in academia or life, but this bloody tournament as well.

However, she found she very well might draw the line at listening to the horrid musical conduct of Kowakian Lizard-Monkeys. That is to say, the misconduct , seeing as the window panes quite literally began to splinter and crack at their squawking.

He’d gotten himself woven into yet another thread of responsibility, which though she reminded him he did not need, he still took on with the same pride he applied to anything else. He patiently dedicated an hour of his evenings to coaxing the single Monkey-Lizard they had (the other had mysteriously escaped, though she was a bit concerned what the power of two would have sounded like) into producing Tahl’s arrangement.

It seemed there was a creature to represent each school’s traditions. Hogwarts, predictably, had the assistance of the frog choir while Beauxbaton would be represented by the pretty little wood nymphs who sat politely in a line on Tahl’s desk. If Satine didn’t know any better, she’d say they were trying to flirt with Obi-Wan every time he asked them to sing their part.

And the Kowakians were, of course, there for Durmstrang. Or more notedly, the Hutt’s.

The entire point of the ensemble was to promote togetherness, even if that prospect might have been long gone. Satine could appreciate the gesture, although she wasn’t sure the other schools would reciprocate.

“Alright, friends, let’s take it from the top,” Obi-Wan said gently and her heart really did melt at his kindness towards all creatures. He could be absolutely infuriating or positively endearing, but she found she cared for him just as much either way.

Satine suddenly found herself missing muggle music as she heard all three creatures “sing” together. The Kowakians were meant to sing soprano, the wood nymphs alto, and the frogs bass. However, it currently sounded like a deranged cat in a blender.

Trying as she might to keep her eyes down on her textbook, she must have worn her distaste for the sound, because after a pause, she heard a telling “hmm” from Obi-Wan at the front. She flicked her gaze towards him to find that curious frown etched across his lips.

“It’s definitely a bit too sharp, isn’t it?” He asked.

She couldn’t tell if it was she he was asking or Tahl, but she gave a noncommittal shrug to indicate she really didn’t know what it was supposed to sound like.

“It needs something,” Tahl commented mildly, as though her eardrums weren’t about to combust. Satine didn’t see how. She’d read that those who went blind often experienced heightened sensitivity for sound.

“It sounds like they’re working against each other,” He said in agreement, “It needs to sound like they’re singing three different harmonies. Perhaps, working separately first would be better. So, they can learn their own parts.”

“That is how I encourage my students.” She said, “Perhaps, it was foolhardy to assume they would be any different.”

“This truly is a lovely piece, Professor,” Obi-Wan said, skimming his eyes over the sheet music. “Isn’t it, Satine?”

Satine would have scowled if she could have without hurting the music Professor’s feelings. She hadn’t even the faintest idea that they’d started singing or performing until Obi-Wan had begun to give notes. It sounded a lot more like the creatures were just screeching at the highest pitch possible.

“I’m sure it will be beautiful once played to its true intention,” She said diplomatically, being sure to give Obi-Wan a proper glare for putting her on the spot. He didn’t seem phased, of course, because why would he be? He’d been on the receiving end of her glares for years.

“Satine, you’re very sweet, but you can just say it’s bloody dreadful right now,” Tahl barked out a laugh, causing Satine’s jaw to drop and an immediate flurry of denial to instantly pour. It was this, she suspected, which led to Obi-Wan heartily taking part in laughter at her expense.

While it would normally be nice to see Obi-Wan and Tahl getting on as well as they had been this past week, Satine felt her cheeks heating up at their shared teasing.

When they calmed down, Obi-Wan smiled back at her, “They will sound great when we figure out how to meld their sounds. This trio will compliment each other once we come to that conclusion. Just as ours does.”

Recovering from her own embarrassment, she swiftly shifted into a challenging position as she gave him a warning glance, “Careful who you presume is who of our trio in comparison to these little creatures.”

“As though you’d be anything but the wood nymph,” He rolled his eyes, though the wood nymph didn’t seem too pleased about it, instead turning her dainty nose up to Satine and scooting closer to where Obi-Wan’s arm rested on the desk.

“There you go.” Tahl said.

“After all, she’s the only girl present!” Obi-Wan added unhelpfully.

“Someone is keen on being in trouble,” Tahl laughed and Satine couldn’t help but also chuckle.

“What?” He asked, genuinely boggled. “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” Satine said, beginning to gather her books, “But you’re the frog.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s obvious,” She said.

“Is it?” He asked looking at the frog and trying to figure out how his vocal stylings or likeness compared as such. “Why am I a frog?”

“Because you are most certainly not a prince,” She quipped and rose to her feet with purpose, relishing in the background laughter of the amused professor. If nothing else came of this night, at least Professor Tahl was having a good time. As it were, Satine was beginning to get a headache from all the music .

“Oh but you my dear,” He caught her by the hand before she could pass, holding her knuckles up to his mouth, “Put all princesses to shame.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere now,” She sighed, even if she did allow him to place a kiss on her hand. “I will see you in the common room, yes? I’ve got to stop by the library to return some books.”

“I can walk you,” He began to rise to his feet, but she shook her head.

“-Nonsense, you’re having fun,” She smiled at him, giving his hand a squeeze so he knew she wasn’t actually displeased with him, “Don’t be too late, we’ve got a charms quiz tomorrow.”

“Satine, I promise, I will carry him to the common room myself if he tries to stay past curfew,” Tahl was still smiling, but there was a sense of severity and responsibility about her that made Satine trust this to be true, “Every good champion needs his rest.”

Obi-Wan groaned, “I am capable of getting myself to bed, thank you.”

“That is very much in debate,” Satine said, tapping him on the nose with her forefinger.

Padmé, despite having to attend countless formal parties and meetings over the arrangement of it, never developed a predilection for tea. In the UK, it was significantly more popular than the alternative of coffee, but having parents from outside the country, she’d always fancied the aroma and texture of coffee. There was something more artistic about the process of brewing coffee. You could really get lavish with it and design shapes into the foam or blend different creams and sugars to result in a different flavor. Yes, tea was arguably easier, but there was very little room for error with tossing a bag in hot water and stirring.

Her mother had always been against it when she was young, stating that it would stunt her growth. However, at the tender age of fifteen, Padmé hadn’t seen any further signs of physical growth in sight. All the women in her family, both on her father and mother’s side, were small ladies of stature and big in personality. She was already taller than her mother and would certainly need the boost in energy come next year for OWLS.

They did serve some form of coffee at breakfast as an option, though by the bland taste of it, very little effort was put in to give it much flavor or kick. She even suspected that it was decaffeinated, just as tea usually was when offered to students.

So, it was only fitting that Padmé began to brew her own coffee.

She’d been able to purchase a bag of beans during the last trip to Hogsmeade. She’d initially been shocked to even find them at Madam Puddifoot’s for sale, but they had recently begun to sell a line of coffee and coffee related products under the moniker “Espresso Patronum”. It was quite creative, actually, and the bag was a shimmery blue with various holographic animals that sparkled in the light, all meant to emulate an actual patronus.

She’d purchased a couple of bags, just in case she wasn’t able to get it right, and had managed to convince the kitchen staff to allow her entry when they weren’t in the midst of meal rushes. This meant that if she wanted a special brand of coffee, she’d have to have it during the off-hours. This suited her needs just fine, as she anticipated most hours studying were spent when everyone else was winding down for the evening.

She’d just returned with a fresh canister full of the latte she’d managed to make for herself (after only two rather pitiful attempts), ready to do a bit of reading in the library to try and further unravel the mystery of sabotage in this TriWizard tournament. With Rex in detention and Anakin practicing spells with Professor Palpatine, it looked like she was going to be at it alone tonight.

That was, until she caught sight of Satine also in the library, carrying a few large tomes back to the table she usually occupied with Cody and Obi-Wan. Presently, the table was otherwise empty, which led Padmé to wonder if Satine was in a similar position that evening. Not wanting to disturb her, but also craving some of her input, she debated on how to approach, but didn’t need to for very long when Satine tripped and dropped all of her books quite loudly to the ground.

“Blast,” She muttered under her breath, cheeks a bit pink from causing any ruckus.

Padmé winced and hurried over, kneeling to help her retrieve the fallen books. This also gave her the opportunity to check out what she’d been reading. There were a few on expert level protective charms, advanced history of magic memoirs, and most notably, Hogwarts: A History volumes 18, 20, and 21.

“Got anything in particular against volume 19?” She joked, feeling it a decent place to start. Nowhere was it written that just because this useless quarrel was still ongoing between Obi-Wan and Anakin that the two of them couldn’t speak.

After all, Anakin was hardly the same to her as Obi-Wan was to Satine.

The older girl didn’t seem particularly thrown by Padmé’s presence in the slightest and huffed out a laugh, “Nothing, but it seems it’s been checked out by a quicker reader. I’d like to get a full picture of Hogwarts’ past in order to understand this tournament better.”

“Same,” She said, “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Are you kidding? I’d love the company,” Satine smiled, “Though I do wonder what good you think you’ll get from consuming coffee so soon before bed.”

“Right,” Padmé laughed nervously, wrapping a hand around the pink canister with her initials on the side, “It’s er- it’s decaf.”

“If you say so,” The Head Girl raised a scrutinizing brow at Padmé before turning back to her reading materials and placing them on the nearby table, “But you know, we’re really not all that different. I used to burn myself out in hopes of getting ahead too.”

Padmé really tried not to let the fact that Satine saw them as similar people go to her head at that moment and nodded along to the advice she was ready to dole out. Some thought that Satine was too prone to beration, but Padmé knew how women and girls were often perceived as bossy when they were simply just, born to be bosses or leaders.

“You did?” She asked, prompting her to continue.

“I did,” She said, “I mean, it wasn’t all for that purpose. To me, it felt more like catching up than getting ahead, actually. I was a muggle born who knew nothing of magic having not grown up with it.”

“That’s true,” Padmé said, thinking back to all the things that had been normal for her growing up, but completely anew for someone like Satine.

“It was always exciting to find something new and I never wanted to rest at risk of slipping further behind the eight ball,” Satine explained, her eyes a bit far off as she thought of a younger age.

“So, what happened?”

“Falling asleep during class is bad, but flying class? Far from ideal,” Satine smiled a bit ruefully, “But I learned that the moments you spend resting are often just as important as those you spend awake. Burning yourself down to the bottom of the wick is like sprinting at the start of a run. That might work for a short distance, but if you want to go long, you’ll have to develop endurance.”

Then with a bit of somberness befalling her, she cleared her throat, “Qui-Professor Jinn taught me that.”

Padmé hadn’t known Professor Jinn very well on a personal level. She’d taken his Muggle Studies class the previous year, and had been remorseful when he’d passed, but most of her grief was towards Anakin and even Obi-Wan. Most, including herself, tended to forget how close Satine was to him too.

She’d lost someone and Padmé wondered briefly if she’d truly been allowed to grieve in the shadow of severity that engulfed those more dependent on Qui-Gon.

“Sounds like you’ve passed on that bit of wisdom quite a bit,” Padmé said lightly.

“Trust me, I’m still constantly trying to get my boyfriend into bed,” She shook her head and then paused, flushing instantly at her own faux paux, which Padmé’s giggles did not help, “Oh hush, you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Padmé said and eyed her coffee carefully before sliding it a bit out of reach. If Satine noticed, she didn’t comment on it.

So, the two girls got to work, chatting idly as they flipped through the books Satine had chosen to pour over.

“We’re definitely going to need volume 19,” Satine murmured after closing the end of volume 18. Padmé hadn’t gotten very far into 20 and was more in awe that Satine had charted as much success as she had.

“Where does 18 leave off?” She asked.

“Just as the last TriWizard Tournament was announced,” She said, flipping the large book over as though there would be a hidden message on the back, “Strange way to end it, honestly.”

“Yeah, well volume 20 doesn’t even acknowledge such a thing happened,” Padmé said, “Though Hogwarts did undoubtedly seem like a much darker place back then.”

“The punishments were gruesome,” Satine grimaced and pointed to a drawn picture of a young wizard wrapped in a nasty pit of devil’s snare. The idea was to expunge the “bad” out of them apparently.

Padmé had also decided to step over Anakin and to explain what she’d seen in the reflection of the goblet of fire as well as the possible omen that hung over Obi-Wan’s head.

“Anakin is still trying to figure out a way to tell Obi-Wan,” She explained before the blonde could grow angry at this withheld information, “He’s a bit afraid he’ll be rejected.”

Satine looked anything but angry, though. In fact, she didn’t react much at all. “I’ve had my suspicions that Obi-Wan has been the target of attack this entire year. Even if the professors do not wish to see it that way.”

“But this stuff about Revan, that’s a bit ominous, wouldn’t you say?” She asked, “Especially coupled with that figure that’s been turning up in the shadows?”

“One of Dooku’s minions, I’m sure,” Satine said, “After his strike on Diagon Alley, I’d assume he doesn’t want to be the sole face for his cause.”

“But why Obi-Wan?” Padmé asked.

“The joking part of me wants to propose that he’s simply cursed,” Satine chuckled, but there wasn’t any humor to it, “The other part of me suggests responsibility of those that coaxed him into this tournament.”

“And who would that be?” Padmé asked. “Didn’t he put his own name on the goblet?”

“He wouldn’t have if not for his parents,” Satine said bitterly, “And they were so hellbent on his entry for the sake of family name and prosperity.”

“But… Why would they sacrifice their own son?” Padmé asked.

“What does it matter when they’ve practically got a new one on their hands?” She clenched her teeth and released a sigh, “Thank you for telling me this, Padmé.”

“I’m sure Anakin will be telling Obi-Wan on his own soon,” She said, “Like I’ve said, he’s a bit guilty about the whole thing.”

This time, Satine did frown, “But Obi-Wan has sent Anakin several letters of his own apology.”

“He- what?”

“It’s been Anakin who has been distant these days,” She said, “Which I’ve assumed up until this point has simply been growing pains.”

“Anakin gave Obi-Wan a birthday present that was never acknowledged,” Padmé said slowly and leaned back in her seat with crossed arms, “Did he even receive it?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Satine said, “He was a bit glum about not hearing from him, though he’s quite coy about his birthday in general, so I don’t suspect he expected to hear from him on the celebratory day.”

“That’s strange,” She furrowed her brow, “Why do you think that is?”

“Either they’re both individually lying, which doesn’t make a lick of sense given their current positions of discontent,” Satine said, “Or-”

“-Someone is trying to keep them apart.” Padmé realized. “How sneaky.”

“It could just be the idiotic competition between houses,” Satine proposed, “Or it could be something more malicious than that. Regardless, we need to get them talking again. If both Anakin and Obi-Wan are at risk in this final task, with Dooku and his pet at large, they need to work together and forget about the actual victory itself.”

“I agree,” Padmé said, “We’ll have to set them up.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Satine said, “Obi-Wan’s head is spread in too many directions to notice.”

“And Anakin is easily distracted,” Padmé chuckled.

“It’ll be no time before they’re chummy again,” Satine smiled with a nod, “Now, it is getting a bit late. I say we should go check out these books and resume our studies tomorrow.”

“Really?” Padmé tried not to sound too enthusiastic.

“I’ve learned a whole lot more from you tonight than I have on my own recently,” She said, “I’m under the firm belief that we should be helping each other. We want both of our boys to make it out of this alive, after all.”

“Absolutely,” Padmé said and got up to follow her to the front desk, where a tired Madame Jocasta Nu sipped at her tea and waved her wand to apply stamps on books.

“Pardon me, Madame Nu, but I would like to check out these books and tomes,” Satine said sweetly, “And additionally, I’d like to inquire about a return date for another.”

“Of course, dear girl,” Madame Nu smiled kindly, the lines in her cheeks symbolizing many years of smiles. With the expert flick of her thin, white wand, all of the books in Satine’s arms slid onto the mahogany counter with pages flipping frantically. In what could have been described only as lightning speed, Madame Nu stamped each book’s back cover without so much as blinking.

“Now, what was that book that you requested?” She asked.

“ Hogwarts: A History volume 19 please,” Satine nodded firmly, “I’ve already got the surrounding volumes.”

“A thorough reader as always, Miss Kryze,” Madame Nu smiled.

While a librarian in a muggle library would research the book via a computer, Madame Nu had access to the compendium, which was a rather large enchanted book that automatically documented every book that ever left the library and who it left with. No one fully understood how the spell worked, except that it had something to do with the stamp Madame Nu applied.

The large purple book’s golden pages whirled at rapid speeds as Madame Nu seemed to stare right through it. However, Padmé knew from experience that the woman had the uncommon ability to read at the speed of sound. It must have made studying a breeze during her time at Hogwarts, even if she couldn’t seem to fathom a time where the sage older woman wasn’t standing post behind her desk.

What Padmé had never seen, was the compendium snapping shut as dramatically as it did. Madame Nu seemed quite bothered by this too, jutting out her lip before waving her wand to force the book to open again.

“Is the book overdue?” Satine sounded a bit hopeful at this prospect, and Padmé could picture her utilizing her position of power to goad a student into returning it.

When it snapped shut again, this time sticking its cloth bookmark at her like a tongue before placing itself back on the shelf, Jocasta Nu actually looked dumbfounded. Neither girl had clearly seen the librarian look like that before.

“That… Can’t be right.” She murmured. “We don’t have it.”

“Do you think it was a mistake?” Satine asked, “Like when it went to publishing, they never sent it here and it was overlooked?”

“My records not only log what exists in Hogwarts, but anything that has been released in the wizarding community. According to the compendium, the book never existed.” She said with a frown and carefully picked up volumes 18 and 20 to inspect them, “Perhaps, there was a misprint that went unnoticed?”

“That can’t be,” Satine objected, “Volume 18 leaves off with the announcement of the last TriWizard Tournament.”

“And Volume 20 mentions nothing about it,” Padmé added.

Looking between both girls, Madame Nu was visibly troubled by this. The longer she was silent, the more concerned Padmé grew. While on the surface this didn’t sound incredibly monumental, encrypted magical items weren’t wrong, especially those as old as the compendium. It would be like accusing the sorting hat for inaccuracy.

“I will investigate this matter more, girls,” She lifted the banister of her stand and snapped it shut behind her with purpose, “And get back to you with what I find. Surely, this is all just a mix-up of epic proportions.”

When they exited the library and began to head towards their respective common rooms, Satine finally spoke up again, “That was rather curious.”

“The compendium doesn’t mess up on its own,” Padmé said, “It’s made of old magic. My family has one like it, but every time a new person is born in our country, their name is added to the book along with their lineage.”

“Yes, I do believe I read that the Ministry had something similar for magical children,” Satine bit her lip and kept her azure gaze forward, “Something doesn’t feel right. The Hogwarts Library has just about everything known to print. Why skip one volume of its history, no less?”

“And why wouldn’t Jocasta Nu of all people know about it?” Padmé asked.

“She’s not 100 years old, Padmé,” Satine said and Padmé felt her face go red, “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned these past few years, it is that nothing is by accident around here.”

Detention was, as always, very boring.

It was even more boring without Anakin to pass the time by. This was the first time Rex had ever endured detention alone, and it was all the more uncomfortable with his brother not talking to him. Though he doubted that anyone who didn’t know Ninety-Nine would notice, the groundskeeper was quite stiff as he gathered trash off the front lawn. The Durmstrang boys had unsurprisingly thrown quite the bash the evening before and did not take care to clean up after themselves.

Though Rex found this added fuel to the fire of his discontent towards the eastern students, he knew better than to raise his point now. It seemed Ninety-Nine didn’t care to hear it, not anymore, and had developed this idea that he didn’t need help dealing with this matter. It wasn’t much different to Rex’s own desire not to be helped first year, save for the fact that Rex had actually partaken in stopping Krell the first time.

Wouldn’t that make him an ideal candidate this time as well?

He huffed, wondering not for the first time that damp evening why they couldn’t just use magic to gather all the rubbish, but decided against having to sit through a rant about responsibility and the merit of hard work. Besides, he was always hesitant to bring the subject of magic up to his brother, considering he didn’t have the same options as Rex.

So, he continued to use the sharp pick given to him to help stab stray pieces of garbage and place them in the burlap sack he had to drag around. He knew a charm on how to make it lighter, but didn’t bother with that either, afraid that Ninety-Nine might take offense.

“I’ll get the bunch down the hill,” He muttered and took his brother’s silence as acceptance before trotting down the way to the bottom of the lawn, “Filthy Durmstrang douchebags.”

He wasn’t down there for long, practically obscured by night and the howling wind around him, which made his present job a bit more difficult, before he noticed a few individuals standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

From a distance, it was difficult to see, including with the beginnings of what was likely a rainstorm whipping in his vision. He placed a hand on top of his brow, trying to squint to see better, before looking over his shoulder to notice Ninety-Nine distracted by cleaning something gross off the castle wall.

He took his opportunity and trotted through the mud and did his best not to trip. He did use magic to cause the wind to work in his favor in blowing the trash into the sack he still carried tightly in one fist. What his brother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, after all.

Though he wouldn’t be able to get close enough to hear without being spotted, he did get to a decent distance where he could at least vaguely recognize who was standing just at the clearing of the forest. Yoda was amongst them, as well as Nala Se and a man dressed in all furs. This had to be the stand-in from Durmstrang, seeing as Ziro wasn’t allowed on the premises at the moment. Leading them was a pair of representatives for the Minister as well as the scorekeepers for the tournament.

All were fairly inconspicuous- not dressed in their normal robes and instead opting for dark slickers that might help shield some of the incoming rain. If he hadn’t been where he was, he never would have noticed them standing there at all.

They stood there for a moment, talking amongst themselves before vanishing through the trees.

What were they doing at this time of night? Going into the forest of all places?

To Rex, there was only one valid possibility: they had to be charting land for the final task. The third task was still shrouded in mystery, just as the previous two were. This one would be taking place on property just as the others, and would somehow be more difficult than the previous two.

He swiped rain from his eyes and kept staring, waiting for something, anything to happen as his body battled against the wet wind. Just as he began to lose hope, his eyes trailed up to the sky, where storm clouds rumbled in dark agitation. Right above the tops of the dark pine trees, was a faint tint of blue smoke swirling up and colliding with the clouds. Then, a bright flash of light, so quick that if he’d taken the time to rub his eyes again, he wouldn’t have seen it.

And like that, they were outside of the forest again.

“A portkey,” He murmured.

“Rex?” A shout from up the hill called his attention. He turned and through the thick curtain of rain he spotted Ninety-Nine, trying not to slip down a mudslide in hopes of reaching him. Rex saved him the trouble and scampered back up the hill.

“The third task is going to be in the forbidden forest,” He said gleefully, spitting out any rain that dripped into his mouth.

“What?”

“The professors! They’re testing out a portkey in the forest, I saw them! I have to tell Anakin.”

Ninety-Nine glanced over, though from this high up, he no doubt couldn’t see them. Rex wouldn’t be surprised if they’d tried the trick again.

“Let’s leave them to it then!” Ninety-Nine said, “I’m far more concerned with drowning out here.”

“That was quite the rainstorm last night, wasn’t it?” Anakin whistled as he took his seat next to Rex at breakfast. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed that while the rest of Padmé’s troop was present and ready across from them, the girl in question wasn’t there.

“Padmé had a few errands to run that necessitated an early start,” Explained Sabé. Her face remained neutral and still, making the silent point that she would not be divulging the specifics of Padmé’s absence.

“Errands? What? Does she have to pick up her dry cleaning?” Anakin teased, though this comeback only received a confused response, even from Rex, “Does dry cleaning not exist?”

“Most people use water to clean their clothes, mate,” Rex said in disgust, “For your suits, you just spell them clean.”

“It’s a thing muggles do to their clothes.” Anakin said, running a hand through his hair, “And it costs money, which is stupid.”

“That is stupid,” Sabé agreed.

“But come on, you can tell us,” Anakin said, “I’m like a vault of secrets.”

“Yeah, okay, Sky talker ,” Rabé cocked an eyebrow at him.

“How original, do you go to Sebulba for all your material?” He retorted. “I can keep a secret.”

“It’s really not that deep anyway,” Saché said, taking a bit of pity on him, “Though if it were, you do tend to talk rather… Loudly.”

“None of you know about Rex’s weird birthmark!” Anakin said defensively and slapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, “I’ve kept that deep inside the sanctum of my mind.”

All of the girls looked to Rex instead of Anakin with a combination of vague disgust and intrigue and he could feel Rex’s glare on him as he shrugged off his arm.

“Thanks a lot, mate.” He grumbled.

“Well, they don’t know it’s on your-”

“-That’s enough!” Rex hissed, slapping a hand over Anakin’s mouth to physically restrain him from saying anything.

“It’s girl stuff,” Eirtaé added and both boys cringed, not wanting any more details beyond that.

“Okay, yeah, nevermind,” Anakin shook his head, though he had to admit he was a bit disappointed to not be afforded the opportunity to relay what Rex had told him the previous night about the third task, “But she’s missing out! Rex and I are going to try and practice dueling spells near the Forbidden Forest. I know it sounds dangerous, but-”

“-Good luck, because the Forest is strictly off limits right now,” Yané explained without looking up from her book, “Roped off with a protective charm no doubt.”

“Why?” Anakin asked, even if he and Rex looked at each other a bit knowingly.

“Rumor has it someone went missing in the forest. All that was found was a Ministry badge. They’re thinking it was the work of a mysterious beast,” Rabé added and shook her head.

That, Anakin did not know and he could feel Rex’s foot sharply kicking into his ankle. Apparently, whatever tests that Rex had witnessed had not gone according to plans.

“The… Zillo Beast?” Anakin wondered.

“Maybe, who knows? But if there’s one thing we aren’t doing today, it’s traversing the forest.” Sabé shook her head, “And considering your penchants for bad luck, I’d say you should do the same.”

“I have another round of detention anyway,” Rex wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin beside him, “And though my brother is bloody pissed at me, I’d say he’d be angrier if I got ripped apart.”

“Maybe… I’ll attend one of those Defense Against the Dark Arts study sessions for a change,” Anakin cleared his throat, “You know, to prepare for any possible Zillo Beast returns.”

“You going to face Kenobi?” Rex asked, surprised.

“It’s got to be better than getting eaten alive,” Anakin said, “And if Padmé weren’t… Presently occupied with her girl stuff, I’d say she would agree.”

There were certain privileges that came to having not only pureblood ties, but royal pureblood ties. Satine had never witnessed them used for good before, so it was refreshing to know that in the presence of Padmé Amidala, that they always were. To that end, it meant that the girls could take a trip off Hogwarts property to further their investigation from the night before.

“Where’s Obi-Wan? I’m surprised he isn’t coming.” Padmé asked as they walked down the cobblestone path of Diagon Alley.

Obi-Wan had more than enough going on to follow Satine and Padmé down a potential rabbit hole investigation. He would never believe so, as he always had the nasty habit of stretching himself too thin, but Satine didn’t want to loop him in too much until she had concrete belief that this would be pertinent information. She’d feel a bit foolish if this was truly a big misunderstanding.

“He’s teaching one of his secret DADA classes,” Satine said with a shrug, “He was up and at ‘em long before I rose this morning. I left him a letter in the common room so he doesn’t alert the media.”

Not that Satine wasn’t perfectly capable of doing things on her own. However, she did almost break into his parents’ manor under the belief that he had been held prisoner simply because he missed the train. The year before, Obi-Wan had worked himself into a fit when she’d been late due to getting her driver’s license.

Perhaps, they were both a bit dramatic in their own right, though Satine would argue they’d experienced enough danger to warrant such concerns.

“It’s just as well, I didn’t want Anakin getting his sticky fingers everywhere,” Padmé said, “He has a tendency to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Satine laughed, “If we find anything useful, we’ll tell them. Thank you for bringing me along, by the way.”

“Are you kidding?” Padmé twirled the pink umbrella in her hand, “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know you meant that as a compliment, but let’s save that until after we’re done here,” Satine chuckled. The two girls headed into the Daily Prophet’s Main Office- a place Satine had never been inside despite all of her years coming in and out of Diagon Alley. You needed specific magical clearance to enter, even if from the inside, it actually just looked like a regular office space. There was ample lighting thanks to hanging and mounted bulbs, showcasing a long stretch of desks of various heights and levels. She couldn’t tell what color the walls were supposed to be, since there wasn’t an inch of space not covered in breakthrough articles of the past, dating back several centuries. The building had two floors: the main floor dedicated to the office workers, who put the paper together, and the upstairs had a golden plaque for the reporters and the editor in chief.

It was a tad chaotic, yes, with a bunch of Ugnaughts running around with large stacks of paper, trying to meet deadlines and complete research for the reporters. Not a single one looked up from their pursuits or from the busy clacking of fingers on typewriters. Quills moved at their own discretion with the ugnaughts often snorting to try and relay what they wanted to say. Expectedly, it smelled like parchment, glue, and thick ink.

“We’re looking for Onaconda Farr.” Padmé moved to ask one of the nearest ugnaughts, who looked a bit disturbed at first before throwing down his quill and skittering to the way back of the first floor, down a set of stairs.

“Well, I hope we aren’t causing too much of a disturbance,” Satine said, eyeing the page he was piecing together. It seemed the Kenobi’s were calling for Yoda to put Ninety-Nine and Tahl on trial by combat.

How medieval.

She looked behind her, feeling for a moment she was being watched through the window. Within the blink of an eye a hooded figure passed and kept walking. Satine felt a chill go down her spine and inched farther from the entrance.

However, Onaconda Farr, dressed in green flowy trousers that were tucked into high black books and a fashionable long purple overcoat, emerged from the lower level, arms outstretched as he greeted Padmé.

“Uncle Ono!” She grinned and did a little jump into his arms.

Satine had almost forgotten about the nickname, because she was about to ask a series of questions as to how that even worked. She was already impressed that Farr had high enough standings with the Daily Prophet to get them in.

“It is good to see you, Padmé,” He smiled, “How are mum and dad?”

“Busy as always,” She blew out a breath.

“That’s where you get it from,” He poked her on the nose and then his starry gaze drifted to Satine.

“You remember Satine Kryze, right Ono?”

“Of course! I’ve only been out of school for a year, after all!” He laughed and reached out a green webby hand for Satine to shake. She didn’t hesitate and offered him a kind smile. “From what I’ve seen through the eyes of a printer, it’s been a busy year for you, Satine.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” She chuckled, “Congratulations on your success here, though! Straight out of Hogwarts and right into the Prophet? It’s almost unheard of.”

“When you know people, it’s a bit easier,” He waved for them to follow her.

“My parents got him the internship,” Padmé whispered as they passed down the steps, “But he got promoted to editor of politics faster than any grunt intern in history.”

Satine nodded, impressed, but also a bit confused. She’d never been in the adult working world, much less the wizarding rendition, but that did seem incredibly fast. However, she couldn’t complain about it now, as an intern would never be able to introduce them to the gigantic steel safe that was posted against a stone wall in the basement.

“Padmé mentioned that you’re trying to find a lost book,” Farr said over his shoulder.

“Yes, it appears that Hogwarts: A History vol. 19 has all but vanished from records at Hogwarts.”

“Really?” He pursed his green lips, “I’ve never heard of a book that existed that wasn’t at Hogwarts.”

“That’s what we thought,” Padmé said, “But you see, there’s a volume 18 and a volume 20…”

“And the two books don’t connect with each other,” Satine pulled both books out of her purse with relative ease. She did love the extra storage that magic allowed for. She flipped to the end of volume 18 and the beginning of volume 20.

Volume 18 trailed off with the announcement of the monumental final TriWizard Tournament coming that following school year and then, of course, an author’s note immediately afterwards in dedication to the Headmaster at the time: Pra-Tre Veter. Volume 20, on the other hand literally started with “The banishment of TriWizard Tournaments from henceforth severely limited the union between neighboring wizard schools across Europe” and went into the burgeoning bad feelings from the likes of the Hutt’s.

“This is strange,” He said, “I didn’t even know Hogwarts: A History had that many volumes.”

“They’re not advertised as light or moderate reading beyond volume 5.” Satine shrugged, “They’re actually guarded for some of their graphic subject matter.”

“The perks of being Head Girl, I suppose,” He said lightly, “Let me take a look at the book columns of the Daily Prophet articles. They’ve reported every book that’s ever been published.”

It was true, the Daily Prophet, though containing some dribble thanks to biased reporters, did have a handy column that released a list of all published works on a weekly basis. It certainly allowed for Satine to stay on top of current reading materials. It covered all subjects and genres, which she appreciated for its diversity.

“Madame Nu told me today that it must have never been officially released,” Padmé said with a frown, “She seemed weirdly put off by it too, especially when mentioned that it would cover the last TriWizard tournament before this one.”

“Perhaps, we can start there, Ono?” Satine asked, “I do believe that is the crux of what we wish to know. We’ve both got a vested interest in figuring out this tournament and that everyone makes it out alive.”

“I’m sure you do,” He smiled knowingly, “And because I thought this might all be concerning the tournament, I’d already gone to the liberty of pulling out all the papers of TriWizard past.”

In his office, which wasn’t any more or less impressive than any office worker’s save for its privacy, was a large stack of newspapers.

Carefully, Padmé and Satine ran their fingers along the spine, narrowing their eyes to get a better glance in an attempt of finding what they were looking for. Finally, Satine came across the final tournament and slipped it from the rest of the stack.

“Only one paper was released?” Padmé asked Farr.

“So it would seem,” He hummed, “If it wasn’t an eventful year-”

“-It was banned for a reason,” Satine said. “Evidently, the tournament was finally deemed too barbaric for the participants of actual children.”

“Something major had to have happened if that truly is the case,” He said. “They didn’t have the safety practices we do now. Or laws. Or really care to have the laws.”

“Strange,” Satine frowned as she flipped through the paper. It mentioned the three tasks and what they meant. The final one took place in the Forbidden Forest, and while it had ended with a winner, one one of the champions had died. The winner, Hogwarts’ chosen champion, was a Slytherin boy named Anwir Cosinga.

And the boy who died…

“Hogwarts’ champion died,” Satine said in awe.

“What?” Padmé’s eyes widened and she nearly snatched the newspaper from Satine’s fingers. Farr made an uneasy sound from the back of his throat, indicating that he was uncomfortable at the prospect of any damages. “How can you die and win?”

“Perhaps, it was as a result of complications?” Satine wondered aloud, “It says here that the champions were all still recovering from the trauma they faced in the forest. Durmstrang’s couldn’t even speak afterwards.”

“The death would have to be pretty monumental for them to ban the tournament afterwards,” Farr said and then ran his finger along the papers again to retrieve one from four years later. “Here’s the issue where the tournament was indefinitely canceled.”

“Until now,” Satine muttered and she did her best to read with haste and scrutiny. The article sounded a bit biased in the sense that the reporter clearly did not agree with the cancellation of future tournaments. They seemed quite pressed that the civil suits that had been ongoing for years had finally won out in courts and that the negative publicity seemed to eat right into the hands of those who hated tradition.

Most of it included legal jargon, including the parameters of the banning. Satine was intrigued to note that the matter was set to be revisited in a century’s time, which was exactly where they were now.

It also said-

“Wait, that’s weird,” Satine frowned, “It says that the removal of the tournament is borderline sacrilegious and insulting to the Kim family, as it was a challenge their son proudly participated in.”

“Seems a bit manipulative to use the victim to support your platform,” Padmé said.

“No, I mean, that wasn’t the kid’s name. The winner, anyway,” And then Satine looked at the other newspaper in curiosity. The article about the champion’s death was purposefully vague as though it had seen many revisions that forbade it from being too specific. She couldn’t be entirely mad about this, as sometimes muggle newspapers were this way when investigators didn’t have the full story and didn’t want public speculation to get out of hand.

“There weren’t three participants that year,” She said with sudden clarity. “There were four.”

“Just like this year.” Padmé shivered.

“And one of them died.” Satine furrowed her brow.

“That’s really peculiar,” Ono mused, pulling out a few earlier papers from different decades, “The Prophet has never been known to be so vague. See, the death of a champion was known to be great for business and a good opportunity to really highlight the life of the child.”

“That is an incredibly tragic sentence,” Satine said, “But yes, I see what you’re referring to. Not to mention the book column doesn’t state anything about the release of vol. 19 of Hogwarts: A History.”

“There is a little bit of room at the bottom of the book column though,” Padmé pointed out. “Just enough where another title would usually fit.”

“Interesting… But if it were published and distributed-” Farr said thoughtfully, before snapping his fingers and leading them over to the large vault behind them. Swishing his wand in what seemed to be random directions while quietly uttering a code neither girl could catch, he swung open the heavy door and directed them to a grandiose library that stacked several stories up.

“Welcome to the archives.”

“Wow,” Satine still didn’t know how it worked, especially when they’d only gone down two flights of stairs, but she didn’t dare question it.

“While we are always sure to show everything we print, that only scrapes the surface,” Farr explained, his orb-like eyes taking in the entirety of the room, “Every unprinted and unreleased paper is here, including articles we trash before they even reach the editor’s eyes.”

“Doesn’t that make for a lot of clutter?” Satine asked, though she was finding her answer in the sheer enormity of the collection. It seemed to be well kept, but she could only imagine how meaningless some of the drafts were. It was as if every idea of a human’s mind had been cataloged forever.

“Where you might see clutter, I see history,” He said before hurrying up a rounded staircase and across a platform to the bookshelf he had in mind, “You see, the Daily Prophet goes through revisions and it must be approved by the chief editor before it is published and distributed.”

“Has it ever been published but never distributed?” Padmé asked.

“The only way that can happen is if the possibility of a defamation suit is at play,” Farr said, “Or other legal trouble that can occur. Even back then, the Aurors and the lawyers were always thirsting to leap at the free press.”

“So much for free,” Padmé said.

“Here it is!” He exclaimed after finally finding what he was looking for. He retrieved a binder, which Satine was pleased to see looked quite organized with tabs and all. Some wizards did know how to color code, it would seem. Despite his previous concern for the newspapers, he tossed the binder over the side of the railing and into Satine’s arms. She caught it, not without losing a bit of air, but she wasted no time in pouring through it.

“A lot more goes into a newspaper than you’d think,” He said, “Or shall I say, a lot doesn’t go into the newspaper.”

With a smoothness Satine hadn’t expected, Ono slid down the railing until he deemed it safe enough to leap off, landing firmly on his feet.

“If that book was actually released, it would be somewhere in here,” He said, “Not to mention, more details about what happened to that poor champion.”

Satine, personally, couldn’t begin reading fast enough. She hadn’t even waited for Ono to finish before she flipped through the now-laminated pages. Mentally, she made the note to ask what the spell for lamination even was, as this would be good to know for her own binders. There were a lot of handwritten notes and key details, though some were extremely hard to read from years gone by and from the legibility. There were a few photos, all black and white of the four champions. None were particularly impressive to look at.

A boy named Vidar Kim, a Ravenclaw and Head Boy, was the victim that suffered an untimely fate. According to the notes written in the margins, he was found in the shrieking shack of all places. They believe that he was murdered, but seeing as the other champions had the airtight alibis of literally being interviewed for several hours beforehand, they’ve ruled out the motive of it being any of his competitors. Not to mention, Kim wasn’t even in the lead, not by a wide margin. Nobody stood to gain from his loss.

On top of that, it seemed that despite there being four champions, they all got on pretty well.

“Anwir Cosinga won the tournament, but donated his winnings to the Kim family for their time of mourning. He even had the trophy mounted into Kim’s gravestone.” Padmé read, “It seems like based on some of these letters between them that they were close.”

“The Durmstrang champion, Satele Shan, fasted for months and performed a traditional march and battle cry at the funeral.” Satine said, “It says that she spoke very few words, but that she was heartbroken by his loss.”

“Beauxbatons champion, Nadia Grell, was allegedly dating him and couldn’t stop crying to even do an interview,” Padmé sighed, “Oh, how sad. Could you imagine going through all of that stress watching from the sidelines, helpless to any danger that might come their way, only to find that the person you love most gets axed off stage?”

“I… really don’t want to?” Satine said.

“Oh! No, no that won’t happen,” The brunette shook her head so hard that the perfectly curated ringlets that rain down her back swished like rustling leaves. She cleared her throat, “But still, if they believe the poor guy was murdered, who did it?”

“There are a lot of angry scribbles here,” Satine pointed and noted that the word “parents” was crossed off a few times over as a potential source to go through. “I wonder if there’s a reason it’s not mentioned.”

“Maybe they didn’t know at the time,” Ono said.

“Wait a second,” Satine pulled the binder closer to her and read the bottom corner of the page that dictated potential leads. “Hogwarts: A History vol. 19. It was real and from the sounds of it, a decent source on this investigation. Everything, it sounds like, was poured into that book.”

It was true. Even the reporter at the time seemed to know that the history books had a cornerstone on this ugly chunk of memories, including the dirty details of the case. However, there did seem to be the initial expectation that it would eventually hit the public too.

Although, what Satine also found incredibly startling, was the picture of her old DADA professor posed quite stiffly with a copy of the book in his hands.

“Dooku!” Gasped Padmé.

“There’s no way he’s that old,” Satine said, “It has to be a relative.”

“His father,” Confirmed Ono, instantly finding the biographical article he needed, “See? He was a Slytherin. The Dooku we know and loathe was a Ravenclaw.”

“Rather unfortunate.” Satine muttered, “But this does raise some interesting questions, doesn’t it?”

“But clearly most of this information never saw the light of day,” Padmé leaned back, “Which I feel is strange since the Ministry went to the lengths of banning the tournament and by the sounds of it, commemorating the family. What are they hiding?”

“See, that’s where you’re partially wrong, Padmé,” Ono said, “You see, if that were the case, the knowledge of such a book wouldn’t be anticipated by reporters. It wouldn’t have even been sent to print. Not to mention, they would have named the following edition volume 19 to erase any suspicion.”

“You think it did release?” Satine frowned, “But why wouldn’t Jocasta Nu know about it? And why isn’t it in the compendium?”

“I’d really like to say that pieces of history haven’t been redacted in the past.” He said, “That’s why I like it here. These are all safe thoughts. Most don’t even know this place exists. You actually can’t physically remove anything from this little sanctum. Otherwise, it evaporates and places itself right where it belongs.”

“Which makes it safer than most places,” Padmé said, “But what we do know, is that wherever that book is, there’s a reason for its disappearance.”

“And since Dooku is trying to shape his own narrative, I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever lies within it, is damning against him somehow.” Satine said, “The Sith probably killed that poor boy. It was just a cover-up that the Ministry went along with in order to make it all more digestible.”

“They didn’t do that with Maul the first time.” Padmé said.

“Maul committed mass murder in public, it would be a bit hard to disguise that.” Satine said, “And even still, they tried to act as though it was an isolated issue up until the bitter end when Maul literally laid claim to it. The only reason Dooku is being labeled Sith is because he was ousted.”

She was getting angrier the more she thought of it, especially as she flipped through witness statements that claimed all the champions were feeling a lot of unusual pressure from outside sources and that they kept swearing to see shadows and phantoms in the midst of the night. Anwir Cosinga even mentioned something about kids being victims to attack from other students who’d started their own renditions of death eaters. The final task, they all claimed, was clearly rigged with traps that tried to kill them even more than previously. It was all horrifying.

Some even believed that there may have been intervention from outside sources. Even parents, as the Kim family was quite vocal on their son’s poor performance in the tournament.

“That sounds familiar.” Satine said sadly.

“I wonder if anyone else knows about any of this,” Padme said.

“Very few are even still alive from that era,” Farr commented. “Ancestors, maybe.”

“Or Headmaster Yoda,” Satine said, “He’s nearly 900.”

“Professor Yaddle might know something as well.” Padme said, “I think we should pay them a visit when we return.”

“I genuinely hope your pursuit of knowledge yields to useful results, girls,” Ono said thoughtfully, “Because I can say this to be certain: whatever the reason is for this book going missing, it cannot be good. Especially if you believe there might be cheating at large.”

“They’re ignoring the clear signs of subterfuge against Ben.” Satine said stiffly as she closed the book. “Except we cannot allow history to repeat itself.”

“No,” Padmé said, “We can’t.”

After they finished reading additional notes and loose ends on the long lost tournament, Satine and Padme thanked Farr and went on their merry way, feeling as though they were now riddled with even more questions than answers.

“I bet the final task is correlated to that in the book,” Satine said as she fought against the wind that charged towards them through Diagon Alley. Padme struggled to keep up, moving her legs rapidly in wide strides.

“You think?” Padme asked.

“I think there’s a reason for all of this.” Satine said, “The book, the sabotage, the murder! There’s too many coincidences at play to be solely that.”

She stuck out her hand for Padme to take it so they could apparate back. However, before the younger girl could, a flurry of darkness- like a rustling swarm of bats- swept around them. When her eyes refocused, Mr. Kenobi stood tall and domineering before them.

“Not so fast,” He said, sticking out a large gloved hand, “Digging into matters that don’t concern you yet again?”

“Stay away,” Satine took a step back. From the corners of her eyes, she could make out Padme’s confused expression.

“Now, now, no need to be rude,” He said, “I’ve only come to chat.”

“I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say,” Maybe it was all the reading about the Kim’s and how they pressured their Ravenclaw Head Boy to the brink shortly before his untimely death, but she truly did not have the patience for the likes of the Kenobi’s today.

“I am not the enemy here, Satine Kryze,” He said and part of her was shocked he’d managed to get her name correct. Whether or not that was meant to be a sign of respect or of fear mongering, she didn’t know. Neither were felt from her end, however. “The Hutt’s however…”

“You seemed quite chummy with them when you were asking them to feed me to the fishes,” Or whatever lies beneath Jabba’s barge. “Or when one of their skugs came after us in Knockturn Alley.”

“I cannot be responsible for the actions of my… Associates.” He smiled and it was a sickly thing to behold- not one that ever held kindness or empathy, “However, you are responsible for your own actions and how they might affect Obi-Wan’s life.”

“Believe me when I say I am not the one endangering his life,” She scoffed, “Not as though you care.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Don’t be so naive, girl. We both know that after your little stunt, that many are unhappy. Myself included, yes, but many far more influential than I. Times are changing and perhaps not how you would like it.”

“I think we’re done here,” Padme said, positioning herself between Satine and Mr. Kenobi.

“You’re a fool to align yourself with the likes of loathsome commoners, Miss Amidala. I’ve always had great respect for your parents, so I will offer you the courtesy of rethinking your priorities.”

“I’d say they’re in proper order, thanks.” Padme said.

“If you think you’ll be able to carry on with these ominous threats and stalking trends, you’ll find yourself sadly mistaken,” Satine promised, “And whatever your involvement is with this tournament and its outcome, I’ll be sure to find out. And when I do, you nor the press will ever hear the end of it.”

She grabbed Padme by the wrist and dragged her down the street, relieved they weren’t being followed.

“Enjoy your time with him while you have it, Miss Kryze,” Mr. Kenobi said with hollow regret, “I feel as though you’ve scarcely limited it.”

This time, when Satine tried to apparate, they were not absolved in the pitiful cloud that was the cursed Kenobi family. She breathed out a heavy sigh and met Padme’s concerned brown eyes with what she hoped to be complete calm.

“My mother always told me that in-laws can be tough,” She blew out another breath for effect, “But they do take it to extremes.”

Before the younger girl could comment, Anakin came rushing up to them, a wide sense of panic in his eyes.

“Where have you been?” He asked desperately, “You’ve got to come help!”

“What’s wrong?” Satine asked, her pulse racing yet again at the thought of what Obi-Wan’s father had so eerily said, “Is it Ben?”

“Yeah! Gunray’s got him busted for teaching DADA!” Anakin shrieked, “He might be getting expelled!”

“What the hell did you do?” Padmé had immediately fired off at Anakin the moment he’d announced his former mentor’s imminent doom in the eyes of the education bureau.

“Why does everyone always assume I did anything?” He complained, but immediately backed down when Padmé fixed him with a warning glare that promised she would not be patient with this one. “Okay, it was an accident.”

The irritated sigh from the fourth year girl could have knocked over trees with its power, but he couldn’t say he blamed her, especially since he was busy blaming himself. Satine for her part, was far more concerned in charging ahead to get to Obi-Wan than she was in Anakin’s relation to this. He directed them towards the Headmaster’s office, though he doubted either girl really needed the tip, as it was the most logical place to start.

“You’d both be proud of me, I was planning on going to one of the secret DADA meetings today to pass the time. You know since you abandoned me and Rex has detention.” Off the even less amused look she gave, he came to the conclusion that his attempt for sympathy hadn’t landed the way he’d hoped.

He took a breath, “Anyway, I was on my way there when I ran into Gunray. I don’t know if either of you heard, but there was a beast spotted in the Forbidden Forest last night by some of the scouts for the tournament. Gunray and the Headmasters were with them and apparently something really bad happened. Rex was scooping up trash near Ninety-Nine’s hut when he saw them, even if that’s a pretty big waste of time when magic exists and they could easily-”

“-The abridged version, Anakin.” Padmé said hurriedly as they increased their strides. Satine, being taller than the both of them, utilized her long legs to her advantage and was several paces ahead. Padmé, however, was giving Anakin a run for his money with her own hurried strut.

“I stopped to talk to Gunray and then he found out about Obi-Wan’s DADA meetings.”

“Not that abridged.” Satine called back.

Oh, apparently, she was listening. He guessed if she was preparing to storm into battle for her boyfriend, she ought to know the facts.

“Gunray wasn’t interested in talking Zillo beasts, which I thought it might have been. Dooku did take some of my blood two years ago and I’d really like it back, you know? Anyway, he was more keen on discussing my final project that my entire grade weighs on. He tried to give me an out, but I didn’t take it, because I know I’m going to show him up in front of the class, even if I don’t know how per say. Well, when I thought we parted ways, he must have tailed me somehow, because he showed up not five minutes later.”

“That’s it?” Padmé asked. “He followed you?”

“Yeah, but I kept looking around and he wasn’t there,” Anakin still didn’t know how that happened. He was always paranoid about being followed, especially ever since Dooku kidnapped him that very same time he took his blood. There had to be some trick afoot that he hadn’t been privy too, but he still felt guilty. “And he made a big stink of it too, bringing the minister into it too.”

“The Minister is here?” Satine asked gravely. “That can’t be good.”

“Yeah and they’re even accusing Obi-Wan of charging for the tutoring sessions, which while genius, doesn’t seem like his style at all,” Anakin said, “He always said learning was the reward when we studied together.”

“It is,” Satine said, “Ben would never charge anyone for his help. I’m not confident he’ll let the Auror’s pay him should he get a position through them after graduation.”

“They can’t expel Obi-Wan for this, can they?” Padmé asked. “Ventress got off for a lot less!”

“Ventress had some very powerful ties,” She said, “Ties that Ben has recently severed.”

To be fair, so has Ventress, but unlike Obi-Wan, she also severed her hair… For better or for worse.

“I should have never gone to that meeting,” Anakin said glumly, “I knew I should have gone to the forest.”

“This doesn’t sound like your fault, Anakin,” Satine assured him once they came to a stop outside the stairwell that led to the Headmaster’s office. “He knew what risks he was taking when he’d intended on starting all of this.”

“It’s Gunray’s fault that this was all necessary,” Padmé argued, though she kept her voice low in case any of the professors could hear them, “He’s the one who can’t even unlock a door.”

“You don’t say?” Anakin crossed his arms.

“I saw him try to levitate a key before to try and put it in the lock, but it flew out the window. No one really had the heart to tell him that’s not how that spell works.”

“If I was in that class I would,” Anakin said, “Dude needs to be brought down a level, especially after this.”

They’d gotten there just in time, because as they approached, the stairs began to unwind and the statue at the base spun until completely unraveled. Obi-Wan stepped down with his hands in the pockets of his robes. Trailing not far behind him was a very weary Minister of Magic and Professor Gunray.

“Thank you for supporting me on this, Minister,” Gunray said, floundering a bit, “The utter disrespect for authority at this school is astounding.”

“Yes, Gunray, the board of education is in support of this curriculum.” Valorum said, eyes dull and barely expressive. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Not teaching us,” Anakin muttered quietly to Padmé, who nudged him gently. Not in disapproval it would seem, because there wasn’t much edge to it. Instead, she just didn’t want anyone else getting in trouble. She was kind in that way.

“That was fast,” Anakin commented, even if it felt strange that these were the first words he’d spoken to Obi-Wan directly since their fight. He shot a glare at the Minister, who looked at him rather confused, probably forgetting all about him again.

“What happened? Is it bad?” Satine asked, clutching Obi-Wan by the shoulders and giving him a little shake.

He nodded and she gasped, placing a hand over her mouth before immediately bouncing into action, “We’ll take them to court! And if that’s not possible, there have been many brilliant minds who never finished primary education. Albert Einstein-”

“-I haven’t been expelled,” Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, “Only Headmaster Yoda has the power to deliver that punishment. This was encouraged by Minister Valorum and Professor Gunray.”

“So, what is it?” Padmé asked.

“My secret DADA classes have henceforth been canceled,” He sighed heavily and pinched his nose, ready to deliver the kicker.

“Oh God, did they sentence you to death?” Anakin asked.

“Anakin!” Satine and Padmé exclaimed at the same time with a matched offense.

Obi-Wan ignored him and breathed out his answer, “And… I’ve been given detention… For two weeks.”

The three of them watched him as he took a seat on the bench outside the office. Anakin had found himself on that very bench quite a few times, though it was always in foreboding for what was to surely be a stern talking to.

“I can’t believe this,” He ran a hand through meticulous hair and shook his head.

But from the sounds of it, Obi-Wan had gotten off pretty easily all things considered. Anakin was given detention for a month by Windu for charming a paper airplane to whiz around his head for the entire duration of class. He hadn’t been running any sort of speakeasy on the side.

“That’s it?” Anakin was the one to ask.

“That’s it?” He echoed, looking rather aghast at Anakin, “This is horrible!”

“You jerk! We thought you were kicked out!” Satine gave him a little shove, nothing hard enough to make him actually move, “You said it was bad! Who cares if your perfect record has been spoiled?”

“It is bad! I don’t care about my record! Do you know how many are going to suffer without the proper resources for defensive education?” He asked. “Not to mention that my detention has to be with Gunray. I'm going to TA his class.”

“You weren’t even given a points reduction!” Anakin exclaimed, “That’s insane! And you got to make money off of it.”

“I didn’t make any money off of it,” He furrowed his brow and looked between them, “Gunray was trying to prove that I did, but I’ve never collected a cent. And I certainly haven’t had anyone on my behalf-”

“-Kenobi!” Hondo boomed as he approached, practically covered in riches, “Hondo has a little something for you and your continued partnership. No offense, Skywalker, but you are just not as profitable these days.”

“Yeah, that’s not offensive at all,” Anakin deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, what?” Obi-Wan launched to his feet, “What are you on about?”

“Kenobi, do not play dumb with Hondo. Hondo got your letter about charging for today’s lesson and sharing the wealth! It was most genius, my friend, even if the detail about alerting Gunray was a bit strange. Though I must say, you played the part exceptionally! If being an Auror doesn’t suit you, perhaps acting can be a backup plan!”

“Hondo, shut up for a moment,” Satine said casually and turned to Obi-Wan, “I’m going to assume you never sent him a letter, right?”

“I’m a terrible actor. Remember when Professor Yaddle forced us to reenact the Night of a Thousand Tears through a play during fourth year?” Obi-Wan asked.

“My eyes might never recover,” She retorted and turned to Hondo, “You need to return that money.”

“What? Kryze! We can cut a deal! Hondo is most generous-”

“-Then generously return it,” Obi-Wan said seriously, “I want no parts of blood money, Hondo and I never have. The whole reason for my classes was to help people, just as I’ve helped you through the years.”

“So, this wasn’t my fault,” Anakin said with a happy sigh, “That’s a relief.”

“Why would this be your fault?” Obi-Wan frowned at him and then suddenly seemed a bit surprised they were talking at all. Almost getting kicked out might do that to a guy.

“No reason,” He shrugged, not in the mood to go into it again, “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not suspended.”

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan’s stern face cracked a bit, almost smiling a little.

“It’s meaningless if we don’t figure out who set you up,” Satine said, ruining the moment before it could really begin. Anakin would have apologized for everything else right then and there, but it would have been awkward with the two girls and especially Hondo standing there. “Do you still have the note, Hondo?”

“Hondo doesn’t save any paper trails, Kryze, you should know that, not even toilet paper trails.”

“That’s… Weird, but okay,” She frowned and looked at Obi-Wan, “Who would stand to benefit from your expulsion?”

“Try Durmstrang AND Beauxbaton.” Padmé said, “I don’t buy into the rivalry, but some people clearly do.”

“We’ll need to perform a full scale interrogation of all parties.” Satine said, “I know we trust Hera and Quinlan, but that doesn’t mean they don’t know anything.”

“We can delegate by age group and likelihood to arrange such a thing,” Padmé suggested.

“Hogwarts shouldn’t be excluded from this,” Obi-Wan said, “I’m sure plenty of purebloods hate me for my recent rebellion.”

“More like emancipation,” Satine said. “But I agree. We should bring Cody in on it too. I’m sure he’d love to put his Quidditch boys to work again.”

“I don’t think it’s that deep,” Anakin said.

“Why do you say that?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Because Pong Krell is standing over there looking pretty smug with his friends,” He pointed out, referring to the Besalisk and his shark-headed compatriots.

“Enjoy your one on one time with Gunray, Kenobi.” Krell grinned, “But I’d watch your back if I were you. I’d hate to see you booted out of the contest.”

“Scared I might win?” Obi-Wan retorted.

“Hardly, seeing as I highly doubt the next task will be solving math equations,” He teased before strutting away in a blaze of glory, even if it likely hadn’t worked out the way he thought it would.

“I’m sick of those guys,” Padmé said.

“Me too,” Anakin said, thinking of Rex and his various woes this year with Krell and how untouchable the arsehole seemed to be.

“That bastard,” Satine gritted and if Obi-Wan hadn’t placed a hand on her shoulder, she likely would have gone over and turned him into a fruit fly or something inferior and pathetically small. She had that scary Head Girl look in her eyes anyway. Anakin never liked to be on the other side of that.

“Oh, Hondo will not stand for this!” Hondo pushed up his sleeves and Anakin was surprised to find that Obi-Wan wasn’t as keen on stopping Hondo. He went in the opposite direction, but who knew what would fall upon the Besalisk for messing with Hondo’s money.

“That’s not going to go well,” Anakin commented.

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan said. “He’ll get what’s coming to him. I’m certain of it.”

They had to go at night in the rain, just as they had been when plotting out the space for the final task. The first had been heavily cultivated by Durmstrang officials, being that their focus was on physical strength. The second had of course been the work of some of Beauxbatons finest, seeing as they were all about mental games with their Veela ways. The final, naturally, was supposed to be carved from Hogwarts’ hands, seeing as they saw themselves as the source of their magic being sourced from their spirit.

Did Palpatine find that to be a load of dither? Sometimes.

Regardless of whatever self-professed mind, body, or spirit from each respective source, he found it quite easy to add in his own touch. These were supposed to be tests, right?

“I hope you’re right about this, Headmaster.” Palpatine said as all four heads of houses joined the Headmaster beyond Hogwarts protective limits. Alongside them, of course, was Ninety-Nine, as this had just as much to do with him as it did any of them. Awaiting on the other side, just outside of the shield, were the unmistakable Hutt’s- Jabba and Ziro alike, posted on top of a handheld chariot, which was supported by 10 very unfortunate Gamorreans. Rotta the Hutt was carried on a small red pillow by a much luckier servant.

There were numerous individuals with cameras as well- both big time and not. Some of them even Palpatine didn’t recognize and he always prided himself on being friendly with the press. Their Quick-Notes-Quills floated alongside them, ready to document whatever was about to happen here.

It was weak.

“Trust me, you must,” Yoda said and nodded at a rather dazed and worn Minister Valorum, who hardly appeared to have his devices about him. This tournament and the drama surrounding it had certainly taken its toll on him. Truly, at this point, Palpatine didn’t care. He’d gotten what he wanted. The ground had been shaken and cracks were made. It was enough to expose the distrust amongst their region.

“After a full month of cowering in the aftermath of your desecration of the almighty Jabba’s grand palace, you finally decide to show face,” Bib Fortuna, Jabba’s spineless twi’lek aid, spoke up, transcribing for the Hutt so all would be able to listen. Judging by their refusal to be lowered, they were setting the obvious precedent that they were on their high horses, looking down on each and everyone of them.

Nobody really knew what was up their little green headmaster’s sleeve, but Palpatine never liked to underestimate the likes of Yoda. He was slippery and more so than he wanted anyone to believe. If he weren’t so foolishly committed to his own morals, Palpatine would have loved to have him as an ally.

“Adhere to a fair trial, we agree,” Yoda said, clutching his little cane between two claw-like hands, and steadfast in his point. Palpatine looked from them to the Hutt’s, knowing that this will not go as such. They were beyond their limits, and though Yoda was powerful and Palpatine was more than he led anyone to believe, the Hutt’s had a strange magic that could render them useless if caught.

“Those were not the terms,” Bib Fortuna spat, not needing to wait for Jabba’s input, “You have had plenty of time to deliberate.”

“Time, I do not need,” Yoda said, “A listening ear, yes.”

Was that a dig at them? Since no one presently representing Durmstrang besides the little thing that lived in Jabba’s naval actually had ears on their heads. It was a choice time for such a comment, but Palpatine left that alone.

“You’re stalling!” Ziro spoke in his usual vibrato. He fanned himself with a fan that matched his purple skin tone as though he might grow faint, “Almighty Jabba, I smell a trap.”

“We’ve come unarmed. We just want to talk,” Professor Windu, who clearly had more knowledge on their plan than others, removed his outer robe and showed them all that they had not come with their wands.

Glancing at his hands, Palpatine considered the fact that he didn’t actually need a wand and that it was much more for show than anything else, but played the part of the weaponless simpleton as he was asked to do. It was idiotic, to let them know that they didn’t have anything to defend themselves, and more so when he found out they weren’t actually set on trapping or attacking the Hutt’s.

Surprisingly, Professor Tahl looked equally miffed by that, claiming that they would need to use everything in their arsenal to defeat the Hutt’s.

Jabba garbled something that Fortuna seemed to agree with, because he nodded his head along to every bit of it before relaying, “Nothing can be said to excuse your raucous behavior at the palace or to forgive the diabolical transgression of kidnapping sir Rotta.”

Little Rotta appeared quite mellow and to himself, mouthing on a slobbery tooka doll that seemed to be fastened from frog scales. His father extended a hand out to tickle where one could assume his chin was, causing him to giggle and squirm.

“That is why we have brought the little angel,” Ziro said, “To face his attackers and see their fates be fulfilled!”

A cheer erupted from the Gamorrean guards that could have been practiced on the way here; it was so unanimous. They waved their pitchforks and axes in the air triumphantly, even if they had little to actually gain beyond being spared of sleeping in the gallows again or perhaps getting to bathe. Considering how showy and cruel the Hutts were, Palpatine wouldn’t put it past them.

“Understand that, I do,” Yoda said, “But innocent, Tahl and Ninety-Nine are.”

“If they were so innocent, you would have brought the true kidnapper to light in order to atone for their crimes,” Fortuna said after Jabba angrily tossed his jar of lizards onto the ground, causing it to crack. Some of the juices sprayed onto Palpatine’s shoes.

Just great.

“We did,” Windu said calmly.

The once celebratory atmosphere shifted and for a moment, all that could be heard was the trickling rain that coursed down wet skin and onto the muddy ground. Apparently, an umbrella could have been perceived as a weapon, so they’d chosen to go without them.

Then again, Palpatine knew from experience that less could be forged into more.

“I don’t see anyone,” Ziro said slowly and turned to his nephew, who was staring emotionlessly at them through large red eyes.

“Bring you a mirror, I should, so then you could see,” Yoda said, breaking the confusing calm that had spread between all of them. It caused them to look to him, even the other representatives from Hogwarts. The cameras of the press flashed and boy did those quills move fast on parchment, but nobody paid them much mind.

But Jabba didn’t look to Yoda, Jabba looked to his uncle, who was presently schooling his features to appear appalled rather than nervous. Did he truly not see this as a possibility in his grand scheme? If he were to acquire a criminal empire, he would need to do better at covering up his own transgressions.

“How dare you?” He roared, not meeting Jabba’s silent gaze and instead turning all of his energy into anger, “I ought to turn you into dust for such talk!”

“Headmaster, you cannot just show up with such wild accusations towards one of the Hutt Family’s own without a grain of evidence,” Fortuna said, clutching his metaphorical pearls at the insinuation.

“Ah, now they like evidence,” Murmured Tahl.

“Of course,” Yoda said with a calm nod, “Ask Rotta, have you?”

“Pardon?” Fortuna asked.

“ This was your defense? To ask the baby?” Ziro started cackling then, likely because he fancied himself safe. “The baby can’t even talk, Yoda!”

Jabba didn’t appear to be too moved by that argument, however, and calmly looked to his son with intrigue. Rotta was still not paying much attention to what was going on and busying himself with his toy.

“I don’t hear any outright denial, Headmaster Ziro,” Windu said. “Nor do I think there is just one way to ask a question.”

“Jabba would never believe me to betray my precious little Rotta-bug!” Ziro said, “I have been entrusted with his care and estate for as long as he’s been alive.”

No one exactly knew how old that was, to be fair. Some lived longer lifetimes than others.

“Convenient, that motive is,” Yoda said, “Doing our job for us, you are.”

“Not to mention your various betting schemes that resulted in bankruptcy of your own school,” Tahl spoke up again, feeling the need to stand her own ground. After all, it was she and Ninety-Nine who were to be shipped off to Azkaban if this didn’t go well. “With Rotta out of the way, you would stand to inherit everything.”

That seemed to startle Jabba a great deal. Ah, the feeling of being betrayed by someone just under your nose. It was something Palpatine hoped to be on the correct side of one day.

“Alleged!” Ziro said, “And silence, wench, as you are merely trying to deflect the blame onto me, which is foolish since Jabba knows-”

“Hand je doe nyee.” He rumbled and without translating, Fortuna did as he was told and removed Rotta from his pillow, stirring him from whatever mindless game he was playing and handed him over to Jabba.

“Jabba, what are you doing?” Laughed Ziro, a bit on edge.

“Jee-jee will stuka coo doe nyee favors.” He said broadly and held the little Hutt above his head for all to see and to likely grab a few good pictures.

“We will see who the boy favors,” Fortuna said, “And who he fears or is upset by will be the revealed kidnapper.”

“Is this necessary? What happened to family? What happened to trust?” Ziro cried.

Jabba ignored him, though, having clearly enough suspicion in Ziro to at the very least try. They were without weapons and had practically nothing to lose at this point. They were at Jabba’s mercy, but there was something wrong here and he knew it. Wordlessly, he beckoned Tahl and Ninety-Nine forward and rather bravely held out his son to them.

He went without hesitation, even snuggling into Tahl’s embrace.

“It’s good to see you, my friend,” She smiled, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Indeed,” Ninety-Nine grinned when Rotta easily went to him next, giggling and laughing when he received a hug. “That’s all that truly matters.”

“Are you really buying all of this? Clearly, they’ve got the kid tricked!” Ziro argued.

Jabba actually seemed as moved as a Hutt could be at the scene. Rotta, despite coming from one of the foulest creatures known to man, was quite soft for two Hogwarts staff members. They’d apparently kept him safe when he needed it.

When the time came for Rotta to go to Ziro, however, his mood changed dramatically. In fact, one would suspect that they were committing great acts of torture on the little Huttlet as he writhed and squirmed, trying to avoid any and all contact with Ziro. He practically clawed his way back into his father’s embrace, shivering at haunting memories.

“Tell you what you need to know, that does,” Yoda said, breaking the silence, “Let you handle this how you want, I will.”

“Jabba, he’s just confused! I swear! Give me the stupid brat again and we’ll try-” He didn’t even get the words out before a loud crack caused them all to bend and cover their ears. When they looked up, Ziro had been pushed to the ground, narrowly crushing the surrounding reporters, and Jabba had his own wand pointed in his face.

“Ziro Tiiure, you will suffer the crime of kidnapping, deceit, and treason to the highest count,” Fortuna said aloud. “Your brains will be turns to goo and your insides will be used to produce jelly.”

And surprisingly, Yoda led them all back up the hill calmly, offering only a nod of mutual understanding with Jabba before doing so. Ninety-Nine and Tahl, who were quite stricken with relief, practically ran their way back as free individuals.

“Finished here, we are,” Yoda said, “Focus on the tournament now, we will.”

“And more importantly, deciding whether we’re going to listen to what the Minister told you.” Windu murmured quietly, but not quiet enough for Palpatine to miss.

It was going to be delectable .

Obi-Wan had always considered detention to be one of the worst things that could happen to him, just short of being expelled of course. Though through his own punishment he’d come to realize that maybe it wasn’t always a bad thing. He didn’t feel a lick bad about what he’d been doing with the DADA classes. He was doing the right thing. Protecting students and saving a lot of fifth and seventh years who would have otherwise failed their OWLs and NEWTs outright. There was no real shame in that. Not any he could find at least.

The fact that it was unjustly given was what Satine tended to focus on when they’d gotten back to the common room that fateful day. She was halfway through the outline of a rather gnarly proposal on what the outlawing of studying would do to young minds before Obi-Wan had set a hand gently on hers. He’d had to remind her that it was less about the study aspect and more about what Gunray saw as insubordination and unauthorized use of magic. Obi-Wan didn’t believe either of those to be true. A voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like his father, reminded him that he had fair grounds to “sue them for everything they were worth”. In a way it was pretty freeing to realize on his own that he didn’t have to do anything if he didn’t want to.

None of this stopped him from answering questions from other students, this perhaps is what backfired on Gunray himself. Obi-Wan physically being in the classroom had a lot of the fifth year students relax quite visibly. When they would raise their hands they wouldn’t ask for Gunray they would ask for him . It gave him something of a spark in his chest to be called over to answer a question. Gunray was rather spitty about the whole thing, quite literally spraying half the class in his spluttering. Anakin would tell him to “Say it not spray it,” but the boy wasn’t here. Hadn’t really been around Obi-Wan much at all recently.

Still there wasn’t much Gunray could do, especially when Stridus was so good at framing it like he would hate to bother the Professor for a simple, stupid question. He had to hand it to that Slytherin, the boy was crafty and it didn’t take long for the others to catch on. Perhaps as another attempt to dampen his spirit further Gunray had given him their assignments to grade, but that just went to show how little he knew about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Look at this Satine,” He’d said one evening holding up Alara’s most recent essay, “For someone who started quite nervous on the subject she writes so eloquently about the Confundus charm.”

She’d given him a soft sort of look, the kind where he always feels like he needs to check behind himself in case she’s seeing right through him, “You did a good thing, you know that?”

A good thing.

He had, he knew it. Even just looking at those first three students. Alara was much more confident, Tyanna had learned several things that made her eyes light up, and Stridus, he believed firmly, was on his way to passing onto the sixth year this time. That didn’t account for all the others. All the others.

No he couldn’t regret it and he wouldn’t. It didn’t help that his ‘detention’ really wasn’t even much of a limiter on his personal time. He’d already been spending far more time on his classes than his TA experience.

The one thing he hadn’t expected was to be excused for an interview session. He’d been whistling away cleaning up a couple cobwebs before class started when Gunray walked in sweating and dabbing his forehead with that ruddy soiled cloth. None of this was out of the ordinary, but Gunray approaching him before class started was.

“You’ve been summoned with the other champions,” Gunray told him, giving him a little shoeing motion with his hands. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move much to Gunray’s clear disdain, “You’re dismissed, didn’t you- didn’t you hear me boy?”

“I’m in detention,” He reminded him, “I can’t just leave, that would be against the rules.”

“Who cares about the rules?” Gunray tried to wave that away, but Obi-Wan met him with a blank stare.

“I do,” He answered, though he had a rather punchy comeback of ‘you did when you threw me in here in the first place,’ that he was a bit ashamed he didn’t use, “And Article D subsection 19 clearly states that any student leaving detention without explicit permission from the headmaster and the head of house will be receiving a longer sentence.”

“Well… well…” Gunray spluttered and Obi-Wan strategically moved behind a jar of various eyes to avoid being sprayed, “Let’s just let this go, hmm? This one time?”

“I really don’t think-” Obi-Wan began again, his thoughts drifting toward the fifth years and how he was really hoping to see the expression on Tyanna’s face when she received perfect marks on her essay.

“I’ll contact Tahl! I’ll contact the Headmaster and say I gave you permission,” Gunray tossed the soiled cloth onto the cluttered desk between them, “I’ll contact the bloody prime minister himself if you want me to. You have to go now or you’ll be late!”

Obi-Wan could think of several things he’d prefer to do right now other than interviews, but he gave a relenting sigh, “Alright if you promise to contact Professor Tahl-”

“Consider it done,” Gunray gave a satisfied nod.

“Are you sure you don’t need help for this lesson? It’s a-” He couldn’t say terrible, he can’t say terrible, “A bit of a doozy wouldn’t you say?”

“No, no! I had it handled before you and I’ll handle it without you!”

“If you say so,” Oh Obi-Wan doubted him quite completely.

As he was leaving he passed the incoming students, all looked rather dejected when they realized they’d be once again spending class alone with Gunray. He gave a awkward little half-smile and wished them luck. What else was he supposed to do? He hoped they remembered the spell he taught them that was good to loosen the jaw of a creature that bites. Gunray might lose a hand without him there, not that he felt in the slightest like that was his fault.

He walked the halls, eyes had started following him again, but it was different than the last few times these things had happened. Most he had heard were mad as a cut snake about their ‘extra lessons’ being removed. He’d overheard a few fellow seventh years working on an elaborate prank on Gunray and although he’d half heartedly reminded them of the rules, well, children would be children, even the older ones.

He was surprised when he entered the interview room to see not only a gaggle of press and his fellow champions, but Satine and Padme standing next to Anakin. Hera had brought a friend of hers along, though Quinlan stood alone.

“Satine? What in the dickens are you doing here?” He crossed his arms, “Don’t you have Muggle Studies?”

“I think I, a muggle born, can manage a day without it,” She said smoothly, he did have to agree he supposed.

It didn’t take long for everyone to realize that he was there and eagerly put him on the stand with the others. Satine stood just behind him as did Padme and Hera’s friend to Anakin and Hera, respectively. It opened quite the same as any interview did. Discussing the upcoming tournament and what the eager audience should expect. Quinlan made a pretty good joke about how the audience might as well be wearing blindfolds considering what they all knew about it. It was all going rather smoothly until someone had the guts to bring up more touchy details.

“I heard from a source that you might drop out Anakin, is that true?”

Anakin looked surprised to be given the spotlight, but as usual easily recovered, “Of course not!”

“I’ve heard after your horrible failure in the last match that you wanted to give up completely.”

“No!” He looked a little outraged now, Obi-Wan’s hands twitched at his sides where he had them hang. His mother’s voice was in his mind reminding him that bad publicity was still publicity. Anakin wanted to be in the news and in the news he shall be-

“We’ve heard from a reliable source that your grades, especially in DADA, are very low. Why would the goblet pick someone with such a low standing-”

“-As a likely more reliable source, I’d like to contest that,” Obi-Wan stepped forward, cameras flashed and he felt the ghost of his mother’s hand tighten around his throat. He shook away the feeling, he wasn’t her, he didn’t need her opinions anymore.

Anakin looked over at him inquisitively.

“Firstly, this is not a competition ladened purely on academic standings,” Obi-Wan pointed out, “The tournament relies on tenacity and strength just as much as it relies on spells and wit,” The look on Anakin’s face was not one that was pleased, but it was easy for Obi-Wan to ignore it and continue on with his point, “However, even with that falsity cleared, Anakin is one of the smartest wizards I know.”

Quills were scratching now and cameras flashed more fiercely as he shot a glance over at his former mentee who had a bit of surprise not quite hidden on his face.

“Anakin took on the Zillo Beast his first year, discovering a secret sith temple hidden deep within our school,” Obi-Wan reminded them, “There were no casualties from that disaster because of quick thinking and wizarding skills. There were some elements of teamwork, but in the real world you’re never truly alone. If anything this tournament focusing on just one person is a bit incongruent,” He made a point to look back at Satine as he said it, getting his point across to everyone in the room easily. She took the attention well which made him feel better about dragging it onto her.

“Anakin uncovered a self proclaimed Sith who had been teaching at this school and under my own nose for years. It took Anakin only one to show the world his true colors,” Obi-Wan pointed out, “No one else knew, no one else noticed. People studied and taught with him every day and we didn’t know. But Anakin knew something was up and without him who knows what Dooku would be teaching us,” Obi-Wan could still reckon it would be better than what Gunray was doing, but he wasn’t about to land himself into scrubbing toilets by calling him out so callously.

“But you took out Maul!” A reporter stood up, as if her words weren’t enough to gain his attention.

“With help,” He pointed out, pushing images of Qui-Gon and bridges out of his mind as he did so, “And what really does taking out Maul say about me?” He pushed, “It doesn’t show my prowess, it shows that I was lucky. I didn’t die, so I was lucky.”

“That’s not true!” Obi-Wan whipped his head around to where Anakin had moved to stand beside him, staring down the camera’s with a careful ferocity, “Qui-Gon didn’t really believe in luck.” The words hit him quite harshly, like the Hogwarts Express had crashed itself through the wall behind him, “If he were here- Well he’s not here,” Anakin continued, not looking at Obi-Wan but speaking confidently to the room, “So I’ll tell you what he’d likely have said! It takes all aspects of one’s self to achieve something great. Obi-Wan is smart, I mean have you seen his grades? He’s also skilled, like you said he took out Maul! And he’s strong enough to face people when he’s made a mistake.”

Anakin turned to look up at Obi-Wan and lifted his wand to cast a simple, yet effective muffling charm over the two of them, “I’ve been a ruddy git lately. I was just upset because you never even thanked me for your birthday present and you are kind of clingy and you did take a lot of attention off of me-”

“Birthday present?” Obi-Wan blinked towards him.

“Satine told me you never got it,” Anakin shrugged, “I left it out for you, maybe someone stole it. I just thought maybe it would get us to talk again.”

“But I’ve been writing you letters,” Obi-Wan frowned.

“I never got them,” Anakin shook his head, “Padme and Satine found out that we’ve basically been dancing around each other, I’m not sure who’s interfering, but it must be whoever’s targeting you in the tournament.”

When the charm dropped, there were a lot of questions about what had been shared between the two, but Obi-Wan had learned a thing or two about the media and let it go until another topic was pushed. It was kind of liberating to finally be able to be honest, or as honest as you could be in front of these vultures. He could talk about Satine and about Cody and about how they’d done hours and hours of research and work for his involvement in the tournament. Anakin talked about him and Padme and Rex. Quinlan and Hera had similar stories. It was really proof that this whole champion tournament was kind of a wash. No one was ever alone, not really. And those that were… well he didn’t think they’d fair so kindly under the amount of books they’d all been reading together.

And afterwards, it was when things began to mend a little. Anakin joined him for dinner in the Great Hall and they caught up. Anakin as usual had a lot to talk about and a lot that went over Obi-Wan’s head about comics and such. Still it was good to reclaim another important piece of his life. Anakin would always be important to him, he was a light in a dark world and not only because of his status as the chosen one, but because he strived to do good. Obi-Wan planned to see him through to adulthood and beyond, because someone needed to make sure the troublemaker didn’t land himself in Azkaban.

Palpatine had had a rather irritating day. Grading tests was so mundane, but grading practicals? He’d nearly had his damn eyebrows singed off. Fourth years were just on the precipice. If they couldn’t figure out how to brew something that didn’t blow up in their face by the end of this year? They’d basically be failures, he was sure. Didn’t help that a few of those sniveling brats said they got the measurements mixed up. He’d had to assure them that these things happen…

Palpatine’s real answer to that was simply not to make such a mistake. Thinking about his own situation, one wrong move and his cover here was blown. These fourth years were nothing like him at their age. Already making plans, if he made a mistake he wouldn’t have cried about it he’d have taken what punishment he received. He still had all his fingers and toes, he supposed that was proof enough that he didn’t make mistakes .

Now here he was at dinner stuck next to Gunray who was sweating profusely and muttering under his breath. Tahl had brought up a rather curiously written letter about letting the Kenobi boy off the hook for today’s round of detention and the man had practically fallen into a puddle of nerves. Through whatever he was on about Palpatine could assess that someone had told him how important it was that he not look like he was failing Hogwarts champion. Considering how the bulging eyed idiot kept glancing at a gaggle of girls from Gryffindor he’d guess it was that Amidala girl. He’d seen her skulking around with Kryze in between periods, but whatever she’d sold Gunray had clearly stuck.

He didn’t care about any of this. It was just that watching Gunray squirm was not as entertaining as it should be. It was really just sort of sad and pathetic. What he did care about was how Skywalker was sitting right next to the one person he shouldn’t be. Palpatine had worked so hard driving a knife between Kenobi and Skywalker and yet here they were, smiling at each other. He gripped his fork so hard the thing very much almost shot out of his hand. Instead he let it find the steak in front of him with enough force that he almost stuck it through the plate.

His steak was done well. He’d have preferred it raw.

No Palpatine was not having a good night. He turned towards Yaddle who was observing the very alive frog sitting on the plate in front of her. Even he was helpless to watch as she bit the thing in half. He was surrounded by lunatics.

“Ah Professor Yaddle?” He prompted in his far too weak, far too innocent drawl. Yaddle looked at him, the gleam of a hunt still lit in her eyes, which was perhaps as far as the two would ever relate. Not that she would ever know, “I’m going to head off, I’m not feeling too well.”

At the smallest hint of acknowledgement he stood and allowed himself to leave. He’d feel better with the cold damp dungeon walls surrounding him. He figured he’d go on a bit of a walk. Anything that could keep him from not making a mistake , like driving his nails through Kenobi’s eye sockets and popping them out for his potions store. No, he didn't need to make any premature mistakes .

“So, we know that the task is taking place in the forest, involves some big and scary monster, and is centered around a person’s “spirit”.” Cody listed all of these factors out on one hand to the small think tank that currently congregated in Professor Tahl’s classroom. “What else is there?”

Tahl, herself, was out for the night, so she allowed them to borrow her office for research. It was mostly exciting to Cody, because he got to strum on a guitar every time he got bored reading.

In other words, the guitar was taken from him pretty early on into the evening. Satine didn’t have any taste in music, which was disappointing to him, because she did not find his hard rock rendition of twinkle-twinkle little star to be nice on the ears.

“The fact that none of us were really given clues about it?” Obi-Wan said and then gave Anakin a look that could have also served as a question. The boy nodded and then supplied a clueless shrug. “Not to mention what Satine and Padmé dug up in the archives.”

“Which all seems like conjecture without any real knowledge.” Satine added. “Though we do know that the first two tasks borrowed from the past and while the forbidden forest has been used as a backdrop before-”

“-It is a bit dodgy that the very last task ever in Tri-Wizard history prior to this tournament, was also featured in the forest,” Padmé supplied. “Plus someone died.”

“Before the task though,” Rex said.

“Still, it was murder.” Anakin said, “Not like you can just trip and be decapitated.”

“I told you that the rumor about the ghost of the Shrieking Shack was true,” Rex clarified.

“No I told you that was true,” Cody huffed.

“No Hevy-”

“-Moving on, until that book is located, we can’t do much about that. Especially knowing it runs in Dooku’s family line. What we do know is that there were four contestants for that tournament as well,” Satine looked at her notes. “Aside from that, the only time it’s been recorded that there were four contestants was when Revan was in the tournament.”

“And he was cursed,” Anakin said, leaning back in his seat to the point where he was dangerously close to tipping backwards. Obi-Wan seemed to be keeping a keen eye on it with his wand at the ready. He didn’t want the boy to think he was hovering, though, and made no comment about it at the moment.

“This time it’s Kenobi’s turn to be cursed,” Cody said warily, not liking that fact any more as time passed, “Especially given Tahl’s ominous vision.”

Tahl had finally relented on the subject matter of the vision shortly after she’d been cleared of kidnapping. It hadn’t been too complicated: it was Obi-Wan covered in blood and dying. It hadn’t exactly surprised Obi-Wan, since he’d heard part of it, but it didn’t make anyone feel better.

“She still isn’t 100% sure what it means or why it happened,” Obi-Wan offered, especially when he was given a rather frightful look from Satine, trying as she might to hide it, “I still say we should be careful on all fronts. Anakin has been the target for the past two years. Why switch it up to me now?”

“I personally will start caring for explanations after the tournament,” Cody said, “Let’s just get you boys home first.”

“For once, I agree,” Satine said.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Cody frowned.

“Sorry,” She winced, “I just mean that it’s far more important for us to figure out what this task is capable of than it is the reason behind it. Those might be important for a later date, but I’m far more concerned in getting you in and getting you out.”

“Hearing about all of this murder and stuff doesn’t make me that eager to try and win,” Anakin said, “Well, if the first task was a race, the second was a maze, what does that leave for the last one?”

“Technically, the first one could also be classified as a race,” Kenobi clarified, “This one could be a hunt of sorts for the cup. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried something like this.”

“But clearly, it won’t just be anything in the forest.” Padmé said, “And no, I don’t think it’s the Zillo Beast either, Anakin. He wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s a dense forest!” Anakin defended, “But you know, who’s to say it won’t be an intense camping trip. That would be a test of spirit, wouldn’t it?”

“And a boring one,” Cody said, “Nobody wants to see you get eaten by a bear. They want to see you get eaten by a dinosaur or something cool.”

“That’s true,” Anakin said.

“Nobody wants to see you get eaten at all,” Satine corrected and then looked to Kenobi, “Or you.”

“Neither have much meat on their bones to be very tasty anyway,” Rex piped in.

“Not true! I have muscle!” Anakin flexed a bicep, grinning as the little bump on the center of his arm raised a fraction more than it had a few weeks before. “Thanks to Cody’s bootcamp.”

“That’s right!” Cody grinned, ruffling both Anakin and Kenobi’s hair, “I don’t go easy on them and neither will any curses.”

“I don’t think this is getting us anywhere,” Satine sighed and looked at the interview with the Minister of Magic from the press event. He had confirmed knowing what the final task was and while he hadn’t given any hints after being sworn under oath, he simply looked into the camera and said “find the cup, collect your prize”.

“There are some beings both mythical and true that have been known to stress mental and emotional fortitude.” Obi-Wan proposed, “There are brain worms.”

Cody shivered and all looked to him in mild surprise.

“What? I’m allowed to be grossed out by bugs!” He said defensively, “Doesn’t make me any less tough.”

“Sure, mate,” Rex smirked.

“Brain worms effectively turn you into zombies,” Satine frowned, “Unless they were to subject say, your loved ones to them, I don’t see how that’s going to actually test one’s emotional strength.”

“Oooh, I’d like to become a zombie!” Anakin volunteered and Padmé put his hand down.

“No you don’t,” She sighed.

“What about Illithids?” Satine asked, pointing to a psychological creatures book that she’d picked up at some point in their research, “Though believed to be extinct and sort of embellished over time, they were known to have psionic powers that could dive into a person’s soul.”

“That sounds horrifying,” Padmé said.

“It looks horrifying too,” Anakin added, “Those blue tentacles on their face and brain-looking heads do not make them lookers.”

“I’ve learned something about them in DADA,” Obi-Wan said, “When I was doing some extra credit work in fifth year, Dooku mentioned that it was rumored that before they went extinct almost an eon ago, Illithids inadvertently used their powers to create the first Personatus.”

“Ah, the act of being faceless.” Satine hummed. “I remember that essay. You were so tired, you switched tenses on a sentence or two, but ultimately, it was still an interesting read.”

“It was quite late,” He retorted. “And my introductory paragraph was so strong that Dooku said-”

“-Nerds, does this matter?” Cody asked, cutting in.

“Don’t get buggy , Cody,” Satine smirked, “But yes, a personatus, though rare, is someone who can transform into just about anyone while remaining practically unrecognizable in their true form.”

“So, a polyjuice potion,” Anakin said.

“Not nearly as simple,” Obi-Wan said, “A personatus needs to only have looked into the person they’re transforming into’s eyes once and they can change on command.”

“That’s insane,” Rex said.

“I don’t disagree.” Obi-Wan said, “There hasn’t been a known Personatus in over a century. The last recorded was Cato Parasitti, a clawdite bounty hunter who often used this power to steal from their employers.”

“What about this?” Anakin showed Obi-Wan a page from his book, which had mostly pictures of beasts. This one was surrounded by fire, a spider-crab hybrid with the face of a slug. It was perched on top of a large open eyeball, content with the flames that engulfed it. There were orange bubbles around it, each foggy and curious.

“That’s the legend of the Eye of Webbish Bog.” Obi-Wan said, “It’s rumored to be part of the reason the Bermuda Triangle is so peculiar. The Eye would only allow those to pass who it deemed worthy, and lit those that weren’t on fire. Evidently, it would force you to see your truest self and answer one question.”

“Nice,” Anakin gulped and flipped the page, “What question?”

“No one knows,” He said, “This drawing is done based on accounts found in a discarded journal. It had to be something difficult, I’d imagine, or maybe incredibly simple and often over thought. Either way, if it does exist, no one has ever answered it correctly.”

“Well, that’s creepy,” Rex said and looked to Cody, “Better watch out, it’s another bug.”

“Shut up,” Cody grumbled.

“Maybe it’s not deeper than we’re giving it credit,” Kenobi suggested, “Maybe it truly is about going into the forest, facing whatever spirit-challenging creature is inside, and getting out with the Tri-Wizard cup.”

“I feel that’s too simple,” Satine said, “The last tournament left its contestants scarred.”

“And one dead.” Padmé said. “Vidar Kim.”

“He was a Ravenclaw wasn’t he?” Kenobi mused.

“You know of him?” Cody asked, “Not sure why I’m asking that. You memorized every Head Boy that walked through this school’s name.”

“Exactly,” He said, “But that was an interesting year, because the position ended up being handed to a different student as well, since he hadn’t been able to live to see the tale. It’s really quite interesting that the school opted to replace him instead of honoring him.”

“He wasn’t winning the tournament,” Padmé said, “The Slytherin student was.”

“The Shack is pretty close to the forest,” Rex suggested, “I dunno, maybe his spirit haunted them.”

“What if spirit is construed as a ghost?” Satine’s eyes widened. “What if you’re haunted by ghosts?”

“What can ghosts do?” Cody asked. “They can’t even touch us.”

“No, but we underestimate the toll they can take on the mind,” Satine said, “Especially if they’re set free to run loose in the forest.”

“It’s possible,” Obi-Wan said, “But if I’m honest, I don’t think we’ll know until we get there. All we can do, is remain alert and have plenty of mind-healing antidotes ready to prevent any psychological damage.”

“I wish we knew exactly what that task was 100 years ago.” Cody complained. “This might make things a great deal easier.”

“Nobody likes to talk about it,” Padmé said, “On account of something very wrong having happened.”

“And whatever it is, it’s in that book,” Satine crossed her arms.

“Doing some spring cleaning, are we?” Yoda asked as he passed by Professor Palpatine’s office. The Potions professor had almost jumped a little at the Headmaster’s voice. He hadn’t been expecting visitors and yes, he had been doing a bit of decluttering. It was high time he disposed of some things that no longer served him useful.

“Oh, indeed,” He smiled, “It’s almost the end of the school year already. I truly can’t believe it.”

“Curious it is how time passes,” Yoda said and his eyes brightened when he noticed a cook book in Palpatine’s disposal pile, “Look through your books, can I?”

“Why, of course! My trash can be your treasure, Headmaster.” And Professor Palpatine truly said this with confidence, for the only book of true value was already under his robes and ready to be moved to the mantle space of his storage unit.

[baygreys]

A black lady sketch show

#A BLACK LADY SKETCH SHOW SERIES#

Season 2 has a sketch in the first episode called “Hear Me Out,” where Kim Coles plays a bank teller who isn’t listening to three various robbers who just want to be heard, with the joke being that no one listens to black women. She just said it and we were all like, ‘Ahh!'” ‘I Feel Your Paint’ and the Return of Rydeen – Episode 3 “Y’all Want Some Blood Juice?” Even Daphne Reese was not supposed to say she slept with Gab’s husband. There were two confessionals written in and then everyone got a confessional. She barely says any of the lines we scripted for her! I probably was the most on book, but I’m also reacting to them in the moment. Essence Atkins’ character was nothing like that on paper. That was not in the script that way at all. “Every time, she speaks in that sketch, she ends up turning to the character and breaking the fourth wall. The first time she did that, Thede was on the floor laughing and told her to keep doing it. Something Ashley Nicole Black’s Chef Lourdes does in the sketch is turn to the camera frequently. The script gets thrown away at some point, even after all that hard work.” Having this grounded experience in a magical reality is what I always talk about. First season, I was like as long as every third line is a joke, second season every other line, and third season-every line is a joke! We really crafted this way of being able to write real conversation that feels grounded a little bit, one toe on the ground-it’s sketch. Every season we become more and more intense about it. The cool thing is that joke density is something we really focus on. “Our Emmy nominated writers, hopefully soon to be Emmy winning, they’re incredible! Every season we have such an incredible group of new and returning writers. This sketch is a showcase for every actor (even guest star Daphne Maxwell Reid- Fresh Prince‘s Second Aunt Viv!) while also packed with jokes. Thede stars as the host, with Ashley Nicole Black as Chef Lourdes and Essence Atkins as Chef Rayna. In “Capp’t,” the best and brightest bullshitters compete to see who can come up with the best excuse to get out of any obligation. “Capp’t” – Episode 4 “Bounce Them Coochies, Y’all!” Thede talks about some of the memorable sketches from A Black Lady Sketch Show‘s Emmy-nominated Season 3, including some never-before-revealed details. We have a small staff, a much smaller budget than SNL, we don’t have a stage. You cannot take anything away from SNL! But I am extremely proud of the work we’ve done, and our show is the hardest sketch show to make. It’s about winning our first Emmy! SNL is amazing.

#A BLACK LADY SKETCH SHOW SERIES#

With SNL fading in nominations, could this finally be the year the HBO series comes out on top? In the Outstanding Variety Sketch Series category, ABLSS has gone up against SNL the past two years and lost. The beauty of this cast is that everyone is so versatile that we get to jump in and out of roles that are so different from ourselves and each other.” But then there are characters like Chris or Shanedra from the Coral Reef’s gang who are pretty quiet and pretty subdued, but who are memorable in their own ways for their more understated comedy. Hadassah-very charismatic, but truly wrong in most things. “Like Coach Luann Butler, good intentions, but not a great coach. “The ones that stick with people are the ones that are loud and leaders in their own mind, and definitely leading the wrong way,” says Thede. But that’s about the only thing any of them have in common. Download: ‘A Black Lady Sketch Show’ Showrunner Robin Thede Talks 5 Memorable Sketches from Emmy Nominated Season 3 Awards Daily chats with A Black Lady Sketch Show showrunner Robin Thede, who reveals details behind five memorable Season 3 sketches and whether this could be the year they win an Emmy for Outstanding Variety Sketch Series.Īs showrunner and performer, Robin Thede brings an unbridled energy to all of her characters on HBO’s A Black Lady Sketch Show.

[mimelord1]

Jennifer Lawrence Done with Franchises Reflects on Loss of Control

Jennifer Lawrence Done with Franchises, Reflects on Loss of Control https://ift.tt/xCY9O47 Jennifer Lawrence is getting back to her indie roots — not so much because she has to, but wants to … as it appears going mainstream in Hollywood has taken its toll on her. The A-lister is in London plugging her latest flick, “Causeway,” which sees her taking on a very quiet, dramatic role … playing a U.S. soldier with PTSD and getting acclimated to regular life again. It’s drastically different than anything she’s done in recent years. Official Trailer – Causeway Two unlikely strangers find solace in newfound friendship as they navigate their journey from grief to healing. Jennifer Lawrence and Brian Tyree Henry star in #Causeway, in theaters and streaming on Apple TV+ November 4.https://t.co/MmqiuUGmAJ pic.twitter.com/bRuDUlyScL — Apple TV+ (@AppleTVPlus) October 6, 2022 @AppleTVPlus What we mean, of course, is that this isn’t a major blockbuster by any stretch of the imagination — it’s an A24 film, with a way smaller budget and limited release via Apple. Beyond just that, though, this is territory that JLaw hasn’t ventured into in a while. Fact is, she’s been one of the industry’s highest-paid actresses for quite a while now … which, of course, is due to her starring in major franchises like ‘X-Men’ and ‘The Hunger Games.’ Jennifer Lawrence: I Felt a Loss of Control After ‘The Hunger Games’ Came Out https://t.co/50JQc6W6Ao — Variety (@Variety) October 8, 2022 @Variety Her Academy Award for Best Actress — for her lead role in “Silver Linings Playbook” — also shot her into a new stratosphere … making her one of the most desirable hires in the biz. As it turns out … Jen is actually looking back on all that with a fresh perspective — this on the heels of giving birth to a baby, and getting hitched. During a staged sit-down Saturday, Jen was quoted as feeling a sense of instability after achieving the pinnacle of acting fame. Jennifer Lawrence says she can’t do franchises anymore: “I loved superhero movies. Franchise is art and they’re so fun; I could never do one now because I’m too old & brittle. I love them too. This generation understandably likes a world to escape to, and I can relate to that.” pic.twitter.com/6Ukaruzlso — Film Updates (@FilmUpdates) October 8, 2022 @FilmUpdates Per Variety, she said … “I think I lost a sense of control. Between ‘The Hunger Games’ coming out and winning the Oscar, I became such a commodity that I felt like every decision was a big, big group decision. When I reflect now, I can’t think of those following years, [because there was] just a loss of control.” There’s another quote floating around that’s being attributed to JL — and it touches on her future in movies … which seems to swear off doing anymore big-time popcorn films. Jen reportedly said during this same chat, “I loved superhero movies. Franchise is art and they’re so fun; I could never do one now because I’m too old and brittle. I love them too. This generation understandably likes a world to escape to, and I can relate to that.” That’s pretty interesting. It sounds like she’s going to be far more selective with the projects she signs onto going forward — which could mean more Oscar-bait-y flicks like “Causeway.” The wild part … JLaw is only 32 years old! At this young age, she’s already been to the mountaintop and seems kinda over it. Jen says her next chapter will also include producing … not to mention starting her own production company. Going the way of Brad Pitt, eh? The post Jennifer Lawrence Done with Franchises, Reflects on Loss of Control first appeared on Suave Media. Tags and categories: Uncategorized via WordPress https://ift.tt/0kMZL9a October 08, 2022 at 09:24PM

[waitimcomingtoo]

Swedish Fish

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: at an awards show where you and Tom are nominated for a lot of awards together, you poke fun at the rumors about your relationship

Masterlist

“Hello!” A journalist greeted you and Tom as you approached her on the red carpet of a low stakes award show. “You two are looking amazing.”

“Thank you.” You beamed, feeling the excitement of the night settle in with your first interview.

“Thanks so much.” Tom nodded in appreciation as he rested his hand on your back.

“So you two are nominated for quite a few awards tonight. How are you feeling? Nervous? Excited?” The journalist asked before holding her microphone out to the two of you.

“I’m really excited to be here. I’m more excited to be Y/n’s date, though. Look at her in this dress.” Tom stepped back so the camera could get a better look at your long red dress. “She’s better than any award.”

“Stop it. I don’t want to be flushed in the interviews.” You leaned against him as you briefly buried your face in his neck to hide your blush.

“Aw.” The journalist pouted at the camera. “So you two came here together?”

“We did. Almost all our nominations are together so it seemed like the right thing to do.” You explained as you kept one hand resting on Tom’s shoulder.

“That was my excuse for why I asked her.” Tom joked. “I really did it because I wanted to make everyone jealous that I had the prettiest date.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “He just wanted me as his date because he knows I bring snacks.”

“You brought snacks?” The journalist laughed into the microphone.

“I did.” You nodded excitedly. “I have like 6 types of candy in my bra. I have cookies and chocolate in my purse. You don’t even want to know where I’m hiding a granola bar.”

“I really want to know now.” The journalist raised her eyebrows at you.

“I’ll find out later and let you know.” Tom winked and you smacked him playfully.

“It’s the Nature Valley kind though so I’m scared to eat it.” You laughed. “They’re so crumbly.”

“Maybe you can step outside and eat it. Like a little snack break.” The journalist suggested.

“I could. I’ll do it during one of the boring speeches.” You joked.

“Who’s speech would you leave during?” The journalist asked you.

“Probably Tom’s.” You stated and he nodded along it humor you.

“Yeah. I tend to ramble.” He shrugged, making you laugh.

“Alright well I’ll let you guys get to the rest of the carpet.” The journalist said. “Thank you for chatting.”

“Thank you! Enjoy the night.” You waved goodbye to her as Tom picked up the train of your dress to make walking easier.

“She didn’t ask if we were a couple.” He whispered in your ear as you posed in front of the photographers.

“Are you upset that she didn’t?” You laughed as you looked at him.

“Frankly, I’m a little offended.” He said through a smile while keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“Don’t be. I’m sure we’ll get asked soon enough.” You told him. As far as the public was concerned, you and Tom were just friends. After being nominated for multiples joint awards for your performance as a couple in Far From Home, you had made a plan to tease the media if you won in an attempt to get them to stop asking if you were together.

“They better.” He grumbled in your ear before the both of you laughed.

He kept his hand on your back as you walked to the next journalist, the train of your dress in his other hand.

“Hi!” The journalist smiled happily at you as you stopped in front of him.

“Hello!” You matched his energy with a bright smile.

“Hey. How are you?” Tom asked politely.

“I’m doing well, thank you.” He nodded. “You two have quite a buzz around you tonight. Apparently you’re the couple to watch.”

“Any couple that’s half Tom Holland is a couple to watch. Haven’t you heard of Gyllenholland?” You raised an eyebrow and laughed.

“But that’s a bromance.” The journalist protested. “This seems more like a romance, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not together. There’s just something about me that he doesn’t like.” You sighed dramatically and looked away, making Tom and the journalist laugh.

“It’s the face. I can’t get past it.” Tom played along as he squished your cheeks between his fingers.

“So you’re really not a couple?” He asked as if he didn’t believe you. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Nope. Just friends.” You shook your head.

“Best friends.” Tom grinned at you before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“You two are adorable.” The journalist commented. “And you’re nominated for a lot of awards together tonight, aren’t you?”

“We are. And that’s the way it should be. I think people enjoyed our movie as much as they did because of what we created together. It was a two person job and I’m glad it’s being acknowledged as such.” You answered honestly, making Tom’s heart soar.

“Not all of the nominations are for the both of us, though.” Tom brought up. “Y/n is nominated for best actress. And guess who’s presenting that award?” He smiled proudly.

“That’s right! Congratulations.” The journalist praised you.

“Thank you. I’m really grateful for all the nominations.”

“I’m so proud of her. I can’t wait to give you that award later.” Tom looked at you fondly.

“If I win.” You reminded him.

“Of course you’ll win.” He scoffed. “I voted for you everyday.”

“Thank you.” You rested your head on his shoulder momentarily to thank him for his support.

“So if you do win one of the joint awards, who gets to take it home?” The journalist asked you.

“We’ll just have to win them both I guess.” Tom shrugged playfully.

“I hope you do.” The journalist smiled. “I’ll see you guys out there. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Tom shook his hand before leading you towards the entrance of the building.

“Should we find our seats?” You asked him as you checked your lipstick in a compact mirror.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He nodded before taking your hand and walking with you inside.

~

An hour later after a few performances and wards had been given out, it was time for you and Tom to present an award. You nervously chewed your bottom lip as you waited for your cue, going over your prepared speech in your head.

“You ready?” You whispered to Tom, sensing he was as nervous as you were.

“I’m never ready to read, especially not in front of thousands of people on live television.” He laughed nervously. You gave him an assuring smile as rubbed his back to calm him down.

“Hey, if you can’t make out a word, just squeeze my hand. I’ll help you out.” You told him. Tom smiled back and slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“We haven’t started yet.” You laughed at his action.

“I know.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to hold your hand.”

Before you could respond, a man with a headset came up to you and gave you a thumbs up.

“You’re on in three, two…”

“Hello everyone. We are here to present the nominees for best actor in a horror film.” Tom announced into his microphone. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see any of these films because the ticket guy always thought I was a child.” He feigned a sad face, making the audience laugh. Their positive response calmed your nerves as you held your own microphone up.

“But don’t worry. I made sure I explained the plot to him once I got home.” You added.

“Only two of them made me wet the bed.” Tom read off the prompter, one of the lines he and you hadn’t written yourself. He made a face that you couldn’t help but laugh at, calming you even further.

“I can’t believe you read that line.” You laughed into your mic.

“I know. Who wrote that?” He wondered and the audience laughed along.

“Tonight, Tom and I are nominated for Best Onscreen Couple.” You continued. “Our chemistry on screen has left a lot of people wondering if we’re a dating in real life. We’re not, by the way.”

Tom was quiet for a moment as he blinked in confusion, hesitantly raising his microphone to his lips.

“We’re not?” He asked you as if this was the first he was hearing of it. It wasn’t, of course, as you had rehearsed this many times. Your face fell just like your practiced as the crowd laughed.

“No, we’re not.” You answered him flatly.

“I just - I thought we were.” His eyes darted around as he played dumb.

“Tom. We talked about this.” You said out of the corner of your mouth.

“But…but we make out all the time.” He said and the audience erupted with laughter. “Like what about that time in your trailer?”

“That was strictly platonic.” You shrugged.

“And in the elevator?” He asked.

“You had something stuck in your teeth. I was just being a good friend and getting it out.” You smiled smugly as you looked out at the crowd.

“All those times in my car?” He emphasized, making even you laugh.

“I was method acting.” You said simply.

“But - but it was months after production wrapped.” He reminded you, earning some applause as the audience caught on to what you were doing.

“I like to get really deep.” You insisted.

“Oh.” Tom looked at the floor for a moment before snapping into a smile. “And here are tonight’s nominees.”

You paused and let the audience laugh at your bit before reading the nominees off the prompter. Tom put his hand on your back, making you look at him. You smiled widely at your successful joke and he smiled back before taking your hand and giving it a squeeze.

~

You were sitting in your seats once again, impatiently waiting for the first category you were nominated for to be announced.

“I’m kinda nervous.” Tom leaned over to whisper in your ear among the buzz of the crowd.

“Would bra candy make it better?” You chuckled as you pulled a small Swedish Fish out of your décolletage.

“Has this been on your bare body?” He laughed in disbelief as he took the candy.

“Maybe?” You said sheepishly, looking around for anyone who might overhear.

“I can’t stand you.” His whole body shook with laughter as he popped it in his mouth. “It tastes like how your perfume smells.”

“Really?” You grimaced. “I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“Me either.” He sucked it out of his teeth. “Can I have another piece?”

You shoved his playfully for the bad joke before fishing another out for him.

“Here.” You placed it in the palm of his hands. “Wait, shhh! They’re announcing the winners.”

“This is really chewy.” Tom commented ad he struggled the swallow the candy. You ignored his problem as you excitedly gripped his arm. He continued chewing but managed to slip his hand into yours and clutch it anxiously as the nominees were read.

“And the winners for best onscreen kiss are…Tom Holland and Y/n L/n in Spiderman: Far From Home.”

The audience erupted into applause for the two of you, but all you could hear was Toms incessant chewing.

“Stop chewing. We gotta go.” You giggled as you pulled him out of his seat.

“Mhhhfh hmhph.” He said through a mouthful as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. You held hands on the way up to the podium as the infamous kiss played on the enormous screen. You hugged the presenter before standing in front of the microphone and beaming at the crowd.

“Hi! Thank you so you much for this award. Its always such a huge - - woah.” You trailed off and looked at Tom up and down, gulping loudly into the microphone.

“What’s wrong?” He asked you.

“There’s a lot of sexual tension up here.” You blew out a breath and fanned yourself. “Whew.”

The audience laughed at your bit but you were determined not to break.

“I was about to say.” Tom tweaked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. You both fidgeting with your clothing in an attempt to look busy as you avoiding eye contact.

“Um.” You laughed awkwardly into the microphone and gripped the podium. “What was I talking about?”

“I believe your last word was ‘huge’.” He said weakly, finally making eye contact with you. A chuckle went through the crowd as more caught on to the joke. You held each other’s gaze for a moment before quickly looking away.

“Right.” You nodded. “This is such a huge…a huge… sorry, what’s this award for?” You pretended to wipe sweat of your forehead as you turned around to read the screen.

“I believe it was Best Kiss.” Tom said before taking a deep, dramatic breath. You stared at each other for a long time, the only sound in the room now being your swallow breaths.

“Are we - - are we about to kiss?” You asked through a forced laugh before making your face completely serious. Tom raised his eyebrows before nodding and beginning to lean it. You leaned in to and right before your lips could touch, your heads snapped towards the crowd.

“Thank you so much!” You held up the award with a huge smile. “We love you guys! Thank you!”

This got a much bigger reaction than the last time as people cheered and laughed at your performance.

“That went well.” You gripped Toms sleeve in excitement as you walked back to your seats. “We got a lot of laughs.”

“I got a lot of laughs. You were a little flat.” He teased, pretending to flip hair behind his shoulder as you sat down.

“Mmm. Love you too.” You cupped his chin and narrowed your eyes at him. The actors and singers around you congratulated you on your first win on the night, all saying you got them with the fake out kiss.

The evening continued with an elated cloud over your seating area as you and Tom soaked up the win.

“Is it just me, or are the cameras hovering around us?” He said suddenly, calling your attention to the many cameras pointed in your direction. You waved at one and the camera man waved back.

“Trying to catch a stolen kiss I presume.” You shrugged as you gripped the award.

“Like we’d ruin the surprise.” He scoffed and put his arm around your shoulders. The second award you were nominated for together was next and your leg was already bouncing.

“I’m gonna be more disappointed in not doing our acceptance speech than I’d be in losing if we don’t get this award.” Tom said, practically reading your mind.

“I know.” You squeezed his knee anxiously. “Fingers crossed.”

“Good luck, darling.” He pulled you in closer and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“I don’t need luck when I have the best screen partner in the world.” You raised your eyebrows at him as you leaned into his body. You stayed in that position as Vanessa Hudgens read the nominees.

“And tonight’s winners for Best Onscreen Couple…Tom Holland and Y/n L/n!” She announced with a smile.

“See?” You smirked at Tom as you stood up.

“Guess I should tell you you’re welcome.” He teased as he scooped you into a tight embrace. He gathered the train of your dress in hand and helped you out of the aisle.

“I’m shaking.” You whispered to him as you made your way to the steps of the stage. “I’m gonna fall.”

“I got you, darling. I won’t let you fall.” He said as he took your hand with his free one and helped you up the stairs. You hugged Vanessa tightly once you got to the podium, whispering in her ear about being a fan.

“Thank you so much for this award.” Tom began your rehearsed acceptance speech. “I’ve always wanted to win best couple.”

“Onscreen couple.” You leaned towards the microphone to correct him. He looked at you in confusion but kept a smile on his face.

“What?”

“We won for best onscreen couple.” You pointed behind you. “Not best couple.”

“Oh.” He nodded like he understood. “So what did we win Best Couple for?”

“We didn’t, since we’re not a couple.” You said slowly, bringing back your joke from earlier in the evening. The audience chuckled as Tom made a show of reading the award and the screen behind him.

“Are you sure?” He asked suddenly, as if he didn’t believe you.

“Oh My God.” You groaned as you rubbed your eyes.

“Cause I feel like we are.” He gestured between the two of you. You shrugged a little and scooted closer to him while batting your lashes.

“I mean…do you wanna be?” You feigned shyness as you tucked some hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know.” He fumbled with the buttons on his suit jacket. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and looked away. “What do you want to do?”

“I could get my mom to text your mom and they could set something up.” He suggested as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay.” You smiled and picked up the award. “Maybe later we could like, you know.”

You shrugged and he laughed shyly.

“Uh Huh.” He nodded eagerly. “Or we could do like whatever.”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky breath. “Whatever.”

The two of you smiled in appreciation at the crowd before walking off, award tucked in the crook of your elbow and hands intertwined.

~

“This is the one I’m most excited for.” Tom told you as you waiting for Best Actress to be announced. Tom was the one presenting it, which only made your anxiety spike.

“But it’s just me.” You laughed as you looked at him.

“I know.” He shrugged bashfully. “You don’t need me to win. You’re the real reason people voted for us.”

“You’re just saying that.” You shook your head and put your hand on his bicep.

“Cause it’s true.” He insisted. “You got this.”

“Thanks for voting for me.” You answered sincerely, dragging your fingertips along his cheek.

“How could I not?” He tilted his head before getting tapped by one of the stage assistants. “I gotta go. Good luck.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles before following the assistant backstage.

You ran your hands over the arm rest, wishing Tom was still beside you to calm your nerves. You only had to wait about twenty minutes before Tom walked on stage with the envelope in hand.

“Nice to see you all again.” Tom greeted. “I know it’s strange to see me without my partner in crime, but she’s busy running through her acceptance speech in her head. Have I pissed off all the other Best Actress nominees? I bet I have.” He joked, earning a few laughs.

“Here are tonight’s nominees for Best Actress.”

You clapped for very nominated actress, noticing the wink Tom sent you when your name was displayed on the screen. Finally, it was time to announce the winner.

“And the winner of Best Actress is…” Tom’s eyes flicked up from the card before looking down again. You shut your eyes tightly and it felt like there was no air in the entire room.

“Y/n L/n.”

Your eyes flew open when you heard Tom call your name. You looked at the stage first, seeing him clapping and whistling for you with a proud smile. The people around you congratulating you, patting your back and rubbing your shoulders as you walked towards the stage. Tom had tears in his eyes as he met you at the top of the stairs, helping you stay balanced in your way to the podium. Tom got there first and took the ward off the podium and held it out to you.

“Here you go, baby.” Tom handed you the award.

Before you could take another step, he took your face between his hands and kissed you firmly. He smiled softly at you once he pulled way as you touched your fingertips to your lips in surprise.

He stepped back and let you move towards the microphone, still feeling flustered from the kiss and the win. You looked at the crowd and felt your mind go blank and they roared with applause. You looked over your shoulder at Tom, who gave you an assuring smile and mouthed “go on.” You blew out a breath and turned back to the audience, having a better grasp on what you wanted to say now.

“I can assure you, I was expecting that as much as you were.” You let out a breathy laugh and the audience laughed too.

“Thank you so much for this. This award means a lot to me.” You held up the award to punctuate your sentence. “I went into this movie thinking it would be a great opportunity to do something different than what I’m used to. I certainly didn’t go into this movie thinking I’d meet the love of my life.” You paused and smiled as a hush fell over the crowd. “Tom and I fell in love over scripts and cups of coffee at midnight, so much in love that I’m not sure I deserve this award because I wasn’t acting. Every soft touch and stolen glance, that was just me being in love with my scene partner.”

You stopped and let the audience clap for your statement, looking over your shoulder at Tom before continuing.

“I guess the secrets out now.” You laughed as you shook your head. “We had a running bet on who would accidentally reveal it first. So in addition to the three awards I won tonight, I will be getting twenty dollars.”

You heard Tom chuckling from behind you and felt compelled to finish up so you could hug him.

“All jokes aside, the number one person I want to thank tonight is Tom. I couldn’t have done this without you. And I’d never want to. I hope I spend the rest of my career sneaking Swedish Fish into award shows with you. Thank you.” You held up the award one last time before turning to Tom. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you around as he pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Sorry about that. I couldn’t help myself. I was too proud of you.” He smiled as he set you down. You began to walk backstage together, hand in hand.

“It’s all right.” You assured him. “I always appreciate a romantic gesture.”

Tom stayed quiet as you made your way back to your seats, a strange look troubling his handsome features.

“What is it?” You asked as you sat down again. Tom pursed his lips as a shy smile lit up his face.

“That was the first time you said you loved me.” He said timidly as he scratched behind his ear. Your mouth opened and shut as you found yourself at a loss for words. In the excitement of the moment, you hadn’t even realized you admitted your real feelings for him. You’d only been dating two months and while you loved him whole heartedly, you had never had the guts to tell him. Tom looked at you expectingly as he awaited your answer. Knowing there was no going back, you shrugged it off.

“Well I do.” You said finally, making his smile grow. “Is that all right?”

“Is that all right?” He laughed and took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Yeah. That’s all right.”

“Good. Because I do love you.” You leaned into him and rubbed your nose against his. He scrunched his nose as you made contact, still holding tightly to your hand.

“I love you too.” He said for the first time, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Congratulations, darling.”

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[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS

so a lot of people seemed interested this so here it is! if ya’ll like this, i can make more parts! this is split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. all fics are on ao3. all of the fics are complete. some fics do include smut, but i included the ratings, so make sure to check for that based on preferences!

also, feel free to send me asks on your thoughts on any fics or if you’re interested in another sambucky fic rec post!

BASED ON TFATWS

Fill the Hole in my Heart | Not Rated | 4,848 words

Bucky dives into the world of online dating. The girls are nice, but there seems to be something missing. When he goes to Louisiana to meet Sam and his family, he realizes what that something was.

Skip, Reverse | Explicit | 7,945 words

Sam stood in the middle of their local Target with a throw pillow in each hand. The one in his left hand was butter-soft and matched the drapes in the living room, but Bucky had walked by five seconds ago and declared the one on the right “absolutely fucking hideous,” and so now Sam kind of wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything.

Sometimes romance is just bickering with your superhero partner/roommate at several different Target locations.

just won’t do right | General | 7,524 words

Sam's eyebrows go up, impressed, and he reaches over to squeeze Torres' shoulder, "This is amazing, kid. Thanks, really."

Bucky sits and watches in utter horror as the pink darkens on Torres' cheeks.

Oh, he realizes. Oh. Fuck.

body language will do the trick | Explicit | 12,598 words

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

checklist | General | 4,716 words

Bucky Barnes keeps a mental checklist of things he knows to be true at any given moment. Sometimes the checklist changes, because he's learned something else about himself. It changes, for example, when he starts realizing that maybe he would like to kiss Sam Wilson. Maybe.

best laid plans | 3 parts | 26,808 words

part 1: baby you’re the wave and I’m ready for the crash | Explicit | 6,616 words

Nah, my plan’s better,” Sam declares, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what plan? Was that a plan? It didn’t sound like a plan to me, it sounded like a vague intention,” says Bucky, still scowling, and Sam grins.

“We’re winging it, the plan is a work in progress! Now c’mon, we gotta make some wardrobe adjustments if we’re gonna get into that club.”

Sam and Bucky have some unorthodox methods of going undercover in a club.

He Doesn’t Deserve You! | Teen | 5,154 words

Sam and Bucky have an argument that results in Bucky being left at the bar. A group of drunk strangers assumes Bucky just got dumped and quickly adopt him for the night to make him feel better.

Reconstitution | Not Rated | 10,228 words

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

Or: a breaking down, remaking, and coming back stronger than ever before

Stuck On You (You Suez, You Luez) | Explicit | 10,136 words

Sam and Bucky’s mission was simple: stowaway on a ship suspected of weapons-smuggling in the Suez, gather enough intel to report back, and hop off again in Port Said. Something gets in the way, and a day-long recon session turns into a week of chess, bickering, semi-successful movie references, and trying not to go slowly insane.

His Touch | Mature | 1,006 words

When Baron Zemo touched Bucky’s face, Sam Wilson saw red.

Bucky just wants Sam to comfort him.

rusted | Teen | 2,358 words

Bucky doesn’t grace him with a sound of acknowledgement. He’s been quiet, ever since that night with Zemo. Well. Quieter. It’s almost like. Every time he opens his mouth, he’s half-expecting the Winter Soldier to come out.

He hasn’t, yet. Won’t, ever again. Not unbidden. Sam’s sure of that. Bucky, not so much.

‘You busy?’

‘’m scouring the—’

‘Good,’ Sam cuts the idiot off, ‘I need you to help me shave.’

advanced therapy methods for large adult men | 2 parts | 11,717 words

part 1: The Gottman Method for Dealing with Conflict | Mature | 4,187 words

Bucky and Dr. Raynor have a follow-up session and two entirely different conversations about his relationship status.

Or: Let's do more couples therapy, James.

it’s always Bucky’s Fault | 3 parts | 20,089 words

part 1: Did you see it? | Explicit | 3,905 words

In which there's supposedly a viral video of the Winter Soldier on his knees sucking off Captain America.

Everything is, like always, completely Bucky's fault.

CANON DIVERGENCE

Even in the Present (I Am Living in the Past) | Teen | 16,977 words

Sometimes Sam still questions everything about his ability to shoulder the 80-year legacy he now bears. His history, and the history of his loss, sticks with him and even in healing he doubts whether or not he is able to fulfil his purpose, and whether he may find lasting peace and happiness.

Told in fluid-fragments, the story moves between his therapy sessions after his return from active duty and the post-Endgame present.

You never forget your first | Teen | 3,650 words

The story of Bucky and Sam getting together in a series of firsts.

leftovers | Mature | 19,249 words

With the New Avengers up and running, Sam finally has time to start dating again. Unfortunately, it's not going as well as he'd hoped.

Partners | Explicit | 7,235 words

Sam's not sure if he can be Captain America. He's not a supersoldier. He can't throw the shield. He's just a dude.

And Bucky Barnes is just a nuisance, albeit a pretty good-looking one.

I’ll explain everything to the geese | Explicit | 50,949 words

Bucky is so competent that it hurts my feelings is not a rational complaint to have about a person, and yet, after a year of being Captain America and partnering up with Bucky for the new and improved, post-Blip Avengers, that’s kinda how Sam’s feeling.

It’s not great. It maybe leads to Sam making some rash, ill-advised decisions like claiming he has a previously undisclosed superpower, and then getting caught in a web of lies when he ends up actually developing that surprisingly inconvenient superpower. Talking to birds had seemed like a harmless superpower, but it turns out that birds have a lot of opinions, and they don’t hesitate to tell Sam about them, especially when it comes to his supposedly subpar courting skills. Which is ridiculous, because Sam isn’t courting Bucky. Right?

Night Swimming | Teen | 2,056 words

“Come on. The princess has a new arm for you and I gotta see if there’s a barber around here willing to tackle your…” Sam waved a hand at Bucky’s face.

“I don’t want a new arm,” Bucky immediately bit out.

And then -

“I can cut my own damn hair.”

Sam just raised both eyebrows. Crossed his arms over his chest again.

Dared Bucky to prove him wrong.

AU

Cpvert Coffee & Flirtation Specialist | General | 5,542 words

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield?? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

Stolen Moments | Teen | 98,767 words

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.

Such a Whirlwind Since I Saw You | Teen | 10,871 words

The Men of Letters turned Bucky Barnes into a weapon. Hunters Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov are determined to save him, but they're going to need Sam Wilson's help.

“So you want me to ditch work, drive across America with you until you find your friend, who you thought was dead - all while avoiding some high-tech hunters who are out for blood?” Sam is asking.

Steve shrugs a shoulder, looking a little sheepish. Natasha almost laughs at the dry tone of Sam’s voice, but he's not wrong.

You Got What I Need? | Explicit | 37,588 words

Sam and Bucky are both in a bind, professionally. Nat points out a solution that neither men like. To save their careers they play along or rather, stop playing all together.

[dienamights]

Unfavorable Guidance | H.Shinso

​✎ Mindjack has been doing these kind of jobs since he was recruited as a hero, he is unmistakingly the best at them, doesn’t need anyone butting their noses in his business, especially you, the sly fox in disguise, offering your tainted helping hand.

✎ Protagonists: Hitoshi Shinso x Fem!Reader.

✎ Word count: 6.4K

✎Category: noncon/dubcon, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

✎Caution(!):  noncon/dubcon, Smut 18+ MDNI please, , mentions of alcohol, mentions of murder, minor character death, sex under quirk use, spitting, degrading, swearing, manipulation, unprotected sex. 

✎ Author’s notes: I KNOW I’M LATE EUFGKHDFVBDFXL, but here is my contribution to @daisy-bakugo​ 2k event Vice City! Please take the time to read everyone’s work if you haven’t! Thank you so much for letting me participate.

I listened to this throughout the entire process of writing it, if you’re familiar with Kingdom Hearts, some names will ring a bell to you lol. also I hate the header and the summary but you’re just gonna have to live w it for now cause its 8 am I NEED SLEEP

» Masterlist | Requests | Taglist

The annual auction of Vice City is one of the biggest social events of the year. The wealthiest families and richest people in the world come from everywhere in attempts to win what is secretly considered the greatest treasures of all time. Greatest and most expensive.

Alas, the after party held later on is what people are all secretly actually waiting for, where the most exquisite and rarest artifacts of the year get auctioned off to whoever is lucky enough to even be included in the guest list.

While not all are there for the auctions, it certainly is the perfect opportunity for anyone who's anyone in the world to show off their wealth. Filthy rich people sway all around, laughing and bragging. Venetian crystal chandeliers, velvet carpets, gambling, and alcohol. Men with their cigars, men with their wives, and men with their arm candies, their escorts or mistresses.

Yet, Shinso isn’t here for the luxury, he isn't here for the fame and the fortune, nor the reputation people thrive for when they buy those - meaningless, he calls them - relics. No, he is here on a mission, one he certainly wants to be done and over with because he wants to go home. He loosens his tie with an aggravated sigh before knocking back the last of his only gin and tonic, the bitter taste prickling his throat as he surveys the crowd of people all around him while he stands idly by the bar.

He knew it’d be a pain in the ass the second he got the mission assigned to him from the agency, the words “intel” and “Vice City'' of all places forced a frown upon his face, yet, being the most suitable for this job, he couldn't really decline.

Mindjack isn’t the type of hero you see on billboards and magazines, isn’t the type of hero to kiss babies’ heads that get thrusted at him in meet and greets, he certainly isn’t one to have those adoring fan clubs that follow his every move, posting about his greatest conquests. Oh no, he is a hero that works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, undercover -lie through your teeth throughout the whole ordeal- kind of hero, the kind of hero that goes home at the end of his missions with no gratitude towards his work, because nobody knows who he is or what he contributes to the society.

For the longest time, Shinso accepted the life he’s living, he didn’t look for validation from the citizens, knowing his work is always beyond the scope of their knowledge and their awareness, but sometimes, just sometimes, the sour droplets of envy would foul his mouth when his amethysts for eyes scan over the extravagant heroes, making a show out of saving their cities and getting praised and awarded and loved for doing what they’re supposed to be doing, their job. 

“Squeeze that glass a bit more and you’d break it”

A voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him, Shinso blinked twice before his eyes dragged over to you, oh so beautiful and oh so close. Your nimble fingers wrapped around his fingers, the lacey glove lightly scratches his hand before he lets go of the glass in surprise, dropping it into yours. You giggle sweetly, turning around to place it on the bar before ordering your own, but not without looking at him over your shoulder and sending him a smile.

“What will it be, sugar tits?” the bartender leans over the counter, towel thrown on his shoulder as he sends you what's supposed to be a sultry look. Your elbow is placed on the counter while you rest your chin on your hand, smiling temptingly at him. “Anything that’ll get you to stop staring at my boobs.” Shinso almost laughs at the contrast between your smile and your voice, sharp and venomous, and the man leans back so far from you like he’s been stung. Walking away to work on a drink for you.

Shinso’s eyes rake your body without his knowledge, he admires the dress adorning your body, hugging you in all the right places, cascading down to the floor, and that slit my god, your legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how you can strut so elegantly with them on. A snap of your fingers breaks his trance and he tries - keyword tries - to act nonchalant to his obvious ogling and you only laugh in return.

You hum lowly, “So,” you’re turning to face him as you lean back on the counter, pushing your chest out to grasp even more of his attention, “what's an esteemed hero like you doing in a place like this?” It takes Shinso a good minute before he narrows his eyes, left foot back and ready to either take you down or run away if you were to involve greater forces. No one is supposed to know about his true identity, no one is supposed to know that there is a hero within them.

But what shakes his demeanor is the way you dangle his wallet in front of him, like dangling a stupid feather for some silly cat, waiting for it to jump at you to entertain you. Shinso swallows with a struggle, deciding that using his quirk to retrieve his wallet back will lead to him leaving, and he didn’t want that. He’s been keeping an eye on the wanted man for hours now, and it’ll all go to waste because of your slimy little hands and your-

“Here,” you toss it back to him, and he stumbles a bit before catching it properly, eyeing you for any sudden movements, but you simply turn back around in time to hold the drink from the bartender’s hand with a smile dazzling your lips. “You’re getting intel on The Wise?” you mumble against your cup, sipping slowly, eyes never leaving Shinso’s glaring ones. How the fuck do you know?

“You’re not the first.” you smirk, finger wiping the smeared lipstick against the glass before circling the rim. “You all look the same, thinking you’re better than them because of your position in the society, only for that ego to come and bite you right in the ass.” It’s almost ironic how poisonous your voice could get while still maintaining that mesmerizing smile, and oddly enough, Shinso’s eyes keep drooping despite his desperate attempt to fight against them.

You hum again, the click of your heels sounding muffled to him, eyes blurring when you get so close to him your breath tickles his cheek. “But you’re different, hmm? You’re gonna make the bad guy go away?” 

“Yes.” it's rushed, almost desperate, and the hero is astonished at how he sounds. “Then, lemme help you… Hitoshi.”

A blink, and you’re gone just like you vanished right from under his nose, slipped right between his fingers. A low curse escapes Shinso’s lips and he turns around swiftly to question the bartender, hell bent on getting any information on the girl that just revealed his entire identity and mission to him in a matter of seconds. 

“How can I help you, sir?” the question boggles his mind, the big burly man with an attitude problem wasn’t there anymore, replaced by another sweet woman that held concern in her eyes at his sight. “You’ve been staring at the wall for a while there, need me to call your driver to get you back?” 

“Wa- but I- She,” Shinso’s body started heating up in anger, worry, embarrassment, he doesn’t really know, but what he wants to know right this instant is how long he’s been out of it and for god’s sake, why?

Shinso doesn’t really consider himself to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but dammit did he feel like a complete idiot letting you run off like that, a quick trip to the restroom for a splash of water clears his head enough for him to pull back his wallet from his pocket, flipping through it and finding something he was absolutely sure wasn’t there prior to your visit. A silver card, with ‘Surveillance room’ scribbled on a note behind it.

Caving in and accepting whatever help you were offering him, Shinso slides the card through the reader, sighing in relief upon the satisfying ding sound, followed by the door opening to the surveillance room.

“Now that’s what’m talking about.” life got so much easier now that he could watch The Wise through multiple screens, making it hard to miss a single move of his. The hero allows himself to relax a bit, hand messing with his hair and tired eyes blinking in irritation against the glare of the screens. The Wise was the mastermind of Organization XIII, as their name intel, they’re consisting of the same thirteen members that founded it years ago, nobody really knows how they started, what shocked the whole world is how grand their first crime actually was, bloodbath of the century -they would call it, seventeen slaughtered heroes, followed by their families, including women and children, thousands of millions of ¥ in money laundering atop of it, all within a span of 4 months, that was years ago, back in their prime.

Now, with eight of them behind bars, the remaining five were able to stay under the radar, distributing whatever money they were able to keep between them and fleeing to different parts of the world. Just because they were apart, didn’t mean they were any less dangerous, The Wise is a prime example for that, brutally murdering three of the undercover heroes sent his way to bring him back to justice, but they weren’t Shinso, he’d try to remind himself.

May their soul rest in peace, they were those heroes he felt dissociated from, the type of heroes to flaunt their powers, monetize the peoples’ knowledge of their quirks, uncover the secrets of their job, they were easy targets for people like The Wise, he’d know their weaknesses and how to take them down before they even think about pursuing him. Now, Mindjack was a different story, he wasn’t held on a pedestal by the people he saves, simply because they don’t recognize him, while he would loath that reality sometimes, he thanks the god for it today, as he’s watching the man’s call out for a drink.

Amethyst eyes scan the remaining screens, widening upon the sight of you looking right back at them, you are a vixen to him, eyes half lidded with a smile so intoxicating it does nothing but entrance whoever was lucky enough to catch its sight. Lace clad fingers wrapping around a piece of paper, you are so beautiful, Shinso tries to stop his mind from wandering, imagining what you wore underneath that angel crafted dress, envisioning what those fingers could do to please him, the same fingers that held the unfolded paper, the word ‘RUN’ smeared across it in lipstick.

Wait a minute, run?

Even before the poor hero could react, the similar satisfying -now dreadful- ding rings in his ear, before the door opens behind him, illuminating the room even more. Shinso stands to face two men, both as surprised as he is to see another occupant in the room. Right before any of them move, the hero opens his mouth and prays to god that whatever way he’s winging it works. “You got a permit to be here?”

Jesus one of you answer, and they both do - the left having fingers curving into talons while the right pulled at strings from the tips of his fingers, both ready to attack - and by god Shinso couldn’t be happier upon hearing a sound, because the minute the word ‘yes’ slips through their lips, Mindjack is smiling like a madman, welcoming the look of glossy eyes and heavy heads like a beloved relative’s return back home. 

“Great… Now,” the two manipulated  men face him, unaware of the dreaded fate bestowed upon them, while Shinso just can’t seem to keep the glint in his eyes at bay. “Why don’t you put on a show for me,” he breathes, smiling down at the ground before looking at them. ”Choke the fucking life out of each other.” The men don’t even blink, quick to face each other and jump, hands wrapped around throats like a vice, Shinso only moves away from the men on the floor as they thrash and kick at each other, limbs flailing as they try to force the life out of each other.

Turning his back against them, Shinso eyes the screen he was monitoring before their entrance, ignoring the groans and gasps of air behind him. He curses under his breath when he sees The Wise getting up from his place, heading towards a room that is supposed to be monitored by screen #6, but is purposely out of service. If he isn’t able to question The Wise or even keep an eye on him, then he’s gonna head on over to the next best thing. Gargled screams echo through the corridor as the hero makes his exit, making sure the door clicks shut behind him, he wouldn’t want to cause disturbance to the esteemed guests of the society of lowlifes.

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, killing machines that didn’t spare the live of the innocents, so why should he spare theirs? 

Shinso makes it back to the main event, immediately finding you between guests, sitting so pretty on the poker table, eyes drawing him closer, the grin adorning your lips now wobbly, easy for him to distinguish as fake, forced, a façade kept for the people surrounding the table. He is hasteful in settling himself in the chair near you, shoulders tense when different pairs of eyes fall upon him, the dealer shuffles the deck to draw cards for Shinso, but you hold your hand out with a smile. “He’ll sit this one out, by my lucky onlooker.” A round of laughter causes Shinso to flush in embarrassment, feeling degraded and looked down upon by all these lowlifes, petty thieves and criminals, thinking they’re better than him, oh he’ll show them.(1)

It takes a few rounds for the table to empty out, now occupied by Shinso and yourself, the dealer asks him to move over to the next chair before they start their game. “Place your bets.” you’re quick to slide over a few of your chips to his side - some black, others red and blue, he didn’t really pay that much attention to them- your eyes daring him to reject your invitation to take the money to play.

He only blinks at you, his eyes seemingly never wanting to lose sight of you as he fights with himself to sit straight to face the dealer again, the man proceeds to deal both of you the cards for you to review before placing your bets. “You tricked me.” Shinso is almost appalled at the hurt laced in his voice, as if the two of you had a bond that was never meant to be broken. “don’t believe so, told you to run didn’ I?” The mockery in your voice is a hoax, the single twitch in your brow catches his attention and he can only deem it as you being stressed, whether it be because of the ordeal regarding the surveillance room or not is beyond him. No, he was stupid and foolish and he will not fall for your silly games again. “Exactly, you knew they were coming.” you hum in response to his accusation.

“Call.” Dropping a few of your chips on the table, your eyes shift momentarily to him, “I did, I said I’d help you and here I am.” He slams his bet on the table, ‘Raise’ gritted right through his teeth at your words. “I don’t want your help!” He reveals his cards on the table, a way to show his disinterest in your assistance as the dealer announces ‘Flush’ at his hand. Your eyes meet again from above your cards, now narrowing down instead of the half lidded look you seem to always have “You don’t want it, but you need it.” The façade you held before is slowly but surely breaking, now a deep frown tugging at your lip as you reveal your own hand, brows furrowing even further in challenge as you hum in displeasure when the dealer announces your ‘Full House’ hand to be the winner of this round.(2)

Shinso moves swiftly to stand when he sees you do the same, right before his entire world starts to spin, lights and colors mingling together and causing his head to spin, he sits down again, head between his hands as he tries to calm himself down, it's probably the strain of the mission, maybe it’s the weight bestowed upon his shoulders to finish it up. The hero lifts his head up to ask you, about something he himself isn’t even sure of, he just wants to hear your voice, like a drug to him that he can’t help but ask for more. Except when he does, you aren’t there, the table is occupied by different people, the dealer is another man with longer hair and slimmer figure, and by god did Shinso want to rip his hair out.

The minute he feels like he could get back on his own to feet without falling down on his ass, Hitoshi is quick to check his pockets, adamant to find a clue your sneaky hands slid into one of his pockets while he was out, despite the tantrum he almost threw at not wanting your help nor guidance, and he does find something, a simple metal key, attached to it was a tag with the number XIII on it. 

In his shock, he almost drops the key on the ground but barely holds himself together to avoid any further embarrassment, Shinso takes deep breaths, knowing that the key in his possession is his entry to the heart of the organization, and especially to The Wise. 

Every year, specifically at the Vice City annual auction afterparty, The Wise holds a meeting with the most dangerous men within the continent, the most loathsome masterminds of the criminal world, all in the hopes of recruiting one of them into the organization, to uphold its name and spread its message. Every year, with no recruitment yet. 

With trembling hands, Shinso stuffs the key back into his pocket, eyes on the lookout for anyone who might’ve caught the key in his hand, but sighs in relief when he sees some engrossed in their meaningless poker and absurd talks, while the majority have made their way to the next hall over for the auction that is being held. He takes the stairs three at a time up the floors, facing a red oak double door, the same forsaken number engraved into it. After multiple failed attempts at inserting the key in the lock, he finally does with a huff, hearing the lock echoing in his ears before pushing the door open.

To be honest, Shinso didn’t know what he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, he thought maybe he’d watch weaponry trade off, perhaps people brawling and fighting amongst each other for the title of being the new members. But he certainly didn’t expect to be engulfed in jazz music, men with their cigars laughing and chatting, without a single care in the world, as if their hands weren’t tainted with the blood of the innocents, oh how he loathed them. In an attempt to fit in, he grabs a glass of whiskey from the butler standing by the door, nodding to him in thanks before moseying his way over to the corner in the room, he’d be damned if he got caught in the crossfire of those lunatics.

A stage is set up in the front of the room, and it takes a second for him to acknowledge the pole placed right at its center, it takes him another few seconds to see the beauty dancing on that pole, Shinso’s eyes rake her body without his knowledge, he admires the lingerie adorning her body, hugging her in all the right places, garter snug against her thighs as she twirls, her legs looking endless in those heels he wonders how she can dance so elegantly with them on… wait a minute. 

As if predicting the minute he realized it was you, you twirl to face him, lips pulled into a smile yet again, a giggle interrupting your humming as your body twists and turns on the pole. Shinso isn’t really sure how long he sits there captivated by your body, the only thing breaking his trance is the clap on his back and the heavy weight that sits next to him. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

Bile rises to Shinso’s throat at the mere sound of the person next to him, fear stills him in his place, restricting any movement he’s even thinking of doing, all he could do is sit, widened eyes and sweaty brows at the sight of The Wise right beside him. 

“Don’cha love it when women like her,” The Wise points at you with his cigar, “work to please men like us?” His arm now completely wrapped around Shinso’s shoulder as the hero feels his soul levitating from his body. “Look aroun’ya,” and he does, and only then does he really pay attention, he should’ve seen it all along, the glossy eyes, the droopy heads, it's a sight he was so well accustomed to that his brain normalized it to him. With whatever courage he musters up, he shifts his eyes to look at the man beside him, noticing the ear plugs he wore, and right then the gears start to turn in his head. “My most prized possession I tell’ya.” 

Of course you would be, how else would you have access to all these things, the card, the key, the vanishing from thin air, it all makes sense now.

“Enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?” your words are flowing like honey to his ears, a low buzz ringing in his brain as you spoke to the men in front of you. His ability to frown is nonexistent, a relaxed look adorning his face as he looks up at you, so elegant and beautiful in whatever hugged that miracle of a body.

“Sure are,” The Wise jerks Shinso by the shoulder, and he realizes that was done to break whatever trance he was in, he could only glare back at you when you smile at them, that conniving smile that hosted all the lies you spouted to him.

“y/n,” He calls you and by God if this isn’t the most beautiful name Shinso ever hears, what a shame it's being tainted by the voice of this criminal. “Wadda ya say to takin’ this fine boy to the red room, hm?” The man urges him to stand and take your hand, which he did at the blink of an eye, his body moving on it’s own to graze his lips against your knuckles in a breathless kiss. “Treat’m real nice for me.” The hero’s feet take him to follow you, his steps light, like walking on clouds, the sway of your hips pulling him closer to you until his chest is flush against your back, pushing you to move faster into the room you are pointed towards.

Walking aimlessly through hallways, taking lefts and rights he would never be able to recollect in his current state, you both enter a room, red just like The Wise called it, crimson silk sheets fitted on a king sized bed, maroon loveseats and plush carpets, everything in that red hue that it's almost nauseating. 

Bringing your hands in a loud clap, the fogginess in Shinso’s vision dissolves, your creased brows and frown now more prominent to him than ever, his eyes catch the scar trailing from the back of your neck to your cleavage, confused as to why his usual perceptive self would miss it, but then again, he doesn’t feel like he was ever himself throughout this whole ordeal.

To say he was furious is an understatement, he never felt more played in his life, he is Mindjack, the most conniving hero of all of Japan, he was manipulative and sly , known by his people to get jobs done, no matter who his opponent is, he always comes back victorious. And when his ears pick up your sigh of relief, he could only see red, he is hurt, he is scared, but now its his act, his turn to fuck shit up, he wants to hurt, he wants to scare.

“Fuckin’ lying bitch,” It takes him all but two steps for his body to graze yours, tantalizing eyes boring down into yours as you gasp at the close proximity, “you were workin’ with’em this entire fuckin’ time?”

“N-no that’s not it,” you stutter, flustered at his overwhelming presence, trying to put some distance between you and the fuming man by pushing his chest, “Please, I need you to listen to me.” 

“Oh, now you’re beggin’ hmm?” his firm warm hands circle your wrists, tugging them away from his body and using them to pull you even closer to him, his breath now grazing the tops of your cheeks, “Didn’t your boss tell you to treat me right?” he breathes, “well, get to it, slut.”

“That’s not what this is Hitoshi, just listen-” for the love of all that’s pure in this world, why does the sound of his name exceed his perception of how happiness is supposed to reverberate in his ear? “Keep my name outta your mouth, or I swear,” He hisses at you, the grip on your wrists tightening as you whimper out in pain. 

“You think you can just toy with me? Have me running around and following your orders like a lil bitch!?” He sees you trembling, lips wobbly and in tears, how ironic, he doesn’t know a few words would get you to start tearing up, the change in demeanor from when he first met you confuses him for a second, but only a second, because he’ll be damned if he falls for any of your tricks anymore. “N-no, I swear it isn’t like that, just p-please, please c-calm down! Let me explain myself-” the ugly cackle he lets out shuts you up, teary eyes widening as they fall on his, the aura he’s radiating is terrifying to say the least, your knees shaking in dread at what’s about to fold.

“You think you can play my game and win?”

It takes you a minute to answer, the word no echoing in your head, throbbing in your brain so painfully you forget the words that follow it, but what you can’t forget, what you will never forget, no matter how delirious you feel, is the look of pure sin across Shinso’s face, grin rivaling that of the Cheshire cat, because you were now simply a measly little pawn in his game. 

Mindjack works in dingy jobs with filthy manipulative men in black markets and the human trafficking industry, criminals that broke every law in their way to get what they desire, so why couldn’t he indulge even a little himself? 

He lets go of your wrists, watching as your arms sway next to your body like dead weight before he turns around to flop down on the loveseat, legs spread wide as he waves his hand over to you.

“Waddaya waitin’ for,” he knows you can’t answer him, but it feels so fucking good to hold such power over you after all you’ve put him through. “Now, strip.” the surge of power he feels jolts his dick up in excitement as he watches you take off your lingerie, moves robotic and forced, eyes glazed over both with tears and his control over your dumb little brain. Hitoshi is no villain, he is a respectable hero, but he’s been called that all his childhood, he might as well live up to that expectation, one way or another.

Shinso stands when you’re fully naked in front of him, long legs circling you and taking you all in, the back of his hand grazes your nipple and he all but groans as it pebbles at his touch. But god, he was nowhere near being done with you.

“Spread your legs for me on that bed,” he grins at the way you follow his orders even before he asks, “will ya?” you settle yourself on the bed before slowly dropping your weight on your back, hazy eyes staring up into the ceiling as your arms bring themselves down to circle the back of your knees, pulling them up close to your chest to expose yourself to him. 

Shinso’s cock twitches in his pants again at the opportunity to just seath it into you without any warning, but he barely holds himself back, approaching your body and feeling himself salivating at the sight, what a sight it is, your pussy looking so fucking beautiful clenching over nothing, the sight tempting him to just dive his face right in to get a taste of your juices.

Taking off his suit jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt, Shinso presses his thumb to your clit, frowning when he notices how dry you are, of course you would be, he chuckles to no one, puckering his lip to spit right at the nub, watching it trail down to your clenching hole, the sight igniting a flame within him, he does it again, simply to watch your spit hide in your cunt, impatient to follow suit and bury himself in there. 

His thumb is quick to draw circles with your clit, needing for your orgasm to wash over you quickly, eager for the things he’d do to you after he preps you enough to take him. The usual comforting silence is thick between you, no moans escaping your ajar mouth as your arousal seeps out of your pussy, he prods your hole with his finger to collect your nectar, smearing it across your clit again to rub even faster against it.

The only indication of you coming undone is when your thighs start to shake, your body curling in on itself as your back arches, your cunt gushing on his fingers, and Shinso is almost disappointed to not hear you moan out his name in pleasure. But he isn’t that disheartened, he’s bound to hear you scream.

You on the other hand, are petrified at the way your body is being handled, feeling yourself looking down at the horror being folded in front of you, this isn’t you, this is a shell of who you are, wrapped around his finger, at his mercy, and you want out, no matter the cost. But, you are to regret these words, because you see him unbuckling his belt, you hear the zipper drilling in your ear, and you watch him lay atop you, feeling your lungs constrict at the weight settling upon it, and to your utmost terror, the only thing that breaks his bind on you is when you feel his warm head prodding at your entrance, right before seething completely in, your throat prickling when you wail hoarsely in pain at feeling like being split into two.

“No, nonononon, st-stop please, please!” You’re crying, legs thrashing and arms flailing trying to push this monster off of you, but you can’t, you think as your walls pulsate in pain at the intrusion, you’ll never be able to with him placing his entire weight on you like that, and the way he pulls out before impaling you again has you seeing stars in the worst way possible. Desperate for an escape, you grab a chuck of his hair, your nails digging into his scalp before you yank, your jaw throbbing at how tight you clench your teeth in pain and disgust and pure panic. The strength you muster to pull his head up is in vain, because it only jerks his face deeper into your neck, right where your scar trails, and he bites, so hard you’re certain it draws blood. 

Only then does he lift his head up, his upper lip smeared with a smidge of blood, your blood, before he spits right into your mouth. Sick to your stomach at the metallic taste invading your taste buds, you spit right up at him, mindless to the debris falling right back at your face, your mascara running down your cheeks as you sneer up at him. Even as he laughs teasingly at you.

“Don’t worry slut,” He rasps, his nose brushing against yours as his thrusts find a pace, pulling out to the tip before pushing himself fully inside, “It’ll feel good in a minute.” and it does, he feels more of your arousal coating his cock as he snaps his hips against yours, your wails and whimpers slowly yet surely are coated more with lust as you moan out his name. “See tha’, almost too easy…” almost too good to be true.

And it is, because when his eyes struggle to find yours, he is reminded by the feeling that overtook him this entire evening, and when he sees the corner of your lips pull lightly does he want to rip your head right out, but the minute he moves his hand, he is overwhelmed by how wobbly he feels, how your face distorts and misshapes before he is met with the sight of the ceiling, the sight you grew accustomed to when he was taking advantage of your unconsciousness. 

He groans when he feels you impaling yourself on his cock, pussy clenching so tight as you bop yourself up and down his shaft, your tits bouncing with you as he looks up at you, so mesmerized and entranced by your beauty all he does is hold your hips, helping you lift yourself up before dropping you on him, the squelching sound that follows it music to his ears.

You plant your hands against his chest, hips rolling as you pant at his lips, both of you so drunk on the feeling of each other and chasing your highs, “You gonna listen to me, when I ask you to?” His hand claps against your ass at your question, “Yes, yes oh God, anythin’ just don’t stop.” He can’t help but want more of you, want to feel his cock push against you even further, so he plants his feet firm against the bed, hand grabbing handfuls of your ass as he starts thrusting up at you, moaning against your neck when he shoots ropes of his cum inside of your sopping cunt, squeezing him so tight and milking him, and all of what Shinso remembers is the way you arch your back, pressing your chest against his as your whimper out his name, as he feels your juices dripping against his balls and down on the sheets beneath you. After that, all he could see was black.

Shinso awakes startled, eyes darting in alarm before he relaxes when he confirms he’s alone, the red silky sheets now draped over his lower body, pooling at his lap when he sits up to look around once more, desperate for any sign of you. Yet he only sees a brown folder on top of the love seat, impressively thick with the amount of papers stacked inside it, and when Shinso reaches for it, he catches the note that slipped off and draped down on the floor, reading it and scowling at it. ‘You promised you’d listen’

And boy is he more than lucky to listen to you when you asked him to. Because that folder has every tiny little detail he needs to know about The Wise, from the quirks of his circulating bodyguards to the keys to his multiple homes within the world. Pictures upon pictures of the man, decoded letters and basically intel on his entire criminal record.

Fucking finally, Shinso gets to just go home no that everything’s over and done with.

Limited Edition Sneak Peek:

It is way too early for Shinso, the sun glaring at him as he makes his way into the agency, the honking cars and chattering people feeding into his migraine so early in the morning, and he groans as he pushes his door open, ready to get back to his regular routine after the incident at Vice City.

It hasn’t been even a week, but it sure was eventful, using the folder you left him, Mindjack was able to capture The Wise the very next day, via the map of the routes he takes that was attached in the folder. They were able to ambush him, easily being able to bring the right heroes for the job to overcome the quirks of both his workers and himself. Now the mastermind of Organization XIII was behind bars, making the job of catching the remaining members now much easier.

It almost felt like child’s play, at least, that’s what the heroes made it out to be, flexing their powers and their potential, when they were well aware that all their efforts would’ve been in vain if you and your folder weren't there to aid them in every step.

To say that guilt ate him up is an understatement, he feels himself decaying from the inside out from resentment, he figures he spent too much time in the dark, that it started to mess with him, manipulate him, carve him into someone he isn’t, someone that isn’t fit to be a hero. He feels like was walking into a tunnel with no way out, engulfed and trapped in pure merciless darkness, that ate away at his soul every step he took further in.

Shinso trudges up the stairs with a heavy heart, the dread at what he did to you, especially that your intent to help him didn’t waver despite his actions loomed over him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt like he didn’t deserve the life that he’s living in right now. 

Yet, the saying ‘there's a light at the end of the tunnel’ rings in his ear, the minute he opens up the door to his office, eyes widening at the sight before him, smile so dazzlingly sweet, a voice just like silk, weaving around him and entrancing him as the words captivated him despite their simplicity.

“Missed me, Hitoshi?”

(1) its common in poker for women to be onlookers, like the wives of the players for example, the jab at him being an onlooker is basically just a sexist joke to make the people around the table laugh to ease their mind.

(2) to help gain more perspective about the poker scene you can read the elaboration here

Aaaand more about the reader’s quirk here!

Hope you enjoyed! Also, PLEASE if you could theorize with me after reading the fic I’d love you forever, ask me about the reader’s quirk, ask me about some hidden meanings between the scenes JUST ANYTHING. MWAH

Borrowers (taglist):

@hanji-is-life @anarchicmartyr @sleepykyan @yourprincess-maybe @wolfygirl1900 @tteokdoroki​

@theehoneybunii @nanamisbento​ (not sure if you wanted to be tagged for bakuhoe only of all my fics, so sorry if its the former!)

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[no-droids]

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part.  Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid.  It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help.  You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day.  There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great.  At least for you.  It’s sluggish.  Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in.  Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle.  As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore.  Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate.  Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side.  There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time.  Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally.  You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened.  You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it.  You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys.  They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up.  There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured.  They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso.  The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat,  his dark curls sticking to his forehead.  He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands.  You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet.  You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly.  You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving.  You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you.  You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching.  Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you.  After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip.  “Seriously.  That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring.  Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away.  You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now.  You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup.  Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself.  “We…”  Your voice sounds absolutely shredded.  “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you.  “But we are alive.  Hey.”  He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand.  “We’re alive, right?  Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative.  A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence.  You’re alive.  Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering.  Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back.  But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking.  Full of light, and hope.  It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death.  Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies.  Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife.  You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort.  For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that.  “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!”  You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?”  Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position.  Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them.  “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him.  “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with.  “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too.  These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?”  Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close.  Why is he so close to you?  You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space.  Since when did he have that effect on you?  You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in.  You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness.  Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though.  Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands.  Hey.  Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips.  “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under.  Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement.  You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though.  His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head.  Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else.  Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

*** 

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and.  Well.  Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him.  But like, fuck him.  You know.  In the negative sense of the word.  The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it.  Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here.  Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall.  You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today.  You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again.  So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him.  Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now.  You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots.  He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you.  What have you done to deserve this torture?  Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay?  No, you’ve decided.  It’s not okay.  He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him.  In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie.  Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues.  “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps.  “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly.  “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?”  You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite.  Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug.  “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question?  It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache.  Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in?  “Ever.  The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?”  You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit.  You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more.  Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is.  “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies.  “Maybe some Reds.  Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear.  Where are stress headaches localized?  Are those the ones right under your brow bone?  Because stars, you feel it.  “Fucking… why?  Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?”  Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you.  “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what?  No.  I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit.  This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that?  It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him.  The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you.  “Quit being so sensitive.  Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering.  You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset.  You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell.  But today was… a lot.  You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names.  These people aren’t your friends.  Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it?  You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle.  You almost died today.  You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit.  This is your squadron.  These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs.  You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that?  You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine.  How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you.  No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?”  You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy.  Ooh, you can already feel it burning.  It would be so fucking typical.  Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight.  How could he not know?  With as many friends as he has?  If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too.  You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it.  “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?”  Zhang turns his head.  “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No.  Yeah?  What?”  He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?”  Rossi confirms with a shrug.  “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right.  Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage.  You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel.  His pool is probably up soon, you figure.  That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today.  He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time.  Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—”  You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it.  Nobody has any fucking idea.  Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually…  “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—”  You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster.  Dameron had some… what?  “Wait.  Explain.  You’re saying he didn’t…”  You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together.  “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What?  No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated.  “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten?  He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…”  You blink, stunned.  “But… why?  Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs.  “Fuck if I know.  All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it.  Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t.  He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again.  You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today.  Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half… 

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here.  You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all.  You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.  

This is why he said that about Nine?  Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head.  Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today.  You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone.  Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow.  “What now?”  You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?”  You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder.  “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably.  “Well, uh.  We tried.”

“What?”  You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples.  “The fuck is that supposed to mean?  I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more.  “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing.  So we thought we’d buy you one instead.  Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air.  You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right.  Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar.  He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes.  The past… whole day.  Month and a half.  Or… fuck, how long have you known him?  Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours.  His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately.  You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on.  Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base.  You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here.  Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal.  Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around.  At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation.  You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly.  Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them.  Constant, never-ending.  Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe.  Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts.  You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance.  Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was.  Doesn’t matter now.  They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise.  It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary.  You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now.  But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms.  You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship.  You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized.  Spectacularly so.  Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary.  There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it.  Get each other.  He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly.  You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising.  Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive.  It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason…  You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you.  It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission.  How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.  

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name.  Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time.  The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him.  The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically.  Remembered, or at least asked the right person about.  But why?  It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit.  He’s notorious for not giving a shit.  He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours?  You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself.  He was… singing your praises today.  He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him.  As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier.  Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him.  Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you.  He… he defended you.  Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back.  And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you.  What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago?  He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier.  The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh.  This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck.  The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder.  Shower, you’re in the shower.  Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck.  As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard.  You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here.  Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it.  If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today.  Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it.  You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you.  You enjoyed the fuck out of it.  You wish he’d do it again.  Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer.  He was doing you a favor, you realize that now.  Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point.  He turns you on, you fucking admit it.  He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore.  Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition.  You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that.  Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it.  You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room.  A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise.  Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that.  You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.  

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight.  You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today.  Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing.  What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level.  It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition.  Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review.  He could’ve thrown… three games, even.  Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls.  The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers.  You’ll be able to cum, at least once.  It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think.  You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention.  He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze.  It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist.  He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements.  He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy.  Tonight, I’ll shave it off.  Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been.  Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork.  Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you.  It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy.  He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop.  You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you.  He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open.  He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this.  He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there.  You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it.  Fuck.  This is torture.  Fuck him.  Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him.  Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum.  Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.  

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now.  Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change.  Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur.  Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months.  You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register.  Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight.  Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you.  You deserve this, you deserve some relief.  Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind.  You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open.  The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t.  You don’t have to give it fucking anything.  You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have?  Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower?  You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist.  And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck.  Was his hair wet?  Fuck, why can’t you remember?  His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much.  Post-shower, then.  Probably.  Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk.  You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started.  His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it.  The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point.  You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away.  Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor.  The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him.  A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way.  Still, what can you say?  Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him?  Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it.  Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you.  Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now.  Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed.  Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way.  You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it.  You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion.  He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more.  Fuck, are you positive that was an accident?  Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before.  You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form.  How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep?  Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what?  Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again?  Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move.  Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you.  Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support.  When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week.  Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight.  Nothing.  You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up.  Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut.  After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room.  However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams.  He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on.  The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines.  Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do.  He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one.  The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to.  Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it.  You never tell him the truth.  You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel.  He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight.  Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio.  The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind.  You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind.  I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next.  The silent promise that his actions allude to.  You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in.  Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth.  Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth.  You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought.  You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it.  A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine.  “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight.  Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too.  His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs.  You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit.  Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago.  Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers.  The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow.  Why is he going so fucking slow??  The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be.  You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him.  He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he?  So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation?  Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air.  You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk.  He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing.  His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins.  You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is.  Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you.  You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind.  Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult?  You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why.  Why did the fuck did you stop?  There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still.  It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it.  There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?”  Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly.  Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first?  Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic?  “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body.  The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.  

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards.  But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.  

Fuck him, bad way.  This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin.  It’s not a warning, it’s a threat.  If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you.  It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it.  “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again.  Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere.  Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all.  The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want.  As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy.  “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone.  Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen.  You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami.  You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment.  A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude.  Where’s the drop?  You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat.  It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There.  There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress.  It’s fucking mayhem.  You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it.  You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard.  Fucking hard.  It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow.  Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is.  Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other.  Stars, what did he do to you?  You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves.  Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago.  They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight.  Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance.  Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping.  This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now.  Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary.  He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now.  Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it.  He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck.  He was right.  You needed this.  Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it.  He’s not just pliant, he’s willing.  His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns.  Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it.  He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing.  Accommodating.  Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation.  You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again.  “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first.  “Mm.  Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing.  Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair.  Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it.  Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy.  You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive.  After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan.  He’s so… fucking hot.  Fuck.  He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side.  But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge.  The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself.  You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely.  Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself.  You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are.  Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip.  “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now.  Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm.  Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack.  “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What?  W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply.  Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart.  “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress.  And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body.  The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect.  Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works.  “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him.  By this point, you’re worrying again.  You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists.  If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand.  He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him.  Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t.  “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk.  You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain.  Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp.  It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just.  You need a hard reset.  You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again.  It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again.  The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine.  Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds.  “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly.  It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his.  Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself.  After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say.  You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now.  Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at.  He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think.  He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something.  How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do?  You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him.  Why can’t you figure out something?  You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent.  Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?”  Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking.  Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours.  “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried.  He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?”  He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time.  Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions.  “Well what do you want, baby?  You wanna just hang out?  That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want?  The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?”  You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body.  “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears.  “You can—?”  Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious.  “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now.  “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right?  So why not?”  Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust.  “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated.  “You don’t get it.  You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet?  Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm.  He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip.  An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud.  “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?”  He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs.  “Just say fuck it all and race for last place?  Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself.  “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room.  “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh.  Well, to sum up.  May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it.  Okay, you get it.  He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it.  You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk.  Only now, you’re… humbled.  By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight.  It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it.  It’s big.  It fills his whole palm without much room to spare.  Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow.  Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his.  You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing.  The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right.  He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock.  He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it.  It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance.  “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct.  The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh.  Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening.  “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself.  You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it.  Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip.  “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point.  You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore.  He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression.  His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this.  You know then that it must be really fucking wet.  You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it.  You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you.  He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast.  From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative.  You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it.  It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts.  But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad?  It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right.  You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you.  But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off.  The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it.  You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up.  You underestimate his self control, time and time again.  But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you.  “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad.  You make me so mad.  I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you.  I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound.  The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity.  “Say it.  ‘You…’—what?  Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves.  Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.  

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more.  Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this.  Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious.  “Not tonight.  I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs.  His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.  

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl.  “Fuck.  Tight little baby.  Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit.  You already feel it.  You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire.  And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone.  “Can you feel it coming?  Fuck, I can,” he shudders.  “Already.  Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point.  Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back.  Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow.  You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit.  It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more.  “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift.  His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?”  Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration.  “Tell me.  You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed.  After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it.  You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again.  Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you.  And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle.  It’s tender.  It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.  

You handle it silently.  At first.  You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all.  Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides.  Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter.  Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice.  It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose.  Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him.  Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one.  You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy.  You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose.  You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more.  Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome.  He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack.  He tastes like you.  He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you.  It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still.  But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours.  His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves.  Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time.  What is he doing?  What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace.  You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum.  He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you.  “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up.  He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him.  “Never… fuck.  Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet.  Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice.  You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels.  So intimate.  You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again.  Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again.  He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down.  Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him.  When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation.  You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need.  That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right?  Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe.  Fuck.  His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open.  Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller.  And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going.  He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you.  He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied.  Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock.  Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it.  Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating.  Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy.  Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while.  You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you.  Same speed, same control.  

Your eyes nearly fucking cross.  “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat.  He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this.  This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with.  Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you.  Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more.  Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you.  Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl.  Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you.  “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl.  “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…”  His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening.  “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging.  But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.  

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come.  You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore.  You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend.  But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?”  He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours,  “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?”  You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else.  Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?”  You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once.  All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away.  You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does.  It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant.  Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying?  You don’t know anymore.  Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope.  Not even close.

He ruins you slowly.  Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination.  Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words.  You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted.  He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed.  He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this.  If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you.  It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours.  But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver.  He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him.  He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum.  You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants.  “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you.  Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up.  You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack.  “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late.  He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it.  That is it.

“Fuck me!”  You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole!  Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far.  He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm.  Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go.  His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars.  Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours.  Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?”  He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs.  “Huh?  Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything?  You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you?  Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t.  You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it.  You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open.  You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him.  But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore.  You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet.  You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it.  Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.  

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you.  He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him.  All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown.  You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief.  He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid.  It’s so fucking stupid.  You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound.  Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room.  And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times.  He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him.  He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty.  Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile.  That one is practiced and alluring.  It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy.  Amazed, and uncoordinated.  Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow.  It makes you feel… alive.  Colorful.  Radiant.  Sunshine.  Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time.  You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable.  Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance.  “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?”  You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest.  You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals.  “Oh.  Pfft.  You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades.  Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget.  You forget everything.  You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had.  It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration.  Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval.  No.  This is good, this is how you want to stay.  The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect.  “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze.  A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you.  Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out.  “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again.  Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it.  Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement.  “Gah—look what you did.  I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times.  “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs.  It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again.  The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason.  You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap.  Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again.  You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.  

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing.  Not saying anything.  Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker.  So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes.  You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is.  Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings.  You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it.  You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue.  But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo.  It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks.  Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier.  Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?”  Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters.  You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency.  After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what?  Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once.  You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you.  It seems appropriate.  And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap.  You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again.  Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips.  He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does.  The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun.  You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?”  You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it.  Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling.  He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

[hopefullystillatheatrestudent]

i'm so excited about you taking asks again ahhhh okay so. if you'd absolutely had to choose. what would be your top 5 cockles moments, and why? thank you ily <3

here’s the thing: there are so many routes i could go down with this, because cockles moments come in all shapes and sizes and formats. these include moments from their panels, their bloopers, the footage we get when they don’t even know they’re being recorded, stories being passed down from photo ops & autographs(one of my personal favorite ways to get cockles, tbh, because they’re all insane), and social media(tweets to each other, instagram posts & comments, etc.). 

SO! since many a list like this has already been made, and i want to stand out from the crowd, what i’m gonna do is definitively give the number one spot to each of these five categories.(i might even throw in honourable mentions because they’re so despicably in love that they warrant that. i really put my whole pussy into this, guys, i hope you’re happy.) 

disclaimer: these are my own personal opinions. but that also means i’m right. so. enjoy. 

number one: top cockles panel moment

so we’re starting off with a bang, because how do you even BEGIN to rank what atrocities jensen and misha commit at jibcon. every single one they’ve had is damning in it’s own right, for different reasons.

however, considering just how much unabashed fuckery they’ve given us to sift through, it’s a good thing i do have a personal favorite despite it all. it’s heartwarming, the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen, AND it’s jarringly cinematic - mainly because it has a whole ass arc to it that was years in the making. it might even be surprising to some people, but my favorite cockles panel moment, and what i consider the one that encompasses their entire gut-wrenching journey from 2008-2013 in the most sweepingly romantic gesture possible, is this one.

i want this burned into my retinas. i am not even joking. when i'm through with my explanation, let me convince you why this is thee most romantic cockles moment of all time.

first, some history: people call this the resume off, but many seem to forget the botched attempt at a resume off a year prior. and yes, you guessed it: it's during their break up. it's a juicy time period for a reason, guys. it came across as exceedingly one-sided and VERY awkward. let me refresh your memory as to just how bad it was, and just how hard jensen was trying and ultimately failing at winning misha over: the funniest part of the whole resume off in 2013??? every joke/bit had literally already been made/done. they were just going through the motions again, but the difference THIS time...is that misha reciprocated jensen's energy. it. is. fascinating. i want to get into it more detail in another post, and i'll link it here when i'm done, but the main takeaway, i think, and the main difference that showcases how much they've grown in a year, is that in jib 3, misha flat out refused to do an accent, and this time around, he indulges jensen for literal minutes. when i tell you they're crazy, they're crazy. i can't wait to actually dive into it later.

ANYWAY, the resume off culminates in this moment here. and, like, a million things happen in this gifset. actually, more like a million and one. the music starts playingneediremindyouthatthesongissingingintherain(h e l p), misha starts dancing, jensen 'perpetually fake grumpy' ackles lets misha think he's not going to join, misha sits down defeated, but no!!! that was jensen's plan all along(look at his stupid fucking smirk) and he offers his arm to his dance partner who immediately grins like a fool, jensen then leads misha into their kick step, they perfectly synchronise and let loose, and are then very clearly having the time of their lives, hanging off of each other with joy and ease. from their expressions alone i can tell that this moment is so. so. so. so! much more than what initially meets the eye. i mean-misha is fighting back the biggest smile i've ever seen. to me, it reads like jensen is offering something to misha, something that misha kind of gave up on expecting, and him offering his arm like that is like, a surprise to him in the best possible way(and it's so not platonic, let me just say that.) as soon as jensen did that, it ushered in a new era of cockles. this panel is jensen and misha's favourite for a reason, and i think this moment is the biggest clue as to why.

whew!!! ok. that took a lot out of me and that was only point one. moving on,

number two: top cockles blooper moment

cockles bloopers hold an extremely special place in my heart, because it shows just how fucking disastrous jensen and misha are. they are so goddamn infatuated with each other that they HOLD UP PRODUCTION ALL THE TIME TO FLIRT WITH EACH OTHER(???). let me repeat. let it sink in. jensen ackles; arguably one of the most professional actors on that show who puts everything he has into each scene, with mountains and mountains of notes to prove it: would rather hold up production to flirt with misha collins. this sounds fake. it's not. he does it. all. the. time. and here's the thing guys!!! i'm gonna let you in on a secret!!! misha loves it. he loveesssss it. on top of that-misha collins: overlooked because he's pranked and people assume he's unprofessional as well, but his only pranks are in retaliation/off-set, and he rarely if EVER causes problems if he can help it....lets himself get carried away when it comes to jensen making kissy faces at him!!! are you actually kidding me!!! i mean. misha. it's just a face. you've seen it a million times. i don't buy that it triggers something in you that strongly....you like it, and you like jensen's reaction. you can't fool me!!! lisa berry's face in that one gifset shows just how fed up the crew is with their gross, coupley boyfriend antics.

i could pull up so many examples. sooooooo many. but my favourite was sealed since the moment i saw it.

i actually already wrote an analysis on it but i can't find it :(((( which SUCKS because i really unpacked the whole thing. i'll try to summarise.

basically, a backstory is part of this too!!! jensen and misha both had a really really hard time with this scene(because it's explicitly romantic there i said it), they sat down for hours and poured over their scripts together, they were super super nervous going into filming, both of them, jensen especially, were super hard on themselves for their performances not being true to their characters but they both complimented the other's work(boyfriend moments fr). so, yeah. they weren't confident going into shooting. and how do they get themselves to feel better???? by cuddling each other, apparently.

a lot. a LOT. happens in this specific blooper. to the point that i saw it years before i knew about cockles and it raised all sorts of flags for me.

1) stop pulling my face towards your crotch(as a thinly veiled request that misha would, in fact, move jensen's face towards his crotch, considering it was jensen moving himself there in the first place. also, why so comfy down there guys???) 2) you're my baby daddy i know(in the most intimate voice i've ever heard please) 3) i know, i know, i love you too i didn't say i love you i know but you wanted to say it etc. misha's right, of course. that's what jensen meant.

it just reeks of comfort, familiarity and intimacy between the two, and it's a moment that is extremely sweet and silly at the same time. they're so <3

number three: top cockles found footage moment

WONDERFUL category. truly the culmination of the cockles experience. many people have said that shipping cockles doesn't work because 'they're just onstage you dummies!! they're playing it up for the audience!!!' here's the thing, love. i could not disagree with you more. once you climb your way up the cockles ladder, you soon learn that they are, in fact, playing their dynamic DOWN, not up. they really are just Like That™, and they could not care less about the paying audience, if we're being honest, considering how much time they take to giggle with each other and refuse to let the audience in on the joke. and i love them for it <3

anyway, my point is that this category is for all you naysayers out there, all you 'jensen and misha's relationship is just for show and is real life queerbaiting'(?????lordhelp???) oh yeah? ok, explain this.

he. he. he calls jensen sweetheart. literally enough said. there's nothing to really add here, except, misha and jared then immediately engage in damage control. jared's method is distraction and misha's is retconning('get out of the car, dude') this was what got me to buy into the cockles dumpster for GOOD good. you don't call your buddy sweetheart accidentally and sound so completely earnest while doing it! especially not when that buddy is jensen ackles!!! you think he would let any of his friends call him that? do you?

one more thing; if it was a slip of the tongue, little mouth thing or whatever, you think jared wouldn't have jumped on it immediately??? i can hear it now. 'did you just call him SWEETHEART???' yeah. that's what i thought. you know why he didn't? because it was too revealing.

number four: top cockles autograph moment

i mean, i think we all know what it's gonna be, and if you don't, well, do i have the piece de cockles resistance that is gonna send you over the edge.

if you haven't heard of this story by now, as a cockles, truther, i'm gonna go ahead and get you to read it, because there is no possible heterosexual explanation for any of it, and you're fooling yourself if you think otherwise.

spoiler alert: it's the story where phones weren't allowed in an auto session, jensen nuzzles himself in misha's hair, leans his full body weight onto him, holds his hand, etc. etc. i'm imploding just repeating this back, actually. also, just, the sheer amount of stories from photo ops where they tackle hug each other or slap each other's asses or sing romantic songs to each other or almost kiss is, frankly, a lot. if i could wish for anything, it would be to witness them in person.

and finally,

number five: top cockles social media moment

this one is super difficult, because there's obviously a lot to choose from. but you know what? full send, i'm going with this one:

i just. what to say about this. how often do misha and jensen watch sunsets together for it to qualify as ‘always’ ??? why are sunsets synonymous with their relationship??? that’s like??? a very romantic thing????? ‘this guy’??? the fact that it’s a CANDID??? i don’t know guys.

that could have been better but i am TIRED so. there you go rose ily

[parkersroses]

it’s golden. | harry styles.

summary: Harry brings you to the Grammy’s and it all ends in a wonderful night. 

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k words

warning(s): all fluff, small mentions of sensual stuff

a/n: (disclaimer: gif belongs to @hers <3) hello! been a while! i’ve been wanting to write something since harry won a grammy award, which i’m unbelievably proud of him. so enjoy this cloud of unedited fluff. reblog and comment if you liked this. buy me a coffee if you’d like to support me further <3

The Grammy Awards had been an anticipating event you both waited for. In your honest opinion, you thought Harry deserved a nomination way back during the success of his first album or even his later One Direction days. 

Nevertheless, you couldn’t be more proud of your lover, having not been nominated once, but thrice. He himself couldn’t believe how Fine Line, a labour of his love and hardwork, was recognized on this scale. Luckily, you were both safely together in the comfort of your own home when the nominations were announced. That day was later filled with a lot of love and celebration for him, with you congratulating him as many times as you could, in many ways you could. 

The buzz about Harry being a Grammy-nominated artist instantly filled the set of ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’, nearly everyone congratulating the supporting lead actor of their film. Although Harry gets very shy whenever someone compliments his success, he still took pride in how his effort and resilience got him to where he was.

The following weeks were filled with preparation and planning, with Harry being announced that he would be opening the event. It was only fitting that he would perform Watermelon Sugar, considering it is now a Grammy nominated single. He had some doubts with the choice of song though. He knew it was a big and popular summer song and it had been playing everywhere since he released the song. Harry knew there would be some people that are just bored and tired of the song already and opted to change it.

However, you managed to talk some sense in him, knowing how award seasons like this can be nerve wracking.

“I’m just saying, it’s been playing around for more than a year. People are probably bored of it,” Harry said as he laid on your shared bed, staring at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing ever. 

Finishing up your skincare routine, you looked back at him. “And? If you want to perform it, it shouldn’t really matter if people got tired of it. I still love the song,” you reassured him. 

He lifted his head slightly off his pillow to look at you. “Yeah, but still. Maybe if I performed other songs from the album, people might enjoy the performance more.” He sighed as he plopped his head back on the pillow.

You quickly climbed in the bed, plopping right next to him. Harry grunted as you put your head on his chest and intertwine your legs, instantly wrapping his arms around you. He turned his head to press small kisses on the crown of your head. “Don’t know why I’m worried about it. I’m sorry if I’m being over dramatic about it.” He apologised to you. 

“You know I love your over-dramaticness nonetheless, bubs.” You comforted him, kissing above his heart as you looked up at him. “But you shouldn’t worry so much. If Watermelon Sugar is what you wanna perform, then you should go for it. It’s a Grammy-nominated song anyways. But just remember to have fun. It’s only your first time being nominated and performing there.” 

Harry hummed in reply as he stared into your eyes. Often times, he still finds himself mesmerized by your eyes despite the long years of you being together. “Besides, I’ll be there, in the front row, where you can look at me when you’re nervous.” You smiled at him and he smiled back at the thought of you cheering on him in possibly one of the most important nights of his life. 

Harry leaned up and pressed a kiss on your lips, sighing at mere taste and softness of it. “I’d really love that. Thank you, lovie.” He mumbled into the kiss, breaking away as he smiled gleefully at you. He truly did adore you and the little things you would do for him. You pressed another kiss on his lips, Harry was quick enough to return the action. “Anytime, bubs.” You said.

The week of the Grammys came by quickly, which meant Harry’s nerves only escalated from the day he found out he was performing. He had some costume fittings for the event to do and planning for how the set is going to look. He kept some secrets from you about what he was going to wear for his performance and you were initially upset about it because you enjoy getting a sneak peek into his fashion sense for these types of situations. But Harry constantly assured you that you’ll love it when you see it, although you always love whatever he decides to wear.

For all you know, he’d be wearing a trash bag and you’ll still think he is the sexiest man you ever laid eyes on. 

Eventually, the day of the Grammys finally came. Harry was almost certain that he was going to throw up in his room. He paces back and forth, trying to ease down his nerves. You told him you’d be running a bit late but promised him that you’ll be there before he could sing the first word of the song. Soon enough, it was time to go. He meets up with his band and they all huddle together to say some words of encouragement. It was a big night for all of them. 

About five minutes before he’s supposed to go on stage, he hears a familiar voice calling out to him. He turns around and sees his love running up to him, apologising profusely to those she bumped into. He grins widely and opens his arms wide for you to run into them. He hugs you tight, swaying you both from side to side as his hands feel the satin pink dress you wore. 

You both pull away with wide grins on your faces and you let your hands rest on his bare chest. “Bold choice of the outfit, Mr. Styles,” you tease him. Harry chuckles at you as he presses his forehead against yours. “Told ye you’ll love it, didn’t I?” he says and you hummed in reply. 

“I do. I really love it. Y’look like a rockstar,” you admit as you fix the leather jacket. Someone calls for Harry and it’s time for his time to shine. You pull his face down to your level and give a couple of good luck kisses, not that he needed any luck because he’ll do great no matter what. 

“I love you,” you said lovingly. Harry steals another kiss from you before he parts away. “I love you, too,” He says and winks at you, making your cheeks turn red as you put on your mask.

Just as you said before, you stay through the whole performance, your eyes always focused on him with the energy and charm he always brings into every show. You have to admit that his outfit was really doing things to you. You love how fitting the pants were on Harry’s legs, not to mention how great his ass looks as he danced around on stage. You did not miss the times where his jacket opened slightly and exposed more of his bare chest. Your eyes linger on the chest littered with tattoos you love to trace and give kisses and hickies on it. 

Similarly, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. The way the pink satin dress you wore hugged every inch of your body. Even behind the mask you were wearing, he knew you were smiling underneath it as you watched him sing. Admittedly, he wasn’t even looking at you because he was nervous; he simply was just admiring how absolutely ravishing you were looking. But that’s a thought he’ll get back to when the night is done. 

As the performance ended, the people around the set applauded. Harry bows down, humbly thanking them and a big smile breaks on his face when he hears your cheers. And it was moments like this where he loves the fact that you are his biggest fan. 

The both of you meet back in his designated room where he is supposed to change his outfit for the main event. He pushes your body gently against the wall as he desperately kisses you. Your arms are around his shoulder as you weave your fingers through his hair. He’s definitely going to get in trouble for that mess soon. His hands travel slowly down your body and stops on your behind, cheekily grabbing a handful. You moan into the kiss and Harry lets his tongue into your mouth. 

“Baby,” you say in between the kisses. “Gotta get you changed,” you giggle as he kisses you; he swears his heart flutters whenever you laugh. “Yeah? Did ya like my performance out there, lovie?” he asks as he lips travel to your cheek and down your neck. 

Harry feels you shiver and you could feel his smirk against your skin. You pull his face away from you and he pouts. “I love it. But you have to change for the main event,” you say and smile at his childish pout. You kiss the tip of his nose which makes him scrunch his face up. “Promise we’ll do this again later,” 

And his eyes widen at the suggestion and he steals a peck from you. “I’m looking forward to that, lovie,” he smirks. 

━

The event was definitely something you didn’t think you’d get to experience. You honestly had to pinch yourself, hoping that was actually Dua Lipa and Taylor Swift that were sitting a few tables away from you. With every category leading up to the ones Harry was nominated, you could feel his hands sweating as they’re intertwined with yours. Harry didn’t mind if he didn’t win, but the thought of actually winning was definitely there in his mind. 

You lift your hands, pull down your mask and press small kisses on the back of his hand, reassuring him always. And he smiles in gratitude at you. 

As they are announcing the nominees for Best Pop Solo Performance, Harry’s hand grips yours tighter and you rub his arm in hopes to ease his nerves. The moment you hear the words ‘Watermelon Sugar’, you jump up from your chair and scream through your mask just as everyone else in the room stands and applaud him. Harry, for one, is in complete utter disbelief that he is the winner. 

He stands from his chair, removing his mask, and gives you the biggest smile and tightest hug. “You did it, baby,” he hears you say in his ear amidst the applause, cheers and his song playing in the background. After giving Jeff a hug, he makes his way towards the stage. He picks up the shiny golden gramophone for a moment and sets it down before giving his speech. As he expresses his thanks and gratitude, you sit there looking up at him with the proudest face. Your heart feels warm knowing how this dream of his was finally a reality. 

His speech nears its end when he makes one last thank you. “And to my love, for always believing in me and always telling me to strive for greatness. You were the first person I shared this album in its entirety and you’ve given me the love and support that is beyond what I deserve. I love you endlessly and this wouldn’t have been possible without you. I feel very honoured to be standing here with all of you so thank you so much,” He thanks the audience again before leaving the stage so he could sit next to you again, completely forgetting about his award on stage which made you giggle. 

The night goes on and the both of you continue to soak in the magical night. At one point, you manage to have a conversation with Taylor Swift and you are surprised that you didn’t pass out. While Harry didn’t win in the other categories he was in, he was still grateful for the achievement and recognition he got. It was a marvelous night, he admits.

It was very late when you got home. You chuck your shoes away as you enter and quickly make your way to the couch where you could rest for a bit. Harry chuckles at you as he closes the door. He leans over you, smiling at your tired state and admiring your figure as your dress rises to your mid-thighs when you lie down. 

“Scoot over, bubs,” he says as he takes off his orange blazer and black boa. He squeezes in beside you, resting his face on your chest while holding you close so you don’t fall off the edge of the couch. He hums as he feels your fingers running through his hair, pressing soft kisses on his head. 

For a moment, he slowly feels himself falling asleep before he hears you gasp from above. “I forgot something!” you exclaim as you pull yourself off from under and rush to the kitchen. You hear Harry whine in protest as you leave him on the couch. “Bubs, I wanna cuddle,” he whines, his face smushed up against the couch as he misses your warmth. 

“One second, H!” you say back to him. He hears you rummaging through something and for a second, he is intrigued by what you have up your sleeve. Harry hears your footsteps coming back and hears you setting down something as it clinks on the coffee table. 

“Bubs, open your eyes!” 

Harry is tempted to just fall asleep right then and there, but he hears the excitement in your voice and sighs against the couch as he opens his eyes. There you are, with the sweetest smile on your face next to a small round chocolate cake on a cake stand. Next to it are some plates, forks and a knife. Harry gets up and sits down next to you. “W-What? Where did you get this?” he says as he smiles at you. 

“I made it for you. Today right before I went to see you. It’s why I was running late before your performance,” you beam at him and Harry looks at you in pure adoration. “I would’ve written something, like ‘Grammy Winner’ or something but that would be mocking you, you know, in case you didn’t win. But now you won and I kinda feel bad tha-” 

Your words are cut off as Harry smashes his lips against yours. You hum in delight as your lips move against each other. Harry breaks away and cups your face in his large hands. They may be rough due to the guitar scars he gets, but they’re where yours belong. 

“I love it, baby. Thank you,” he says sincerely and both of you smile, your eyes and heart holding all the love you had for each other. “I love you too. Anything for my Grammy-winner love,” you say softly as you peck his lips again. “Shall we?” you motion your head towards the cake. Harry agrees as he watches you cutting the cake for the both of you, his smile filled with love and adoration for you. 

And he admits that you are simply the most amazing person he has ever loved. He had the most marvelous and golden night with you.